2004-08-17..4:41 p.m.

I was awakened this morning at HALFPAST FOUR simultaneously FROM dreaming of mouldy beetroot and BY mosquitoes immersed in a riotous bloodbath on my left ankle. Trenches had been dug out on either side of the sharp edge of my ankle bone to protect the luxury inlaid swimming pools and palm-lined holiday camps they�d opened up: Fun for the Whole Family!* It was agony such that only gouging half the skin away could soothe the pain. I lay there for a bit, letting my throbbing nerve-endings adjusted to their new-found exposure, and slowly became aware of something happening in my stomach. The image of white rimmed blue pods clamped to the plump surface of pickled beetroot kept swimming into focus and suddenly an old locomotive was barrelling down my intestinal tract and threatening to slam into reverse. It didn�t mind you. That is to say, I wasn�t ill. Just doubled-over with the pain, and trying not to bite through my lip.

* What is it that makes my blood the tasty gorgeous variety? It stinks. (or maybe that's the problem.. it DOESN'T stink, just smells of sugar and sweetness and rose petals and turkish delight. Pah.)

All this culminated in this morning�s walk to ensure it was not merely enhanced by the usual caress and teasing of the breeze through the soft growth of billowing leg hair (have GOT to wax, already!). No, no. Today I was also treated to an ammonia laced zephyr grating past the buttresses and turrets of flagging skin and the gravely ache of a leaden stomach. Other than that, I feel GREAT today!

I got to play Foosball and drink coffee at seven which didn�t then leave me spinning mentally in an uncontrollable void of sleep deprivation. I WON at the Foosball. ME!? Win at a Table Sport!? I know, you would be right in considering that crazy. I have no idea how it happened, probably because I�m even more nervous with all those flailing glued legs than I am 16 balls that could suddenly fly off the table and smack you in the teeth. But win I did and not once, but twice. M was astounded, but a fairly good sport about it. He managed to contain his mad competitive tantrums to internal blips and eye-twitching. I might be seeing Kate tonight and think that if I do, I may well have to seduce her into a game or two.

(An Aside: Being one of the Foos players must be extraordinarily frustrating. If indeed they are conscious of their inability to kick freely and harpooned state of being as my caffeine adled brain speculated last night.)

I managed to get in proper pre-bed reading as well as some proper pre-bed writing, emptying the build-up of extraneous bilge that plagues my pre-sleep conscience and refuses REM sleep. It was lovely to do some writing with no strings attached. My inner Mother Guilt Complex is staggering sometimes, particularly when it comes to updating this site. Occasionally I�ll NOT update purely to exercise some form of rebellion against myself, but end up feeling head-reelingly guilty about it and have to update twice or three times the next day to catch up. The same sort of stampede of Glaring Neglect comes with writing (or avoiding) reviews, except that then it�s not just me who I�m disappointing, but my editor and the rest of the magazine. So, yes. Last night�s indulgent, superlative even, spree of writing was not only cleansing, but uplifting in that I know I can still do it. I also yogaed for a while before going to bed, and so (apart from fending the midnight mosquito rampage and trying not to be sick) awoke fresh and unspindly. M�s been trying to teach me how to backflip onto my bed from the floor, and I think with a little more yoga that little bedroom trick will be mine. Or a little practice. Or learning not to fear smashing my toes against the fireplace my bed lies parallel against. Maybe.

****meep