I’m still getting letters over the opium evening. They’re puzzling me because I haven’t been recieving them from anyone I know or know of. Annoyingly, the majority of the letters have been “If anyone could handle it, it would be you”. This is slightly too much for me. Who are all you people? How did you find me? How is it that I have an audience? Trouble brewing. Apparently in Russia, there’s a household of five people who follow my life like a comic strip. Every day I am an unfolding short story that “moves them greatly”. This is the picture, this is the lens, I press this button and it posts my words. I’m not very interesting. I don’t understand.
Last night was to be the evening of Jennifer’s bridesmaids eating ice-cream. I arrived last but as Marcella is down in Atlanta with about ten of our friends, there was no planning for me to have missed. Walking up to the the shop and back, we degenerated quickly into ice-cream purring. FIlthy minded plastic spooning, which I claim will never happen in my bed thank you. Tiramisu was used by Italian concubines as the in-between pick-me up. The european cocaine. Satisfied puddles of female on all her couches. I’m sure we were a giggling spectacle. (And – news – Bill Stretch doesn’t have a stammer? I’ve known the man four years and he doesn’t have a stammer? This is MY fault? What??) Movies were next. Jenn, Kim and I swishing through the ill-lit hallways over to Marcella’s empty apartment. Time to feed the cat and slouch about in a cluttered apartment full of fantasy novels. Watching Robin Williams led to heavy political discussion for about an hour, then we put on Zoolander, which, if by then we had been more awake, I think also would have led to heavy political discussion. It was beautifully offensive. As it was we drooled heavily over David Bowie. A litre of ice-cream each was a bit of a drug. Derek came over at about that point. He missed us being intelligent completely. Proof in point – the next thing we put on was Tomb Raider.
It’s a relief to get home today and out of the office-wear. I started to losing clothes on the block of my apartment. Coat off, hat, shoes torn off. I close the door of the apartment behind me and start shedding skin. Shirt off, skirt off, I reach my room and toss it all on the bed. I don’t care. Baggy and comfortable today. Shapeless mens clothing. I’ve claimed the mystery shirt as of today. It’s mine now, you can’t have it back, you who left it here new with tags. Fie on your claim of proof of purchase! It has been annexed!