Sunday, August 08, 2004

July 11 (Sunday): You can’t spell neurotic without the word erotic. I wake up from a dream of me being criticised, scarily by Ivan of all people.

Today is a void and waste land of mentality and living. I MSN Sara at work in Dubai some and recount the disaster in my mind that was yesterday. Sara points out that it doesn’t sound like a disaster. What does she know, she’s just a girl (ho ho).

I stagger out to get the Sunday newspaper and stagger back in; it’s become plainly obvious not a lot will be achieved today. I watch The Ladies Man on DVD which I bought yesterday is a stupor and wish I had the moves of this guy. Ultimately though I finally get to see the ending of this movie and I think it is fantastic, being a lame arse fan of Saturday Night Live spin-off movies (I’m probably the only person in the world that actually likes the It’s Pat movie).

In the afternoon Sarah attempts to contact me via MSN, asking me if I’m speaking. I ignore her, taking some perverse pleasure in the process. I win, in my little fucked up mind this is a sure gesture that she needs me more than I need her and she likes me more than I like her. As I said, my fucked little mind.

I end up sleeping from one pm to five pm, pretty useless. I wake up in time to find Driving Miss Daisy on TV and watch that for reasons pretty much unknown to me.

The night passes without incident, Sundays at times are death on a stick. At 11.30 my phone beeps and it’s a text from Phoebe “Hiya! Thought bored u out of ur skull with art-cy talk! Am reading another book-guess whats its about! food! a change from crime! Sweetdreams!�. Pigeon street.

np: Yes - Sweetness


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