I liked to think that I was the only person in London at that moment who was going to the trouble of halving a egg. Crack, half'n'half poured dribbled white, bin the rest, split into the yolk with a shell shard, dripped out into the mixing bowl, creepy connotations, another waste but what's a waste now won't be a ruined cake later, an infinitely larger and frustrating waste all by itself.
What do I do on my days off? Well, let's just say I had a very full day of contentedly not spinning out today. Which, I report, is very very gratefully(sp) received, and not taken for granted in the slightest. What did you do today? Oh I slept for 10 hours, did some reading, took hair out of my body, planned my train trip a little, made a confrontational phone call, did a bit of eBaying, made a chocolate cake, (a blog post)...a pork roast and then went for a run. Then potentially jumped into the ether. We'll see about that.
I am still frustrated with what I'm aiming for. I had my amazing oyster excursion on Sunday, and came away with a hallowed notebook I've not yet broken into, thinking, fuck yes, this is a story here, a fictionalised-now. Observations and indulgent images, spliced onto the page between moments of glee and taste, will I see them flailing and weak days later. What is their context.
I almost cried at the talk. The artist was communicating her truth, and I just wanted to join her, on that level, intellectually, emotionally wholly. I did cry actually, I blinked it away between words, tapping the inside corners with small fingers. He plainly asked me where I wanted to be, and I was shocked and on stage. I felt sad and glad I wasn't conventional, that I couldn't be explained away in a sentence. I was honest, abrupt, staring into deep-set wrinkles for such a young one, wondering if he had any passion. I couldn't see it.
It should be noted that I not only ruined the above cake with too much bicarb, I may have also poisoned myself with the roast dinner. I have spent a day, a night, a day-night in sick and sleep. Some things make you feel small and very glad.