sorry, love: no marriage for me

mood: dangerously pensive
music: snowpatrol--when it's all over we still have to clear up
CPCetc: hello, tummy. i love you too.

Mrs. Lydon rings a few minutes later.
'Hello, Rob. It's Janet.'
'Hello, Mrs. L.'
'How are you?'
'Fine. You?'
'Fine, thanks.'
'And Ken?'
Laura's dad isn't too clever--he has angina, and had to retire from work early.
'Not too bad. Up and down. You know. Is Laura there?'
Interesting. She hasn't phoned hoe. Some indication of guilt, maybe?
'She's not, I'm afraid. She's round at Liz's. Shall I get her to give you a ring?'
'If she's not too late back.'
'No problem.'
And that's the last time we will ever speak, probably. 'No problem': the last words I ever say to somebody I have been reasonably close to before our lives take different directions. Weird, eh? You spend Christmas at somebody's house, you worry about their operations, you give them hugs and kisses and flowers, you see them in their dressing gown...and then, bang, that's it. Gone forever. And sooner or later there will be another mum, another Christmas, more varicose veins. They're all the same. Only the addresses, and the colours of the dressing gown, change.

I love this book so much. I probably shouldn't be reading it right now, but it just feels so right to. It's so freeing to know that there's someone else who goes through mundane life shite all the time and still manages to be happy. Or, well, as happy as you can be, given the circumstances. I like that. This is my never-fail book. This and Tommy's Tale, but I can't take Tommy right now. Rob Fleming may be a terrible person, but Tommy is outwardly worse. Right now, I need musty record shops and bitter cynicism, not drugs and boy-fucking. Maybe next week.

I'm looking forward to most of an evening quiet and alone. It's very peaceful and strangely comforting. If I need to, I'll shut the door and let it all out. Right now, though, I'm okay like this: just Gary Lightbody and Nick Hornby and some raspberry tea. Not even anybody online right now. It's different. I like it.

I need to change up my picture frames, I think, and read Glass Menagerie and find two new plays. But not tonight, not the first two, at least. Tonight's just for quiet thoughts and a late-night Wal-Mart run. Nothing too strenuous, nothing that has a lot of thinking.

Not thinking. It'll be a nice change.