So apparently I’m going to Seattle on Tuesday. Architechture and Ray Ceaser. Tonight we’re going to wander around with a camera, trying to shoot a shot for a music video. I am going to end up the most defensive little bunny rabbit that ever walked on two legs if I don’t watch it. This is the wrong time of month to meet intelligent young men. The wrong time of year. Damn damn damn. I can hear you luaghing at me from Londontown, from Russia. Basic materials babydoll, send me a picture, I called your damned father. Lay me down on red scarlet sheets, tell me the devil has my number. This is ridiculous. Who actually says, “I’ll pick you up at sundown”? I want to be able to play guitar this evening. Wail a bit on something, pick at strings with fingers suddenly dexterous on something other than buttons. Curse iron, curse water. I hoped I’d eat some dinner this evening.
He called, he’s outside. Bye y’all. Kill me when I get home.
Everyone please welcome my mother to our happy place. She signed up yesterday as on her birthday .
Saw Hero last night. I think my eyes bled from the richness of it. Colour and cloth and wind. I can imagine production crew at thier desks simply having to stop to drink in what they’re creating.
Gavool sent me another book. The Wasp Factory by Ian Banks. I started it today on my busride to the doctor. Some days I can’t understand how he loves me. I have all the charm of a sharp needle.
*stretches* There’s something so very nice to waking up to someone who simply wants to burrow into you back. Like angle filled cats intertwining thier tails and paws on a sun warmed quilt. I’m certainly not used to getting a ride home in the morning. Uncommon that, though honesty begs me to note that so is sleeping comfortably next to someone these days.
Change strikes blandly this morning.
Looking for a roomate isn’t going to be simple. My amazing one is considering finding a small place of his own in Burnaby. I’ve never lived with anyone as nice as Gavin or as fun. I can’t imagine a personality that could replace him. Not a realization that sends me flying closer to the sun in joy. Certainly, too, I can’t imagine I’m easiest to live with. Lately I’ve been having to come to terms with the fact that, yeah, I’m a tiny bit odd. My hours are less than blue-collar and I welcome strangers sleeping in my livingroom. I probably wander around in towels too much too. Later today I’m going to have to start writing an advert to pass around. Something convincing, where the reader likes what they find in spite of my purple tophat. Don’t particularly know how to do that, but there’s a first success in all things. Has anyone here ever written a successful roomate lure?
For starters: One bedroom in a two bedroom apt near Commercial Drive. $410/month + utilitites. If you think I’m cute, you’re not allowed to live here.