I have been observing my friend Tosin lately. I have been observing Tosin because he is so happy and social and pleasant all the time and as such, a role model for me because I am self aware enough to know that I am negative and dull and a victim of my own life all the time. In observing him this winter I have, at the crux of spring, discovered the secret to his happiness:
TINY EARS that filter out all the bullshit.
N E way, since the last time I wrote I have become engaged to be married.
saywhat?
!
!
Yea. I know. That was fast right? It happened in the luxurious atoll off the south west coast of Sri Lanka where the ham tastes like fish and the fish tastes like ham. I asked my guy why the hell he would want to do that and he responded with "you're pretty." So I shrugged my shoulders and said "ok" and two weeks later I have effectively transplanted all my crap into his residence and even implemented my "feminine touch" which is code for "IMMEDIATELY take all your man junk to the local charity shop and leave it there forever". He apparently likes it, surmising that this place was ready for a makeover. It seems as though I have found my match.
I am getting used to a new habitat (again). The freezer in this house is so cold that when I attempted to take the gelato lid off the tub tonight, I ripped straight through the styrofoam. This meant I had to finish the entire tub of gelato because otherwise it would have gotten freezer burn in the future. Also, my man is really into technology and has all sorts of avant garde stuff like a virtual reality device and a central heater and lighting system that connects to your iphone so you can turn up the heat on your way home from work. Because of this i tend to ignore the random bits of electronic equipment I see floating around. But the other day I almost crucified him when I asked what the thingy was at the entry way of the flat and he told me it was a surveillance camera. I almost lost my shit. "YOU HAVE A NANNY CAM AND WE DON'T EVEN HAVE A KID?!". Do you know how much insubordinate dancing I do in the living room? I can't bear this being recorded. Next thing I knew, the thingy had vaporized from the sideboard, no questions asked. But i remain reluctant because who knows where he has installed it as an alternative. My beau is a former secret agent. Have I previously mentioned this? I am not supposed to tell anyone but instead I tell everyone that his former career was working in intelligence for Britain's equivalent of the secret service. I am already regretting having publicly shared this, but then again I am still mad about the nannycam so whatevs. Now you know.
Has anyone ever noticed that British phone numbers are interminable? I mean, country code excluded, there are ELEVEN digits. Countless psychological experiments have shown that the average number of numbers a human can remember is seven digits. Why on earth are there eleven digits? There are seven digits in the american phone number plus 3 for a city area code. But still, that's only ten digits and britain has 11 and america could fit 40 britains in itself. So how does one explain this kind of lunacy?
as an additional observation, not only are british people the only population I have seen to consistently run with their backpacks on, they also go cycling with their testicles out.
I have been having some crazy dreams lately. Some mix of eating too much garlic before bed, being particularly stressed at work, and my everyday munged up brain. More often than not i dream about work-related hypothetical catastrophes, but lately I have had freaky intercalated visions of having my left tit bedazzled. I suspect this may be indicative of a subterranean yearning for a career change .
Which reminds me, I have just finished reading Tolstoy's Death of Ivan Ilych. Tolstoy is a dark and miserable twat and I'm really not sure why I keep torturing myself with his musings. One thing I noticed is his inveterate use of the word "invalid' (SEVEN times in three tiny pages) as a single equivalent noun for the handicapped. Does this not beautifully underscore how politically incorrect even the archaic english language is? I thought bootylicious was rogue. Do they really think we can in 2018 still be fooled by pronunciation of invalid as IN-VUH-LID to describe a person made weak by illness or injury? Isn't it so obvious that it is an inflection and single syllable shy of IN-VALID which is quite easily recognized as synonymous with NOT-VALID, and hence a pretty shite way of describing someone who transiently mobilizes with a frame? How are you not outraged??
If only I had tinier ears.
