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Robin Hebb.

writer, performer, cool girl.

 

Firey.

Firey.

Artwork by Agathe Sorlet

I’m firey this week.

Not on fire.

Not like…. killing it.

Firey.

Short fused.

Irritable.

That sort of firey.

It’s hard to focus.

I haven’t gotten much done.

My mind is cluttered and I can’t decide which idea to tackle to first.

I’m impatient.

With myself

and with you.

I could blame it on the heat.

Or hormones.

Or the moon.

I’ll try not to blame it on you,

but watch the tone you take with me.

Because this week I’m firey.

Not fire.

Not like… lit.

I’m firey.

I’m not going to take your shit,

but I might give you shit.

I’m not going to apologize this week.

Well. I’m going to try not to.

No, nothing is wrong.

I’m just firey.

Passionate.

Quicker to get mad at you.

Quicker to love you.

Don’t worry, it’ll pass.

I’ll even out soon.

Once it does it’ll be nice for both of us, but don’t get used to it.

It will come back...the fire, that is.

It always does.

Even you.

Even you.

Neighbour Girl.

Neighbour Girl.