girlsdontcry's Diaryland Diary


A miscellany

Amazon suggests I create a wishlist based around DVDs featuring drag queens or of a decidedly camp nature (All About Eve anyone?) that only work in the US and Canada, a hardcover version of a Chuck Palahniuk book out in paperback, and the entire oeuvre of Irvine Welsh novels.

But Rapunzel Barbie is gone from my suggested items.

I think I read someone recently going on about Amazon's bizarre system of recommendations, but you know, I wrote about it ages ago too.

So there.

I went to the homeopath on Saturday, which was interesting in that I got to sit and talk about myself for at least 90 minutes.

I got in there and she put a box of tissues next to me, so I had a moment of panic, thinking do most people cry?

Reader, I did not cry.

I did tell her that I don't like crying.

But I kind of sort of glossed over a lot of things.

They should have a version where you can write a letter to your homeopath to really tell them everything everything, otherwise people like me say things like "the world's depressing because it's chaotic and there's no way of changing it", when really what we mean is "my life's depressing because it generally seems to me like a big pile of pooh and there's no way of changing it".

She's getting back to me with some kind of treatment, in the meantime she recommended lemon juice in hot water in the morning and the evening and maybe possibly aloe vera juice, because it's cooling.

I started with the lemon juice this morning.

It's kind of fun at the moment, and I'm looking forward to receiving her remedy in the post.

After I left her, I went to my new favourite cheap place to eat noodles, and ate noodles. A Chinese lady sat opposite me and talked to me a bit, and it was nice. Except she, like, made me ... well, she was telling me they give you free soup there, and I didn't know that, but I already had soupy noodles and I didn't really want more soup, but she was like "you should really try the soup, it's great, it has black-eyed beans in it".

So I had the free soup and then felt bad for not eating most of it.

My new flatmates invited me for a drink on Saturday night, but I was already on my way to friends' for dinner, so I had to say no, but I would've liked to have gone. And my friends, a married couple, invited probably every single person they know -- me, her best friend and his brother. But we were all still single at the end of the night.

I travelled home on a variety of buses and hated men for ... ugh, just that thing they do when they have to make you aware that you've been clocked. Talking to each other and saying "she looks happy" meaning "she looks completely fucked off" in a voice loud enough so that they know that you've heard, and then... you know, I just want to get home, so leave me alone, ignore me.

I was waiting for one bus (do you have any idea how expensive taxis are in London?) and then this guy was striding up the street as the bus came and walking right in front of everyone and in my pettiness I was absolutely determined that he would not get on the bus before me, and I squarely blocked him and got on first and he followed me up the stairs (yes! double-decker buses!) and was heavily breathing and I was steadfastly not making eye contact and then I heard snoring, he was slumped down in his seat asleep, still there when I got off, and I was hoping he'd missed his stop.

Because he tried to get on a BUS in front of ME!

Petty, I know it. And then I got worried about bad karma from not doing the right thing, even though I asked a thousand tourists during the day if they needed directions (none of them did, so I don't know if that wipes out not doing the right thing later on).

At my friends' house Saturday night, well, she's pregnant, and I think her best friend is jealous of everything she has, because the best friend quoted a line from Smack The Pony. She told her "shagging a woman after she's had a baby is like opening a window and shagging the night". Which was kind of mean, although it was funny too.

And everyone laughed, so maybe she was just saying.

At the risk of cursing myself, I started writing at the weekend, and at even further risk, it's actually working out OK, nothing solid, but bits and pieces, and these are leading to other bits and pieces.

I'll tell you what really inspired me in the end. It was visiting the British Library, and seeing manuscripts -- this sounds so vain -- but just seeing the manuscripts and getting some idea of physically how people write books.

That's such a great place, by the way, they have tiny little exhibitions and the latest one is Samuel Pepys, a diarist, just like us.

Also, I was reading about this book (it's A Million Little Pieces by James Frey, if you can't be bothered to click -- has anyone read it?), and just something he said about not wanting to be inspired by someone else's writing, so decided just to write exactly what happened, and how he felt.

Umm... but he also was saying how he wants to be "the greatest writer of his generation", and that just annoys me. I mean, whoever could say one writer was "the greatest" of a particular time? When all writing is so different.

That was a line that jarred in the only of Rebecca Miller's stories I read, and I remembered how much I hated it because it came up again in her movie, when they talk about "the hottest writer of his generation", and I mean, I just don't hear people talking about writers like that.

Do you?

10:17 a.m. - 2003-05-19


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