reow.

when they say her feet smell, they mean her nose.

It is just as likely that as I invent what I want to say, you will invent what you want to hear.

Gut Symmetries by Jeanette Winterson

wherever i am, that fucking dog goes.

a bit of madness shows that both nothing and everything have changed. and it's just different, but i don't know if it's better. not even this pouring rain is familiar in the long run. and then things will be like this always. oh Madness, how i adore thee.

it all turns shit so fast, faster than i can pretend.

we're not like you. we go to dirty old pubs, where lost men with their lost teeth reside. you can't really meet people there, but maybe we like the people we've already met. you don't really dance there, but if there's some live music and cheap alcohol, we will be the only ones dancing. we don't dance like you dance. it's not seductive or sleazy, it's just fun and silly and spontaneous.

we don't drink what you drink, specially made, fancy rainbow coloured bottled drinks. it's cheap, dirty, bad. whatever gives the fastest hit with the least amount of dollars, like paint junkies who can't afford the real thing.

and we don't think like you think. we think about flowers and tea, and cigarettes, and hurting. and we don't worry about what you worry about, school marks, or boyfriends or getting our hair wet. we worry about that we'll be if we lose each other, and we worry that maybe we really are nothing. i think that's what we're most afraid of. because we're not like you, and we're not afraid of dying.

sometimes i forget that i can feel things.

what a darling joint. marriage.

tea, and repetition, and dullness of the mind. each day there's less and less I need, less time awake.

there's an evil something going on, some emptiness, some dark hole that seems comforting. and as it promised, time creeps by, everyday that has nothing to show for itself.

the garden is so lovely and always there, even though it doesn't belong to anyone. i had such a surprisingly nice pot of tea today.

being no good at anything, makes me a waste of space really. today i ate a pizza, with smoked salmon, and tomato, and cheese. it was awful, and i didn't want to eat it, but i thought it was more nutritious than eating sheets of puff pastry covered in sugar.

every cigarette is doing you damage. how ridiculous.

everybody said i looked different at work today. i think that's just from being sad. but i didn't say that.

oh dear, i've gotten fatter. only watered down orange juice from now on.

kitty cat kisses, beg to be fed. and it's so fun to chase the air, and tire yourself out.

i'll sit here till summer, and keep on my coat even in the sun. and i'll wait till winter, when it will be fitting, and i won't look so strange. and in the spring, flowers will grow out of my sleeves, and in winter mushrooms will cover my collar. but they will be of the deadliest poison, and that's the best i'll get.

roar. gosh i love candy, and chocolate, and popping candy with foot shaped strawberry dippers. and cigarettes, and alcoholic banana milkshakes, and blue soda, and buttery toast, and milk, and salt, and cooking wine, and cream. and biscuits, and caramel.

sometimes is feels like there is nothing, and other times, too much. and there's so much to be, but nothing to be also. you know?

a lonely bottle of champagne, can fill me up.

until the morning.

i forgot what real carrots tasted like, i just thought they tasted of nothing. but they taste real, and cold and crunchy and sweet.

it's easier to just give in. give in to the cold, because we'll never be warm.

a hat, is more forgiving than a cat.

deleting is so satisfying.

oh how i wish,

i was dead

as a dead thing.

and it would be,

quiet as, well

anything.

and you'd never,

have to worry

about a thing.

because you'd be

quite dead

as a dead thing.

not even the garden wanted to speak to me today.

sometimes you can make sadness go away with a cup of tea.

sometimes, you cannot.

and sometimes, lemon and honey taste awful after brushing your teeth. and sometimes, cigarettes make me thirsty.

and sometimes, only sometimes, if you are lucky, moments will pass where you forget that you are anything.

today, the closest i could get to the outside rain was shining droplets on business suits. oh goodness this makes me sad. why can i not garden, and cook and bake all day, and never work?

when i left home it was dark, and when i got home it was dark, and i never got to see my darling english spinach babies, popping their sweet little heads out to drink the rain.

well oh well. some people are quite strange. today i was in the very middle of footscray. the very innards of the rotting, disgusting, disease filled hole that footscray now is, with it's spitting, and smelling, and sweating and swearing. then i realised that i am quite a snob. and so, i went to forges and stole a pair of lovely woolen socks, because the shop assistant was quite rude. oh, how i am so much better. or quite the contrary.

today i read a little princess, and drank tea, and researched magic mushrooms.

i wish they would grow in my garden.

a bit of tangerine to heal the soul. i wish beds were less comfortable, so it was easier to get out. and so. i wonder what i'll do, ever.

grandpa pants this evening. and some hot water, to keep away the chills of the outside. also, smoking feels nicer than ever, because it's such a luxury.

wellingtons and vanilla cigarettes. and a rather broken and unhelpful umbrella.

business computing notes.

zooey ran away in the rain, and seth ate all the food. she must be drenched.

late again, no one cares.

the unfortunate outfit of today.

let's spend an hour in the garden.

this is a herb tower. and you caterpillars will be the death of me.

i miss the rain.

oh dear oh dear oh dear. zooey says hello.

tea party vs tea party.

it's funny how you could do anything, but really you don't want to do a single thing.

also, wow i have a lot of bills.

wine and fake smiles makes the world swim round. oh yeah.

ate some blueberries today. and also seth caught another bird. it was awful.

pear and walnut salad.

rocket and baby spinach leaves. thinly sliced pear, roasted walnuts, goats cheese, olive oil, rich balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper.