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[22 Oct 2006|01:02am] |
I miss a lot of things. A lot of emotions, a lot of feelings. I'm stuck with, tonight, missing Sabrina. I miss her silly giggle and odd thinking on the immunity provided by lollipops. I miss her sweet eyes and the way her smile opens her face into a bloom.
I miss that little flourish of joy she bought to me with laughter filled walks checking out hedgehogs. Her spirited glee on nights when she hooked up with Lucy and Kate and when i'd be embroiled with their bonhomie.
Work tonight, was punctured by the worry of storms. I worry, and I worry a lot. I worried about the modem, the poxy fucking modem, when a mini storm hit and I was stranded at work with washing up pissing out of my anus. I got done, and was thinking about going home to disconnect, but Stuart was in the bar.
Ol' Megaphonic is a chap I haven't seen in a long time. A genuine, lovely guy with a sustained creative edge and a personality that gives him a chortling and genial aura. I let the worries pass and sat down to drink with him, while Graham joined us after he had finished working. Graham is back in the bar, and Hallejiuah for that. Yes.
The conversation was good. I've missed the sheer comfort that is derived from speaking to two like minded individuals, which is what they both provide with gusto. We're talking about poetry open mic night. They will (If I do this) support and be there. I can't really back out now. I don't think I want to.
Who knows what will happen?
I don't. But this is exciting enough for me to not bother with worrying. I worry too much about incidentals, stupid things, things that don't or shouldn't matter. Why worry about reading a fucking piece of writing? So i'll try.
Stu also brought up the idea of an exhibition, which is an art related matter. I am blessed to have a creative chum like Stuart. He's incredibly talented and whenever he can, will do his utmost to usher me into it too. There's a show in March, and poetry will be welcome. I may put some forward. Why not?
Exactly. It's time to stop worrying about reaction, and just do it. Fuck it, somebody might like it, and if they do, i'll have achieved something. Possibilities...
Just a little light. Something to grasp. After so much doldrums. And i'm so sick of those.
Stuart and I left the Bell Inn and went to the New Inn. We got Graham's pints in while he changed at home. Jo served us. I like her. She's the NI's ballsy and no-bullshit taking owner. A proper landlady. G arrived soon and we all talked with our poisons. G waxed about France, which seems more and more like an interesting place. Maybe next year, maybe. Who knows where or what i'll be doing, but I feel plates shifting. No pun intended.
He also told me what dear Mike said. We call him Frankie, because he sounds like Frankie Howard, old camp comedian....now late, who appeared in Up Pompeii. My new and higly even handed boss apparently said of me jokingly that he would fire me for being too good for washing up.
God bless the man. He's seen one poem and talked to me, but that appraisal means a lot, because I genuinely like the guy. He's a damned decent boss, and doesn't have a nasty bone in him.
So yes, that means very much.
I hope he was joking about me being fired!
Wah ha.
We went our seperate ways and drifted homewards. Tomorrow, I really should start doing homework. There is football to be played too. For now, I must sleep. Ciao.
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[22 Oct 2006|07:19pm] |
Quick Bell Inn trip, lots of rain. No football.
That's about it. No homework started. I am blanker than a hermit's travel diary.
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