...to take this reality seriously again, the one that I'm currently living in. I know most of my sulkiness comes from the feeling that spacetime is against me, that I cannot be where I want to be at the moment. On the other hand, that was my choice. Had I really wanted, I could have packed up and left for Sweden in a week's time, but I decided to be fair to my employer, to my family, to earn some money. So here I am now, stuck in this. Working late four days a week. Not having much chance to see the man I love. Going to place I don't want to go to. Or - apparently - I do.

I'll survive.

...all shaken by the sensuality of melting under his lips and caressing his arms. Gosh, I can't believe it is possible to enjoy kissing someone so much. I enjoy every contact we have - the softness and the taste of his lips, his sandpaper cheeks, his warm hands, everything. Amazing.

...and now I am desperately trying to get back on track. Actually, I'm not. I don't give a single fuck about the reality and just lock myself in the flat and do nothing. Can't even bring myself to clean the house and mop the floors which is something I REALLY need to do. Also trying to get back with my food plan which is a complete disaster at the moment. But it's getting better. Being broke helps - I don't buy shit and I don't eat shit.

A good thing - a couple of new poems and a bit of piano work. Learned to play "Take it with me", kinda put on paper but it doesn't feel right. I need someone to play it so I figure where the problems are. Started trying out simple pieces to decide which ones I want to learn. Got halfway through.

I've grown particularly fond of Alan Cumming (again) about two weeks ago so I'm enjoying time with him. It's so good to have a couple millions of extra universes in my head.

I weigh less than 80 kilos now. Stunningly beautiful at times. Happy. Throwing out clothes which are too big. Shopping for new.

Food is still difficult. Can't figure out whether that is a matter of discipline or my stomach's gone bad again.

I need a cajon. Now.

...is not wanting to go anywhere a couple of hours before leaving. I want to burn my tickets, roll into my bed and pretend I'm not there for this world. That is so strange. But I am honestly fighting it. I've already booked a taxi and got all packed up. Another couple of hours and I'll be on my way to Tallinn, then Helsinki. I haven't been to my lover-city Tallinn for a long time, we'll meet again. I have to get a bit drunk and dizzy, that's how he likes me the most. I'll breathe it in. I'll huff and I'll puff and I'm gonna blow it down.

And then there will be absolutely strange Helsinki with liquorice ice-cream and extremely expensive alcohol. Fidgety Finns. We'll see, we'll see.

Got rid of helicobacteria, started eating better, lost 8 kilos in a month. Dear Gd, if you're English-speaking - thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

...due to appetite loss and having to manage my meals so that all the pills I have to take settle... uh... harmoniously. They say one needs 23 days to build up a habit so I'm determined to struggle through these 23 days (actually, 15 left) and keep my meals small and regular.

And there's this coach at the gym I would love to know better. I know I never will but it's nice to know I can still feel something. For the last three month all I was feeling was my rational brain trying to figure out how to survive - when to eat, when to sleep, when to do stuff I desperately need to do. The worst of it is almost having a hysterical breakdown because you need to have a shower but you want to go to bed so much that quite ordinary brushing your teeth (which takes about 2 minutes) seems like a tragedy.

Shit.

I shit you not, now they've found helicobacteria in my stomach and decided to treat it. For the next week I'm taking loads of antibiotics and being periodically out of this reality. Houston, communication channel with outer space has been set. Over.

Anyway, I'm begging heavens to return my colleague to work so that I don't have to guard the class I've been assigned to and probably do things I am supposed to do, like organise Language Week and other stuff I have to do as a methodist. Jeez, another two months to survive.

...is my birthday. Nothing has changed. It's just I'm becoming 28.