scrolls

I'm having a lovely time wiki-ing unimportant things such as 'reading' and authors. I can hear Chris speaking the background to our friend Sid about WAR (the Russian-Georgian war, which was played out, this afternoon, on sand, in sexy bikinis, in a beach volleyball game, which, Chris and I found ourselves rather enjoying, and Georgia winning).

I just read that Allen Ginsberg gave the last reading of his life on my birthday, in 1996. I like being mildly schizophrenic and thinking it's mildly related in some way with me (or is that just vanity?), as in how I always do well when I write exams on my birthday, which happened each year during university. I used to write a manual journal dating back to when I was about six and stopped around this time last year because I started typing in a public forum and I guess I no longer had any burning crushes that couldn't be discussed or dark horses too intimate (all of those things, I kept to myself or place in parentheses). Anyway the point of the story is that about every 4 months I would fill in all the music that I'm currently listening to, or books I'm reading etc etc like a Nick Hornby philosophy of what you like is who you are. Also, it's fun to read back and see you were so cutting edge, and now you're clutching to The Hits- Hot Hits Party Bangers. And the moral of that story, is that Facebook has fully replaced all of this. And Last Fm. And these mediums have made it categorically better, with columns, reviews, statistics.

But I think one thing is definitely lacking that I used to go in depth about. The written word- my handwriting and how it's telling of my mood. My font says that I'm sort of Gen Next Cyborg following the religion of Apple but my handwriting, now having been out of work for over two months, has literally gone to shit. And filling in the crossword has become difficult for me to do because I'm shaky. My finger tips however, are as punchy as ever and when reading about reading, it makes you want to write about writing.

I had too much to dream last night

What a thrilling week. Firstly, I managed to make contact with Brynn (one of the few people in the world who thinks I'm funny) and have a lovely chat. It's nice when two girls can recognise that they're both crap at correspondence and that doesn't mean you need to be angry with one another. It was magical. I even managed to tip the macbook out the balcony to show Brynn around this part of London. This lead Chris to shout at me. We do not have a great track record for white things and keeping them out of the canal. All's well that ends well.

Next, the Olympics started which means that I'm distracted from the rest of life. I'm listening to Chris to speak to Pete in the other room about Aston Villa and the Liverpool controversy and I couldn't think of anything duller to talk about.

On Friday, we went out of an excellent meal at one the Vietnamese restaurants down on Kingsland rd. then went for drinks in Shoreditch and talked about American Psycho which is really fun to do after half a bottle of wine and bowl of vermicelli. Then he told me about this slush manuscript that our friend told us about from his other job which makes me feel insecure about everything, but good that I would never come up with an idea like that (the slush manuscript's idea). After that, we made the undoubtedly bad life choice of going to Birdcage until 3.30am where Chris ran into weird 35 years playing Devil's Advocate about the Holocaust. He has repeatedly had bad experiences in that toilet whereas every time i use the lady's, it's some girl's birthday and she's having a wonderful time.

And last night I had the scariest dream of my life. I think it was some form of karmic retribution because before I fell asleep last night I told Chris that when we're older and his snoring is out of control, that I would want separate bedrooms. And he kept kicking me and I asked that if before separate bedrooms, we could get separate beds. I realise that makes me horrendously selfish, but this dream more than made up for it and I was relieved to wake up, check to see if Chris was alive (the dream was that scary, think Rosemary's Baby but way more religious and involving my own baby digging it's hands and legs into me). But I think what disturbs me the most about that nightmare was that my own mind conceived it. I am not religious at all, I don't really believe in binaries in the world and I haven't watched Rosemary's Baby in about 6 months. Masochistically twisted but happy to sleep next to a schnorer who can protect me.

trivial pursuit

Here are a few things I've learned from these past few days. One. If you quit drinking wine for two weeks and have managed to deflate, you will ultimately reinflate after two glasses on Saturday night. Two. If you are inevitably drinking these two glasses of wine, don't mention fertilisation to your poor innocent friend who is enjoying her diet coke. Three. If you do mention babies, fertilising and that is incompassed try not to bang on about it after your boyfriend has returned from the toilet. Four. If you do continue to bang on, try not to drag him into the conversation as it makes him uncomfortable too. Five. If you do drag him in and get him to mention baby names he likes and dislikes, try not to change his mind on the names that you decided a few weeks ago when battling insomnia (apparently my disease this summer, I can't fall asleep before 2am now, and neither can Chris). Six. If all these pieces of the pie come together then abandon play, cut your loses and get a frozen cheesecake. Wait two hours for it to thaw then enjoy.

This (being that, up there) and this (me waiving my arms about) isn't really funny. I have always sought after a tangible existence, preferably not digital, and holier than abstract and it's nearly be achieved. Chris and I, in order to prove our courtship and "intent to marry" have to prove that we are a couple. We need to show photographs, postcards, letters, joint bank statements, joint insurance claims, our one bedroom lease with both of our signatures. Tangible proofs of love but we've also been quizzing ourselves at night, just in case they ask us questions that one should probably know about another person. Pet names, weird silly expressions that we have for things, birthdays, important people in our lives, university majors, childhood traumas and happy holidays. I once referred to my love for Chris as sustainable, this made him laugh.