I admit, that yes, four in the morning is a good time to get ahold of me. I admit also that I have stated that anyone with my number is to feel free to call at such a time. Welcome to, in fact. What I do not understand is why it seems the only time that Bill will call me. What is about four in the morning that takes away his nervous fear? *rubs eyes* Captive audience? I keep the phone by my bed at night expressly for those people who call me late at night. I don’t mind. Jacques calls regularly at two, after all, but four? I suppose I’ll ask him when he’s over later. My humour claims it’s because I can’t gather enough brain to be intelligent, but I imagine that would only backfire. *yawns* If someone is upset with me, even a little, they should not under any circumstances call me when my self-editor is turned off. I barely have much of one to start with. *yawns more* His message this morning says that he’s to be coming over today with my things. A proper bed! Hoorah! *chuckles*
Going through the photographs of the past few months have let me in some astonishing emotives. There’s some on the rolls stretching back as far as my night hosting at Placebo Sofa Cinema. I came across those and I smile, happy, then I stop walking. So many people? Was it really so many people? A dead town like Vancouver and I filled a movie theatre? Tier upon tier of people all laughing. I put them away in my pocket as I get onto the train, trying to remember the names of everyone who showed. I can’t. There were too many. I’m feeling suddenly less clever. At home I take them out again, keep going through them. There’s a few of myself that look odd. I couldn’t place it, but then I know. I find the roomate’s bathroom scale to weigh myself and recieve another slight shock, because, yes, I suppose thirty pounds less will show up in the mirror. No wonder I needed the corset re-laced. Six months to change the world, darlings, six months to change myself. I never even noticed.
When the scanner stops being bitchy, I’ll post them.