The contents of my bed: 1599
by James Shapiro, a Canon EOS 450D, an unopened bottle of vodka, 350 NOK and change, £20, a phone, three USB cables, a notebook, The Norton Shakespeare
, a boardgame, two empty bottles of Chinese beer, party decoration, my ipod, two duvets, three pillows, my macbook, American Gods
by Neil Gaiman, two necklaces and a bit of candy. And I haven't even hosted a party!
Today I played tennis with my dad. My hand hurts, I ripped some skin off a blister, and I lost spectacularly. And as I was playing, I realised that I was actually sweating coffee. I kid you not. Kind of like when you're hungover and your pee smells like wine. (TMI? Never.)
I'm struggling with my stupid essay about Freud and dead authors and things. I just don't care. I just want to go back to London, and be bored there. Maybe I'll buy the pretty girl some flowers to apologise for sending her drunken texts and then losing my phone. Carnations? Maybe that's a lapel flower. Oh, did I tell you I got a dress and a jacket made in Beijing? Green. Very green, like Irish grass, or the rest of my wardrobe. I like green.
Next in MY INCREDIBLY EXCITING LIFE: mum and I are buying a stereo for my dad, I'm hosting a party on Saturday, I'm trying to plan some stuff for when citoyenne
and self go interrailing and I'm going to a flea marked. Woo!