I am most definetely not thinking about you.

It's nine o'clock at night and I just got home from an evening spent with my lady mother, being object to the most painful manipulations (we went to get a facial --we're so burgoise these days).... so now I'm behind in all my work, I've got fifteen mails to write, twelve calls to make, nine people im'ming me about the spencer tunick experience, and cartload of whites to hang out to dry... so I can't possibly be thinking about you.I can't possibly be missing you. I haven't got the time.

and yet I am.... I wonder where you are, how you are, if you're thinking about me. if you'd mind kissing me much, if you were here with me. then I make it stop with a cold knife.

I managed to lose my gym shoes, yay for me. I kicked them off yesterday to go shake my tummy in the arab dance class, and this morning I realized they were gone, vanished, disappeared, nada; I can only assume I contorted my way out of the classroom and completely forgot to pick up my lovely black suede pumas that I absolutely loved and bought cheap at a sale. darnshit.
AND I just found out the pants of the tracksuit I bought today --lose shoes, buy tracksuit.... it is damned logical isn't it? one things follows the other-- are so tight on my huge ass and
thighs that I can hear them gently weep. that's what I get for not trying stuff on.

OSSShhshsh. <--------- frustration.

as I was telling M earlier, the most difficult part of life for me right now is to figure out all these complications, which are plentiful, *while* at the same time figuring out what to wear
everyday. call me superficial.

well... back to work and to missing him... osh