1. new etnies trainers from tacky max. navy blue with white polka dots on. maybe just an eensy- weensy bit too small, but i dont care, because so was the price, and blue big throbbing bruised toenails are very fashion forward. they are indeed a look i have worked many times in the past, although admittedly on most of those occasions the blame lay squarely with tequila in some manner or another.
2. writing. lots and lots of writing. up to 32078 words of novel. have not yet developed Writerly Habits around the writing of the novel, but hey, i do seem to work best in these desperate, disparate late- night, tobacco- fuelled jags, seperated from each other by weeks at a time. i stay up and listen to sly and the family stone, or the 24 hour party people soundtrack, or cat stevens, very very quietly so my neighbour cant hear- sometimes so quietly that im not even sure that i can hear- and every time it gets to ten to the hour i say 'must go to bed, must go to bed, must totally go to bed soon or tomorrow i will be of the zomben people'. twenty minutes later i come out of the zone, typing with one hand so as not to spill ash on the keyboard, tapping tapping tapping, mumbling to myself, flicking back to my other open document where i type things like 'WHY IS HE LIKE THIS?' and 'AFTERPARTY BEFORE THREESOME' and 'WHERE DID SHE GO TO UNIVERSITY'. and then i finally drag myself off to bed at 3 oclock and ive written two and a half thousand words and some of them are decent and i wake up the next day and i want to do it all over again.
its funny that i stopped doing this. i was saying to someone yesterday that maybe the urge to write/ make music/ paint etc reacts in different ways to Massive Life Change- when my dad died i wrote furiously and constantly. everything that happened i had to convert into words. the last three years have been a time of even bigger change in their way, bigger change in smaller increments over a long period, and for much of it i felt like i couldnt write, and hated writing, and was scared id forget how to do it. (and actually, this, livejournal, is the writing i enjoy least at the moment, but thats okay). im only just getting the desire to write back, the enjoyment of it, the rush. i think, simply, that sometimes it goes away. it always comes back though. if you think that you cant live without it, then it will come back.
3. couples in the library researching their family tree, and saying things to each other like 'you might *think* they should be dead, but maybe theyre not'.
4. ive said about the shoes, havent i? yeah. theyre really fucking good.
5. joan didion's essay about having a notebook. its just really great. its in slouching towards bethlehem, which is also, as it happens, pretty great.