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[13 Oct 2008|02:54am]
It's 3am and I just got in. The debris of trying to get dressed up and out of the house in a hurry are all about me. Three or four costume choices are cast across the bed, together with the make-up I didn't wear and last week's clean washing. I load the whole lot into a plastic box and throw it on the floor, sweeping space clear for sleep and creating a whole new problem for tomorrow.

My laptop and I move through a peculiar world where nothing is ever quite in the right place, but nothing is ever lost. Objects gravitate to places and make homes there, and my job is more zookeeper than librarian. However hard I try to organise things, there will always be one DVD, seven books and a hairclip on the bedside table, and a radio microphone by my keyboard. I don't put them there - they move there of their own accord.

One day I will be a monk and live on top of a mountain with my comfort blanket and a pointy stick, and the mountain will be tall enough that things cannot stalk me.
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[13 Oct 2008|03:39pm]
I don't think I can possibly (dis-)improve upon this.

At least one reader will leave me a stinking comment on the assumption that I agree with the sentiment depicted.
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