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.
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