
How is it possible that it is only Wednesday? Monday dragged on, and while Tuesday went by fairly quickly, I was busy all day. This week has felt like it is dragging very slowly, like Friday is an eternity away. Yesterday did not feel like a Tuesday at all, and now I have to face Wednesday. I was hunched over my computer all day at work yesterday (obviously with clothes on and not like the model above) preparing for a class, and though I got up a few times for this or that, I felt absolutely exhausted by the time I got home. It was one of those tirednesses that take over your whole body. By the time I got inside my apartment, my body was screaming to get out of my work clothes and lay down and not ever move again. Obviously, I did move again because I eventually had to heat up my dinner. It wasn’t really any better last night when I went to bed or, for that matter, this morning when I woke up. I have a busy day of stuff today as well. Maybe today will fly by quickly. Then, I’ll do it all again tomorrow.
If only I were independently wealthy, then I could be on a warm beach somewhere, or if I had to be somewhere cold, a nice chalet in the Alps. Maybe I’d be in an apartment in Florence overlooking a piazza or in Venice looking out the window overlooking the Grand Canal. Whatever it would be, I’d be enjoying a good book and putting all my worries aside, at least for a little while. I guy can dream, can’t he?









December 11th, 2024 at 10:02 am
When I was working the way I got through the week was to assign something special to every day: Wednesdays are just two days away from Friday and then the weekend!!!!!!
Thank you for showing my photo. I’ve got muscles all over and a very hot ass. I’d bare what’s up front but the gods would shudder and create lots of thunder.
December 11th, 2024 at 10:51 am
I’m just happy to stare at his hunkiness…
December 11th, 2024 at 1:30 pm
I used to love each day at work not withstanding an hour of commuting into the historic part of the City of London. From my window I could see St Bride’s church, designed by Sir Christopher Wren complete with its famous tiered tower which, allegedly, became the model of many a wedding cake. The garden was a haven for lunchtime.
Inside there is a shrine to the many journalists who were killed in their reporting duties (it lies off Fleet Street which used to be the heart of the national newspapers).