2004-04-27..4:35 p.m.

I had a dream last night that for all the coffee in the world, I can�t seem to piece back together. And I�d like to, because I got a Frisbee out of it. It was at this highschool reunion conference thing, we sat in a large half circle on those uncomfortable wooden chairs that stack awkwardly and splinter when you try to separate them. I think the idea was that who ever had the best story got to chose one of six Frisbees. They were mounted on a wall and flanked by sweeping velvet curtains, like a Punch and Judy show. I had announced I was living in London to tumultuous applause and got to take one home. Then we spent what felt like an eternity pulling tacks out of the cork board.

The other night I dreamt my Nan was a bald Ewok, which worried me slightly right up until I talked to her on the phone the other day and she was all her ancient cockney self. Did I tell you this already?

My eyes are itchy and blind because of the stupid pollen. Stupid pollen. I�m allergic to all kinds of dust, but throw pollen into the mix and I�m sunk like one of Al Capone�s rival�s into the Chicago river.

Weekend was full of shopping for highheels and succeeding, shopping for books and succeeding, and squeezing out as much as my mum�s remaining weekend as possible and succeeding. On the whole, rather successful. FANTASTIC books though: that Jean Rhys book of Steves that's based in part, or at least inspired by Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse (the more I thought about it, the more I wished to take it home and rumple its pages), AND � *big breath* � and THE BRISTISH SPY NOVEL!!!!!!! A critical study on the British Spy Novel in its developing years and its effect on modern (and post-modern) literature. Sigh. I�m positively shaking gaspily with sheer excitement. My excitement is beyond sheer. Beyond translucency. It�s luminescent.

Unfortunately I can�t do anything about reading it until I�ve finished with all the writely commitments I�ve committed myself to, which are considerable and daunting. So why I�ve agreed to do the door at the Rats tonight I know not, and am sure to be quite overcome with the bruising of having kicked myself in the ass tomorrow.

The Mum concert on Sunday was phenomenal. I left feeling like I�d spent the night being told a story I could only ever be half aware the power of. That sounds unbelievably pretentious, but had you been there, you�d know it simply means I felt like I was four again: awestruck and humbled by how small I am in the best way you can feel that.