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Saturday November 18, 06
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01:30 PM - happy endings still don't bore me
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The English weather has certainly taken a turn for the colder lately; you might say that we were in the midst of a cold snap, or that Old Man Winter had arrived at the door of M. Biffo. In short, it's a bit chilly at the moment: I've taken to wearing clothes about the house, which is a pity, because it's really quite liberating to work from home naked. I especially enjoy conference calls and the like, when I can idly interfere with myself whilst half a dozen or so half-wit foreigners talk a lot of nonsense to one another.
Anyway, enough about the weather... although I can't of much else to talk about actually. Lately I've been occupied by getting my life (back) together. This mainly involves doing things like exercising regularly, staying on top of the washing up, opening letters, paying bills (no more Court Summons for me, sonny) and such like. Thus far to the good. I think the key has been to cut out the drinking binges; I mean, I do still drink - obviously - but for the past five weeks or so it's only been in sensible amounts, even at parties etc. Cutting out the binge drinking just seems to have sorted everything else out. I shall refer back to this entry if I ever feel like opening the bottle of gin in my cupboard... for any reason other than paint removal.
Despite my best efforts though, I haven't been able to erase all thoughts of her-whose-name-shall-not-be-spoken from my pretty little mind. Things were going oh so well until the middle of this week, when one of Google's quotes of the day was from a certain "Jimmy Buffet". Now, I know what you're thinking: "Who the fuck is Jimmy Buffet?" Sadly, the identity of this purveyor of the kind banal, lifeless and sickeningly wholesome tripe - that is lapped up all across middle America - is no mystery to me, and this is one more thing that *she* has to answer for, because she is quite a fan of his.
Anyway, yes, the Buffet cretin had evidently been selected as the orator of one of the Google quotes of the day last week, and some poor clod in the offices of Google had no doubt been instructed to find anything worthy of repetition that had passed his lips during his bafflingly long career. The exact quotation now escapes me, but it was something along the lines of how a failure to indulge in laughter on a regular enough basis might induce a state of mild dementia. Sagely words indeed.
Unfortunately, since that day (Wednesday, I believe), my life has been plagued by yet more odd reminders of her. First, the company I was working for in Dallas, back in March (when I met her) got in touch with me, then I somehow found one of her long blonde hairs on my mattress - which is ridiculous since I've changed the bed clothes plenty of times since she left - and then today after making a call on my phone, I must have accidentally left the keypad unlocked when putting it back in my pocket and somehow this resulted it dialling her number and being put on speaker-phone at the same time. Alerted to the sound of a ringing tone, I realised in time what had happened, pulled the phone out of my pocket and - seeing who it was calling - frantically tried to cancel. For some reason it didn't respond, instead only continuing to display the horrific words: "Calling Deanna..." with all the terrible implications that such a thing might bring. Six rings in and I lost all patience. With one swift action I removed the battery cover and disengaged the apparently demonically possessed telephone's power supply. The fact that the display went reassuringly blank and the speaker silent reassured me that there was no supernatural involvement in this or any of the other events documented here... but still, there are about 30 numbers in my phone (I know, that's not many, but I do tend to delete people's numbers after a time (a fate hers has now suffered)) and you have to say the fact that it (my phone) selected her number at random after all the other things this week was something of a coincidence.
On top of all these things - and perhaps understandably - she's also been haunting me in my sleep. The dreams seem have taken the form of a surreal mini-series, and last nights episode was particularly entertaining: we were in what seemed to be a pub, and were with some of my friends. I was trying to talk to her by the bar, but couldn't because one of my friends (Scott) kept stabbing her in the back with a kitchen knife. Each time he did it, she would collapse and everyone would laugh, then she would get up and we'd continue our conversation. I can't quite remember what we were talking about, but it was one of those dreams where I had asked her a question - a question that in real life I'd really like to know the answer to - and each time, just as she was about to answer the question - she was stabbed by Scott. Eventually she died and got up no more. At this stage we left the pub. What can it all mean? Am I a sicko, mother?
Until later,
M. Biffo
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somewhat similar tale, a friend of mine recieved an email - apparently from me, with a body thats says I love you and an image - a likely virus..still havent figured out if it was sent from me and if this friend got, who else in my address book, like x girlfriends, might have gotten and similar email...feel sick thinking about it
Good again to read your journal...good luck with the next few weeks...
michael