volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- i love lars. kind of Holy shit, I'm knackered. I had good intentions of getting some quality sleep last night, but it didn't happen. Instead, 4am found me fannying around on the internet, even though my eyes were smarting and gritty. I've had three whole days off and I've done nothing but fanny around online. I have such a massive streak of geek running through me. I should be an overweight adolescent boy with a goatee, really. Preferably somewhere in the Midwest with aspirations of owning his own comic book store and the entire Metallica back catalogue one day. Actually, that's unfair, and I take it back. Metallica are pretty cool. "Master of Puppets" still makes me want to throw moshy shapes around the living room when I put it on. MASTUHH! MASTUHH! See what I mean? So yes, I feel like pale, pasty, exhausted old shit today. It's not at all sexy. I looked in the mirror when I finally got up and realised that unless the Glamour fairy came by today and sprinkled me with something not so much magical as plain bloody miraculous I wouldn't be going far today. One of the places I was fannying around on was the Warren Ellis Forum, and whilst I was there I happened to notice a mention of this book. Hmm, I thought to myself, I've got that book. And I felt all smug and pop-cultured-up and cool and like I was one of the beautiful people. (Those of you who've read the book in question will know just how ironic I'm being here) And then I thought to myself, I wonder what I've done with it. Y'know, my house is awash with books. When I thought I was moving in with Arthur, I got rid of lots of them, and I've still got hundreds and hundreds of 'em. There are two alcovefuls in the living room, plus a heap by my big old faithful armchair, piles in the magazine rack in the bathroom, the sacred comic shelves on the stairs, Nigella et al in the kitchen and more piles and shelves in the boudoir. There are also random books lying around in random places. So, as you can imagine, it took me a while to check everywhere. Then it dawned on me: Arthur's bloody well got it. I'm a bit cheesed off about it. I thought I'd be happy once I got my glittery belt and Goldfrapp CD back, but now I've realised there's still unfinished business between us. And it's his birthday on Sunday. Today was my last chance to send him a card, but I didn't. I guess I could text him instead. It kind of equates with the effort he put into Valentine's Day... Good grief, listen to me. I sound like a naggy bitch from hell. Which of course I'm not. Honest! Two things before I go: i) I'm thinking of doing an evening class. It needs to be creative, fun, sociable and hopefully not patronised by nice ladies in nice knitwear. I need helpful suggestions. ii) Most of you will be blissfully unaware of the fact that you wouldn't be here reading this- there would be [shudder, shudder] NO volcanic gubbins at all- if it wasn't for this man. Honestly, it was reading him that first inspired me (somewhat deludedly, you might argue) to have a dabble myself. On Sunday he's flying halfway round the bloody northern hemisphere to start a whole wild new adventure filled with joy and bliss with his delectable lady love, and I want to be ridiculously corny and sentimental in wishing them both big dollops of happiness in it's purest and most unedited form. Love you both lots 9:27 a.m. - 15.03.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||