A is for Armistice, B is for Banana;

My head and I are having one at the moment (not a banana, the other thing), which is rather pleasant. I haven’t felt this...amorphously good in a long time. I say amorphous because it’s not a set-in-stone feeling, or a particularly grounded one, or one that will be around for a while to come. Words like ‘content’ and ‘positive’ and ‘ambivalent’ don’t quite fit the bill. It’s more this kind of heady scarlet cloud of sedateness, so maybe I’m a little high on it, I don’t know. But I am going to suck the marrow out of it, that's for darn sure.

A is also for; avocados, which I have reintroduced to my diet because they are full of GOOD FATS GUYS, and they look like nature’s little cups of lime sorbet; for Archie, Stephie’s alpha male collie-cross-something hybrid dog, who has developed an immunity to chocolate and the closing of doors; for August resits at 9.30 in the morning grumble grumble; for my deep, undying love of Amazon; for ¡Ay caramba! because if Bart Simpson was real I’d be in deep shit *swoons*; for Aunty Dave, his anger issues and his mystical tea powers; for new baby Abby (who should have been named Summer since she was born on the summer solstice, goddamnit); and last but not least for ARGHGHAUKDYJKHDUDYYYEUSGYDDJG, i.e. ineffable frustration of the artistic kind.

It’s also, duh, the first letter of the alphabet (and it’s at the beginning of the word alphabet, harharhar!), which kind of nicely parallels this After The Storm business when you begin again. (I would have said A New Beginning, but again that’s not an adequate description.)

So what’s been going on?

Well, Rosie went to the doctor (whose name began with an A, funnily enough) and was all YO, I FEEL LIKE ALICE FALLING DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE, HELP US OUT WILL YA. Although she put it a little more eloquently than that. The doctor was beautiful, there is no other word. He was philosophical on the one hand and theological on the other and he chatted to Rosie about Prozac Nation and how he ought to read it and Rosie got very excited and gushy and did everything but Superman it home and Superman it back with her own copy to give him. The doctor gave Rosie a questionnaire to fill out about how she feels (she and Meejin later laughed at the ‘I feel cheerful’ statement and how it was completely uncheerful), asked her to compose an A4 sheet of DARK STUFF for him to ponder over, handed her the contact details of a reputable therapist and advised her to enroll in Zumba classes…

*segues out of third person lunacy*

Ahem.

I have been unprecedentedly social over the past fortnight. Allow me to elaborate.      

Davidoff came to visit and to bestow gifts of metaphysical tea and assume the persona of Aunty Dave. This was lovely, even if he did deliver earth-shattering news that prompted me to scream for about ten minutes and then to periodically shudder like Sideshow Bob stepping onto all those rakes. It was still lovely despite the fact he spieled the synopses for European torture-porn films and laughed derisively at me when I began dancing to Splish Splash by Bobby Darin. We now have this little unofficial tradition (and unofficial traditions are the best kind) that when he’s walking home from work at ungodly hours and knows I am on the cusp of sleep he will phone me and I will not pick up and he will leave me a voicemail and I will reply to it via text and then he will leave another voicemail and you get the picture. It makes for some rather entertaining conversations, if you can call them that. (Seriously, if someone opened up my inbox they’d think I was off my rocket.) During said visit, we talked about What We’re Going To Do When We Grow Up, and I voiced my empathetic terror for those who don’t know what they want to do because I have always known and this reduced Davidoff to an even paler shade of white, because he does not know what he wants to do when he grows up, which happened in February, since he’s already twenty. So during this most recent transaction he yelled down the phone, and I quote; “I can’t deal with working with people. I’d rather work with the dead. I’m thinking of becoming an undertaker. Is that ambition enough for you?!” This was followed by his high-pitched freak-out on crushing a snail. The downside to this otherwise glowing friendship is the fact Davidoff does not care for The Simpsons, and in my world that is quite a faux pas.

I experienced déjà vu when I accompanied Meejin on her BlackBerry quest, although I was of absolutely no help at all, not only because I am technologically incompatible, but also because the tariff I signed up for was an introductory one and no longer exists and all the other Bold options were not student friendly. However, Meejin resorted to the Curve and Cheryl hooked her up and Sean was a grumpy bastard and in a hop, skip and a jump Meejin became the proud owner of the aforementioned Yay For Homogenization & Social Conformity/Nay For Independence-pushing contraption, thereby contributing to the World Domination Conspiracy. But don’t worry, Mulder and Scully are onto it.

We continued on to Stephie’s new house, which is like a loft apartment with the convenience of being on the ground and near a Greggs, with the intention of finally getting around to our long-awaited Movie Night. But inevitably, as with all planned Movie Nights, we watched a total of zero movies, instead opting for a four-hour bitterathon with hot chocolate made in a sexy little Italian machine and a helluvalotta junk food. There was even a mini-vending machine for cans WHICH YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO INSERT COINS TO GET, dates with convicts and chaetophiles, and this; “I’m kinda hating my dog right now for being a forty-two-year-old paedo called Archie.” Golden.

The next day I went to register with a new swanky dentists’ and then utilized the early start by resolving to WORK when I got home. Of course, first I had to eat, and by the time I sat down to actually make good on my promise, it was already three o’clock. I don’t know how. Now, no sooner has my ass made contact with the swivel seat when my phone beeps and this appears on the screen from Meejin;

MEEJIN: How was the dentist???????

ROSIE: A telt ye already D: it was f9, but a need aboot four million fillings X_X

MEEJIN: Fuck mannn Btw me and aimeee are at hardgate its sunny do u want to come out a wee walk???xXx

ROSIE: Awwwh :O <3!!! I really really would but I am woefully behind on writing and I will have to kick my own butt if I procrastinate any more :(!! I’ll be there in spirit (Y)

MEEJIN: Awwwww man just for like half an hour Its nice and sunny :(

ROSIE: Quit tempting me :(! I really really can’t, or I’ll be writing this till am toothless (N)

MEEJIN: No I respect your writing but it is sunny and u will do it later :(

ROSIE: You smell mccanny :(

MEEJIN: Okay? Its gonna be pishin all weeek

ROSIE: It better be or al batter you like a fish m8

MEEJIN: It is my mother told me very gleefully

ROSIE: Cool whip

Half an hour turned into three hours and a walk turned into a trip to the shop for crisps and chocolate and then vegetating on my bed. Swell times.

Today I met Suzy for a very, very late lunch (Linner? Dunch?), made even later by the fact we spent half an hour trying to decide where to go. Eventually, we decided on a ritzy place on the top floor of Princes Square and we caught up on eight months’ worth of Life and finished by testing out the BlackBerry barcode scanner (it works!). I love that even though we don’t see each other often, whenever we meet up it’s like we were never apart. If I ever get married, she’ll be at the wedding, because I’d want her there and she’d want to come. (This sentiment should not be undermined by the fact that when we saw a hen party walk past, we both agreed we couldn’t see ourselves getting married. That was probably more a result of the bright pink hard hats, my aversion to white dresses and the fact men are gigantic piles of poo.) A year of higher physics and PSD with eight guys really fortifies the old female bonds, I tell ya. *shudders*

The world is small because it transpires The Other Chick from philosophy works at Meejin’s new place of employment. She remembers the polar bears, bless her.

Also-also, anyone else besides me and Suzy a little discombobulated by the specificity of one particular question on the DVLA provisional license application form? It was something along the lines of ‘Can you read 54mm wide lettering on a registration plate stationed 60.5 feet away?’ I’m sorry, I don’t actually carry a giant tape measure on my daily excursions. Jesus.

In other news, I finally finished writing the long-hand sections of the Extended Short Story and all that was to be done was stitch the whole thing together and then I could write (with a tear in my eye) THE END. But, no. An experimental wondering I thought I’d repressed recurred to me the other morning whilst lying in bed fighting the urge to be vertical and join the land of people, and I am now in a kind of paralyzing void of indecision. I desperately wish I could splice myself into two and have a conversation with my intellect. In my imagination my intellect is sharp-nosed and pragmatic and her hair is always ruler straight and so shiny I could see my face in it, and she wears black and crosses her legs and she can probably walk in high heels and she probably even digs them, and she has a notepad and a pen and prim posture and spectacles and she doesn’t find my rambling amusing in the least. Sigh. Unfortunately, however, I am going to have to go it alone. Double sigh. Do cross your appendages for me.

Additionally, because apparently I just cannot shut the fuck up tonight;

• I ordered more books from Amazon which I really don’t have the time to read. In my defense, I only intended on buying one (A Midsummer Night’s Dream), but Amazon was having a Two Books For £8 deal, so I added Into the Wild to my basket and have subsequently fallen in love with it, and the other book was free because I’m one of the Vine People. Although I did just point out that time rather than money was the issue… Someone stop me. If my rotting corpse is found beneath a mountain of books, I have no one to blame but myself. I have been warned.
• Mazzy Star blow my mind in a very tranquil way… When I listen to them I feel all nice and wrapped up in the 90s.
• I FINALLY got my solid aluminium turquoise elephant! YAYYY!
• It is both lovely and torturous having gorgeous dreams about certain people in which I have no makeup on and am wearing pyjamas and am lying in a sleeping bag next to them and we’re with hundreds of others watching a movie but they don’t raise their eyes to anyone else and I can feel that they are scared but that they care, and I kind of love the blurriness. Of course then I wake up and realize it didn’t happen, but it stays with me all day like a tangible, physical blanket or something. Yum.
• It’s also pretty cool having dreams about fighting in the Battle for Hogwarts alongside Hermione Granger and taking out some bad guys with a flick of my wand and a yell of Stupefy! I was pretty crafty and kept summoning enemy wands and then snapping them muahahahaha. Silly Voldiethingy.

Righto, I think I have sufficiently filled my Rambling About Shit-All quota for the century, and then some, so I’ll be off to agonize over this pivotal literary question; to fuck or not to fuck?

Seriously, someone needs to purchase a giant butterfly net and come catch me.

Word of the Day: exsanguinate