Afternoon, Only Just Waking Up

On television, there was just an ad for a mobile ringtone that can't be heard by 'parents and teachers'. I can't hear it, yet I don't fit into either of those categories. Slightly depressing.. I suppose this means that, physically at least, my teenage years are over.

Lucien put a spanner in my new attempts at having scheduled days - on Saturday night he summoned me out of my pajamas and into a dry martini as he celebrated with his jiu-jitsu buddies post-competition. Being drugged up to my eyeballs on prescription medications, I just teetered, nodded, spoke too fast and flailed my arms about. I didn't actually drink anything, but I'm quite sure I looked drunk.

The reason for the drugs was a multi-day headache, stemming from my upper jaws. Wisdom teeth, perhaps? It's my reluctant guess. But it hurts, a lot, and I haven't been a happy madame for the last three or four days.

Tonight is a training night for my new job. We're learning all about the features of Bugaboo prams - I feel like a soon to be mother going to those information group-love sessions. The other people who will be there are going to confirm that too.
Last time I met with them, it was an initiation night for us to talk about the aims of the new store, et cetera. After the wine, mini sandwiches, speeches and introductions, people began chatting. I joined a couple of groups, figuring I could widen the scope of potential friends. Almost everybody started chatting about their kids, leaving me out of the loop. Not just their kids, but details of their pregnancies, what lactating breasts do, how children learn to use the toilet... it shocked me that these people would share intimate details of their and their children's bodily functions within 20 minutes of meeting each other. C'est la vie, I suppose this is the kind of person I'll be dealing with from now on.

Last night as Lucien lounged in my bed glued to a book, I was upstairs reluctantly being talked to on IM by his twin brother. He wondered what his brother was doing, and I told him that he was in bed reading Wuthering Heights. This is hardly an obscure work, so I was naturally shocked when James asked "Oh, what's that about?". After I told him, he asked if there was a film of it.
Ugh - I can see it now - he will seek out the film and watch it, then wish to discuss the literary merits of WH with us based on his viewing, and suddenly profess to be incredibly interested in literature. When Lucien played Courfeyrac in Les Miserables, James became obsessed. He watched a film version over and over, and assaulted everyone's eardrums by playing On My Own on his flute constantly. The part that also annoyed me was that he presumed to be on a similar level of 'expertise' on the subject as people who had read the book, studied the history and been in the musical. Now with my beloved Wuthering Heights, I am afraid that he will do the same.

Two girls in Belgrave killed themselves in a suicide pact. Now the current affairs shows are cashing in, having heavily edited interviews with psychologists warning that every teenager is at risk and that there are 'warning signs' to look out for. The media reaction wreaks of The Virgin Suicides, I can just smell the concerned parent's groups. I'm not exactly sure what I think about suicide, but I know that it is probably radically against the status quo. It's sad for the people they know, but it is a perfectly valid way of dying, perhaps even less tragic than other ways because they chose it.

I want a cat, or a puppy. Anzac day is Wednesday, and I will be spending it alone. Doing housework all day would be more bearable if there was some other creature to bask in the cleanliness I could create.

Lucien expressed surprise at how smooth my back was last night. I hadn't noticed until he said anything - perhaps it is the kind of thing that you need a before and after photo to tell the difference. Apparently I used to have acne on my back, and now it is "perfect". Nice to be called perfect, especially by one's boyfriend. But coming from someone wearing love-goggles, maybe it doesn't mean as much.
I think my body is growing tired of eating. Do people's metabolisms routinely change for no apparent reason? I hope mine has. My starving artist status doesn't quite work with my current level of .. 'curviness'.