2004-08-20..4:31 p.m.

Today I feel like a wet bin-linerI felt like I slept too much, all unnecessarily groggy. It took almost four giant First World mugs of coffee to start to shift it, and I should NOT have been feeling like that at all because I did TWO lots of yoga yesterday too: one in the morning, one just before bed. Every time I go to move my bum aches and whines and tells me to quit it. Poor thing. And my eyes are drying out because of all the open windows and fans in the room. Those Rajah Princesses and peeps were crazy for wanting the dude with the peacock feather-fan waving all over the place. Their contacts would surely have shrivelled into crispy pea shells.

In any case the slowly ebbing grog might (might) be because yesterday I somehow slept until 9 O�CLOCK and had to call in sick (there was no way I could waltz in at ten like nothing had happened, so I used the stomach cramps of last week as my excuse and fended off the Mother Guilt by claiming toil.) Such an extraneous waste of time. A No-Purpose day off. I spent the entire day eating and watching TV and reading, but by half3 I was uninterested in Dedalus� Dublin and fed up with the lack of Ancient Greece on the History Channel. The rest of the afternoon was spent pretending to write, doing laundry and wishing people would hurry up and get home.

I�m on a much needed detox today. Water, fruit and more water is all until supper (yesterday�s gorgefest was THAT BAD), which will consist of tofu cutlets (drool), spinach and red pepper (sopping up wet spot on desk), and possibly frozen yogurt for desert (fall of chair in delight).

This weekend is to be a sort of mini-break with M* � I�m spending the ENTIRE weekend at his. A weekend in the (near) country full of barbeques and lazing and debating the merits of Stephen Merritt and James Joyce and poking each other to read bits of the paper we might have missed and going for drives. If the corn has yet to be harvested it is our plan to be Cob Rustlers a steal a few to have with our barbeque, or at least play at being Children of the Corn (because as we all know, no movies ever has anything GOOD coming out of corn fields, and this way we can play at being Lusty Zombies as well and try to eat each others brains) and then run away giggling under our breath and trying to hush each other in gasping fits while the farmer runs through with a sawn off shot gun yelling things like, �Stay off my land you pesky kids!�

*Speaking of M, I got a frantic email from him Wednesday morning apologising profusely for something he was reluctant to admit and when he finally got to the point it turns out that when making my bed he KNOCKED OVER my painting from Nelle. And SPILLED WATER on it. An ORIGINAL Nelle! This is the painting she gave me for Christmas. The painting she used up her Christmas acrylics from her parents to complete. For me. It�s a portrait of me taken from a photo series we collaborated on in the last week we lived together last year, it�s utterly beautiful and vibrant, the eyes are exactly mine (I�m not bragging here, I�m complimenting her artistry and talent, just so you know) and he goes and knocks WATER on it! I would collapse into a ball of aching quivering sobs if ANYTHING happened to it. I got all fidgety and worried because I couldn't run home to check and because he kept trying to assure me that he�d taken off the duvet cover and hung that to dry and that he remembered his art classes from GCSEs and was sure the paint was fine. Jesus. It turns out it was fine, but what a way to start the afternoon, I mean I'm thrilled he�s making the bed and everything, but watch the painting!

FOUR CONVERSATIONS I CONSIDERED BEFORE SLEEP

1. Takes place on the phone. I twirl the cord between my fingers and look coyly at my cat because this is about to become a private joke.

Me: Could you pick up my hairtie for me?

M: Yeah, sure.

Me: O wait! Could I ask another favour?

M: I dunno, two in one day?

Me: Nah, go on! It's not big!

M: I'll bet it is.

Me: No no no! It's nothing as big as that time I asked you to find me that pile of tofu and avocado eight feet high embedded with the Children Swords of Excaliber in Derbyshire. I just want you to bring me something.

M: Erm.. Ok. What?

Me: A model platypus made of chocolate easter eggs from last year and yellow peppers!

M: ...

Me: A Japanese Hamster that speaks in tongues!

M: ...

Me: Some chicken wire! In the shape of a tree! No! A Cactus! On the Moon!

M: ...

Me: Or the three pounds I left in my skirt pocket. It's hanging on the back of my chair

M: Now you're just being silly.

2. Walking down the street, two men in leather jackets looking concerned

-What do you think of the consequences

-Well, we�re not supposed to think

-Uh-huh

3. Same two men, this time lying in a bed. The bed is bathed in orange morning light. It is low to the ground. I think it might be a futon.

-Hey, Camus! Don�t hurt us!

-(continues to read his paper)

4. One of the above men wearing a denim lumber jacket. Leans over an oak picnic bench and motions for me to lean in as well. Pretends he�s talking about the weather before

-Quite good at mathics (winks conspiratorially and leaves)

-(I�m left struggling with frustration because surely he means mathematics. I put on a pair of black sunglasses and leave in the opposite direction.)

BACK TO MY WEEKEND

What I�m really hoping I�ll accomplish this weekend is finding (and purchasing) some of my reading list. I got the Sound and the Fury, Ulysses and Howard�s End the other day at the library, but none of the modernist readings. I need to brush up on Nietzsche and Bergson as well. I�d not ever read all of Ulysses, just snippets in Modren Brit Lit classes, and had never really looked at the criticism and footnoting with much interest, and yet the fifty odd pages of introduction at the start of the World Oxford Edition I absconded from the library were verily consumed and I�m looking forward to getting this show rolling. If only I had cared that it takes place over the course of one day, if only I had given a rats ass that it influenced Ginnie when she was thinking of Mrs Dalloway (one of my FAVOURITE books of all time), if only someone had told me just how densely fascinating the publication woes and trauma�s are! So much I now find myself needing to catch up on.

Ah well. Bring this puppy to the door, cos it�s time for walkies, I say.

****meep