Friend, do you fly,
Do you soar
Above me?
Do you call
With the birds
In the morning?
Where are you going?
Where have you been?
More nimble
In death than in life
You have grown wings
And you are finally flying.
Correction: there is currently no such thing as ‘the male contraceptive pill’. Well, there is but it is not yet in circulation. I wonder why that is.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/health/mens_health/body_sexpill.shtml
Blue-fingered, deriving warmth from a candle flame. More ‘pathological nostalgia’ from Snobs Reunited. And I had the audacity to challenge someone’s worldview so therefore I am a condescending busybody’ and Doug has been labelled an ‘unlucky 88 year old’ by a teenage BNP member with an omniscience complex.
For three days and three nights
I did not sleep
And I saw with such clarity
It dazzled me
And you brought me
Chicken soup to soothe my fever
And you lay your head
Upon my chest
Your gold hair spreads out
Like a fan
You lay your cool hand
Upon my brow
And you cover me
With a cloud
Of fine linen
And, finally, we sleep
but it has. The heating is on full, yet I am still sitting at my desk shivering. I had a social engagement with Lisa but she telephoned and cancelled because of the weather. And Snobs Reunited is as infuriating as ever. And now for the good news – I managed to have a halfway civilised conversation with Charlie Wolf of Talksport. He let me have my say rather than launching into a monologue. I splashed out on two new long velvet skirts today – very elegant – photos to come. And anxiety is eating away at me from the inside. Apologies for my incoherent, fragmentary tone.
I have shortlisted universities offering the course I want to do. I have a place at UEA but I am considering other options – UCL, Birkbeck, Birmingham. We shall see. I am in no hurry. Thirty ain’t what it used to be, right? Sex and the City was evidence of that. I shall elaborate further tomorrow.
And finally…
R.I.P. George Best. I offer my condolences to his friends and family, for what it’s worth.
I follow you, firmly placing
My bare feet into your
Vacated footprints. A remnant of you
The only indication
That you were ever here
I am enclosed in this nunnery
I leap up, fall back, behind
The barbed wire in my mind
And the Matriarch, the Mother Superior
She embodies perfection, impervious to nature
We are both blanched, silent, staring upwards
At the sky – Our pallid Nirvana
Zyprexa is driving me crazy. It seems to be creating more problems than it is designed to solve. If you prefer to spend your entire life in a soporific daze then this is the medication for you – but I bet this is not what they say on their publicity materials. My fear of gaining a phenomenal amount of weight hasn’t come to fruition. I gained a little, but that was mostly water retention. I have been eating sensibly – no chocolates or crisps, and lots of veggies and water. It seems to be working although I still haven’t weighed myself yet. The thought of those numbers on the scale terrifies me. My doctor says I am within the healthy weight range for my height and that’s all I want to know. On Wednesday I avoided eating all day but I’ll try not to make this a habit because it only leads to a series of phenomenal binges. And so the cycle continues. I have eaten more bread than I should have today and a salad but I can deal with that.
Event of the week – Hurrah, at last a government prepared to treat its citizens like sensible grown-ups, rather that sulky recalcitrant children who need to be kept in line – yes, I am talking about the 24-hour drinking laws. Now we are in line with the rest of the universe. I have to confess though that I wasn’t out celebrating last night. I was tucked away snugly indoors. I can’t work out why the Tories are so vehemently against it as they explored the possibility of extending drinking hours when they were in power. How quickly we forget. Perhaps it’s something in the water.
Momentous event of the Week: Reading poetry in a bleak chapel.
Current project: Article on bullying – in school and in work.
And, of course, Christmas shopping.
So Sick of Drowning 