How times change. One minute – which is most my life – I prefer to do everything myself. The next, like now, I wish I had staff. Personal assistant, a cleaner. My hairdresser. Someone to pluck my eyebrows. A chauffeur. Anything and everybody. Just do it. Please.
If I had 48 hours in every day it would be easier. Not because I’d have more time. But because I need more time. Not least to warm up to every day’s tasks.
We all have reveries. I have many. This minute I just want an army of people who do.
Yes. That’s a nightmare pricked.