(no subject)
I’ve been mostly feeling off colour and trying to piece together something in my head. I started writing the sketch for ACAS culture festival today and spoke to Tinu, Vicky and Candy on the phone for a substantial amount of time, before realising that my mind was going blank again and I was being nowhere near as quick as usual. I think that the fear of talking was holding me back a little but I will be filling my head with new things, new things in books and in cinemas and at lecture halls, so hopefully by the end of the holiday it will be a new and better start. I’m itching to get everything out of my system, this bloatedness and shitty hair and shitty skin, dirty worn clothes of past phases that don’t signify anything of my present anymore. I was never going to be genuinely bohemian.
All the girls were helplessly chirpy and optimistic on the phone which made me feel like I’d aged or something, motionless in my cynicism, a bitter aftertaste on the receiver. I will have all my hair cut off. I wish you could shed entire layers of skin, peel them off and wince at the cold air on raw, new skin. I don’t want to buy into this multilayered, righteously complex thing anymore. I’d rather be interesting through and through.
‘I Licked A Slag’s Deoderant’ is on at the Etcetera and I must see it next week when it closes, which means I must book it this week. ‘Deranged Marriage’ is also on.
Tomorrow after my appointment I think it will be time to wander about London for a bit. I have £40 to my name until my cheque clears, which will probably be Friday, so just travelcards and flasks of hot chocolate, I think. We have oranges, which is at least something. The house needs to not be so full of fucking stodge and baby food (literally, in the fridge, petits filous and ambrosia custard.) My mother lives on brioche-au-chocolat. This morning she was on the phone to Amaia telling her how she would have all of her support if she left my brother. My dad holds the same sentiment. Excellent stuff. I think I will be around minimally this Christmas, instead in cafes or bookshops spending money I don’t have.
All the girls were helplessly chirpy and optimistic on the phone which made me feel like I’d aged or something, motionless in my cynicism, a bitter aftertaste on the receiver. I will have all my hair cut off. I wish you could shed entire layers of skin, peel them off and wince at the cold air on raw, new skin. I don’t want to buy into this multilayered, righteously complex thing anymore. I’d rather be interesting through and through.
‘I Licked A Slag’s Deoderant’ is on at the Etcetera and I must see it next week when it closes, which means I must book it this week. ‘Deranged Marriage’ is also on.
Tomorrow after my appointment I think it will be time to wander about London for a bit. I have £40 to my name until my cheque clears, which will probably be Friday, so just travelcards and flasks of hot chocolate, I think. We have oranges, which is at least something. The house needs to not be so full of fucking stodge and baby food (literally, in the fridge, petits filous and ambrosia custard.) My mother lives on brioche-au-chocolat. This morning she was on the phone to Amaia telling her how she would have all of her support if she left my brother. My dad holds the same sentiment. Excellent stuff. I think I will be around minimally this Christmas, instead in cafes or bookshops spending money I don’t have.