it's getting late

About 1:17am according to the PC in Emilie's study, which is where I am right now.

Meffie and Emilie are upstairs having a conversation that sounds interesting, so I think I'll stay down here a while. Also, they're listening to Franz and I have my usual alcohol-induced headache. I've been going through my old e-mails, I have an awful lot of them for some reason. I don't like to delete things that might one day be interesting to look back through and I feel vindicated now that I've spent an hour and a half dredging up my electronic past.

The best thing is finding the really important ones, all the decisive emails, the ones that changed stuff. Then there's the incredibly stupid ones that made me laugh hysterically at the time but that now I don't get. Maybe because I'm really very tired.

I'm in one of those silly, withdrawn moods. I'm not bummed, pissed off or anything like that, I'm just tired and have no wish to do or say or feel anything. Sorry, Meffie and Emilie, when you read this (which I'm sure you will) that I've been in my silly withdrawn mood. We said we weren't going to get bummed out tonight and so, seeing as I'm too tired to maintain my earlier level of hysterical drunken hyperness, this is the only mood I have left to try.

I feel absolutely nothing at all. Completely neutral. Numb, if you like. I'm sure I'll be a wreck at church tomorrow, I can feel it in my bones, but now I'm just ________________. *insert adjective here*

The guy who wrote and directed Dogma is a Christian. I'm really glad about that. I love the bit where God (Alanis Morrisette) comes out of the church, everyone hits the deck and Bartleby (Ben Affleck) just stands up and starts crying. What does she do? She gives him a big hug, and you know he's been waiting for that God-hug for a whole fucking millenia and it's so good. Then she blows his head off but it's a good thing, he says thank you, he's back with God and I dunno if he's in heaven or if he's nowhere at all but he screwed up and was forgiven and he got CLOSURE.

Ah, closure. Try to find a definition of closure on the net. It's difficult. Why? Because closure is difficult. It's hard to make that step from 'right in the middle' to 'done and dusted'. It's ending things, letting go of things that really bites. You think you're over a thing, a person, but you're not. Maybe we're not meant to get over stuff, maybe it's just supposed to stick with it. I had this idea once, wouldn't it be strange if people left actual, tangible marks on each other. Like, every person you slept with, every person you hurt or lied to, everyone who ever told you a secret left some kind of mark on you, like a tattoo.

That annoying Natasha Bedingfield song... "my skin is like a map of where my heart has been" "there's a mark on me, like a love heart carved on a tree" "I found your fingerprints on a glass of wine / do you know you're leaving them all over this heart of mine too?"

Maybe we just carry marks around. In a way that's good. I wouldn't want all the people who've ever affected me to just... cease to affect me.

Oh and, Emilie, I stuck a post-it with the word 'motherfucker' written on it somewhere in your study. I'm not gonna tell you where, I'm just gonna hope you find it before your mum does.