my main problem with being sick is my emotional reaction. i turn into a blubbering wreck the minute i start getting the aches. it's not suprising that i've got some form of chest infection (although being able to breathe properly again sometime soon would be a bonus), but i'm looking forward to presenting the doctor with my little list of silent migraines (or whatever the hell the trippy swirly visions i've been having are) and lack of feeling in my fingers, which has been going on for a good few weeks now. meanwhile, i'm just going to sit here, feel sorry for myself, worry about work and cry.
okay, so i'll probably watch some buffy as well. it's not all bad.
bought myself a heartbreak of cigarettes
even water stung the creases of my face
ache of wine
although longed for
is quite unwelcome
(it's a drowning drink)
i dreamt of dirt and boredom
willed the faces away
it's merely a common or garden malaise
ache of wine
although longed for
is quite unwelcome
(it's a drowning drink)
i dreamt of dirt and boredom
willed the faces away
it's merely a common or garden malaise
let it breathe
thinking
that i don't feel like myself
and i can't put my finger on it
thinking
thats it's almost like anger
but dry and detached, and not specific
thinking
that this quiet morning feels familiar
in an old-time way
thinking
that if i think too much i'll fracture this
cosy little world i've slipped into
that i don't feel like myself
and i can't put my finger on it
thinking
thats it's almost like anger
but dry and detached, and not specific
thinking
that this quiet morning feels familiar
in an old-time way
thinking
that if i think too much i'll fracture this
cosy little world i've slipped into
on the sunny side of life
it's a light-bathed corner overlooking a sky that breathes easy after a week of choking clouds
in a city that breathed easy for one lost day
it's a certain smell that takes me right back to the evening when i returned, walking, to a new home, where already (and true to form) an ironing board stood waiting
in a town that i wished violently to make mine
it's night after night wrapped close and warm in a fort of pillows
in a quiet certainty that i'd convinced myself i'd never find
i was thinking only this morning that sleeping next to someone is just about the sweetest gift
but my words come only haltingly and fall flat
it's an easiness with living that's taken so many years to find
in a city that breathed easy for one lost day
it's a certain smell that takes me right back to the evening when i returned, walking, to a new home, where already (and true to form) an ironing board stood waiting
in a town that i wished violently to make mine
it's night after night wrapped close and warm in a fort of pillows
in a quiet certainty that i'd convinced myself i'd never find
i was thinking only this morning that sleeping next to someone is just about the sweetest gift
but my words come only haltingly and fall flat
it's an easiness with living that's taken so many years to find
when the pawn...
the movements to me seemed unnatural, accustomed as i am to jumping and only ever in one direction-
the sheer scope was for a while overwhelming;
that something can so quickly go so far.
there was something pleasing, though, in the ritual of it,
the naming and the dance,
and i can see how people while away hours just staring at the possibilities.
i've never missed someone quite so keenly,
or felt so utterly pointless when alone.
for a while last night i tried to be sociable,
seeing that i've been failing quite miserably of late
to put up with more than an hour or two in group company;
strange to sidle in to an unknown collective, their own habits and histories
winding around them almost visibly with the smoke
and not knowing what will please
or at least connect.
i excused myself from the party before they left, all scarved up,
the balloons that had been passed round now scattered on the floor.
nitrous oxide makes me feel seventeen again,
although it always seemed too frivolous a pastime
when i was actually in my teens
(they call it the hippie heroin, and i was vehemently
not a hippie, despite all the prog rock and the flares
and the weed. for the first few days of university,
when we were all acclimatising to the new walls,
the new faces,
i was alive with the possibility of finally
Making a Statement.
i hung around with two goths for two days,
but even by the end of the first,
when i found myself sitting on the floor and listening to talk of tarot cards
and how rock and hip hop should really be tried together!,
i was disgusted by pigeon holes).
i've been living in my new flat for three weeks now,
its boards and floors growing more familiar each day. on my windowsill,
tulips leap from a glass and seem to curve like smiles.
the sheer scope was for a while overwhelming;
that something can so quickly go so far.
there was something pleasing, though, in the ritual of it,
the naming and the dance,
and i can see how people while away hours just staring at the possibilities.
i've never missed someone quite so keenly,
or felt so utterly pointless when alone.
for a while last night i tried to be sociable,
seeing that i've been failing quite miserably of late
to put up with more than an hour or two in group company;
strange to sidle in to an unknown collective, their own habits and histories
winding around them almost visibly with the smoke
and not knowing what will please
or at least connect.
i excused myself from the party before they left, all scarved up,
the balloons that had been passed round now scattered on the floor.
nitrous oxide makes me feel seventeen again,
although it always seemed too frivolous a pastime
when i was actually in my teens
(they call it the hippie heroin, and i was vehemently
not a hippie, despite all the prog rock and the flares
and the weed. for the first few days of university,
when we were all acclimatising to the new walls,
the new faces,
i was alive with the possibility of finally
Making a Statement.
i hung around with two goths for two days,
but even by the end of the first,
when i found myself sitting on the floor and listening to talk of tarot cards
and how rock and hip hop should really be tried together!,
i was disgusted by pigeon holes).
i've been living in my new flat for three weeks now,
its boards and floors growing more familiar each day. on my windowsill,
tulips leap from a glass and seem to curve like smiles.
the great indoors
it was already beginning to grow dark when i left the house, although it was barely afternoon. the glorious sunshine had given way to a sort of dull but content grey, and with numb fingers and a shiver that seemed neverending i hurried along old street, my hood pulled firmly around my face, to my first official flat viewing.
and all the while remembering. last night was a delight, watching so many of my friends gathered in the glow from my hastily assembled fairy lights and candles, soon-to-be-regretted smoke curling from their fingers... drinks were mixed and downed, food was thrown into the oven, forgotten about, and then eaten wincingly as the too-hot pastry steamed fresh. if i could gather everyone together, all these people in my life, the friends, colleagues, friend/colleagues, acquaintances, barely-knowns... i'd just never stop smiling. it's something i'm learning and loving more and more, day-to-day, this complete and utter love for everyone who's special to me. and it grows and grows, can only grow, as the tiny intricacies, the tiny annoyances, the tiny endearments make themselves gradually known. the quirks and weaknesses. it's why i don't 'do' relationships, i think. because how can you choose one person when there could be someone just as special round the corner?
and this is, and will be, my downfall. as ever. my first viewing went like a dream. i only met the girl who's moving out of the flat (and within minutes we were giggling and i was promising to get hold of some shrooms for her to try before she returns to the states), but left with the promise of meeting the actual flatmates within the next couple of days. and then, most fantastically of all, i simply walked around the corner to clerkenwell road before heading back to hackney. the sheer thrill of living so centrally would, i think, keep me going for a good long while in the smiles stakes.
so there's one more person to add to the list of fun! interesting! i walked slowly back to hackney, killing time and sipping a bubble tea - possibly the oddest drink ever - and fully preparing myself to dismiss the next flat (having been told, a couple of times, that the room there would only be very small). i think in my head, having been going by the picture on the internet (and incidentally, thank god for that aspect of technology), i was expecting something very modern, very clean, very antiseptic. i couldn't have been more wrong. the room is small, yes - a bed, a set of drawers and bugger all room for anything else - but the flat! oh, the flat! high ceilings, the craziest selection of furniture you've ever seen, a floating staircase... it was like a warehouse conversion, only not in a warehouse. two girls live there, both of whom work in music (and yes, the opportunity to noodle with them and their music biz friends is part of the appeal), and we had a great chat before the probably-insane landlady popped round to get her post and tell me, with a shrug, that i could move in whenever i like, and that her and her partner could help me, since they have a camper van and all. and finally, whilst it's not clerkenwell, it is hackney - and i do fucking love hackney.
now, of course, the practical part of my brain is yelling at me not to rush into anything. i've half-heartedly made another couple of calls to people offering rooms in brick lane for, shrug, affordable sums of money. but i just can't shake the feeling that i've found exactly what i was looking for. my gut instinct when i replied to this girl's ad was right. and it's only a bed to sleep in, at the end of the day.
oh, the decisions...
and all the while remembering. last night was a delight, watching so many of my friends gathered in the glow from my hastily assembled fairy lights and candles, soon-to-be-regretted smoke curling from their fingers... drinks were mixed and downed, food was thrown into the oven, forgotten about, and then eaten wincingly as the too-hot pastry steamed fresh. if i could gather everyone together, all these people in my life, the friends, colleagues, friend/colleagues, acquaintances, barely-knowns... i'd just never stop smiling. it's something i'm learning and loving more and more, day-to-day, this complete and utter love for everyone who's special to me. and it grows and grows, can only grow, as the tiny intricacies, the tiny annoyances, the tiny endearments make themselves gradually known. the quirks and weaknesses. it's why i don't 'do' relationships, i think. because how can you choose one person when there could be someone just as special round the corner?
and this is, and will be, my downfall. as ever. my first viewing went like a dream. i only met the girl who's moving out of the flat (and within minutes we were giggling and i was promising to get hold of some shrooms for her to try before she returns to the states), but left with the promise of meeting the actual flatmates within the next couple of days. and then, most fantastically of all, i simply walked around the corner to clerkenwell road before heading back to hackney. the sheer thrill of living so centrally would, i think, keep me going for a good long while in the smiles stakes.
so there's one more person to add to the list of fun! interesting! i walked slowly back to hackney, killing time and sipping a bubble tea - possibly the oddest drink ever - and fully preparing myself to dismiss the next flat (having been told, a couple of times, that the room there would only be very small). i think in my head, having been going by the picture on the internet (and incidentally, thank god for that aspect of technology), i was expecting something very modern, very clean, very antiseptic. i couldn't have been more wrong. the room is small, yes - a bed, a set of drawers and bugger all room for anything else - but the flat! oh, the flat! high ceilings, the craziest selection of furniture you've ever seen, a floating staircase... it was like a warehouse conversion, only not in a warehouse. two girls live there, both of whom work in music (and yes, the opportunity to noodle with them and their music biz friends is part of the appeal), and we had a great chat before the probably-insane landlady popped round to get her post and tell me, with a shrug, that i could move in whenever i like, and that her and her partner could help me, since they have a camper van and all. and finally, whilst it's not clerkenwell, it is hackney - and i do fucking love hackney.
now, of course, the practical part of my brain is yelling at me not to rush into anything. i've half-heartedly made another couple of calls to people offering rooms in brick lane for, shrug, affordable sums of money. but i just can't shake the feeling that i've found exactly what i was looking for. my gut instinct when i replied to this girl's ad was right. and it's only a bed to sleep in, at the end of the day.
oh, the decisions...
life is repeatedly smoothing over cracks
fifteen nights straight i've been crawling back home in the early hours, which doesn't leave much time for philosophising, or much else for that matter, but as long as life keeps rushing past like this, one hour leaking into the next like so many rotten apples, as long as i can't stop to think, then everything will be okay because that's just how it works. the constant making-right of all the tiny mistakes we make from day to day.
some perfect moments though, even amidst the seeping time and gnawing worry of everything slowly slipping backwards, as everything is wont to do -
- a group of tourists gathering huge autumn-fallen leaves on the corner of kingsway
- falling asleep in (a few) someone's arms
- sitting below paper lamps in a soho vegan cafe with neon lights and people blinking in and out of view beyond the glass and la vie boheme repeating over and over in my mind
- dancing on the ninth floor in my best friend's apartment whilst fireworks explode in the distance, with only the whisper of an echo of a bang
- steam from my cup of tea reflecting orange from the strip lights that line the royal festival hall
- eating in an empty thai restaurant with only the crazy lady proprieter for company, and tasting coconut for hours afterwards
- my friend's baby's eyes as she turns and looks into mine, and her smile that is a mirror of both her parents, and her tiny hand clasping my finger, and twice in a week!
it's never good to focus on the negative. my mind is skittery, so apologies for this all-over-the-place writing.
tomorrow (today... yet again, it's 2 in the morning) is my first day At Home for... a long time. i tend to panic when i haven't filled my days with people, but tomorrow, until my friend comes for dinner in the evening, i think i'll enjoy keeping myself to myself.
there's a new playlist up, by the way...
some perfect moments though, even amidst the seeping time and gnawing worry of everything slowly slipping backwards, as everything is wont to do -
- a group of tourists gathering huge autumn-fallen leaves on the corner of kingsway
- falling asleep in (a few) someone's arms
- sitting below paper lamps in a soho vegan cafe with neon lights and people blinking in and out of view beyond the glass and la vie boheme repeating over and over in my mind
- dancing on the ninth floor in my best friend's apartment whilst fireworks explode in the distance, with only the whisper of an echo of a bang
- steam from my cup of tea reflecting orange from the strip lights that line the royal festival hall
- eating in an empty thai restaurant with only the crazy lady proprieter for company, and tasting coconut for hours afterwards
- my friend's baby's eyes as she turns and looks into mine, and her smile that is a mirror of both her parents, and her tiny hand clasping my finger, and twice in a week!
it's never good to focus on the negative. my mind is skittery, so apologies for this all-over-the-place writing.
tomorrow (today... yet again, it's 2 in the morning) is my first day At Home for... a long time. i tend to panic when i haven't filled my days with people, but tomorrow, until my friend comes for dinner in the evening, i think i'll enjoy keeping myself to myself.
there's a new playlist up, by the way...
they won't let you smoke and you can't get drunk
feeling a wreck? aren't we all. winter hit hard and fast this week, and it's been a regular cavalcade of joy. i'm feeling all gritty with a cold, my housemate has put down a deposit on a flat with her boyfriend leaving me to find somewhere else to live, and last night i didn't sleep at all thanks to the rather nasty fight that broke out on our street. after a morning spent giving statements to the police (i'm such a curtain-twitcher) and enduring all the unpleasant close-to-home type memories that have followed the incident, i'm left wanting nothing more than to get blind drunk, which is essentially what i've done every other night this week so far. why spoil the pattern?
and so it's a cheery return to the blog...
and so it's a cheery return to the blog...
i hate this part right here
very very quickly i'll write this since i have to go back to work
i have no internet at the moment
by which i mean my housemate does, but she is often asleep or otherwise engaged in her room so that i can't use it
and i've had no spare time for going to the library
this weekened i may have some time for going to the library
but in the meantime, as an update, because i have these couple of minutes at the end of my lunch break:
i'm tired from working
i'm miserable but not from working
i'm bored mainly from working
and i have been tearful for too many weeks now, working or no
how jolly depressing
i'm not actually depressed though
that is all
i have no internet at the moment
by which i mean my housemate does, but she is often asleep or otherwise engaged in her room so that i can't use it
and i've had no spare time for going to the library
this weekened i may have some time for going to the library
but in the meantime, as an update, because i have these couple of minutes at the end of my lunch break:
i'm tired from working
i'm miserable but not from working
i'm bored mainly from working
and i have been tearful for too many weeks now, working or no
how jolly depressing
i'm not actually depressed though
that is all
spoonfuls
i've always had something of a mary poppins-style approach to cleaning. and life, actually, when i come to think of it. sugar, music and brief flurries of intense work followed by lots of mooching around to music, eyeing up mirrors and getting a little bit dirty with inappropriate men.
i've spent nearly fourteen hours at work today, and still it's not as tidy as i want it to be, but i do have the pleasant sensation of having held out my hands and watched the lettered blocks fly neatly into place between them.
ah, order. quickly followed by beer. time for home!
i've spent nearly fourteen hours at work today, and still it's not as tidy as i want it to be, but i do have the pleasant sensation of having held out my hands and watched the lettered blocks fly neatly into place between them.
ah, order. quickly followed by beer. time for home!
now i only see the garden when they read the weather
i once bought a handbag for £1.50 from a cheap shoe shop in reading. i often bought cheap shoes from there, some with high heels, but that's another story. this handbag was kooky. it was green, with a cream-coloured faux-wool lining, and i thought it looked a little like a sickly sheep, and plus it was only £1.50, so i bought it.
i stuck badges on the front, because i was in college now and could, and for extra kookiness i added my blue peter badge, which i'd won when i was 10 for a poem that me and my friend natasha sent in. it was about witches, and it rhymed, and was funny. it took us about 2 hours to type it up on the computer at natasha's house, because we didn't really know how to use computers, because we were only 10, and we were too early for the ipod generation.
anyway. this handbag was very small, which pleased me because i could only fit a couple of books into it and this forced me to travel light, which is one of my great aims in life (nowadays i fail on a daily basis thanks to the wonders and endless possibilities of the canvas bag that we all now carry in the event of doing shopping, or picking up a paper on the way home). i was very fond of the bag, and its array of badges (one of them read 'betty ford clinic' which, as a trainee alcoholic, i found endlessly amusing. it came off kerrang! magazine, i think).
then one day my blue peter badge disappeared. into thin air. it was a scandal - someone must have stolen it! i thought that it had most probably just dropped off, maybe knocked by someone else's bag (and besides the pin was slightly worn after six or so years of use) but my friends were adamant that my badge must have been the victim of a cruel crime, targeted for its evident value, and was likely now sitting proudly in the drawer of some boy or girl who, too cool to write to blue peter aged 10, had always longed for a badge of their very own. this, of course, didn't really narrow down the list of suspects, so after a day of speculation my little badge was forgotten.
a week later i started using a different bag, and decided i was too grown up for badges.
i remembered this yesterday, and i also remembered another poem that i wrote for blue peter (i don't recall actually watching the show, but there was something thrilling about writing to proper television people). it was about the new year. it went like this:
welcome new year
welcome here
welcome to this place
out in space
i think it was a very good poem.
i stuck badges on the front, because i was in college now and could, and for extra kookiness i added my blue peter badge, which i'd won when i was 10 for a poem that me and my friend natasha sent in. it was about witches, and it rhymed, and was funny. it took us about 2 hours to type it up on the computer at natasha's house, because we didn't really know how to use computers, because we were only 10, and we were too early for the ipod generation.
anyway. this handbag was very small, which pleased me because i could only fit a couple of books into it and this forced me to travel light, which is one of my great aims in life (nowadays i fail on a daily basis thanks to the wonders and endless possibilities of the canvas bag that we all now carry in the event of doing shopping, or picking up a paper on the way home). i was very fond of the bag, and its array of badges (one of them read 'betty ford clinic' which, as a trainee alcoholic, i found endlessly amusing. it came off kerrang! magazine, i think).
then one day my blue peter badge disappeared. into thin air. it was a scandal - someone must have stolen it! i thought that it had most probably just dropped off, maybe knocked by someone else's bag (and besides the pin was slightly worn after six or so years of use) but my friends were adamant that my badge must have been the victim of a cruel crime, targeted for its evident value, and was likely now sitting proudly in the drawer of some boy or girl who, too cool to write to blue peter aged 10, had always longed for a badge of their very own. this, of course, didn't really narrow down the list of suspects, so after a day of speculation my little badge was forgotten.
a week later i started using a different bag, and decided i was too grown up for badges.
i remembered this yesterday, and i also remembered another poem that i wrote for blue peter (i don't recall actually watching the show, but there was something thrilling about writing to proper television people). it was about the new year. it went like this:
welcome new year
welcome here
welcome to this place
out in space
i think it was a very good poem.
and they always have messy handbags!
i forgot to mention...
i spent a good part of my saturday (before going to a friend's to watch spaced and drink beer - and yes, that's a valid social activity) reading a horrible, horrible chick lit novel called be careful what you wish for which, naturally, i loved. the premise, loosely, is that the protagonist (heather) is in a bit of a mess until a gypsy woman gives her some lucky, you guessed it, heather, and suddenly all her wishes seem to come true. of course, she realises by the end of the novel that a perfect life is actually quite an unhappy one, that things aren't meant to just go to plan (oh, joyous chaos!) and that, yes, she's in love with her best mate. la la la.
anyway, i had lots of fun immersing myself in the awful girliness of the thing and as usual (when reading chick lit, which i promise isn't too often) started internally narrating my life as if i were the main character in a cheesy book. and guess what? it paid off! queuing in tesco to feed my slightly worrying mozarella-and-wine habit (how delightfully bridget jones!), the guy i'd just been making eyes at in the dairy aisle came up to me to ask for my number!
now obviously, this happens fairly often in london. it's hard to walk down the street in my locale without some guy half-heartedly following you asking for a date or being slightly less delicate and just going straight for the dirty talk (headphones, thankfully, render any inappropriate requests completely inaudible - thank you, mobile music technology). but still - it was a warm, damp sunday evening just off brick lane, which lent itself perfectly to the little chick lit bubble i was walking around in, so i'm going to ignore reality (he'll inevitably be desperate, an idiot, a teenager or - gag - a student, and therefore all three) for a while longer and remember the whole thing with a smile.
i might, however, lay off the girly fiction for a while. some nice gritty crime should sort me right out.
i spent a good part of my saturday (before going to a friend's to watch spaced and drink beer - and yes, that's a valid social activity) reading a horrible, horrible chick lit novel called be careful what you wish for which, naturally, i loved. the premise, loosely, is that the protagonist (heather) is in a bit of a mess until a gypsy woman gives her some lucky, you guessed it, heather, and suddenly all her wishes seem to come true. of course, she realises by the end of the novel that a perfect life is actually quite an unhappy one, that things aren't meant to just go to plan (oh, joyous chaos!) and that, yes, she's in love with her best mate. la la la.
anyway, i had lots of fun immersing myself in the awful girliness of the thing and as usual (when reading chick lit, which i promise isn't too often) started internally narrating my life as if i were the main character in a cheesy book. and guess what? it paid off! queuing in tesco to feed my slightly worrying mozarella-and-wine habit (how delightfully bridget jones!), the guy i'd just been making eyes at in the dairy aisle came up to me to ask for my number!
now obviously, this happens fairly often in london. it's hard to walk down the street in my locale without some guy half-heartedly following you asking for a date or being slightly less delicate and just going straight for the dirty talk (headphones, thankfully, render any inappropriate requests completely inaudible - thank you, mobile music technology). but still - it was a warm, damp sunday evening just off brick lane, which lent itself perfectly to the little chick lit bubble i was walking around in, so i'm going to ignore reality (he'll inevitably be desperate, an idiot, a teenager or - gag - a student, and therefore all three) for a while longer and remember the whole thing with a smile.
i might, however, lay off the girly fiction for a while. some nice gritty crime should sort me right out.
achoo
having been hungover now for three days in a row, i'm hiding from the sunshine for just a little bit longer before i venture out. i'm thinking, maybe i should give blood this morning? think they'll mind the high alcohol levels?
myself and a friend spent our sunday chasing clues round the city as part of a launch event for slinkachu's new book, little people in the city, which documents a series of his installations. you'll see his tiny figurines dotted around the streets and parks of london, if you keep your eyes peeled.
i am so in love with being on holiday.
myself and a friend spent our sunday chasing clues round the city as part of a launch event for slinkachu's new book, little people in the city, which documents a series of his installations. you'll see his tiny figurines dotted around the streets and parks of london, if you keep your eyes peeled.
i am so in love with being on holiday.
whatever happened to nico blue?
somewhat choked up and disturbed in equal measures by this:
i always hoped this wouldn't happen. fingers crossed we don't see frances bean belting out teen spirit at any point in the future...
i always hoped this wouldn't happen. fingers crossed we don't see frances bean belting out teen spirit at any point in the future...
walks like a pharaoh, dresses in day-glo
oh god oh god
all i heard was 'you've seen the flat'
and given the conversation i thought we were having i assumed the worst
and prepared myself for the downward glance, the modest smile, the evasive answers -
because if i'd ever kept one secret i wanted it to be this one
because there would be no need for anyone to know
because i'm still not sure how i feel about even looking at him
but it turned out that we were talking about something, someone, completely different
i caught the n38 and smiled all the way home
they're gonna throw it back to you
into the shop the other day walked a man who has based his entire life around the now! that's what i call music series. he was born the year the series was, in 1983, and has every single record on vinyl or cd. his opening line, when he approached the counter, was 'oh, i do love my pop music!'. whatever birthdate and year combination we threw at him, he could tell us the day of the week and the number one single on that day.
once i'd overcome my awe, i came home and dug out the few now! cds in my own collection. did you know that the bestselling to date is number 44? my littlesister owns that one. sob. but regardless, the last couple of days have been very, very nineties for me.
i think mainly it was nice to have some sort of justification for my own current obsession with the latest now! cds. such teenage joy! so many exclamation marks! and i've discovered that i can now, after over a decade, finally bear listening to oasis, although this might have more to do with my love for the ryan adams cover of wonderwall than the assault of time on my usual good taste...
your soul's a bowl of jokes
at one in the morning, with the drone of a police helicopter echoing through my open window and a ladybird rattling against my lampshade, i was still wide awake, staring blankly at the purple mountain range of my duvet against the white wall
instead of sleeping, i read a book
ate some toast
drank a beer
and finally drifted away for an hour or so before waking to a cold, wintry morning
not quite rimy, but certainly cooler than august should be
i found a message this morning on myspace
(not quite as smile-inducing as one a couple of weeks ago, which said simply, 'you look like you appreciate nice lingerie - how about we go shopping for some then you can come back to mine to try it on?')
and i quote - 'hey babe u look like my tipe'
but my type, sadly for him, is definitely dark
with kind, sparkling eyes
something i realised through the wine of saturday evening
(because of the wine?)
i'm starting to consider going to church to try it out
i don't think i can believe, but i think i might like the company of it...
o my soul o my soul
on the lawn in the sunshine, mid photos, she joined us as we waited our turn, and for a minute we just clutched hands tightly. it was only me needing the reassurance. the day was so perfect, she was so calm and so beautiful and just plain ready for this, whilst all day i was holding back panicked tears. as if something had been severed, finally. my fellow wanderer, as separate as we've been for so many years now, has sealed her future, and i feel as if i'm still standing in that bright sunlight with a blur of white and tartan flashing around me, the day passing too quickly until they disappear, taillights in the night, and me crying into the shadows.
everything is flat and tired. all i want is something bright, something to hold on to, something to make smiling worthwhile again. i tried to describe all this to maleparent as he attempted to force some fruit into my system (even blueberries are boring! this is madness!). for years i was heavy with it, this feeling of nothingness, but it was a dark, storm-cloud nothingness that weighed and dragged and surrounded me. now, i feel as if i'm floating, with barely an emotion registering, and the tears that come are like tiny pinpricks of sad. like being rained on even as you hold your face into the sun, hoping for rainbows.
everything is flat and tired. all i want is something bright, something to hold on to, something to make smiling worthwhile again. i tried to describe all this to maleparent as he attempted to force some fruit into my system (even blueberries are boring! this is madness!). for years i was heavy with it, this feeling of nothingness, but it was a dark, storm-cloud nothingness that weighed and dragged and surrounded me. now, i feel as if i'm floating, with barely an emotion registering, and the tears that come are like tiny pinpricks of sad. like being rained on even as you hold your face into the sun, hoping for rainbows.
i love the chosen one, loving him is so much fun
shortly after having been admonished by a bus driver for being too hasty with my oyster, and having apologised bemusedly, i was back in shoreditch and walking slowly towards the owl and the pussycat. you know when you watch dramas and sitcoms as a child, and everyone's dealing with "issues"? that's the feeling, right there. suddenly life seems to have switched up a gear. every time she mentioned the word 'wedding', i flinched.
leaving the pub with the latter day's wedding roses clutched in our hands, we walked through the rain and laughed as a teenager hung out of a car window to yell, before disappearing back inside, "you and me, yeah? i've got a condom on me!".
so - me, hanging out with christians. i still managed to deftly avoid saying anything incriminating, save maybe for my reply to "were you at gracechurch today?" - admitting to being at work on a sunday. a crime? i'm still not sure. the evening passed in a veritable symphony of contented smiles; sharing bread and cheese and cheap, sweet wine. and me simply welcomed without question.
i walked home in the hour of one, listening to the same chords over and over, through the church yard in the rain, and thinking, thinking... religion. does anyone else feel cheated? because i sat there watching the happiness, just as i'd sat listening to the ardour of the gospel choir earlier in the day, and just grew increasingly angry. wouldn't it be so much simpler to believe in something? to be denied through cynicism seems a little cruel. although i still don't understand how anyone remains uncynical, or how such blind faith can actually exist. it's precious, and completely out of reach.
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strangers