2004-03-30..4:33 p.m.

Over the weekend Nelle was faced with meeting up with this guy with whom she had had one of those perfect micro-relationships that belong in their own spectral of time. We�d both always sort of stuck that moment on a pedestal. It was a perfect little moment that she could forever look back on and know she�s the coolest kid on the planet for ever having been in that position. It�s the sort of thing that EVERY SINLGE GIRL who had EVER KNOWN HIM cursed her with boils out of envy. Anyway, despite the fact she had told him about being in a perfectly happy relationship and the falling in love, et al. he STILL tried it on! What a jerky thing to do. There is no way I could have foreseen that, I�m utterly disappointed in him. The fact that he knew about Mike too just loosens the petals around that garland of great romance even further. The only good thing to come of all this is that she discovered that she really does have a happy relationship and really is in love and even the prospect of reigniting weren�t enough to jeopardise that. So despite the fact I�m not *over* keen on the Mike dude, the fact it�s been made real for her does put it in a new light. Basically, I appreciate the fact that an illicit snog with Steffi (she succumbed to the pressure, but only briefly, for Nelle is a good girl) made a big neon flashing sign of the fact that she really is totally into Mike, and because of that it wasn�t so much *illicit* as just a *thing* she happened to do w the guy. Like taking him to the King Charles bridge. That�s pretty cool.

I sort of experienced a similar hit of closure on Friday. I took off after lunch, using a scrap of holiday pay for a cheeky afternoon of PAID reviewing! Anyway, I got home and there was a number on my phone that I didn�t recognise, so called it and it was Michael. In the same way Nelle�s lack of responsiveness to the guy released a sense of liberation, I suddenly realised that it was ME trying to hurry myself off the phone. It wasn�t just that I had a shitload of work to get done (thus justifying using up precious holiday pay), I just couldn�t be arsed to sit around listening to him whine about how he might not bother doing his final exams because there�s no point and his dissertation sucked and everyone else in the world is having fun but he has to work FIVE WHOLE DAYS IN A ROW! WHAT? SCANDEL! It was really weird, but good.

Right. Why am I knackered? That would because a. I came home Sunday to find the disk containing EACH AND EVERY REVIEW I HAVE EVER WRITTEN mysteriously wiped itself in the night and have been frantically trying to recoup ever since. Sunday was essentially a write off, I slept most of the evening and then couldn�t sleep when I was supposed to and was up until 2 trying to sleepily cobble something from memory. I took the afternoon off yesterday too (Go holiday pay! Whoo!) and managed to get two finished, but still didn�t get to bed until about half1 and even then lay awake for ages trying to work out where everything was going. I�ve been saving EVERYTHING now thricely, and damn the man if I lose anything again. And b. (haha, you thought I forgot the b.) I came home on Sunday at half4. Even if I include the daylights savings it was still in the AFTERNOON. This is because the ball of yarn dropped. The MONSTER CRUSH and I stopped in at his on the way home from the Betsy to talk for four hours, some whiskey, and a paw through his vast record collection. Some time around 5 we go to bed and sleep a couple of hours having agreed not to *do anything* because of the working together thing and promptly spend the next seven hours romping giddily, figuring out what else we can do to get each other off. In general a gorgeous lovely time that ended really quite sweetly with brunch and another two hour mental meander. Gorgeous and lovely.

Of course, since then, between trying to salvage reviews and fighting to stay awake, I�ve been so utterly horny I�ve been practically sitting in a puddle. Not helpful in either review cobbling, or maintaining levels of coherency. Also not helpful because it has led to much fretting and angsting over the IF or if&when we next entertain ourselves so. I have no idea. I�m a bit muddled. Even more so than usual. I dig the guy. I really do, it�s not an every day occurrence that I find myself in bed with someone with whom I can spend just as much fun in as I do out. But the hopes are staying stunted like bonsai. So long I remember my position of Mere Mortal, I should be fine.

Ah Jeez. Enough of this kidney stoning. I saw the first ant of spring today. Screw the Robin, it�s all about when the ants start scrabbling over pavement.

Actually I did end up going to that exhibit at the Betsy, or trying to. By the time I got there, they had taken down all but three paintings. It turns out Hans Herman Viet was not displaying photography at all, but paintings. They ranged from the physically weighty to tiny card-sized thumbnail blocks of colour that swirled and squiggled in and out of shape, forcing you to engage with them on a far deeper level than simply their aesthetic value. Sort of a visual tangential exercise.

Speaking of tangential exercises. Remember my dream ordeal about the origins of the word �gambooled�? I was thrown a similar dream sequence over the similarly non-existent �incalcitrant� last night. I nearly had a freak-out last week when dictionary.com (yes, I get it. What a geek) announced it�s word of the day as GAMBOL! It�s an intransitive verb! It means to dance and skip about in play, or to frolic! It�s also a noun! It�s what you do when you�re skipping or leaping about in frolic! In Frolic!

Right. I�m going to now get back to work and continue waiting for the Magic Numbers manager to email me back so I can at least get that one sorted.

My tulips are bigger than yours, ****meep