Love in a cold climate
Disclaimer: Do not read if excessive soppiness is a bad idea right now.
Today was good. I was woken up by an attractive long-haired man who had made me fresh coffee. Then I went to the doctor's to register, where everyone was exceptionally rude and unhelpful and smiled only when the three-ring-binder told them to. Then I came back and ate a can of tinned fruit (which still feels like a treat, but it's not) for breakfast and spraypainted a dead Christmas tree gold in the back garden. This involved me wearing surgical face masks to prevent inhalation and my goggles. I like to look post-industrial.
Then me and boy went for a walk. He was looking all foreign and exciting in the big furry scarf I made him with his hair all over the place, and I was feeling v. perky. We went to Regent's park, where it was brisk as all hell and topped with a flawless blue sky. There was a robin sat posing on top of a sign saying 'remember me', he let canis get within about a foot of him. Poser. I admired the ducks, laughed at the way geese's tails/bottoms waggled when they walk, and generally felt good about things.
Canis proved once again that he is not only my loved one, but is actually a great human being (i think we all know the two can be separate) when I idly complained that my life would be a lot easier if I could just make money by showing people my boobs (inspired by reading Maxim the previous night). He responded by saying they were, indeed, lovely and that he was sure I could make money from them, but didn't really express an opinion either way. Which is great, really. Previous boyfriends would have either taken it upon themselves to take tonnes of photos of me and splash them round the internets. I gather from Social Interactions that some other men disapprove of their girlies doing this for money, so it's very reassuring that Canis steers between these extremes.
I don't think I cna make money by taking photies though. I know lots of other wannabe 'satanic sluts' etc who don't make money, so fuck knows why I should. It just looks very easy.
Then I came home, got changed into work gear, dashed off to a job in the old City of London (the square mile) where roads have names like 'poultry' and 'honey lane', but all they actually purvey are tailored suits. My job was easy, I did it okay, we finished early and I had a nice chat with the guy who hired me about the tech they use on the financial markets. I like to talk techie with experts, and learn things.
When I got home canis had gone to bed (since our neighbours, who he has charitably decided are just coke fiends rather than being naturally empathy-deficient, kept him up, his sleep pattern has been off, so he's wrapping round his sleep schedule to get it back to reasonable times. Result: Yesterday he got up at 10pm and went to bed at 2pm, today he got up at midnight (ish) and went to bed at 4. Rinse and repeat until desired wake-up time is reached. I'm so glad I can sleep all the time). So I have been watching telly and eating (a nice bowl of home-made chilli), sorting out work and buying Christmas presents, and will soon be crafting.
All in all a good day. Particularly by comparison to the previous ones. I have worked quite a lot this week and my hands hurt from typing, and my back hurts from carrying laptop. Also yesterday my employees were being a bit fucking French and talking loudly behind me in French so I couldn't hear what i was tkaing notes on, in between asking me about colloquialisms and celebrities and expecting me to answer WHILE I WAS SIMULTANEOUSLY TRYING TO TYPE LIVE DIALOGUE OCCURING IN ANOTHER ROOM. Also I only had half an hour for lunch break.
Today was good. I was woken up by an attractive long-haired man who had made me fresh coffee. Then I went to the doctor's to register, where everyone was exceptionally rude and unhelpful and smiled only when the three-ring-binder told them to. Then I came back and ate a can of tinned fruit (which still feels like a treat, but it's not) for breakfast and spraypainted a dead Christmas tree gold in the back garden. This involved me wearing surgical face masks to prevent inhalation and my goggles. I like to look post-industrial.
Then me and boy went for a walk. He was looking all foreign and exciting in the big furry scarf I made him with his hair all over the place, and I was feeling v. perky. We went to Regent's park, where it was brisk as all hell and topped with a flawless blue sky. There was a robin sat posing on top of a sign saying 'remember me', he let canis get within about a foot of him. Poser. I admired the ducks, laughed at the way geese's tails/bottoms waggled when they walk, and generally felt good about things.
Canis proved once again that he is not only my loved one, but is actually a great human being (i think we all know the two can be separate) when I idly complained that my life would be a lot easier if I could just make money by showing people my boobs (inspired by reading Maxim the previous night). He responded by saying they were, indeed, lovely and that he was sure I could make money from them, but didn't really express an opinion either way. Which is great, really. Previous boyfriends would have either taken it upon themselves to take tonnes of photos of me and splash them round the internets. I gather from Social Interactions that some other men disapprove of their girlies doing this for money, so it's very reassuring that Canis steers between these extremes.
I don't think I cna make money by taking photies though. I know lots of other wannabe 'satanic sluts' etc who don't make money, so fuck knows why I should. It just looks very easy.
Then I came home, got changed into work gear, dashed off to a job in the old City of London (the square mile) where roads have names like 'poultry' and 'honey lane', but all they actually purvey are tailored suits. My job was easy, I did it okay, we finished early and I had a nice chat with the guy who hired me about the tech they use on the financial markets. I like to talk techie with experts, and learn things.
When I got home canis had gone to bed (since our neighbours, who he has charitably decided are just coke fiends rather than being naturally empathy-deficient, kept him up, his sleep pattern has been off, so he's wrapping round his sleep schedule to get it back to reasonable times. Result: Yesterday he got up at 10pm and went to bed at 2pm, today he got up at midnight (ish) and went to bed at 4. Rinse and repeat until desired wake-up time is reached. I'm so glad I can sleep all the time). So I have been watching telly and eating (a nice bowl of home-made chilli), sorting out work and buying Christmas presents, and will soon be crafting.
All in all a good day. Particularly by comparison to the previous ones. I have worked quite a lot this week and my hands hurt from typing, and my back hurts from carrying laptop. Also yesterday my employees were being a bit fucking French and talking loudly behind me in French so I couldn't hear what i was tkaing notes on, in between asking me about colloquialisms and celebrities and expecting me to answer WHILE I WAS SIMULTANEOUSLY TRYING TO TYPE LIVE DIALOGUE OCCURING IN ANOTHER ROOM. Also I only had half an hour for lunch break.