2004-08-31..4:39 p.m.

I�m inexplicably suddenly very tired. I just found stick purple juice on my X key (that just sounds so dirty it�s making me feel like when I was six and nearly got my first sex joke � squirming and sly and not quite understanding the tugging warmth rising up from beneath my belly button, but knowing I was onto something. I think it�s from the plum I had with my breakfast, which is fairly illuminating. I must use my X key very little through out the day for work.) I�m full, but wanting to chew. I�m looking out the window at the leaves and wishing I were swinging from a bough. I�m looking at my desk and spotting a dancing tiny fly. I�m pondering how one can truly appreciate high art and metacultural references within the cataclysmic beauty of Joycean prose and his affecting modernist mode of questioning realities while begging their guy to �Please please please remember to bung Moonraker in your bag before you leave the house, I completely forgot to pick it up between juggling the enormous fatly footnoted 1922 release of Ulysses and a dog-eared edition of The Birth of Tragedy.� It�s like wondering if someone can properly enjoy a Burger King bean burrito after lingering over Braised Tofu Steaks with Lemon-Fennel Seared Asparagus, or claiming general opposition to capitalist oppressions while nearly gagging on one�s own tongue at the triumph of (having never even seen a copy) not only finding and then holding a 1965 Pan edition of Moonraker in one�s own hands but then BUYING the fucking thing (Yes to the first, gawd no! to the second, yes to the third and yes.) I�m waiting for Monday and Canada, I�m waiting for Tuesday and friends, I�m waiting for Wednesday and getting irritated for the first time in nearly a year and a half by my sister (in person). I�m wondering about the bludgeoning rain of bullfrogs in Magnolia and how satisfactory the careening thwack of frog flesh on the road, bouncing off cars and shattering glass was. I�m waiting for books to buy and pencils to sharpen and school to start. I�m looking for a bike. I�m doing an awful lot.

THINGS THAT NEVER FAIL ME:

+The plump ashy cloud that balloons down after thumbing at a cigarette end

+The quiet thud of a loose paving stone under foot

+The squelch of a crisp pear between your teeth

+The electric crackle of cellophane peeling

+Q�s drawn like Ramona; the flicker of a Q�s tail; the rotund stumbling of words like quiet, quickly, quaint, and quantum

+That initial numb purpleness of bruises

+Bright yellow cardboard boxes that house Brillo Pads and Easy-Off Microwave Wipes and Sunshine Laundry Detergent

+The flush in your midriff at the first swallow of coffee or hot chocolate

I spent the weekend eating and reading and doing things. Friday night I worked with my friend Liz. Saturday I ate pizza and drank loads of coffee and learned all about the Spand (like �fuck� the preposition is as appropriate as nouning, verbing, adverbing, and adjectiving it)(it means much the same thing, but has a definite origin [unlike �fuck� which is rumoured to come from many places]: it�s a tribute to the reverence of the Spandeau Ballet) while I was working with Sarah. I went Sausage and Mashing on Sunday, and then to Spitalfields (where I found my much-loved Moonraker.)(research darling. Research), the Notting Hill Carnival (where I ate and ate roasted corn on the cob and rice and peas and fried plantain and ice cream), and sprawled on the couch with M, watching films until 3am and laughing. Monday I took things to be dry cleaned (because I�m so posh like that) and introduced M to my Nan, who true to form made sure we ate and ate and looked at baby pictures and had tea and ate, and then we went home where M left me alone to pour over my *research* and then we ate.

Tonight I�m working and reading. I don�t think I need to eat for a week.

Now. Next weekend I�ll be packing up to fly home for two weeks and I want an escort on TUEDAY AFTERNOON to make sure I don�t go and blow all my cash at once and come for coffee with me too. Any takers? Let me know.

I'll write something a little more narrative tomorrow.

****meep