"This is the place and this is the season...
Breathless and dreamless
And drowned to all reason..."
Today I wrote out twelve pages of text - longhand, carefully, slowly, with a fountain pen. It should have been copperplate but wasn't as that might have killed me. I hold my pen incorrectly and too tight; my fingers cramp easily if I'm trying to write anything that's a) long b) legible to anyone but me. I haven't written that much since A-level. Ow. Ow. Ow. I'm not actually bitching - it was in a good cause and I don't begrudge it. But also, ow.
I have icons since I can't have a jacket.
Tomorrow: accounting and more tarot and maybe further messed up stories of shellshock and hell if my neurons are up to it.
But for now, a smoke, a greeting for the stars, a tidying of brain and then bed. Tomorrow is an early start.
Back in London friday.
And drowned to all reason..."
Today I wrote out twelve pages of text - longhand, carefully, slowly, with a fountain pen. It should have been copperplate but wasn't as that might have killed me. I hold my pen incorrectly and too tight; my fingers cramp easily if I'm trying to write anything that's a) long b) legible to anyone but me. I haven't written that much since A-level. Ow. Ow. Ow. I'm not actually bitching - it was in a good cause and I don't begrudge it. But also, ow.
I have icons since I can't have a jacket.
Tomorrow: accounting and more tarot and maybe further messed up stories of shellshock and hell if my neurons are up to it.
But for now, a smoke, a greeting for the stars, a tidying of brain and then bed. Tomorrow is an early start.
Back in London friday.