Christ, I'm so fucking pissed off. My hands are buzzing, I can't seem to find the keys and I want to break stuff. I'm pissed off that my non stick pan got fucked. I'm pissed off that I spent my day in rounds of exactly the same fucking questions and answers and moves and turns and people dodging and shouting shouting SHOUTING LATTE LATTE LATTE DO YOU WANTA BAG DO YOU WANT ME TO GRIND IT FOR YOU HOW ARE YOU MAKING IT FRUITY OR FUCKING CHOCOLATEY. FUCK.
Sorry I'll probably delete this sometime, maybe not. It's just my capacity for chronic repetition is really at its limits. I am not learni (...) I just cried and I didn't know that the impulse to throw and to cry came from the same place. I had a pain in my chest for no seconds really and now I'm tired again. I don't want to not learn and grow everyday. I don't have any excuses to cover up this with. I am by myself and here I am and I have a bad case of Londonitus. Not enough time to do everything. What is life going to show me tomorrow? I hope slightly more than today.
Ok I've got white tea and toblerone and I feel better. I apologise for swearing, it's so meaningless but I didn't mean anything so I guess it's perfect. Don't want to go to bed till I've had some success today? Some movement. What did life show me today? Er... It showed me the Piccadilly Shamen, who I have seen three times now. A 'weird' guy with rhymes and a completed Rubics cube, tapping a mad rhythm with his shiny shoes and spreading the love. He talks shit but once said 'you gotta be healthy to be wealthy' and I thought that was fair enough and supported my excessive sleep pattern.
No-one breaks their face, they can't react. The guy yesterday reading a book with 'penguin' in the title gave him a tip, it was just so cute. Today he misjudged his breaking-it-down, normally the act comes to an end at the next station but I don't think he was aware of such a large gap between Caledonia Rd and Kings Cross. It was awkward. I like him actually. What power and joy. I just want people to respond and glow, come together and have this massive train epiphany. Or something. And there's clapping.
In contrast, the woman calling the 'tea dance' yesterday was so bloody uptight. Seventeeth century dances are not rightly called those of Tea, and it was a most distressing start to the day. I don't want to see anyone with excess hair, grey white knotty plats and beards UGH for a very long time, and I feel I may even have an aversion to Cecil now. I left the concert at the interval, after our slight choir fail and unable to take and more weird folk, despite spotting a vaguely cute morris man. I lurked them in warm up, horrified by a heavy hairy in white doing a star jump. So ultimately wrong. So glad I didn't bring any foreign friends to witness such disgraceful Englishness.
Too tired to be cyclical and resolute, lets just hope I find something special in tomorrow. I should point out I don't hate my job. I just can't do the same thing for eight hours with honest glee.