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"An Englishman never knows when he is eaten" - Xero. Distilled.
Simplification.
angelxero
angelxero
"An Englishman never knows when he is eaten"
So says W Heath Robinson.

Well here I am a second night in a row, with even less of an idea what to write! =D

One day, you know, people will recognise my awesomeness, I only need to work out in what way I am awesome so that I may communicate it with said people. Take my left eyebrow for instance, the subtle and various expressions it can produce are near infinite, it is a facial feature at the height of its form, Dame Judy Dench herself would weep to see what my left eyebrow could convey with a mere twitch and an arch. Not the right eyebrow though, my right eyebrow is a sluggard and a bore, too concerned with its own comfort to do more than the occasional stretch and resettle.

If you know what you want, but you also know you can't have it, is that confusion? I mean really can't have it, not like, could have it if you went for it, or if circumstances changed, I mean if what you want doesn't exist anymore. Are you confused yet? Because I feel confused but at the same time I'm really clear about it. Does that make sense? ;)

Even I am no longer entertained by the inside of my head, and it has been but two nights.

I feel like I'm holding back, being held back, by myself. I don't know what I'm feeling and I don't know if that's because I really don't feel that much, or because I'm burying it so deep.(is this bitterness? I did promise not to, should I stop? Or is it just moping, although I'm not unhappy, so maybe this is ok...) I keep kind of probing the depths and there is something there, I think, but I don't know if I've hit the bottom, or if I've hit wiley beasties that lurk down there pretending to be the bottom, that hide there. I don't know if I've found the bottom, or just found -something- and am too afraid to keep on pushing in case it isn't the bottom and I startle some tricksy mean slick thing that'll snicker snacker its broken teeth into the fragile flesh of my mind. Does that make sense, or am I hiding behind language, language - my old reliably fickle friend.

That's me being as candid as I'm gonna be right now. i think.

So lets talk about happy things. Like snow. Snow is good. I like snow. It feels like christmas is coming now before it has even reached december. Retail manages to steal the christmas right out from underneath you if you work there. It's a bit like being the magician's assistant, there can't be any surprise or wow because you're been behind the scenes and you know how it's put together, how it's pulled off. Gift ideas are not gift ideas, they're the things everybody wants so they're the things you suggest to everybody else and so everybody ends up with the same thing because that's what will sell so that is what is promoted (if you work in retail you know what I mean, I hope, if you don't then don't worry).
BUT, and here's the thing, you are imbued with your interpretation of the world throughout your childhood, and cristmas IS exciting, however jaded you get you still know that there is magic in christmas, and when the world suddenly turns around in November and gives you snow, even if you're stuck in work and can only look out a world obscured through a partial filter of white flakes sifting to white floor from white ceiling, even if you can't go out in it, it's still magic, it's still christmas. And I don't feel excited about christmas now, thinking about christmas, but thinking about the weekend and the snow and what it felt like to look out at the shoppers in that weather... that feels like christmas.

Some people buy comfort food - tasty, unhealthy things that make them feel good. Cos what they need is to feel good. I buy comfort books, which is, I suppose, retail therapy more than anything else, cos I don't even necessarily need to read the books. So today I bought this year's W Heath Robinson collection, not as good as last year's, but it has its moments. And I bought the Cream of Tank Girl artbook, which is lush but also kind of makes me sad cos it makes me think of people who would enjoy it with me, people who don't exist anymore, metamorphosised on the winds of time into other people that just look the same. And I bought the Taschen collection of the complete Gil Elvgren pin-ups, cos who wouldn't be cheered up by surprised girls in slinky little numbers? At which point you should all imagine me with a single finger to my slightly parted, pouting lips, my eyebrows raised in surprise over my wide green-brown eyes (note the artfulness with which the left eyebrow plays its part). Think of me surprised and breathy that you caught me all unexpected in just my lacey things (which reveal everything to the imagination without actually revealing anything to the eye)...

Are you feeling slightly awkward at this point, maybe a little queasy, maybe a little turned on... then my words still have some degree of power, and I'm barely even flexing them yet...

Sweet dreams... *^_~*
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