I am all squeezed into Will’s black suit. I have only one trouser suit now - an ancient pin striped ensemble that I bought cheap at a Charity shop - after I gave my smart one to the dry cleaners and never picked it up again. I can’t remember why, I just remember the metallic taste of remorse in my mouth each time my brain throbbed “suit!”
My hair is soft. Usually it’s brittle from all the chlorine at the pool, and flat from wearing a woolly hat, but now it’s blow dried and bouncy. I have a parting. The slight curl has almost been straightened out. Even if I do say so myself, I look very smart - like a young *insert name here*.
My morning ritual usually involves waking up, turning off my alarm and “snoozing” until 5 minutes before I’m meant to leave. Sometimes Will gets up first to bribe me out of bed with a cup of coffee and, if we have time, some toast or weetabix. Recently I haven’t been showering in the mornings (cleansing at lunch after a swim instead) which has only aggravated my zombie walk to the tube.
This morning I snoozed for only 20 minutes, showered (I shaved the night before) and had time to iron a shirt (blue) and pick a tie (um, magenta).
But, after such a good start, the day has dragged. With my interview at 3 I decided to pass the time by taking an online test about “the locus of control.” My hunch is that I only take tests that I’m good at (and what that says about me I’ll never know) so I wasn’t surprised when I discovered I have high internal locus of control
“Individuals with a high internal locus of control believe that events result primarily from their own behaviour and actions.”
But if you’re wondering who’s in the picture, she’s Lady Luck. Hey, why not cover all bases, is my thinking.