Sunday, September 4

I'm in my old tub and I have filled it with hate oil. The shop didn't have any other kind, so I got hair oil. Cause soap makes my vag hurt and its out of the question. B. sent me an email which made me feel alive again. Yeah. I am the most resilient person I know. Fuck you and don't tell me to develop resilience. I've changed three flats in nine months and three jobs in four years. And had to end a really really tricky thing too. So I'm in the tub and I really want to smoke. But my throat is hurting and I've just had a throat tea. I'm finishing my book, I've made it, and I'm closer to who I want to be in years. So fuck you. I'm resilient enough, resilient for the things I want to be resilient for. I remember B. too. How he makes me feel that this is exactly where I need to be, and who with. I only have one picture with him under the tent, it was when he couldn't stay over and my heart broke. But I have the picture and he looks his prettiest holding a beer and smiling with dimples. So I'll comb my vag with argan oil and go and write to him. I didn't finally take the marjoram from manor house. It was too chunky and I didn't have a pot, plus it was a bit dry on the side. I can care for myself and my plants and no one else for a while. And if anyone has to say anything about self promotion then come and say it fuckers. Hope my employers do not read this crap. Cause I'm exactly where I need to be, inwards, onwards and smoking. And staying inwards and onwards, and making decisions and taking to myself and figuring out things on my own. I'll try to continue like this and maybe I won't have to fight with feeling all over the fucking place again. But I hate being careful. Careful, be careful, be careful, yeah, be careful. I'm just careful for myself, so that I don't get run over or out of breath. That's it. Don't get run over or out of breath. I love your asthma. Pay your fine and go home. 

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