Hurrah
I have survived this week. Right this minute I am proudly skiving a work party. I left them to their plastic cups of organic apple juice and went to gobble up a blood-seeping burger on my lonesome.

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When I saw that (rather bad) The eternal sunshine of the spotless mind film months ago, I wondered what kind of idiot would want to have memories of their relationship erased. I'm going through a grinder right now; but, given the choice of oblivion versus grinder, I know which one I'll pick. Better to have had and lost than to not have had at all.

Bonjour tristesse, naturally
"Sur ce sentiment inconnu dont l'ennui, la douceur m'obsèdent, j'hésite à apposer le nom, le beau nom grave de tristesse. C'est un sentiment si complet, si égoïste que j'en ai presque honte alors que la tristesse m'a toujours paru honorable. Je ne la connaissais pas, elle, mais l'ennui, le regret, plus rarement le remords. Aujourd'hui, quelque chose se replie sur moi comme une soie, énervante et douce, et me sépare des autres."
Françoise Sagan died last Saturday .
She had almost died so many times before, after a life of extremes for the sake of stylishness: smoking, gambling, driving fast cars, writing like she drove. The myth claims that her passion for gambling was so intense that she asked the Ministry of the Interior to ban her from casinos; that her drug abuse landed her in court on several occasions and led to a demand from the Right-wing politician Le Pen that she be guillotined. She infuriated many people; I enjoyed her novels and her interviews, and always saw her as a witty, articulate, infinitely bright, yet modest, gifted writer.
"I always believe things are going to work out. Every time I see a film about Joan of Arc I'm convinced she'll get away with it. It's the only way to get through life."

I am lapsing
I woke up crying; I'm being all kinds of sad this morning. Quick, coffee, then a brisk walk through the park.
I can't accept that it is over, is all.

I wonder how many hits this place gets from people looking for the Fairy Godmother's website.

Way better than Mystic Meg

Whilst waiting for the bus home, I nodded at the billboard poster that asked: ‘wouldn’t you feel more confident if you knew what the future holds?’

In a way, I have always known what the future holds; for my family have taken great care to warn me.
Thanks to my grandmother, I know that I shall have an insufficient pension; she told me so when I was 18 and I hadn’t started to work yet and save up from my emoluments. She also told me, at age 7, when my adult teeth replaced the baby ones, that around the age of 55 or so they would be pulled out, and replaced with ill-fitting dentures. She warned me that every single relationship I would have in my entire life would end in tears and disappointment, because men are simply too childish and unreliable, and women too gullible.
Thanks to my mother, I know that my joints will crack or creak where hers are cracking or creaking; that the arch of my feet will collapse and that I will have to wear special insoles in my shoes; I also know that after the age of 55 or so it will be too late to start a meaningful relationship, and not just because I will be wearing ill-fitting dentures. I am also getting ample warning about the many manifestations of menopause; when I commented that I was still of a relatively tender age, she claimed that it was never too early to plan for it.

I brush and floss dutifully. That’s at least one area where I have some degree of control.

24/7
At one point today, I thought of all the times she asked me to marry her, and I almost laughed.

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S o
t i r e d.

I might not be able to lift my spoon to eat my soup; I might have to use a straw instead.

I'm boring

For many very obvious reasons, I choose not to write about my work on this blog; this week, however, work has been and will be taking me over almost entirely. I spent eleven hours at work today; if I had slept last night I would have dreamt of work. I'm pumped full of vitamins and cold remedies and anything I could get my feeble hands on, in order to be the very picture of efficiency and perfection and vision and discipline and.. and....

Only this week, though. On Friday things will get back to normal. I might then have more trivial matters to blog about. I love you all, even if I don't know you. Oh, and, wish me luck, even if you don't know me.

It is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do.Jerome K. Jerome

On a rainy autumn morning, my mom and I are busy perusing the Ninth edition of the Académie Française Dictionary. All the new words from other languages are listed separately; from Arabic we now have ayatollah; from Russian we have kalachnikov and goulag; from Norwegian, fart/fartage, which we don't understand yet which consumes us with teenage-like laughter. From German we now have bretzel - my mom says :I thought that was American, circa Bush period. I pretend to not be amused.

Smell yourself to better health

When I was wee, it seemed there was no ailment that my grandmother couldn’t cure with herbal concoctions. The smell of it brings me back to when I as the centre of the universe.. Perhaps that’s what makes me feel better. J has been taking the piss out of my valiant attempt to fight the Cold from the inner circle of Hell with herbs, calling me a hippie and monologuing as follows:

There’s been an accident on the M25, there are ambulances and helicopters and police cars and a gigantic pile up, dozens and dozens of people are seriously injured or dying, when from the crowd comes a voice:
- Let me through, I’m an aromatherapist! This is lavender oil, I’ll apply it to your ear lobes. See, doesn’t that feel nice? It’ll help your relax. I also have tea tree oil, let me apply it to that stump where your leg was.. Ah, you’re leaning over the side, see, you’re already relaxing ..
- No, says the truck driver, I’m trying to reach my leg so I can fucking hit you with it.
I don’t care if he sneers and jibes. Thyme rules.

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Last night I foolishly left a pair of leather flip-flops outside the garden door. This morning I found the chewed , pathetic remains of one of them in the overgrown grass. Foxes are getting hungrier, Internet.

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My mom is visiting.
She talks about the weather a lot.

The many, dissenting voices of me, Part deux

A I have taken down her pictures, I don’t read her blog. Rigorous discipline is the path to recovery.
B Oh yeah? Haven’t I caught you saying her name once or twice?
A Never. No. Maybe. So?
B Don’t you still calculate what time it is for her, six thousand miles away?
A Maybe. But I don’t check the weather forecast anymore.
C I am furious; I am wronged; I have to be vindicated.
D How do you reconcile the need to be vindicated with the urge/resolution to be truly generous?
A I have decided that I didn’t want her back.
B Oooooh, decided, hey, very nice.
C I’m the one who should have walked away.
D No, for once you did the right thing: stay the distance, negotiate, jump over the hurdles; you didn’t try to run away when things got tough. In fact you may have taken a bit more unfairness than you needed. Not bad, for an inconsistent Gemini.
C If I had walked away, I would feel that I’d had a say..and I wouldn’t feel like such a sucker.
D Pride, it’s all pride.
A Never. No. Maybe. So?
C She can’t stand to hear anybody’s opinion but her own. She thinks it’s a personal attack.
D Oh shut up. It’s exactly what you do, this self-righteous, sanctimonious attitude.
C Never…
A Discipline.
B Oh really.
C Burn the pictures! Do voodoo on her ass!
D Grow up.