mod-dish, mod-dish. scrunched up like a ball in me as the music [the raveonettes, mazzy star and random sweet bits] swirls around me. i could be in an mtv. i wanted to go out, doll up a bit but i got lazy. afternoons at home leave me in a state of exaggerated lathergic limbo. something is thus lurking beneath the depths and it could be sinister or super duper trippy, like maybe i could sew a skirt with my pretty green chinese patterned silk cloth but i don't feel very tailorish. read, maybe] it's not dark enough. be lured not by hmv, by kino, by topshop and all. padlock myself in the unsatisfying too-bright room until the sun starts to fall and then i will burst out and run like a maniac to the stadium to the throb of the music peltering on me, snashing into me and finally in a motion of catharsis lift me up and i could be born again as the week begins.

narrating does a lethargic girl some good. so here i go, me and my storeyteller instincts conjure up the moments of yesterday when the trumpeter and i went around town in a very gay mood; the man he sprang a suprise movie on me and we hadn't watch a movie for a long time cos money was going into the australia-will-be-way-cool fund and what does your heart say when during a random movie moment the guy reaches for your hand and plants a prince charming type kiss on it in the tenderest of touches? [it could be very wong kar wai, i kid you not] oh the heart skips and stops a beat and the nerves trigger a secret silly grin on her face in the dark. end of story byebye i'm going to read a book.