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a bit down in the dumps lately, a bit too long in the tooth.

‘Notice: due to the current economic climate, the light at the end of the tunnel has been switched off to save on the electricity bill’

Red totally fucked me over. Cute boy with two dogs stood me up for the second time. i cant help having fantasies about giving a blowjob to a loaded pistol. Nothing makes sense, nothing can put a smile on my face, and instead of being a lightworker I m in aggressive-bitch-with-a-chip-on-her-shoulder mode again.

So, Red. I practically begged him to come talk to me next time he was in London so that we could sort out the debris of what happened between us in November. He was working in London over the weekend and instead of coming to talk to me, he went to 111 with a big bag of cocaine. When he finally rang Sunday, he said he might see me next weekend, and I told him that no, he wouldn’t, and to never ring me again.

Ten years of shared history. A whole decade, dissolved in tears.

What.the.fuck.am.i.doing

I am so tired of people taking advantage. I just never thought Red would be one of them.

A stranger sat next to me on a bench at the train station last night, she was French, tall, beautiful and black in colourful clothes. ’You seem like an intelligent girl’ she says, ‘there are people who really care about you. You need to think about them and not about the people who don’t care.’ She told me about her daughter, showed me her tattoos. A philosopher in a bright green jacket.

Before the full moon, I plant: Peas. Beans. Echinacea. Chinese lantern. Iris. Nasturtium. Morning glory. Dwarf narcissi.

Under the full moon: I go into the

back garden with Sunny and let my robe fall to the ground. Londo the cat scatters pebbles from the roof.

 

Instead of going to the circus, I end up taking G to hospital. I find him in his room, confused, dizzy. He has been vomiting, unable to stand up without falling down or walk in a straight line, sensitive to the light. It sounds serious to me, meningitis or something. But he doesn’t want to go to Homerton hospital because they were so rude to him last time he was there, after his bicycle accident. I make sure he has money for the bus and take him to Whitechapel. I hold him by the shoulders and steer him in the right direction because every time I let go he narrowly misses an obstacle. It takes 6 hours for us to see a couple doctors and get a diagnosis. Labyrinthitis. We laugh intermittently in Cubicle 10 and rename it David Bowie s disease. The nurse who finally comes to give him an injection is hot and we both admit we would.

 

 

 

I decide to go travelling again. I realise that ever since November I ve been wasting time, unable to get involved, and barely giving a damn. This is not who I am. If I stay in London I will begin to believe it all. I buy a bicycle for £31. Take a couple deep breaths.