what it means

I think I need another cup of something before I start writing.

...


My throat is so croaky today. But I'm got a mug of Lady Grey (with one sugar). There are so many teas to have in so many ways in so many mugs, it's almost infinite and can match all moods and situations.

Perhaps I shall attempt to keep this short.

As far as life goes, I spent yesterday at a wonderful party in a rainstorm. With wonderful people. But it's funny, when you haven't seen people for a while and they ask you the normal 'what's going on in your life?' question, I always feel I'm a terrible disappointment. I still remember the uncanny moment a friend asked "how's your love-life going?" those words asked to me were so strange. What would "my love-life" be? I don't have a love-life. In no way out of choice, but through circumstance, I have become monkish. The lovely lady I used to work at Oxfam with bought my book the other day and asked me how much of it was true. And whether the man in the book, the lover, was real. And whether I really was part-Swedish. I told her that the whole thing was fiction, but sort of fictionalised real feelings, I suppose. She wasn't disappointed, but I felt like I had been disappointing. Why have I written these things instead of running out into the world and doing them? I write about love a lot and have been there for real so few times. And I wonder, if I were in love with someone right now, would I rather write about politics?

This has become a little silly and introspective, as ever. And also, the whole thing about having this book, I don't want to feel like I'm selling out by telling people about it. But if people would like a copy, it's here:

http://tinyurl.com/edduspoetry

But it's expensive. I can only apologise.
Okay, that it all, It's so humid and stuffy here right now.

I need some of Yaffle's shorts :D