tuesday november 13th
my morning
i fall asleep with the most horrid, all consuming headaches i have ever experienced.
i wake up this morning as my hello kitty alarm clock cheerups in my ear. i then realise i'd been having sex dreams about a close friend of mine. and that i've bled all over the bed. ew.
i look at the mail. i get a postcard of a sickert painting: him and his wife sitting in the kitchen looking miserable. on it was written: 'another fun day at the sickerts! love from mum'. hee hee. i have a presentation on sickert this morning.
and a zine from midge! covered with stickers and with a toothpick inside? my oh my. lucky sophie.
i swallow some tylenol, and head downstairs to the kitchen. every-one, even at nine in the eh em, is eating porridge. 'i had strange sex dreams about a close friend' i say.
'not all dreams can be analysed' says kat. 'they're too weird. don't worry about it.'
'i used to anaylse my dreams before i became a christian' says ross. 'i have a higher spiritual alignment now and i don't worry about dreams.'
i head upstairs and afix a beautiful green and diamante bindi to my third eye. ben puts on his wooly hat and we get in the car to drive to college.
regaae booms from the speakers. 'please...no' i croak, holding my head in my hands. throb throb throb.
'sorry', ben says, turning off the stereo and handing me his tupperware container filled with porridge. it looks like puke but i don't say anything.
the car doesn't start. smoke from the engine fills the car and we jump out. neither of us is surprised that the car died but facing death ourselves so early in the morning can wake you up some.
'we'll have to get the bus', i say.
'but my lecture starts in ten minutes!' ben cries.
so, we walk to the bus stop, my head spinning the whole way there. and my bus pass has disappeared again.
'maybe you left it in your bedroom' ben asks, blinking in the cold morning air.
'no!' i shout, 'i put in my pocket as i started to walk to the bus stop with you...i'll have to retrace my steps.'
i retrace my steps. there is no sign of the stupid fucking bus pass.
i head back to the bus stop, and ben has already gone. my head aches. i pay for the ticket with my last £10 note.
on the bus i read the incredible zine and tell myself that no, i did not have sex last night with anyone, it was just a dream.
ladies and gentlemen, it is only 10am right now. i have a presentation in an hour on a book by joseph conrad that i have not read and on an artist called walter sickert who i do not like.
today is a special day between me and josh, too. and i want to think about it some. i'm sure i'll have time to. i mean, it's only 10am and look at me. i'm ready for bed already. i feel mad sick.
suds at