crying, eating, walking, speaking ...
Now Playing: Paul Mc Cartney, on the District line tube; then 'Solsbury Hill'. Again.
Conversation last week with Wickedex:
"Did you smash my new camera?"
"The cat did it."
"Oh. Did you go a bit mentallist, then?"
"Believe me, you've never even seen mentallist."
"oh. I don't want to see it, really."
"Really. You haven't a clue how mentallist I can be."
"I'm no longer under any obligation to see you being mentallist, though. I can do without it."
"Oh. I guess."
Why the hell did I wear stilettos? It just draws attention to the fact I haven't ironed my suit. Without glasses, there's not even a reason to visualise freakish sex.
I hate when short guys turn away as you approach. As if - if they can't see you, then no-one can see that they're short. They could just start muttering and shaking / twitching, instead - it's no less clear that they have a problem. I never had a problem dating blokes shorter than me as a teenager - I find it odd that grown men - men who are short every single day - can't get over themselves on this one.
I need to eat more. I think I ate rawish steak last night, but most of the evening is a total blank, so I can't be sure. But I do have a trace memory of sitting on the bus home and realising my legs had the look of a pipe-cleaner woman. Besides, if I eat more, I might not end up crying so much. You never know.
Footnote about crying all the time:
Perhaps it's hormonal. It doesn't feel any worse than not crying, and I'm certainly no more upset than when I'm not crying. It just sort of comes out.
Usually I'm pretty circumspect about that sort of thing. If someone cries in front of me, it's a shortcut way to get me to be nasty to them, because I automatically assume it's an attempt at emotional manipulation. It's a little galling to keep being the damp over-emotional person myself.
Helpfully, the |genericjob| is engrossing and interesting enough to take my mind off it. Also, I find very very loud singing can prevent it (useful when driving - I'm sure crying before an accident would invalidate the insurance.) Might be frowned on upon the tube, though.
Strange how I have no such self consciousness about vomiting on the tube though.
Having lived in central London through all of a particularly wild twenties, I estimate I've splash-backed on about sixty to seventy perfect strangers. Tube etiquette being what it is (the madder anyone behaves, the more fixedly one stares at a safe spot behind their head), not a one of them complained. Four have even offered medical assistance. Bless. They don't do that when you're crying.
But anyway - the crying references - I'm not blogging them for piteousness, or as another bloody way to mope. It's just something that's happening.
Do feel free to take the piss.
Updated: Sunday, 16 November 2003 2:09 AM GMT
Post Comment | View Comments (17) | Permalink | Share This Post