Something smells good - some kind of vanilla muffin smell. Three boys have entered in their football gear and open toe slippers with white socks. Is this a thing? I have 6 lei left and the water is 8. Maybe I will wait till the airplane and pay with pounds.

All good for now. Heart is fine, fire extinguisher not too heavy and I can walk. Only drank a very small amount of that wine you left for me, but it was good. Kind of sweet and it was quite late. I was reading about Richard and Kate and Sarah and the love triangle. And then about Marc. What a prick. Breaking up over a text message: 'I am not ready to be 50. I am not even ready to be 42.' What a prick.

Still here waiting for my taxi on the side of the pavement typing into my phone. I'm still touched, from earlier. Not sure how to describe this, it's a sort of sensibility I love and love to know that I share. Almost a permission to do this, to make you part of this and me and this world of mine. I'll stop obsessing now. But I have taken a screen shot of your post and I will look at it in the airplane. 

Yesterday was good. It was kind of sort of good and nice. I had a walk around, still carrying a heavy thing inside. It has the shape of a fire extinguisher but does not quite do the job. Smoked some shisha (my dictionary never recognises the word) and then walked back, taking my fire extinguisher with me. This morning, things seemed brighter, almost like that had never happened. It was a good meeting. I was getting pretty desperate, waiting for people to sign in and clicking on participants again and again. For an hour and a half I thought I would have to chair my own meeting, be my own host and read the steps on me own. But finally two people arrived. The sister of the famous football player and someone else. And it was nice. First time I talked to women. So nice.

This really touched me. It touched me in all the right ways. Softly and abruptly and without warning. In a simple, yet earnest way. No bullshit. And I am so scared and crying. Still here, under the romanian sun, just had some doritos with salsa (a bit too spicy for my taste and felt bad because I did not have any more money for tip, I decided to leave 20 lei for the cleaners - you can buy a sandwich and a beer with 20 lei here, so I thought this would be an ok tip). I said it. I said it. And it was fine. It was more than fine. In a kind and simple way. And we were fine. And then for the first time, I felt I could perhaps place my feet on the ground and stand on my own, no support needed, no one to hold my hand. Not because I do not want you to hold my hand, but because I want to be able to stand without it. I know you are there. I am here too.

Sitting under the Romanian sun doing some work - my bowel is not complaining for once. More coffee to come and I am chairing a panel. I hope I do not have any bowel movement before, during or after.

I wake up and nothing really matters. I am all alone, diarrhoea again, and black coffee. Bad combination. Bad, bad combination. Just stay away from facebook. No matter what, stay away from facebook.

I am freaking out; I am fucking freaking out. I am on the verge of a panic attach, my belly is tight, I have had half pizza, a potato bake and three tomato skewers. I am fucking freaking out. I have had a beer (draft), some wine and a biscotti, I have palpitations, I give in, I give in, I surrender. I will not be able to just be, just lie on the bed and rest. I am so sad and lonely, in this big bed with the chandelier hanging on top, the silvery brown flowery patter on the wall and the fake pink orchids. The curtain is turquoise and the bed stool lilac. I am freaking out. I cannot even reach out and write to you out of fear you may not reply.

What does it mean to have five minutes to live- five more minutes alive. Do I call anyone? Who do I call first? And what do I say. And is everyone else dying too or is it just me? Because of course that changes things. It changing things completely. Like, if it is just me dying, I will say I will love you forever, or for the little I have left and I will thin of you, if I still have that capacity when dead, and I will send you some thoughts signals, or kisses, you will probably see them blowing in the air; blowing in the middle of the shy sky and doing a sort of backflip, you know. And I will be doing a backflip with them, I will be there, in the middle of the night, the shy night, doing a backflip, after I die.

Now, if we are all dying, then that's a different story. I think I will call you again and just wish that I could speak to you until the end, just chatting really, nothing heavy or important, just random stuff. Like wanting to have an allotment this spring and hoping to be able to grow some spring onions. Or, let's visit grandma and see if we can find that box of photos in the wardrobe. They will probably smell of mould, but we can scan them and keep them forever, that is until we die, eventually, at the end of this phone call.

Ok, you will say. Let's do that.

I received the toner you sent me, you will say, I used it, I did the test, it was good, lots of dirt came out on the cotton pad, the kind of dirt that makes your day. I know you'd like it, I will say. I was upset after you spilled half of the bottle in the train in Athens, I will say. You are nice, you will say. You think of me under any circumstances. You know, when I need stuff like that for my personal hygiene, no that sounds more like my personal hygiene, you know. I didn't mean that, you will say. I know what you mean, your personal hygiene, I will say.

So the phone call will continue like that until we die. We will talk about all possible veg we can plant this spring and whether we should book accommodation for the summer. Yes, of course we want to see the parents, but this is our holiday too.

The two girls left and they left us the sofa. So grateful. That woman with the carrot cake didn't really fancy our company. I think she didn't really like that we were kissing every millisecond of every milliminute of every millihour. You know what I mean. She didn't like how I made no effort to wipe the danish cramps off my mouth and just left them there hanging. It is not a fashion choice, the danish cramps, it's just practical. A practical joke. Like removing all tags from the tins in the cupboard and ending up making leeks and potatoes with chopped caramelised pear rather than tomatoes or date slice with carrot extract.

Shout at me. Make me cry. Shout at my weirdly shaped eyebrows. I do not want to think of a place without you. You know why. You know that I am four times the weight of my tears, all alone and no matter what, all yours.

So glad we settled this. So glad you know the lager is mine. It isn't yours for three reasons: 1. Your pigeon hole smells of poo, 2, You are really really handsome and 3. You know when I'm about to cry and you place your arm around my shoulder.

4. I really like that.
5. I really really like that.
6. Your pigeon hole doesn't really smell of poo.
7. I smell of poo.
8. Not all the time.
9. Only when I'm in the toilet.
10. You know, pooing.
11. Only then do I smell of poo.
12. Promise.

I am kinda starving now but I have washed my mouth with mouth wash. What to do, not sure. Have maybe some cereal with almond milk and then brush my teeth again. Or pretend that almond has some medical attributes and I do not need to brush my teeth again. Or just go to sleep. Or ask my flatmate to brush my teeth. He will probably say no.

how do I say this, in simple words, three days are somehow over. Very very quickly, but did so much. Laid in the sun, sang a song or two, shared a chelsea bun and did some yoga. All good, I say, all good, for three days. I will now go under the duvet and think all about it. And maybe text you later on.

wash well, under the armpits. do it better. you know how to do it. better than this. scrub it. scrub it. remove your skin. the first layer of your skin only. make it pink. make it really pink. scrub it. scrub it. ya ya ya ya, scrub it. it is pink now. purple pink. no, it needs to be fuchsia pink, fuchsia pink, scrub it.

You suck my jugular, which is located in front of my pectoral fin, you touch my clavicle, which is palpable in all people. You find my lateral end and comment on its flatness. You refuse to acknowledge the lateral lip of my bicipital groove and you reject my thoracoacromial trunk. Oh well, you say.

in my birthday party no one comes. only Victoria Beckham who sits on a hay stack and cries uncontrollably because her husband is arrested for weed possession.

We are doing a showing off, all done with carrots now, and we will project a live spider on the wall; in her cage she kills a bird or a cat that carries another animal on its head. And then, for the projector, we have a rabbit. I feel so sorry for the rabbit, I convince my colleague to let it live and put the bird or cat in there fore her instead. I grap the rabbit and set it free.

It is carrot next to carrot next to carrot next to carrot on the white page in a square.

Carrot next to carrot next to carrot next to carrot on the white page.

Carrot stick next to carrot stick next to carrot stick on the white page.

Next page: another square: carrot next to carrot stick next to carrot stick next to carrot.

Yeah yeah yea bring it on, yeah yeah, I am ready. I am ready, I am telling you. I walk slowly and take notice and put my phone in the kitchen on the shelf before I go to sleep and I hide my vibrator in such obscure places I cannot find it again for days and I promise I will not flirt too much or hope too much or do too much of anything at all. I walk slowly. I do my exercise. I take psyllium husks to help my bowel movement. I try to squat in the toilet and not rush. I shave my legs once a week and I use mouth wash. All good and well. I am being good. I remember my BL and look forward to changing it when the time comes. Ok. Good and perfect. I am telling you.

I forgot about this; I forgot about writing. I forgot I can do this. I can sit down somewhere, and write. How lovely. I am not sitting down next to two men talking about his own five granary cabbages maybe in Chesterton I do not know where they are but it is a nightmare there. I think he just wants to get out of there. Lots of money. Ok. Done.

My dream bedroom looks like you. Spacious and bright with lots of art either hanging from the ceiling or leaning on the floor. With some white cushions and some plants that I do not have to water.

I organised a party and two classes of Chinese students came. Initially the blocked the door, but eventually settled down in the living and had some ice cream. They did not want pizza so I was not sure what to do with them. My sister had a boy in her room and the bed broke and  my muscle was too tense. I waited up to tell my mum what had happened, out of guilt that I had not been a very good daughter.

I am not meeting anyone - the parents, the grandparents. I am not meeting anyone. I will only give you a vintage pushchair to sleep in and snore and I will place it next to the coblestreet  near the crossroad.

change the lamp, yes, change the lamp, little cuts on my fingers, first, third, fifth, seventh, little cuts, spreading, change the lamp. I can see the map of my skin around the cuts, spreading, the red borders ready to lead action.

I hope this is not a treacherous path. Just a dark and slippery one.

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

GO

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

No, no,

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

Repeat

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

No, NO

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

Come on, go

Stance one
and two
and three

Go, Go

Yes, yes, go, no, no, go, yes, yes.

Ok.

Inside, put it inside, further to the left, no, no it hurts, further to the right, to the right, please, please to the right. When am I going to be alone and with no limp to satisfy. No desire whatsoever to boil down to two. I am tired of playing the game for so many years and I long for some tireless sleep.

Poor, poor Malcolm. It is not enough he killed himself, his breath also smelled of poo.

τα κάναμε μαντάρα, φίλε μου

βρήκε η μαμά το χόρτο, διώξαμε το ψάρι από το σπίτι λόγω κακής διαγωγής, τα πήραμε στο κρανίο κι από πίσω κι από μπρος

Hi Bobby

Hi Bobby

dating

Really really red and white. No, not white. Really really really red and white. No, not white. Really red. Yes, really red. Yes, really red and white. NO! no white. Really red. Yes, really read (and white), NO, NO white. Ok.

The lower part of my liver hurts. Actually, I remember now. It has been a tough week. I have removed the skin of my finger, while trying to remove the paint. I scratched my mole and it bled. I burned my arm in the oven. And now this. My liver, which is located in between my thigh and my pubic bone, has decided to open. It is actually gaping open, really really red, like an ill mouth. A very ill mouth, trying to speak. There are two mouths in fact, one on top of the other. And they are both trying to speak. Not sure what they want to say; lips are red and as I open my leg, they open too. I try to walk, and they hurt. My liver has decided to move; it has decided to relocate and it is now in between my thigh and my pubic bone. What an awkward place.

I am counting the money. It is in £35 notes. I am counting the money. It is orange. It is a lot of money. I do not know why read has given me so much money for a 16 minute performance. It is in a strange boat and I worry that I will miss the plane. Haris is there under a blanket. His parents are worried about unscrewing the extractor fan. Noone cares about grandmother who has just arrived in a golden taxi. I am counting the money. It is a lot of money. Too batches. One is about £1000 and the other notes. G did the same piece but got paid less, so I am trying to hide the money in the drawer so that he does not see it. I am sure he will make an argument about gender equality or something.

Then something else happens. I make out with a toilet. No, I actually make out with the sign of the toilet. The toilet sign. The one stuck on the door. The door sign, yes, I make out with the toilet door sign. The sign is not of a man or a woman, is that of a baby! I make out with the toilet door sign of a baby! Then I feel embarrassed and I decide to cover the two signs with white photocopier paper, hug my pillow and fall back asleep.