I no longer dream of labour. I wish I have all the time in the world to spend in writing, delving back into arts and literature in café's, my room, parks, and in other beautiful sunny, breezy, open, cramped, cozy spaces.
I wanna take naps. Not have to look at the time and have this internal panic of not having enough time and always mentally rearranging things that I can do in a short amount of time and ending up not accomplishing any of them at all which leaves me with a more achy and tender fluttery heart.
But then I shall push these thoughts aside and return to my default working class mental and emotional setting as money doesn't grow from the trees nor can I afford to live how I truly want to.