17.05.05..4:20 pm

SICKLY DRUNKLYNESS and SLEEMAN�S ON TAP

I feel icky. I just had a very uncomfortable poo that took way more work than I�m used to exerting on poos. My eyes hurt (you DID infect me DIDN'T YOU!) and my head hurts and my nose hurts and my follicles hurt. Each and every follicle in my body is weary. They're making pitiful blippy noises of distress. I've unashamedly, unabashedly abused the good follicles of my being and they are now in protest. They're threatening to go on strike. They're threatening to start colonising. I wonder if that's why my eyes hurt so.

It's more likely that I made M take out my contacts last night. I was VERY VERY VERY drunk. And VERY VERY VERY incapable of committing to anything. I took out one lens and then forced M to remove the other. I said I'd never go to sleep until he did, which unfortunately for him means he'd never go to sleep either. He touched my eyeball. It was eyeball rape, but backwards and upside down and with more saline solution than the world has ever seen. He was very good about it once I kicked him in the shins enough. Poor M.. He had to put up with my slurred taxi-insistence (i.e., me standing in the middle of the road shouting �If we DO NOT get a taxi home I will vomit right here!� O the empty threats I threat), and my alternating �I love you, no I do� I really do, I love you, yes� and �In Canada, this is SO MUCH BETTER than ANYTHING you smelly Brits know anything about. In Canada we used to do this. Did I tell you about that time in Canada? Canada�s great.�

The former is perfectly understandable for I love my bunny with all the monkey love a bunny could ever desire. The latter is just flat out peculiar. I�ve a truly underdeveloped sense of patriotism. I think it was likely instigated by the presence of poutine and Sleeman�s Honey Brown ON TAP (the beer, not the poutine. Which would be weird and a bit wonderful)! Some old friends of mine from uni were in for the weekend. They (Mark and Laura) are living in Switzerland. Mark is Swiss, Laura is from somewhere near Blue Mountain in Ontario, they met in mine and Laura�s last year when Mark was on a research thingy for the University. And they fell in love, she moved to Switzerland and in August they get married. Not really as simple as all that, but pretty close. Regardless, Mark, being the Canadaphile(?) he is INSISTED we go to the Maple Leaf Tavern in Covent Garden: the ONLY CANADIAN PUB outside Canada.

I can�t begin to tell you the joy I felt when he suggested it (this is where my real patriotism kicks in, as you�ll note, this is not Canada, it�s a parody of all things dumb and stereotyped about Canada): Faux-wooden logs, Canadian �artefacts,� a stuffed grizzly in the corner, a Mountie uniform framed on the wall, fucking maple leafs everywhere and people smiling and apologising everywhere for everything. It�s the bar where hockey is the only sport. BUT they have poutine and Sleeman�s ON TAP. For those of you not in the know, �poutine� is a Quebec specialty: grated cheese melted over chips (i.e. skinny fries) and smothered in gravy. I didn�t actually have any of the poutine as I couldn�t be sure it wasn�t beef gravy, but like I say, I was in the PRESENCE of poutine, and for me that was sufficient.

It was great to see them nonetheless,

NIBBLES FOR LUNCH AND CONTACT WOES (or, how everything seems to string together all strange like the single piece ofyarn that makes a sweater)

I�m currently drinking the SPICIEST TEA in the world. It�s one of the Yogi teas, but as they�re in a mad ramshackle pile of disorder and chaos, I�ve no idea which one. I merely found it in the cupboard marked TEA. If by �making my stomach gurgle and burble distressingly� I mean this tea is making my stomach feel better, then yes. (this is the sort of syntactical crazy one of my favourite Canadian�s twisted tongues throughout uni. I miss uni. Undergrad uni I mean.)

I just had a peanut butter and honey sandwich with kiwi. Or rather with A kiwi. Now I wish I'd had a peanut butter and honey and kiwi sandwich. While I'm wishing things, I also wish I had a squirty tin of whipped cream. I wish I could sit at my desk and take giant mouthfuls of foamy whipped cream and then sprinkle my face with chocolate powder like a cappuccino. I can't even touch my nose with my tongue though, so that might be a bit of a silly plan. I'd never be able to lick it all off. Someone else would have to, or else I'd start attracting bees and flies. Ew. What if a fly laid eggs up my nose because I couldn't lick it all off? And then three months later I blew my nose and a flurry of fly maggots flew out and started squirming in my hanky? Or one day out of the blue flies started emitting forth in big blue-ish clouds from my poor olfactory cavities whenever I exhaled (but it never bothered them when I inhaled because they'd adapted genetically to ignore the pull of vacuums)?

I'm making myself sick.

There, see that? I just knocked my contact out. I am THAT grossed out. I'm so unused to wearing them now! Which is really bizarre considering I wore them for like six years without having glasses to fall back on. I had to use the side of a chrome tape dispenser until Myra found her pocket mirror. I can only imagine what would have happened where this a REAL reception, you know with people and work to do and clients abound. Instead I'm perfectly able to poke about my eyeball with a contact that's folded in on itself with no worry of having to look good for Captain Priority Money Cash Bags and Lady Uber Important Cash Money who are about to walk through the door AT ANY SECOND. There is no one about to walk through the door at any second because the office is about to shift itself three paces to the right. Or rather, it's picking up and slowly moving into new digs. The Finance Team left at the beginning of April. The Accounts Team left at the beginning of May. And now it's us: Myra, me a couple of temps and a sprinkling of PAs. It's rather sad. All my Church Heavies have gone. I have no one to shock and appal. ('Appal' doesn't look right, but if Microsoft Thesaurus English: UK says it's fine, then fine it must be.)(I just always though there was a 'u' in there, or an extra 'l.')(What sort of English MASTERS student am I? Thank fuck for spell check, that's all I can say.)

I've also lots of weird non-jobs I have no interest in starting. Or completing. Much like the way my studying is going. I�ve an exam in ONE WEEK and I just look at my books, my reams of notes, my carefully drawn plans and go, �meh.�

THIS POST MENOPAUSE THING IS GREAT

My mum is trying to get fired. My Mum. My Mum who instilled the deep sense of responsibility and, moreover, is the purveyor of The Guilt. That Mum. She wants to get fired. en at the same job for over 20 years; her company got taken over about three years ago and it�s been, in her opinion, in steady decline ever since and she�s fed up with it all. She wants to get fired rather than just leave, because the severance package is supposed to be really quite tasty. She hasn�t decided how to proceed, though I suspect she shan�t be leaving stink pellets in the copy room or push a computer down the elevator shaft. (I would have suggested out of the window, but it�s 49 floors up and they�re windows don�t open.) More on this to follow

LAST NUGGET

The milk jug has MOVED STALLS! More on this to follow too.

****emmms, who used to sign off �meep,� but likes the triple �mmm� better.