Jan 05, 2006 11:47
I don’t know. I will probably leave tomorrow. Halfway through packing the accumulation of things that I suddenly regard as necessity in the Brighton house, and clearly this is going to be what they refer to as a mission. But then, it always is, and at least it is not a repeat of last summer, three trips back and forth to London to clear out the room.
We didn’t get into Coffee, Cake and Kink as it was inexplicably closed. Instead, we sat in The Spice of Life and I played with my wine glass between gulps while hers was left pretty much untouched. For some reason I couldn’t get comfortable but I haven’t really felt that comfortable for quite a while, come to think of it- something to do with setting or preconception or worry, presumably. I need to get the new term rolling, really, start projects and feel pressurised. I hate bumming at home, affording nothing and doing little, but eating much and frying my brain with television. I cannot wait to be back at a place where there is no fucking television- it changes the feel of the place to a weird level of significance. She fretted about her play and whimpered out her affection in the standard way, and I attempted to stay rational. However, my attempts to stay rational and platonic..well..in her presence, generally end up as a kind of George/Lenny equivalent where she sits there being sharp and I clumsily fumble around, shy, mumbling, annoyingly inarticulate and unsettlingly lingering. It is pissing me off.