That choking pre-work anxiety
Creeps in like Sunday doom.
Rain spits at window panes
And boots line up by the front door,
Caked in mud, smothered by weekend walks
And forest frolicking.
That insufferable discomfort
Of wanting to do everything and yet nothing at the same time
Creeps in like Sunday doom.
Hours in front of the TV feel wasteful,
Next to the promises of Instagram’s brunches,
Bottomless, boozy and bubbly –
Outings with the #girls.
Gym trips, sweaty brows,
Abs everywhere you turn
And asses everywhere you swipe.
They swap the cardio for avocado
And weights become waits,
Long ones outside cafés,
Bruising noses up against glossy menus
And fighting for seats beneath rainbow parasols.
Summer Sundays suck
Unless you’re chugging prosecco
And scoffing smashed avo.
Brilliant, I can empathise with this
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