Sorry, I’ve tried, but I think I’d rather do sex work than do physical labour.

We look at the world, and it spurs a strange kind of busyness; but we’re merely reacting thinking we’re doing something productive or substantial. We’re not.

An acquaintance has been messaging me without fail (on WhatsApp) and all I could say were variations of, I’m busy. I’m being truthful though. I’ve been tempted to make something up just to be different, but the messages stopped and it’s been two years.

And stupid me - I WAS TOO BUSY to realise that maybe it was my turn to message back.

Looking forward to April for a bit of a slight break.