Bad shape, poppets. It doesnít bear thinking about. Iím looking for a little giggle, a little relief from the goddamn tedium of these long and dingy days. I mean, one can only cry so much, and then one just needs a reason to retouch the mascara, you know? Looking for a reason, poppets. Iím a mess, my head is full of fog and clouds, and Iím tired of it. I mean, I brought only five pairs of shoes for six days and six nights in London, and thatís just ridiculous! I may as well have gone without toothbrush and deodorant.
Christmas, almost thankfully, is cancelled this year, but that also means that there will be no happy emptying of my wallet; there will be no shopping, there will be no joy of giving. I like the giving, people. I don't know how long I can hold out, and because everyone in my immediate circle is in mourning, there's no relief there. No gifts to give means no money to spend means no therapy for me. Therefore, be warned: if I have your address, unexpected riches may rain down on you. Be further warned: they may take the form of the shoes or the purse or the freakin' emu I love but can't justify keeping, and so must buy and then give away. Just deal, ok? You can always sell them on Ebay. (But let me know first, yeah? I've got dibs.)
The choosing-spending-giving thing isn't the only thing, though. I mean, I know I'm a mess these days, but I didn't realize how much until I started paying attention to the details. Like Salinger. I've always turned to Salinger when I'm flailing, but reading Franny and Zooey twice in as many days is just silly. Not that that will stop me. Zooey Glass is my boyfriend.
Also, I'm in danger of hating James Blunt in a week just because I just love him so much right now. I've got two of his songs on a constant loop, averaging about 20 minutes an hour of airplay, every hour, all day long. (Guess the two songs, and I'll make out with you. Or buy you shoes. Or make out with you.)
Planning my next jaunt will ground me a little, but itís still too far away to see, the Wisconsin horizon too blocked by time and little things like the unexpected for me to get truly excited. Time makes me fearful, because now I truly understand the meaning of Ďanything can happení.
For now, I suppose that finding a reason to get up in the morning is good enough. I suppose that work will do, but there has to be more than that, you know? Oh! Like tonight! Tonight Iím going to dinner with Miss Thing, and we will eat raw fish and drink saki, and gossip and perhaps do the kind of laughing where the saki is actually in danger of coming out of oneís nose. This! This will make me happy! I just have to find a reason to make saki come out of someoneís nose everyday, for the next year. Or two.
I donít know, poppets. This minute Iím up. Next hour, I may be down. Iím just clinging, you know?
Itíll get better, I suppose. In the meantime, thank God for saki, Salinger and songs by Blunt.
(Also, dirty jokes are welcome!)
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