A note on Katherine Mansfield

I think that Katherine Mansfield may have been the world's first blogger. Just read the opening sequence of Je ne parle pas francais and you'll see what I mean.

warning dream diary entry ... how boring

Okay I had this strange dream that I was with my friend K and we were looking for a pub and then we decided to go to the opera, which was called 'The Psalms of David" which was not as you might think a sing through of the old I lift up mine eyes and the other 150 or so greatest hits of D, but a political opera set in the White House. During intermission I got separated from K and this glamour intellectual woman in a black cocktail dress (prof B?) led me into the attic of a nearby bookshop and made me recount some of my sexual experiences. After the opera was over K found me and told me that they had used my confession as part of the score of the last act!

I'm not the only victim here ...

the magical malarial moments continue ... though they seem to be on some cranky 48 hour cycle. So technically today is a good day even though I have come home from work early. I just feel exhausted today. Yesterday there was sweating and rigors which is Latin for shivering fits and lots of sleeping in front of the television. I also managed to throw up on a library book without aiming. Unfortunately it is a rather rare one. The same poor book was in my hand when a rigors attack snuck up on me and I could no longer hold it so I dropped it in such a way that one side of the cover came away from the spine. I will have a lot of explaining to do when I take its sorry self back to the library... I may never be allowed to take a book out again.
Being sick is about the only time that living on one's own is maybe not advisable, but I guess looking deathly pale, and having sweated out a few kilos there's not much hope of doing anything about that for the time being!

chillin' and sweatin'

imagine you are sweating so much that you can see steam rising of your body. Now imagine ten minutes later being so cold you think you feet will never be warm again. This is the fun of malaria. You almost wish you could die and go some place, heaven or hell - makes no difference, where concepts like hot and cold just don't exist.

a walk down memory ulice

my house is a mess and my neck is killing me ... had a little malaria relapse so I need to send something to my uncle denis so he can go to his magic place and cure it ... the malaria that is ... I don't know if they have a leaf magi cure for messiness.

... so what else I have been flirting a liitle online which is funny and fun and undoubtably it will soon be time to meet ... hmm not sure about that ... but it least it gives me something to think about as I lie awake alternating between shivering and sweating.

Have a lot of work to do so I of course have been reading a lot of blogs including one belonging to an old friend of mine from my Usti days. It is crazy to think that we actually haven't seen each other for over ten years and we are getting older and wiser and wilder in her case. And she has converted to British spelling.

All that seems a long time ago and I must have been impossibly young back then. Another friend made me a a little photo album of our travels together. We left to do our OE together in the very early nineties and she is still OE and the mother of my godchild to boot. There is one photo of me in it she says she loves cos I look like a rockstar. But I guess a rockstar is never so innocent as I was then. It was also the first time I ever fell in love. I won't bore you with the details, just that it entailed crying at bus stops.