ok so it's occurred to me that the reason i stopped writing about my banal existence in blog format was because i got twitter, where i can shit on incessantly with a similar feeling of self gratification that some idiot chose to read it. well GUESS WHAT in case you hadn't had enough, now i'm gonna duplicate it in much more than 140 characters so not only can you roll yr eyes at my observations you can pass judgement on my use of language and punctuation, where before it might have been deemed pedantic on what is a 'social networking' website.
today has been fucking weird. last night i chose to 'get an early night' for the first time in about a year so that i could actually do something with my day off today. i awoke 12 hours later (10am) to a few texts asking of my whereabouts, at first i felt aloof, mysterious even, but gradually my spirits were more and more dampened by the sense that actually, everyone had just decided i was boring and forgotten about me. indeed, it was a very friggin boring decision to make.
what made this worse was that when i did actually get dressed and whatever, i didn't even want to do anything. i didn't wanna go to galleries i didn't wanna go for a walk i didn't wanna go shopping, truthfully in total i know all of about 4 square miles of london well enough to successfully 'do' anything on my own. so with growing anxiety fueled by the realisation that i'm content with being a lazy bum, i filled the morning by 'washing clothes' and 'posting mail' (one really non urgent letter).
one thing i did manage to do however was alter the skirt i bought at a vintage outlet, it's green tartan it's sweet, also i made a scarf from the spare material. this inspired me soooo much that i decided to dress as fashion as i could, inc 'pattern matching trend' (is that even a thing?) and doing my 'eyeliner', only to realise i wasn't going anywhere. in a last-ditch attempt to leave the fucking flat i decided to go get a coffee and read my book, all the while self conscious of the fact i was dressed up and on my own in new cross for no clear reason. as i sat out front of chinwag smoking and reading salinger i realised i'd become the exact breed of goldsmiths i walk past and say 'what a prick' about. i wonder, do the people who ACTUALLY sit outside of coffee shops reading to be seen doing such also feel self conscious about what they're doing? anyway it was also freezing so i left.
now i am sat, in silence (my laptop speakers decided to switch to a default setting of white noise today), in my dressing gown, with a face full of makeup, far too much sleep, and a small circle of friends who are so fucked up off last night they don't wanna hang out. as ever there is a message here: never have an early night and NEVER kid yourself that if you hadn't been hungover you soo would have gone to that exhibition!!! cos you wouldn't. you'd have done fuck all like you usually do.