Friday February 27th 2004, 5:26 pm
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Friday February 27th 2004, 5:05 pm
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Despite, or perhaps because of, the lovely flat I have to go home to now (after dinner and drinks with cousin, m.d.), I’m rather in the mopes. Friday doldrums? Pre-work malaise? A case of the ‘ready to be done so why isn’t done yet’? Nothing to see here, move along, this one. Pure rubbish. And I haven’t sorted out night/weekend internet access yet, so it may be a bit till you get the dirt. Or perhaps it’s back to pencil and paper, despite the tangled origins of my current journal. quitcherbitchin might be a reasonable response to all of this. But hey, you think I’m writing this for you? Pah.

poor taste, yes. crime?no.
Friday February 27th 2004, 3:42 pm
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lost and found
Friday February 27th 2004, 11:23 am
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My new flatmate must think I’m nuts. I hadn’t quite realised how nice this flat, this house(!) is. Hardwood floors downstairs, built in appliances, a dishwasher (!!), multiple rooms with tasteful and expensive and stylish furniture (!!!). So I was in this odd reverie, looking around in disbelief, stumbling up and down the stairs after I’d dropped off my paltry few belongings.

On the other hand, I’ve unpacked my clothes from a suitcase for the first time since last July. You have no idea what that feels like. Plus, despite the fact I was expecting to have to buy some sort of table/desk, instead I was able to relocate one from downstairs – lush dark wood, old leather blotting surface. So I set my work up (very picturesquely, I might add) after unpacking clothes. (note to self: buy hangers). Living in a space with my work again can only be a good thing. No more division of church and state, as it were, of sleep and work. Skoro. Take back the night, take back the meaning. Skoro.

Thursday February 26th 2004, 8:20 pm
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Leaving, soon. Unplugging the computer, soon, the umbilical cord of both freedom and entrapment here. I don’t know what will happen, how regular this site will be. There will still be plenty of opportunities for dull and semi-stilted daytime entries. But for dark and late nights, red wine and whiskey, I can’t say right now. But I’m sure I’ll say it eventually. ‘Au revoir‘, she said, 8 long months ago, and now the same to you.

fuck that job
Thursday February 26th 2004, 5:53 pm
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Well, I could probably just stick it over in otherwheres, but I want you all to feel my pain a little bit here. Not that this is current pain, but the adverts, apparently still running at a Craig’s List near you, are all too painfully familiar. So share ’em and form a community out of vitriol and bile: Fuck That Job.

GW in a nutshell (flash)
Thursday February 26th 2004, 3:33 pm
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in the mood
Thursday February 26th 2004, 2:52 pm
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In the mood to write, but nothing in particular to say. As opposed to needing to write, having something to say. Not to be confused with having something to say but not wanting to write. Which should also be distinguished from wanting to write, but not being in the mood. None of which should be mistaken for having the urge to write. And, of course, the outcome of any of these scenarios is as nebulous as the places and spaces I’m trying to describe. Any actual output is a whole different kettle of, err, mixed metaphors.

Meta entry, I suppose, writing on writing. Mostly trying to calm myself as I alternate between anxiety, excitement, despair, depression, elation, determination, and fright. It’s just a move. How many places, now? I count at least 16 off the top of my head. If you lop off the first house and first 15? years or so, that’s an average of about 8 months per place. And, to be generous, I’ve left out the couch surfing of the last 8 months…Sigh. A wanderer, a Wanderer, an anhaga, ‘ Nis nu cwicra nan

career path
Thursday February 26th 2004, 1:40 pm
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Thursday February 26th 2004, 1:12 am
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8 months, I’ve lived without a space of my own. Too long. Just too long. It’s after midnight, here, but I daren’t look out the window to see if they’re coaches or pumpkins. I just don’t know.