It is said of pleasure, not to mix it with business. And why should the two ever even be tempted to fraternize? No reason at all, really, save for curiosity, which has already slain the cat. Merely busy bees and walnut trees have any interest in merging the pair. And so, the rest of those inclined to suppose that the two should intertwine? Should reconsider the thought in order to better their circumstances.
I have never been in danger of mixing pleasure and business, as pleasure is my business. I have no work, only play, and I refuse to ever consider giving into only one. I need no caution signs or admonition, for I have refused business since the beginning. Never have I like the pencil skirt, nor the pen. And I am afraid blazers have never much suited me in the bittersuite. The caveat is much appreciated, but rather unnecessary in light of the fact that I avoid the issue altogether.
However candid I may be about my lack of business, I must acquiesce that I do dabble in chemistry. And while I may not mix pleasure with business, I often infuse it with pain. I feel it a stronger dosage, and I can get it for half the price. I am not sure of what qualms come of such a coupling, and yet I am altogether too aware. But you should already know, dearling, the sunshine is best when it burns.
As a girl, so young a girl, I found myself often seeking out to self destruct. The bigger the explosion is always the better. There were so many ways to mix pleasure and pain and I found myself with an industrial blender, every morning trying a different cocktail, each stronger than the last. I was never much for continuity. After awhile, I lost the lid but never stopped creating new concoctions. And so I was left with a mess that seemed to coat every surface and seep into every pore. My amalgamations not only covered, but defined me.
It takes a breakdown to break down, and there were many. I would just sharpen the blade, to sharpen the taste, of every pleasure and pain filled drink. But, eventually, everything stops. And nothing you knew and nothing new works anymore. There is a point of no return and you decide. You can place the blame on anything, really, but it all comes down to responsibility, that silly seven syllable word. There are tears and much more that you cannot control, but in the end it's freeing. The honesty and transparency are worth far more than what you've been selling.
Sweet as the sentiment was cemented in my mind, I removed it. No longer needing to seek self destruction and the panic! button need no longer occupy so much of my thoughts. I need not worry for I believe in what is said and what is done around me. My emotional paroxysms and seizures have ceased and I can breathe without the assistance. This tube is obsolete. I'm not bleeding and I do not need aid of any kind. I'm not afraid, but I am terrified. Of what and where and who and why and how comes next. This sequence never seemed to have a pattern, only a constant. I've written my lab report and now class must come to an end. I have new things to begin. I am a new thing to begin.