"There is now a great tension between Fred and me; we cannot bear each other's eyes. He wrote something about me so exact, so piercing that I felt invaded in the most secret precincts of my being. His writing about Henry also terrified me, as if he had come too close to my own fears and doubts. He writes occultly. I could barely talk after reading those pages. And he was reading my journal. He said, 'You should not let me read this, Anais'. I asked why. He seemed stunned. He bowed his head, his mouth trembled. He is like a ghost of me. Why was he stunned? Did I reveal the similitude, the recognition? He is a part of me. He could understand my entire life. I would put all my journals in his hands. I do not fear him. He is so tender with me".
If someone read all of my journals, they would know me completely. Or almost. Sometimes I leave things out of my diaries because I know I'll remember the truth and somehow it doesn't need to be written down - it's for my memories anyhow. Sometimes I'll leave it out because I'm embarrassed, or want to present it differently. Mostly I'm just horribly honest. I couldn't imagine the ramifications of someone reading all of my diaries.
My buzzwords of February: recently it's been about new music and new words, and big coffee-table books, and somehow nudity, and smoking, and not sounding like yourself, contemporary dance and Muji notebooks.
I did life modelling the other day. I've always wanted to do it, and I saw the advertisement for life models and thought, If not now, when? You are in your PRIME, Miss Brodie! It was scary. There were only about 13 people there though, and luckily I knew none of them. Fifteen pounds for an hour ain't too shabby. I'd do it again.
It's actually nice to have people look at your body completely unsexually. You're completely bare, curves and all (I lived in fear of someone taking one look at me and saying, "I think I'm going to need some bigger paper") and people are looking, deliberately, at the details of your body and looking down at their paper and then up again, and it's a constant scrutiny. It's not exactly empowering, or revelatory, or a huge confidence-boost, or anything like that that you expect, but I liked it because I like my body and I like nakedness and it's all just quite a bit fun, isn't it.
It's quite hard to justify it.
"You're essentially taking your clothes off for money?"
"That's what strippers do, isn't it?"
And I'll be honest, I do it for the money, not for the joy of it. I just fortunately happen to have very little sense of modesty, and it's one way of earning money and I also happen to have this bizarre obsession with taking my clothes off.
I want this beautiful mug from Muji. And, in general, just to stock my kitchen with stuff from Muji.
Christ, someone get me a Lemsip, I'm dying here.