our hearts were dry, our hands were too clean
we needed something to do
we were restless, and maybe confused on the side,
so we ended up murdering you.

when im dead, you can have those beautiful gloves of mine
the detergent too.

light cycle/life cycle.

the other night i dreamt i was in bed feeling all paralysed my limbs heavy with static, stiff, large parts of me numb, my chest compressed, tingling, difficulty breathing these heavy heavy opressed breaths, and i had to yank and yank at my nerves desperately before they would agree to let me move at all, and i finally half sat up feeling as if made of lead and somehow i stiffly worked my way into the next room opressed and stiff and static tingling and numb and not breathing right and i somehow gasped to my mother and sister that i was feeling really awful, my mother looked at me and saw my face, which was putrifying like with deathrot, and she said, "oh my god, you're already turning green" and i realised that what was wrong with me was that rigor mortis was setting in.

started housesitting for kit's friend F last night. it's a beautiful place in glebe, huge, decorous. a cat. our mother sent us off with some selfinterested tirade, of course. some missing grocery item, and k and i had some drama about her bow id supposedly broken somehow tripping on her double bass, but it was a faint crack, easily fixed i think. anyway it was past ten when we got there. they'd been laid back enough to leave dirty dishes in the sink which was a good sign. we sat up watching dvd drinking decaf and one of those seashells chocolates from the fridge, since they were halfgone and would just go fridgy in three weeks anyway. we went up to bed past one and went to sleep around three. in the morning, we welcomed a boarder - some fat bog-treading archaeologist from ireland. she woke us up by setting the house alarm off. i had to trudge down with my mad hair round my ears in my hideous australiana 1980s tshirt i sleep in to switch it off. took forever getting into work. walked down glebe point road with kit looking for diary, went to broadway, bought a muffin which made me want to retch and puke on the bus in where i was hemmed in with these 3 blokes boasting about how many prostitutes and how many of each others exgirlfriends they'd slept with, but it all sounded like bullshit bluster to me. by the time i got off i was hyperventilating and felt nauseous. i went into my dads office and just sort of sat there staring drinking water. he told me to go home. its really hot today. i decided not to go home, anyway i feel fine now, except that i need some sort of soda stream to go over me reviving. i feel like i should just endlessly be drinking coffee. drinking so much coffee of late given up on moderation. i mean, fuck it, yeah. still reading the secret history not much to go, a bit of a hiatus on moby dick since melbourne.

on the weekend we bought new saucepans. and in breaking news. jesus fucking christ.

twisted my ankle in melbourne on swanston street stepping off the pavement - it has once more gone bung and i am hobbling like a shifty.

On the weekend, we went to Cronulla, Oak Park, and my thong, which I left behind, got stuck under the wheel of a pickup truck. We all had to lift the corner of the truck by the bar to get it out. Fun.

A lift into work today because I failed to get up. Wow, rewarded for laziness.

My mum just told me in the car that when she was a kid on trips, her dad used to pull over ahead of hitchhikers, and just when they had run up to where he had pulled up, drive off and leave them behind. The other day he spoke to me on the phone asking if we'd taped some show for him. I said I didn't know when he could next come for dinner, because noone was around to ask. He said, in this foul voice, "Are you all alo-o-one?" "Uh, yeah," says I. "Awwwwh," he says lechily, "Come over!!" Fucken grandfather.