"Remember, you're sharing your home with a wolf"*

jesus, okay, fine, alright, some people may be able to quote me as saying "I don't care about dogs. I would happily kick a puppy in the street", but let's not dwell upon such hastily delivered words. Onwards and upwards I say, and let's let all our bygones go by. Let's all hold hands and paws and gills and any other appendages you want to throw into the mix and dance together through a luscious meadow.

(I really must be in love. I do not care for dogs in any shape or form. They're just massive cushions with eyes and teeth.)


*wolf quote attributed to Martin Clunes, may he rest in peace. amen.












(he's not dead)

Today

has been the nicest day of my life.


If you are reading this I assume we either know each other or will have spoken to each other at some point, so if you start to notice that I'm abnormally nice to you in the following weeks the only explanation I can give you is that I am happy. A revolting notion for a cynic. (I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that there is obviously a romantic little anti puppy-kicking romantic inside me masquerading as a bitter, pro puppy-kicking cynic.) I can't even begin to grasp how difficult the 16th is going to be. This experience has been far too short, but I suppose it's the beginning of something substantial and unforgettable. I only hope I don't let this slip through my puppy-strangling fingers.



xo.

the boy whose skin fell off

I have a free house tonight, and I've been alone since about 7pm. I have successfully managed to mess up every room in the house, unintentionally. I lit some candles in the bathroom because it seemed like the right thing to do when I was taking a nice shower and it's what the ladies do on adverts when they want to relax. I blew out the candles and I must have a stronger set of lungs than anybody could have anticipated and ended up blowing wax all over the place. rage.



I watched about 800 episodes of Whose Line is it Anyway? in bed, read some more, fell in love with Heathers (2 Irish girls and a guitar, not the Winona Ryder film) and pranced about leaving my washing everywhere. I haven't done much else and that's the way I like it.

Wax is a motherbitch to clean up.

www.myspace.com/heatherswhatsyourdamage <3

xo.

Morrissey - Rochdale Canal 1989

a postcard from someone good

home

I'm back from work, it was slow and boring, which was to be expected.

I bought James Frey's A Million Little Pieces and began reading it tonight, I started writing inside the book...

As I read this I am staring old age in the face and thinking of the one I love. Stood at the bar looking into his glass is maybe the oldest human being I've ever seen, I feel sad that this man is alone, and he only has the bottom of his glass to look at and I want to tell him I love him and things will be okay for him. I don't. I have in my hand a photograph of my love, in the picture he is young. Younger than I am now. I want to tell him I love him and that things will be okay for us. I do. The old man is drinking Guinness and he looks sadder than anyone I have seen before. Old and sad and old. I serve him another sad Guinness and as I reach over to collect his empty glass he looks down my dress. I let him. He finishes his drink slowly and I smile at him and think of my love growing old and sad and drinking Guinness and looking down young girl's dresses. I look at the photograph, and then back at the old man and I know that I want time to stay the fuck away from me and my love.

fuck

best night ever, I'm suffering insanely today. hold onto your hats.
I have work shortly but when I return... I'll edit this post so it's not shit.

baby baby baby

new laptop is a treat!