Fuck your “french connection”
I fucking hate this brand.
You know who wears FCUK t-shirts? Late 30s, early 40s post-spawning house-wives who used to be socially relevant back in their late teens and early twenties. By wearing FCUK t-shirts, they feel all edgy and risque without actually risking any sort of public censure, since it’s ‘Really just an acronym for “French Connection UK”, don’t you know ANYTHING’, and so they can wear these crappy mass-produced branded t-shirts over their fake tanned desperately post-partum gym-toned bodies while bemoaning the smell of the homeless and drinking their second-from-the-top-of-the-list (the top of the list is cheapest, no-one wants that!) kardon-ey in their trendy local cafes before going home to their darling little urban pad and quietly drinking themselves into semi-insensibility as they mourn the death of the lives they once had.
Fuck FCUK.
Thoughts and rambling, product of an early morning.
These days, my alarm, set for 5:30 is mostly a backstop; I wake an hour or more before it goes off (leaving it to startle me with vibrations and quacking from the pocket of my robe, at the designated time).
This morning I woke from a dream where I was first observing, then assisting with a relationship between Tilda Swinton (or a character played by her), and a guy who looked like a soap opera doctor – all trustworthy moustache and traditional suit.
In dreams, my perspective often shifts from third to first person. I start observing, then become a part of the scenario. The viewpoint becomes me. Sometimes, as the scene evolves, I step away, becoming only a viewpoint again.
Before getting up, before coming fully awake, this seemed like a profound metaphor for life. Now, I’m not so sure, but I’m glad to have recorded it.
Some mornings I wake up, and manage to tell myself to go back to sleep. While I feel more rested on those days, I also feel somehow less present, less material. Days when I start early, when I get some things done (even if they’re things that don’t need to be done) before the rest of the world wakes up, I feel smarter, more upbeat, more lively, more motivated to move things forward.
Whether it’s true or not, feeling smarter for the day makes me want to act smarter, do the right things, be the person I want to be. Asking myself “Is this the best thing for me to be doing right now?”, then acting on the answer. These days, more than ever, I struggle with having too many things I want to have done, not enough time to do them, so there’s a need to pick the most appropriate things to focus on, leaving the least appropriate to a tomorrow, and acknowledging that that tomorrow may see them languish again.
Toast eaten, coffee half drunk. Time to go to work. Oh, and there’s the alarm, the scheduled vibrating ducks.