It's almost 2am...time for an update
At 6am I'll have been working 24 hours solidly. Give or take a few hours used to get from A to B. Or C. Or even Q. What is so fucking great about B that everyone want's to go there anyway? Furthermore, what is so awful about A that everyone wants to leave? Is there rioting going on there too? Bees. Must be bees. After honey. From Rachel's vagina. And her ears. I have said it, it is therefore canon.
My fingers smell of soup. I swear I'm not stroking and yet....soup. Soupy fingers. Not the texture, just the smell. I have ghost-soup. I am being possessed by the ghost of soup. Somebody peform a broth-excorcism before I lose my mind and attempt to stir myself. With a ladle. With a potato in it. Mmm Potato and leek soup. Tatties. With lumps. They'll kill you. We used to sing a song when we were kids about dying from a lump of tattie in your throat. And being eaten be a boa constrictor. Note the lyrics: 'I'm dead cos it's eaten my head....I'm dead cos it's eaten my head...I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor and I DON'T LIKE IT ONE BIT!'. Fucking singing Kettle. They only taught us about Scotland and Bunny foo foo and death. And that when you put your hands into kettles, you get clues to the next song as opposed to third degree burns. And now I can't knit anymore. Fuckers.
I'm looking forward to seeing Reubens face. And hair. Which is probably going to go. I mentioned cow licks to Rach and how I'd lick his cow (whatever that means) and now I'm craving hair. Reu hair. It smells nice. I wish to nuzzle it. Or rather, put my nose in it inhale deeply and *say* I'm nuzzling. Like when I was a kid and would always snuggle my parents when I had a runny nose and no tissues. I was such a lovely child. And an even better adult it seems. My foot is so oozy.It's still wet four hours later. This is so gross but I can't stop it, it just weeps. But no in the lady-like with a hankercheif sort of way, more like 'ew liquid from ma foot' sort of way. Who can love a girl with a weepy foot?
And now my coffee is judging me. i'm not sure how, it just is. I've done so much coffee! I've done almost the whole programme! I'm just tired but I can't go home. I'll never get it done if I go home. It'll just keep haunting me and will most likely come as a bear to give me some rough ursine lovin'. And I don't want that. Not again.
I know what I need, I need to live in a world where radio doesn't exist. Or MAs. Or being unemployed. I need to somehow get whisked away on a mystical adventure where I gradually come to terms with all kinds of fantastical elements. Dragons, swords, magic, castles and adventure....the whole caboodle. It'll be a massive metaphor for my own 'coming of age' tale but all the best ones are. I woud legitimatly be able to go around the world killing stuff for money. And it won't be taxed to shit. And i'll have a sword-dragon. Called Grape-seed. Fuck it, Grape-seed the dragon shall be real and he shall be mine, even if only in my own sordid fantasies. Mmmm.....sordid. Sorbet. Lemon sorbet. now that would be nice around about now. Sorbeeeeeeeet..........
J
My fingers smell of soup. I swear I'm not stroking and yet....soup. Soupy fingers. Not the texture, just the smell. I have ghost-soup. I am being possessed by the ghost of soup. Somebody peform a broth-excorcism before I lose my mind and attempt to stir myself. With a ladle. With a potato in it. Mmm Potato and leek soup. Tatties. With lumps. They'll kill you. We used to sing a song when we were kids about dying from a lump of tattie in your throat. And being eaten be a boa constrictor. Note the lyrics: 'I'm dead cos it's eaten my head....I'm dead cos it's eaten my head...I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor and I DON'T LIKE IT ONE BIT!'. Fucking singing Kettle. They only taught us about Scotland and Bunny foo foo and death. And that when you put your hands into kettles, you get clues to the next song as opposed to third degree burns. And now I can't knit anymore. Fuckers.
I'm looking forward to seeing Reubens face. And hair. Which is probably going to go. I mentioned cow licks to Rach and how I'd lick his cow (whatever that means) and now I'm craving hair. Reu hair. It smells nice. I wish to nuzzle it. Or rather, put my nose in it inhale deeply and *say* I'm nuzzling. Like when I was a kid and would always snuggle my parents when I had a runny nose and no tissues. I was such a lovely child. And an even better adult it seems. My foot is so oozy.It's still wet four hours later. This is so gross but I can't stop it, it just weeps. But no in the lady-like with a hankercheif sort of way, more like 'ew liquid from ma foot' sort of way. Who can love a girl with a weepy foot?
And now my coffee is judging me. i'm not sure how, it just is. I've done so much coffee! I've done almost the whole programme! I'm just tired but I can't go home. I'll never get it done if I go home. It'll just keep haunting me and will most likely come as a bear to give me some rough ursine lovin'. And I don't want that. Not again.
I know what I need, I need to live in a world where radio doesn't exist. Or MAs. Or being unemployed. I need to somehow get whisked away on a mystical adventure where I gradually come to terms with all kinds of fantastical elements. Dragons, swords, magic, castles and adventure....the whole caboodle. It'll be a massive metaphor for my own 'coming of age' tale but all the best ones are. I woud legitimatly be able to go around the world killing stuff for money. And it won't be taxed to shit. And i'll have a sword-dragon. Called Grape-seed. Fuck it, Grape-seed the dragon shall be real and he shall be mine, even if only in my own sordid fantasies. Mmmm.....sordid. Sorbet. Lemon sorbet. now that would be nice around about now. Sorbeeeeeeeet..........
J