Very horny this morning thinking of you cleaning the mould. When I left you last night, the double doors of my building sang Only You to me. Is that a sign? Is that a sign of love? Do my double doors love me to death and very desperately, or do they take the piss out of me falling in love? I want to clean your house. I want to clean your house. I want to hung the curtains, mop your floor, tidy your drawers and books and towels. Tidy your towels, give them a good wash and hope for the best.

Took my homeopathic remedy, sucked really hard on it and feeling better today. I also held hands, shared affection and broke plates. I feel an instant attraction towards people in pain. The more the pain, the stronger the attraction. If someone's finger gets caught in between double doors or under the piano lid, I am attracted to them. If they fall in a paddle of water and break their wrist or shoulder, I am very attracted to them. If they are in any kind of physical pain, caused by a long-term condition or just accident, I melt for them. But most of all, it is emotional pain I am interested in. Breaking up with a long-term partner, losing one's job, losing a loved one. I die of burning desire thinking of all these hits of faith; and deep down I want to love all of these people deep and hard, because I think my love has a healing quality.

Shoot me. Shoot me. Shoot me, or I will shoot myself. Please, shoot me. Don't you see? Don't you see someone needs to shoot me? I am DELUDED. I am so fucking deluded. Don't you see? I decided to be a bitch, a real bitch, and not so long ago. I decided to be a real, truthful, trustworthy BITCH. And look where I've ended up. Look how silly I am. I am here again. In the beginning. Exactly where I started years ago. And I've learnt nothing.

I can never tell which is worse. To be loved fully and completely and to be utterly terrified of losing that love, or never ever experiencing it in the first place. I struggle with this; if you text me, then I will text you and then wait for your text. And if you text me back I do not want you to wait for my text, but if you do not text me in response, then I will wait for your text. If you do text me again, because you are nice, then I will contemplate not texting you, so that I do not suffer from waiting. But I do not want you to suffer either, so I end up texting and waiting and suffering from waiting for your text.

Once in a while I wake up feeling shitty. Really really shitty. Today is one of those days, like Dan would say. Not Dan Shelton, the other one. I feel so empty and fucking lost and I forgot to take my homeopathic remedy and my friend is abroad. I will never love and be loved, cause I have a fucking hole instead of a heart, which is dripping. It can remember nothing, nor the love, nor the kisses. Maybe I should eat something. Maybe that would help. And some coffee. One day I love this place, the next I hate it. What the fuck is wrong with me? Now, tell me, Dan Shelton, or the other one.

I am dripping in my pants. You are hot and I want you now. Your tie always does the trick. If you come, on a Friday evening, I will wear high hills and will smell of nutmeg and vanilla. I will ask my students to do some kind of task, so that I can think of you. You will be lost in the maze of this place, but will eventually find it. You have a compass in your heart. It will be dusk, the right kind of dusk and you will smile and turn the other way, perhaps a contour of shyness. I know, that is not the right word, you always find the right words, but it's ok. I am not shy, or jealous, or competitive. In your ruins I find shelter (that is also stolen). But it made me think of you. So, make up your mind and come and see me. And I will dump my students and writing and come and meet you in the threshold of my loneliness (blah).