“love is drunk all the time”

Saturday; September the 4th, 1999

There’s still a bowl of salt and a lot of lemon crap all over our bench. There are smarties all over our lounge from a smartie fight, but at least I don’t have smartie juice smeared all over my hands anymore. Apparently it was just cos my hands are too hot. I could tidy up but I’m going on Monday, so I think I’ll just leave the mess for Clayton instead.

I’m listening to ‘Adore’ now, and it’s been a while, so this is like soft sleepy kisses. The Smashing Pumpkins used to be my be all and end all of music, especially in Sixth form, and now they’re sort of just background music. But this is nice, because it’s from last year, not from back then. And so I will play it again. I played Gish first, and that was cool, but uninspiring.

Intercom is very uninspiring work to do, even now that I’ve drunk a whole pot of coffee. I guess it’s bad to be refering to the writings of my lecturer’s husband as ‘socialist ramblings’ so maybe I will delete that sentence, and phrase it that other writers try to be more objective. Yes, that’s better. Kapai Joanna.

“discard my friends to change the scenary”

I’ve finished half of my Intercom now. Done three pieces, now I need to do three more. This means going to find Nga Patai in Clayton’s room. I should do that, instead of just sitting here rambling. But I’m going to be gone so soon for two weeks, so I thought y’all might appreciate all the ramblings you can get. Actually, I have a cunning secret plan that you’ll learn about soon enough.

I just wonder why you’re here reading me. Are you my friend and wanting to keep up on my life? Are you crazy-obsessed with me? Are you a stranger who just happens to relate? Did you used to know me? Do I mean something to you? Or are you just fearful that you’ll be mentioned? And what do you take away from this? Do you ever think about me while you’re not reading me?

You can let me know. It’s okay. I don’t bite.

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