beautiful

I've been very fragile this week, and my sleeping has finally been effected by this, so that's good. Now I can be pissed off and knackered. And due to some retail therapy (that hasn't quite worked yet), skint as well.

So what, you may ask, have I been buying in the name of making me feel better? Silk stockings? 12" vibrators? Shoes? Or sexy handmade papers and acid-free glitters?

Yes, I've been to Hobbycraft.

And I'm going to 'make' a book. Just for me. It's going to be a sexy book, with lots of secrets and photos and glitter and things, and it's going to be lovely. I hope. I'm going to have to practise my gluing though, because I got in a right pickle the other day making cards with the kids.

It's been a funny old week. I've felt very strange. My muse is convinced I've lost the plot... I probably have. But it feels to me more like I've just opened my eyes, and don't have a fucking clue what's going on, or who anyone is. Like that Talking Heads song, whatever it's called. This is not my beautiful wife.

And this is not my beautiful house either. I bloody hate magnolia walls - they remind me too much of my mother. So we're going to make a beautiful house (apparently), and I'm going to make a beautiful book. And everything will be beautiful and happy and gay.

But first I need to go back to bed.