Eye talk

Well, my (anterior) chambers may be deep and quiet, but the pressures are still fucked and I forgot to defrost the mince. I hate using the microwave for defrosting cos you see all the blood. And it doesn't seem like proper defrosting. Unnatural, if you like.

Relatively speaking

My very artistic close friend, herself prone to anxiety, recently told me that after seeing me she often feels calm. That's nice, I said, wondering how on earth this could be. She went on: Compared to you, I feel like a phlegmatic lump. I smile when I think of her words, they seem like a compliment though they probably aren't. She has printed out the book cover for me with the new blurb - full size, full colour, I only had the old one, and it was in black and white. I am so impatient now to to get my hands on the real thing.

Desks & Suicide

Via Fiction Bitch, I have come across this Hanif Kureishi interview.

On the fascination with photographing writers' desks he has this to say: It's as if the talent is in the desk.

And on going to his desk each morning his thoughts are: Why am I doing this? Shall I commit suicide?

I dig Hanif. He made me laugh out loud.

Eyes

The only way I can make my contact lenses comfy is by tilting my face to the skies and letting the rain fall. Or by crying a lot.

Turquoise

Last night, I found myself locking my front door - I was taking out the rubbish - only to realise I had no shoes on. Even by my standards this is scatty. I felt a little silly on the landing, with a bin bag and bare feet. I often think it's a good job I'm not a pilot, I hate to think what I'd forget during the take-off checks. But I have at least remembered to get rid of the trays of mouse poison before the arrival of my nephews. Turquoise seeds on the floor are exactly where a toddler's interest lies.

© 2006 NMJ