Broom (11)

BROOM (11)

Well, it's the end of the week.

I can hardly speak.

It's not just my vocal chords; I tell you, I'm asking the Lord how his potentially wonderful creation resulted - post-industrially - in such a spectacular abomination. . .

I'm exhausted and depleted; I'm feeling quite defeated.

And, it has to be said that despite their unfriendliness (their evident uncleanliness - their total lack of female-ness) the women on my team (for all their confrontational prowess) seem to have it right.

They have an innate kind of existential insight that I think I might lacking.

I so desperately want their backing: their endorsement and support. (I think I need them more than I ought.)

The one with the Hoola-Hoop asked me the other day: is it for love or for art that you generally pray?

I had to say I never pray, but she's made me nervous.

Should I be praying?