“routine, in an intelligent man, is a sign of ambition.” // w.h. auden
it’s down to a science.
there is little to be left in the pauses in-between. i am,
(in) a nut (shell), practiced and plainly methodical. without my daily rigmarole i am left aimless, floating about the space between my ears, anxious and jumpy. don’t misunderstand, i am not permanently scheduled or immovable, there is lots of wiggle room left (to fly by the seat of the pants i do not wear) after i’ve done all of those things i must do to set the rest of my day at ease.
i wake, i lumber down to make breakfast for the girl, let the dog out to yell at anyone who dares walk by our yard, then back up i go to get my head on straight. showered, hair dried, face put on, eyes blackened and then, as i tell everyone to HUSTLE for the HUNDREDTH time, i swipe the barest of nude balms on my beak and there… at least i’ll be able to put my best face forward for whatever else the day can and invariably will, throw my way.
➝ source : velvet gloss in club mix via nars
➝ source : tinted lip conditioner in these days via ilia