It's been a long time, which agrees with this watch of mine

Unfairly what with losing an hour, last night I slept dreamless and much like the proverbial log. Although I never quite understood that one as logs don't sleep so I guess really I'm just as motionless as a log but when you think about it, it's a pretty shit cliché.

Early early morning I'm faced with half a poke of chips that didn't quite make it to someone's stomach and I think of anything else as I throw bucket after bucket down the steps. If they had just turned their drunken head the other way the council would be doing this instead of me.

I made a decision about something I've been flirting with a little while. A few minutes and some poor arithmetic tell me I need at least six months before I can afford to go all the way and preferably another job to embellish the event. Until then I've got to hold his interest with endless foreplay but it'll be all the better in the end for the wait. I might even invite someone else along, I haven't decided if our relationship will sustain a third party. Candidate lists must be drawn. Test tastes and how well our bodies fit together.

But for now I've committed myself, invested enough interest to make it work with a bit of luck. Just have to see how long I can sustain the excitement.

In other less cryptic news according to Kirsty's calendar today is Balderdash day. Balderdash! Great word.

Now I'm gonna curl up and watch Humphrey Bogart do that cool thing he does.

She came to my show just to hear about my day

Doom, doom, doom. Each step reverberates through my feet. Goddamn is it ever hard work being tall and frankly I'm still short in these heels. From such a dizzy height of five foot four I plummet a little harder, a little faster as I bemoan to my mother about life the universe and towels (the lack thereof this morning). Oh dear, thinks I, one day from my decision to be cheery and my smile has cracked already. Silly, silly little girl.

But there were strawberry tarts and coffee and jelly and ginger beer that burns my throat. No daisies though and since my last ones grew mould (oops) I am daisy-less. It is a sorry state to be in to be sure. My hair was a mess this morning but I found a scarf in the back of my wardrobe and tied it round my head because why not. Led to mutters of 'stupid gypsy don't go raising zombies' (I could explain this but it'll never be as funny retold) from Julie.

So first day of the holidays (har har everyone else) let's set some goals that I will systematically ignore:

1. Write archaeology essay and at least get some background stuff done for my classics essay
2. Get past that stupid bit with the swinging blades in tomb raider. It's so bloody simple and I keep dying in the most ridiculous ways. I WILL get through it, if it kills me.
3. Write french novel, make it less french so as to make sense
4. See the following films: Lars and the Real girl, The Orphange, I'm a cyborg, Persepolis, L'enfant, The maltese falcon, The Last King of Scotland, 21 grams, finish watching Arsenic and Old Lace, Angel-a, Kiss kiss bang bang, GRINDHOUSE and Metropolis (both of them)
5. Read the following books: On the nature of the universe, The aeneid (maybe only one of these depending on what essay I choose), Finnegan's Wake, Shirley, Paradise Lost, Eugene Onegin, Night and Day and finish Carol's Fitzgerald short stories.
6. Finish sewing all my half started projects
7. Finish writing all my half started projects
8. OMG JULIE TIME
9. Watch the remaining 2 and a half seasons of Angel so the comic will make (slightly) more sense and have that wonderful sense of television achievement
10. Make a conscious effort to watch Cowboy Bebop and Ghost in the Shell at night instead of rotting my brain watching utter rubbish and then remembering and turning over to watch the credits.
11. Go to the Hunterian Museum
12. Oh there's all those people I promised to have drinks with, ugh social commitments

Shame I'm so goddamn lazy.

Talking Shit About A Pretty Sunset

When I tell people my birthday is on Hogmanay everybody's so apologetic. I'm not sure why really. Yeah, it's inconvenient but I never want a big party anyway. I usually crash other peoples. This year I got a lot of yes, no, maybes and it ended up pretty much how I expected with me and Emma talking shit all night long and eating oreos. And ok so I didn't get drunk at New Year and I wasn't at some huge do surrounded by friends but sitting on my couch, watching stupid shows and eating junk with my favourite girl was the only way I wanted 2007 to end and waking up next to her to share more tales ensured a satisfactory start to the next year. She's like a girlfriend without the complicated sex life.

The beer settled comfortably in my stomach and gave me the courage to open up. Confess my sins and share all my daft mistakes I hadn't got round to telling her yet. She told me in return of the crazy 'friend' situation she finds herself in. And we laughed at men. We laughed at their desire to protect us from themselves. She sighed at crossed wires and I rolled my eyes at would-be Byronic heroes.

I woke up a couple of days ago and saw that I'd lost weight. Kinda the same way I woke up months ago and saw that I'd gained it. I can fit in my black jeans again and I stalk through the sales with just the faintest twitch of an ass wiggle. I dunno what's changed really but my head feels better. Talking to Emma helped. Made me straighten things out. Let me see what I've got and feel lucky. I still crave a life of my own. A flat, a job, a partner and a kitten. I'm nineteen years old and feel like I've achieved nothing but I've still got time, none of that stuff is going anywhere. So I want 2008 to be a casual year. Leave all the crap behind me once and for all. Stop thinking so damn much. These aren't great resolutions when you look at them but fuck it I've got no addictions I want to give up or habits I want to break. All I want to read more, write more, flirt a little less and kiss a little more.

I've been reading Bukowski. I found his first novel in Waterstones and read the ending which is how I pick new authors. Post Office ends with: "In the morning it was morning and I was still alive. Maybe I'll write a novel, I thought. And then I did." and so I chose him. He's like a million guys I've read online. Deadpan relation of a shitty job and meaningless women. He writes like I wish I could write but I'm not male and I can't use men like they can use women. But I reach something close to it in my gender confused dreams with my girlfriend who bores me but she's too pretty to give up. And I wonder is this some kind of bi-sexual greed? Then I laugh because I know I'm just flirting with labels again.