Wednesday

has anyone thought of this yet?


(click for bigness)

is this a funny story.
i was making breakfast, like usual, or like i assumed a usual person would, in my dressing gown that i have become quite accusomted to during my days of post-studentdom, and i heard the postbox very quietly flit shut. so i thought, "i'd better get that, maybe my new keyboard (three pounds on ebay, no photo) has come through the letterbox." so i jumped upstairs like it was christmas eve. there was a junk mail for me, a phone bill for l (for all of us) and a delivary slip for jess. hmm. 10.40? june the first? that was right now (then?). why had the posty gone out of his way to quietly put this shit through the letterbox, and not even checked if anyone actually is in? so out of the door i went - the posty was some houses down now - and for want of anything better to say (please remember, i *had* just woken up) shouted "wait a minute, mr postman!"

couldn't look him in the eye.
got jess's letter.
standing in my bare feet and green towelling dressing gown, in the fucking street, printing and signing my name into the man's book, taking the thin recorded letter off the man, whose face has been entirely replaced with that of the george galloway who had invaded my dreams.
jess opened the letter. apperantly the police had recovered and impounded her stolen scooter.
her scooter, that, until that moment, she had assumed was sat on the street outside the house four doors down, with a flat battery.

oh fuck.

i had an erotic dream yesterday, that i take as progress.
not, as l suggested, i actually had intercourse with a woman.
no, but the reason we didn't have sex was due to a mere lack of condoms! nothing to do with the usual physical excuses. so close.. next time. i'll buy condoms every fucking day from now until my next horny dream, and then i'll have no excuse. i'll be sleeping in nappies 87).
i'm sorry, i really am.
normal service will be resumed when i'm a student again.
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