A bit of a buzz
Calliope has a buzzing mouth again. She enters with a thoughtful look on her face, and when the fly escapes, she hurtles recklessly around the room until the fly no longer works. By evening the floor is littered with corpses. There was so much noise at one point I thought someone was trying to break into the house, and I went downstairs and found the weasel hanging half way up a net curtain.
Worked on the wind poem, called Wind Raga, faffed in Cyberspace and started writing Invaders of Guernsey as the whole story is in my head. Just before bedtime, however, noticed an absolute howler in the text of Defenders, which was a bit depressing.
Back to the gym this afternoon. Felt harder going today, and was sweaty. I walked in through the gym's swipe card turnstile, which didn't work. As I was trapped there, the boy on the desk said 'What are your goals?' and then 'what are your targets?' as if I hadn't understood him. He was trying to upsell me to more gym classes. I replied, in properly grouchy style, that my target was to get through this bloody turnstile.
In the evening up the road to hang out with Anton, listen to some new music and admire his varifocals. This being Anton they had been carefully selected: roundish and chic in a retro old school look, with a gorgeous leather case. I went up to say good night to Klaudia, who showed me her collection of rubber band-like bracelets and read me some poems from a first book of children's poetry, the little sweetie.
I left earlyish as I was very tired tonight. Back down the hill phoning Lorraine who was yawning and already in bed.
Calliope has a buzzing mouth again. She enters with a thoughtful look on her face, and when the fly escapes, she hurtles recklessly around the room until the fly no longer works. By evening the floor is littered with corpses. There was so much noise at one point I thought someone was trying to break into the house, and I went downstairs and found the weasel hanging half way up a net curtain.
Worked on the wind poem, called Wind Raga, faffed in Cyberspace and started writing Invaders of Guernsey as the whole story is in my head. Just before bedtime, however, noticed an absolute howler in the text of Defenders, which was a bit depressing.
Back to the gym this afternoon. Felt harder going today, and was sweaty. I walked in through the gym's swipe card turnstile, which didn't work. As I was trapped there, the boy on the desk said 'What are your goals?' and then 'what are your targets?' as if I hadn't understood him. He was trying to upsell me to more gym classes. I replied, in properly grouchy style, that my target was to get through this bloody turnstile.
In the evening up the road to hang out with Anton, listen to some new music and admire his varifocals. This being Anton they had been carefully selected: roundish and chic in a retro old school look, with a gorgeous leather case. I went up to say good night to Klaudia, who showed me her collection of rubber band-like bracelets and read me some poems from a first book of children's poetry, the little sweetie.
I left earlyish as I was very tired tonight. Back down the hill phoning Lorraine who was yawning and already in bed.
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