The Miracle Cure Called Sleep

I've had an eventful day, mostly working my magic as the IT girl in my office, which got a little wearing more than normal. I arrived at work this morning with a stuffed up nose, a stiff arm, and a world-weary droop to my soul. Found co-worker eyeing her computer suspiciously, assuring me the internet wasn't working. After doing "stuff" discovered the webpage her browser was set to was down. Team meetings, followed by everyone talking endlessly around me meant I didn't feel I got a lot done, although I'm sure I did. In fact, my day was pretty swell if I think about it....I sent off my £1500 invoice to Lloyds TSB, which is what I'm arguing they owe me in unreasonable bank charges plus interest since 2002. I bought some Lemsip. I bought phorpain gel (5% ibuprogen). Liz looked at my arm and assured me that it wasn't broken, it was just suffering from inflammation and possible nerve damage. I got two mugs of excellent coffee during our team meetings. I didn't feel tired all day. I got 9 rolls of toilet paper for £3.69. I bought some lovely ciabatta rolls and blueberries and yogurt for my lunch. I saw the sea in a glorious sunlight at about 11am. I went outside several times today. i got my paycheck receipt and discovered I am on the pension scheme (news to me). My friend made me pizza and salad and I drank half a bottle of wine, which was on special at Waitrose for £3.34. I sneezed a lot. I watched two episodes of "Northern Exposure", Season 3 (much better than 4 I think). I received 8 blank text messages at 7.30 in the morning from a man called Dave who lives in Oxford, which DEFINITELY WOKE ME UP IF I WASN'T ALREADY. I felt slightly shit for several reasons, not least because of my arm, but at the same time, I felt happy and distinctly ok. I'm tired now, and I feel slightly bad for not going to Simon's gig at the Albert, even though it was supposed to have been on last night but there was a mix-up. Also slightly good that I'm at home, which is always where sick people should be. He wouldn't have liked it, though, if I'd turned up, sneezing all through his set and looking like death. Yes, defintely better to look like death at home. By myself. Goodnight, lovely people.

Rule 380a

Never feel bad about anything. I don't really believe in karma anyway.

Rule 380

Never:

• Call your imaginary film company One-Armed Bandit Productions without thinking of the full implications of this decision
• Laugh at your housemate when he breaks his leg in Estonia after jumping out of bed while drunk
• Offer to write your housemate's biography and say it will be called "Sleepwalking in Estonia"
• Laugh at your ex-boyfriend when he breaks his leg 4 weeks later after slipping on a wet step at a jazz club while drunk
• Say that people who've broken their legs while drunk "had it coming"
• Tell your ex-boyfriend "I hope you break your other leg!" even if he has been a complete asshole
• Use the word "crip" unless you're talking about the LA gang
• Dance at heights taller than your height
• ...........While drunk
• ...........Even if you do it all the time

I'm in pain and it's all my own fault. Maybe I should go see my GP now.

Five Things You Don't Know About Me

These meme things are Darkly Scarlett territory, but I've been tagged by Feeling Listless, so here we go. FIVE THINGS YOU DON'T KNOW ABOUT ME 1. When I was 14, I went out with a Neo-Nazi who spent his days breaking into Hilton swimming pools and coasting downtown with baseball cap-wearing skateboarders on long endless summer days and going to punk clubs where he and his skinhead friends would slash people with razor blades hidden in their Doc Martens. 2. This fact was the reason why I lost two very good friends. My friend did have a good point: it's never worth going out with someone whose values you don't like or respect and who can't spell 'synonym' without the use of a dictionary. 3. My grandmother only learned to speak English when she was 25 and wanted to use American sewing patterns. She was taught by her doctor's wife. When she finally mastered the language, McCalls introduced sewing patterns in Spanish........ 4. The first concert I went to (of my own choosing) was Beastie Boys in 1996. They performed at the Coliseum in Austin and were supported by Murphy's Law and Fishbone, and half way through their performance, I passed out from heat exhaustion. 5. My favorite book when I was a child was a biography about Benjamin Franklin, and I used to re-read it several times a year until the spine fell apart. One thing you probably already know about me: my arm hurts. Fuck it. Maybe that's why I have drugs lying around. I tag: Fork In My Eye, Maral, D S (just to see if you she can scrounge up anything else) & Gabs for good measures

Public Service Announcement: My Arm is Fucked & I have tomorrow off

I'm in a really bad mood for several reasons, not least because every time I exhale, my left arm shoots out in pain and makes me want to die in Dante's shallowest level of Purgatorio. Lame. I'm tired. NSB is pissing me off for no good reason. I had an idea dinner of lamb and red wine, and yet I got little of what I wanted to do done. I only got through 18 pages of a friend's novel rewrite before getting a bit fed up and starting on the film script for "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." I saw that film 6 times at the cinema when I was 12. Every friend I had who hadn't seen it I insisted on taking. FBDO is funny to read as an adult. It's a lot more political and philosophical than I probably undestood at the time. I just thought he was clever and anti-establishment and that was enough for me.

    FERRIS
              My uncle went to Canada to protest
              the war, right? On the Fourth of
              July he was down with my aunt and he
              got drunk and told my Dad he felt
              guilty he didn't fight in Viet Nam.
              So I said, "What's the deal, Uncle
              Jeff? In wartime you want to be a
              pacifist and in peacetime you want
              to be a soldier. It took you twenty
              years to find out you don't believe
              in anything?"
                         (snaps his fingers)
              Grounded. Just like that. Two weeks.
                         (pause)
              Be careful when you deal with old
              hippies. They can be real touchy.

Here's another poignant line:

     FERRIS
              My mother was a hippie. But she
              lost it. She got old. If she listens
              to the White Album now? She doesn't hear
              music, she hears memories. Nostalgia is
              her favorite drug. It'll probably be
              mine, too. I hope not.

Wait. NSB just got sick. Sometimes breaks mixes can sound gay, and then, like a bad trip, pull themselves up by the socks and produce a good riff. My arm really hurts. I've got 15 days til writer's group, 25 days til breakspoll, 27 days til scriptwriting retreat, 29 days til my film premiere. I'm fucked. I am working on a new script, which I'm not telling anyone about. Top secret. If I tell anyone, the energy's gone. Fuck it. Oh yeah, I've been tagged. next blog for that. A x

Hormonal? Or simply stress-induced?

"Living is like tearing through a museum. Not until later do you really start absorbing what you saw, thinking about it, looking it up in a book, and remembering - because you can't take it in all at once. " - Audrey Hepburn I feel low today. Had dinner with ex last night, and though things have been touch and go between us, this time my crap mood had nothing to do with him. Well, not at first. As soon as I arrived, I broke down in tears from all the stress of work over the past week. Even though I've seen friends all week, I know that I'm just keeping it all in really and finally well, what timing. Then I started to feel better and I fell asleep in front of his tv. Now I feel bad again. Next weekend is ex's birthday. I asked him if he wanted to go out to dinner with me on Friday to celebrate. "Maybe" was his reply. "Maybe's not really good enough. Offer rescinded." I must be hormonal because I felt myself flush and fluttery with tears and I made my excuses and left his house. It seems there are different rounds of sadness with separation from someone you love. You always think the last bout of blue Sundays is IT. No more. Buoyancy and an optimism returns and you spend weeks feeling like it's spring and not 20th January on a cold dreary day in England. I know some would recommend that I just don't see ex at all. That line in the sand tactic has worked before, but I'd say only superficially. Isn't it just a way of hiding your real feelings from yourself and prolonging the mourning? I know I'll feel different in a matter of hours. Even though it's early afternoon, I've got a glass of red wine, my writing notebook, and nothing planned til this evening. I might even work on the script. If my mom is reading this, don't worry. Even the eternal optimist needs a day off.

The Wall of Shame: a Homage to the Great Literary Reader Across the Pond

This is going to have to be short, yet nothing less than inspired. Simply because I have FINALLY ACTUALLY MANAGED TO FINISH A BOOK. One. This year. Yes, it's the le Carre, the one I was reading about 3 months ago and must have read, oh about a page a night. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy was a fucking great read once I got past the mid-way point, which is when the plot finally thickens and the pace is more than a leisurely jog. I was doubly exciting for the sheer coincidence of having started it right before the poisoning of Alexander Litvinenko, the former Russian spy. What luck! On the back of this monumental success in my intellectual life, which was dying a painful death what with all the cavorting around town, I've decided to copy my great pal, Subtle Knife, who created (and regularly updates) the "Wall of Shame." My ranking amongst the great readers of Manhattan, which can only be measured by the number of miles of books I sold to the Strand to buy my plane ticket over to the UK (and which probably wasn't that high, trust me), has significantly slipped ever since I developed my unfortunate allergic reaction to paper and when SK decided that despite winning the New York Lottery, her true life ambition was to work at Barnes & Nobles. Books in this cold grey country are hard to come by, what with the local youth turning to burning all available books on street corners. But seriously, I've conquered my permanent state of poverty with a clever idea called "asking your friends if you can borrow a book". What a fucking novel idea - no pun intended. So to make it official, my "Wall of Shame" currently stands as follows: (and using the same/similar criteria) * = My copy and you're never getting your paws on it, so don't think about it ** = Borrowed from friend/stranger/enemy/lover/possible all of these and more (and yes, I will return it - soon!) ^ = Found around my house

• Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, John Le Carré *
• The Little Drummer Girl, John Le Carré ^
• Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks **
• The Screenwriter's Bible, David Trottier *
• Cuba Libre, Elmore Leonard ^
• The Autograph Man, Zadie Smith **
• The Unbearable Lightness of Being in Aberysthwyth, Malcolm Pryce **
• Libra, Don DeLillo *

Some of these books I've actually started, once if not more times than that, so I've actually got a fairly generous headstart. I'm tired. I need rest. Five facts about me you probably don't know: I might be getting a cold. I had a job interview today, and as I walked up the hill to the interview, high above the city, I could see the sea and the pier, and it was sunny but the sea was grey and it was beautiful. When I was in the interview, I cracked a few jokes and everyone laughed. I'm still not sure if my interview panel were laughing with me, or laughing out of fear. Finally, for the first time in my life I voted to evict someone from the "Big Brother" house, and I will tell you who that was (because I'm not ashamed): it was Jade. Good night. A x

Vodka sucks

My god, do I feel shit! I honestly think the only thing that can save my soul is "Fabulous Mint 400" (Meat Katie & Elite Force). I'm feeling very sorry for myself after a late night out, too much vodka, and delayed sadness about my ex. Maybe it's just the vodka still swirling around in my bloodstream, actually. Yeah, it's just that. Yesterday I ended up going straight from work to meet JQ, the designer I've been working with for the credits for my film. We had to discuss the poster he's making for the film's publicity. He did such an amazing job on credits so I can't wait to see what he does with the poster. HIRE THIS GUY. He is shit hot. We started at Fitzherberts, which was cramped but friendly (think sitting in an empty bathtub with about five other people) and offered Weston's Perry - interesting. Then moved onto the Dorset, which was a bit better. Met his friend Russell, who decided it'd be a great idea to compile a list of what makes a yuppie. We came up with about 10 main characteristics, such as: - Materialistic - Owns Bob Marley (Best of) , CD collection primarly "Best of" - Has "career" and "hobbies" - Luxury trappings - Primary goal in life to aquire money - Drinks at Browns - Love of labels (ie Armani, Prada) We then thought it would be a great idea to take this list, go up to a guy sitting at a table near us who LOOKED LIKE A YUPPIE, show him the list and ask him what he thought. BAD IDEA. However, we did have an interesting conversation, which Russell managed to slide quickly out of, leaving me to hold the baby. The thing the guy didn't really grasp is that the term 'yuppie' denotes a state of being and lifestyle choice, thus the conversation overall was a bit frustrating. He did add an 11th characteristic, which is more true of the 1980s yuppie than, say a 90s yuppie: "Owns big mobile phone". Probably true of the 00 yuppie too. Um yeah, I do own a Blackberry, but that DOESN'T make me a yuppie! More books and less drink. Onwards!

I'm still alive. Just busy.

Hi, I apologise for overall slackness, but I had a whirlwind of a xmas and new year's eve and now with the dust settling, I seem to be stealing time back from myself whenever and wherever possible so that I can: a/ Finish the le Carre book, which I am, yes, still reading b/ Continue on with this scriptwriting book c/ Write d/ Start on the "Autograph Man", which Dickie has lent to me e/ Start "Birdsong", which Paolo has lent me (a long time ago - oops!) f/ Sleep g/ Oh yeah, and organise this film premiere So the good news is that a venue has been confirmed, along with 2 dates, for the World & UK premiere of my feature film "Only Stopping". It's less my film and more about 70 other people's film, but one that I started and therefore I'm obligated to see to it's natural finish: a really nice red-carpeted champagne-sozzled two nights. Premiere of "Only Stopping" Monday 26th & Tuesday 27th February 07, Sussex Arts Club, Brighton Doors open 7pm, film runs 7.30-8.30pm, last orders 11pm Tickets £5 advance or on the door www.myspace.com/onlystopping Yes, it's all go in my corner. Hence this immense need to just come home and chill. Say hola to my hamster. Drink pints of water. Skate around on my hardwood floors in my socks. Read a few pages of my book. Check emails again. Check out hamster again. It was only a few days ago (Friday) that I was in absolute pit of despair, sheer boredom with mundane life, everything had gone to shit. Get bored too easily is my problem. Oh yeah, the 26th Feb is my birthday - 32. I have no feelings either way about that. I looked at some pictures the other day and wondered if it was really me. So I will probably do the same when I get even older. Feb is gonna a busy month and I'm plenty excited about stuff I might be doing. Like: 1/ 22nd Feb: Breakspoll Awards 07 Afterparty at Fabric, London So there & Kesh is up for it too - £12.50 tickets! 2/ 17th Feb: Slackers Convention, Concord 2, Brighton Ditto! 3/ 24/25 Feb: Scriptwriting Retreat Not sure if they booked me on the course for sure or not.... I will probably get immensely bored at some point between now and then too, which is the really sad thing. I hope they don't start asking me to actually do work at my job (just kidding!). Happy 007 to everyone & I hope you all get what you deserve ! Remember: it's not the bold moves you make on the dancefloor that make things happen, but the unconscious buttons you drop as you walk through the forest when you sleep that really make the poppies blaze through the weeds. Merry new year! A x