There is no cake left in this house and the Teaser bar I had squirreled away has vanished. I think I am actually too hungry to sleep (I have had a perfectly adequate dinner, yes).
I am really behind on all sorts of stuff.
I feel deflated by the end of Breaking Bad (not because I didn't like it, just because it's gone).
There is a child trying to talk to me as I type and it is not even mine, so I can't just chase it away with a stick.
I have to go to a law meeting where you wear proper clothes tomorrow and I don't think I have any clean ones, or any decent ones, or any that fit. Also: shoes? What shoes does one wear? God knows. I'm guessing none of muddy electric blue New Balance/knackered orange ballet flats/sturdy low cost Decathlon walking boots in colourway "bog"/Top Shop boots with a broken heel and a large stone wedged where the heel used to be. The last time I tried to wear heels, I had to take them off after 20 minutes, because my ankle is still knackered from falling over running for a tram. I might have to wear terrifying hooker Sergio Rossi boots bought some years ago, apparently during a psychotic episode, since they are the only unbroken shoes I have that give any ankle support.
This is more of a 'did you know' than an up, but it has brought me a considerable amount of amusement: F is preparing a project on the Eurasian Eagle Owl, having held one during the summer holidays (here), and in the process of trying to find out what one is called in French (an 'hibou grand duc', FYI), I found out that its Latin name is "Bubo Bubo". BUBO BUBO! Amazing. BUBO BUBO. "The bringer of avian pestilence" comments M.
Horse of the Day was Cassis, who may also be called Cassie, or Kacey. All three spellings are available on her tack/hooks/stable door. I do not really trust this stable's spelling since I met "HERMESS".
This is HERMESS, swaggering:
Anyway, it was not a high octane kind of lesson, but fun and Cassis/Cassie/Kacey is so beautiful I'm slightly in awe of her and her spindly thoroughbred legs and shiny, shiny coat.
She really did not want me to take her picture.
M tried to get me to pitch an article called Oseriez-vous le cannibalisme? today at the next editorial meeting, and to bring an inflatable dinosaur with me, which was just like old times.
My agent has got back in touch! A mere 2 months later than expected, and maybe something will finally happen now. Then again, maybe it won't. I wouldn't put money on it either way. I still have to produce two pages setting out the narrative thrust of the book, which may be tricky, since it doesn't really have one. I stopped believing in this whole project about three months ago (to the point of deleting the reference to it from my 'about' page, in a petty act of pique), so now I have to shrug off my mantle of gloom and try and believe in it again (it is so cosy, the mantle of gloom, so heavy and enveloping). Hang on, that's not very 'up' is it? It is up, though, because I thought I had written another book that was wholly beyond redemption, which would have been really embarrassing and it doesn't quite seem to be, yet (though it may well yet prove to be so).
I'll just be over here if you need me, turning good news into anxiety and self-doubt, like a reverse Rumpelstiltskin. That, and gnawing at my own hand.