Found the roses Marcus and Flynn brought under the table in the hall, still in their wrappers but already withered and dead. Love and Death. I reckon they’re the two greatest themes in art and literature – as well as in life. And it made me realize how short life really is. We are all born to die (I don’t know if some poet wrote that line before I did, but I think it’s pretty good). At least the roses had their moments of beauty. (That’s more than my mother ever had!) I took a couple of petals to press in my diary, and then I chucked them in the bin.
Last night I dreamed that I was at this barbecue (like in Texas or somewhere like that). There were whole cows turning over the coals. And you should’ve seen the burgers! They looked like meteors! I was sweating when I woke up. It’s weeks since I became a vegetarian, and all I’ve had besides vegetables is fish and chicken (and that little bit of mince). And my parents think I don’t stick to anything!
There must be something wrong with the washing machine. The combats didn’t exactly come out the way I thought. The trousers are brilliant, but the stitching didn’t take the dye, so I’ve got these really cool BLACK trousers with almost WHITE stitching. It is v passé. And not exactly my image.