Dot in the Sky (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dotinthesky) wrote2005-07-27 03:19 pm
dotinthesky) wrote2005-07-27 03:19 pm
Too Cold to Play Today
I meant to go swimming this morning but I couldn't muster the will when the alarm bell rang at 7:15, it looked cold outside, it was raining, and the boiler had already come alive (eventhough it was supposed to be dead), making me think that if I closed my eyes for another half hour then I could just shower at home instead of using my gym's (they have awesome water pressure; we don't). Then I sat in the kitchen, eating tasteless white toast, drinking tea, matching words inside my paper journal, but the wooden seats were so uncomfortable that I had to return to the bedroom, where I took off my black shirt and carefully laid it on a chair, unbuttoned my trousers so I could breathe easier, and lay on the bed with a generic fantasy novel to my right (Guy Gavriel Kay, what a disappointment) and the lit bedside lamp to my left.
London hasn't seem Summer today, but a taste of Autumn, with people wearing coats and dark colours, fighting to keep their hair straight as they walk by the Thames on the Southbank, clutching their coffees to their bodies for that extra heat, sneaking looks at the builders hammering and sawing by the Royal Festival Hall, who look more like Viking Gods than working class boys from the Eastend. I went into a World Music store facing the river and asked for anything by The Ukranians because I fell in love with them after I heard their cover version of The Smith's "Bigmouth Strikes Again", sung entirely in their language (and I do believe there are more Smiths' covers in their back-catalogue.) I then did a quick run through Foyle's Books, right beside the music store, marvelling at all those books I'll never have the time to read because there must be one great novel written for every day I have left on this earth (not to mention art books, religious tomes, philosophy tracts, non-fiction titles, biographies, autobiographies, and so on - how do I go about deciding which ones I should read and which ones I should ignore?)
I want to go see a horror movie. Who wants to come with me and hold my hand?
London hasn't seem Summer today, but a taste of Autumn, with people wearing coats and dark colours, fighting to keep their hair straight as they walk by the Thames on the Southbank, clutching their coffees to their bodies for that extra heat, sneaking looks at the builders hammering and sawing by the Royal Festival Hall, who look more like Viking Gods than working class boys from the Eastend. I went into a World Music store facing the river and asked for anything by The Ukranians because I fell in love with them after I heard their cover version of The Smith's "Bigmouth Strikes Again", sung entirely in their language (and I do believe there are more Smiths' covers in their back-catalogue.) I then did a quick run through Foyle's Books, right beside the music store, marvelling at all those books I'll never have the time to read because there must be one great novel written for every day I have left on this earth (not to mention art books, religious tomes, philosophy tracts, non-fiction titles, biographies, autobiographies, and so on - how do I go about deciding which ones I should read and which ones I should ignore?)
I want to go see a horror movie. Who wants to come with me and hold my hand?
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Now. I came here to watch a movie. You can pipe down and enjoy it with me or you can sit there and moan, "Ohh, the hook in my chest, ohhh, the pain!"
Your choice.
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What are we watching, by the way?
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The horror...
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*dies*
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Another day on the job...
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