delighting in the difference

I'm going stir-crazy at home with just essays to do. Worrying a bit about the sheer amount of work I have. Combined with doing TakeOver Festival, job applications, having to dash down to London from York for job interviews and assessment days and then dash up again just to use the library, and you know, having a social life an' all and not being a complete hermit. And all of this on minus-amounts of cash.

I miss last summer, and stealing baths from roadside skips and dragging them all the way to my garage. Lighting candles and bringing in pillows and blankets. So many nights talked through, so many mornings greeted blearily when we opened the garage door and saw a dawn-light - blew out the candles but carried on talking. Still drinking wine. Drinking wine at eight o'clock in the morning on the swings in the local park. Having talked all night, wearing layers and layers and not drunk, any more, just happy. And still so much to talk about!

I need to do something with my life that I'll remember. I need to get out of this damn country or meet some new people or move to London or do something different, for Christ's sake.

 André Breton's atelier.

  

 I wish I could stop thinking about summers gone, or people gone. It's so distracting, this constant reminiscing. I think it's because right now my routine (and solitude, up on this lonely hill in the middle of the country with only my mother for company, God rest her soul) has got into a steady grind.

I want to be an artist's model forever. I could quite happily spend a lot of my time naked in 30s Paris, drinking at parties with Picasso and Nin and Miller. 

As long as I get to do some of the thinking, too.