Sunday, July 25, 2004

July 8 (Thursday): I wake up, it’s all right.  I MSN with Sara for a bit but I am horribly snappy and she tells me that I “scare her sometimesâ€� with my sharp comments.  God I must be cranky.

What happens today in the daytime?  I can’t remember, I guess I need a new job.  Stevo probably dragged me out somewhere at lunchtime to talk bollocks.  Maybe it was to Sam’s Diner, the new place opposite the public toilets where the owner/manager thinks he knows Stevo and keeps calling him Richard.

I mention today that I am taking Phoebe to the Tate and Stevo snaps the great line “are you trying to make her think you are cultured?  Jason, The Simpsons and WWF wrestling are not high cultureâ€�.  Touché.  I probably retort “shuddap or I’ll slap the lips off your faceâ€�.

At home home, Dad is once more struggling to get to grips with the internet and this time his problem is/are online loan applications.  Mum and Dad want a new car like mine but with dad not working, their choices are limited to say the least and the ones that they are being offered are just horrific, their house (my inheritance) looks pretty vulnerable to me.  He asks me if I would mind going over to sort him out, seems he is having a problem just logging into the Cheltenham and Gloucester website.  Bless.  I agree to go over tomorrow night just as long as I don’t go to the cinema (Fahrenheit 9/11 comes out and I really want to see it).

Tonight is my first session with the good doctor for three weeks, so there is a lot of psychosis stored up to unburden.  Our sessions are supposed to be aimed at exorcising development incidents but all too often I find myself going over the events of the past week, which strictly are wrong if they are not helpful.  Tonight is a big time analysis of the Sarah incident.  It is pointed out that this is a recurring thing for me, communication problems leading to one almighty explosion of festering emotions taken the recipient by surprise.  I suppose so.  What I gotta though, is the way that I always seem/feel abstained from responsibility, only answerable for the consequences.  Basically to me this is some kind of exercise into “I’m all right, it’s all those othersâ€�.  No, seriously, by now things are over for me, I’m over it I just need to keep certain things and certain people OUT of my life.  Talk moves on/over to mine and Phoebe’s little meeting this Saturday.  I’m actually more concerned about this, she is down for it but I am having so much trouble pinning her down for a meeting time and place.  She’s city, she will know the best suggestions to make but actually I am the man and really, traditionally, it is down to me to sort this out, to take the reigns.  Here’s a good question though from the doctor: “which Tate is it?â€�.  What?  There are two?  I leave the session with a whole batch of new problems to sort out.

I spend the evening on the Tate Modern website and texting Phoebe trying to sort things out for Saturday.  I suggest a meet up for 1pm and I go ahead and book tickets online for 1pm without her confirming either way, now this does contain risk (everyone/anyone remember Lindsey and the Millwall tickets?).  At 23.07 Phoebe texts to say yay, suggesting a heads up meet for 12.30.  She is bang up for it, really enthusiastic which is frightening for me, enthusiasm for spending time with me, go figure (“am so looking forward to edward hooper!â€�).  And she seems impressed that I have taken the initiative and booked tickets in advance, yes I am Superman.  One thing though, all this enthusiasm and she still refers to Edward Hopper as Edward Hooper.  All is forgiven as she wishes me sweetdreams.  My future’s so bright I have to wear shades.

np:  Electric Six – Danger!  High Voltage


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