I'll write up today (and yesterday) properly tomorrow, probably trying to keep the pretentiousness to a minimum even though today was such a strange day, in such a strange place. Crystal Palace. I've never been there before. I'll definitely be going back, though, when it's less cold, when I'm less ill, to sit and write and stare at people and wonder how they can jog through the gardens so totally oblivious to the bizarre place they're jogging through. There are so many ghosts. I want to take
I felt someone was missing today, and although I know it would have been very weird if they'd been there, I still half-wished they were. I think it's just that I've seen so many photographs of them wrapped up against the cold, walking in places, lit by green and winter sunlight, that I kept expecting them to be around the corner. They weren't. I think they'd have liked it there, though; they'd have been impressed by the dinosaurs, and the random neglected stairways that no longer lead anywhere. They'd have laughed at
It's a strange world, this world in which they weren't with us by default. I don't like it, and I think it means there's something deeply and fundamentally wrong at the heart of everything.
It was such a tiring day, and I've invited a similarly tiring one tomorrow, because I wasn't entirely thinking about what I was doing - I hope I'll get by ok, and I hope I'm not any more ill tomorrow. People looked after me wonderfully today, which was nice as when I'm ill it's all I want, to sit quietly in a corner while people bring me hot drinks.
~sigh~ While I'm here and reading my Friends page, darling (who is not reading this), please break up with him, he's such a cunt.
I am feeling very lonely (being this cold doesn't help) and like there is little coming my way in terms of future happiness, either short- or long-term. I'll get over it, though, probably, or get used to it - one does one, or the other. My Christmas spirit comes and goes and I half-wish I could run away to Scotland for a few days instead of going to Paris, where the streets are wider than they are in America and twice as impersonal, where nobody talks to anyone and the buildings are grey no matter what colour they're painted.
It's so cold. I wish I were somewhere else.
E.
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