When I next have time to write, I will tell you about:
Shooting hoops in the schoolyard with chris last night. The light stretched on forever.
The joys of spinach soup.
Going to a book launch last Thursday and feeling OK about not writing, whereas 5 years ago I would have felt sick sick sick with the discrepancy between who I thought I wanted to be and who I have turned out to be.
Even though all these people I used to know are publishing books or getting international musical fame. Somehow I felt less grasping about it all.
I would write how musicians are every bit as maudlin as dramoids.
Why we drink so much at dinner parties.
The weird haircut that is the exact same bad haircut as 1998, but I will find a way to deal with it.
The patch vs. the pill vs. the weight gain inherent in the intake of synthetic hormones.
Actually, maybe I won't write about any of this. I have things to do.