I love smacking the last bunch of blueberries into the last dregs of Greek yogurt, 10% fat, straight into to bottom of the pot. I love fishing for them with a tea spoon, not quite enough room to fit on the surface comfortably, so they bunch up in clumps. Eat them fast like a contest, popping in between the creamy, always 10%, smoothness. Is there anything more sensual to eat than Greek yogurt? Velvety, creamy, tangy addictive.
I am reveling in the last few days of a lonesome house. Prancing round the kitchen in a tiny nightie making fake quick-steps to Singing in the Rain. Scoffing blueberries grossly. What else is there to do? I'm not going to miss the lonesomeness. It's been rather paralysing. She said how different it was, that in a big house, people will knock on and check you're ok. I was ill numerous times this year, and I struggled through without painkillers or soup or caramel digestives, because no one in London cared.
He said how easy it would be to double-and-more my friendship group in an evening. I am enjoying filling my phone with new numbers, putting a rather more serious dent into that seven million, collecting people. I should try, I have a lot to think, or a lot more space to think, I need to create my new self, one which continues to do things that can relate to other people. basically continues to live. I stopped living in Liverpool. There was no-one to compare anything with, share anything with, so I stopped things. It sounds overarched but I'm being serious. Even now I get excited when I share something with someone, learn from someone else. I spent so long in a vacuum I thought I was the odd one out, my interest too odd, my loves not quite right, my eye, dying.
So I'm moving into this shared space. I have already made a commitment to myself, with lack of contract, that I have to shape the time there into my own worth. I am paying for space to be creative in, have ideas in, learn, do, make. I will give this a really good go, and if I don't have any ideas or get anything happening by the new year, then I will have to take a serious look at myself and really sign myself off to something boring and staid, because, well, that might be it. But obviously I have this secret something, which brought me down here in the first place, that says there is so much more than running an almost-imaginary cafe, baking cakes at top speed for £7 an hour, teaching kids how to make windmills, applying for arts council funding, being around pretenders. Now is the time I can make a difference, re-place myself, and let myself go.