The story about the porn stars. How man times have I made a start on it. Of course I keep coming back to it because it is so nice, the chaste embarassment of the post coital interractin. I would write it here now but I am tired and there are still things to do before bed. Masturbate, drink tea, sulk about my lack of literary output, fight with my friend on gchat. Make up again. All this and then I will have to drag myself out of bed and ride my bicycle to work. My joints ache. I am post-viral aparently although there may be other diagnoses. Stress, excitement, happiness. So happy that my ears are aching and my muscles feel like I have swum the English Channel. Jelly fish stings - but there we have it, another sea analogy and I feel self conscious about these things now.
We are down to the honesty of one blog to the next because I have no buffer, just as I have no resillience against the germs and viruses that are feeding on my energy.
So now I will not write about the porn stars, although I will. One day I will. Instead I will play the third mix tape which is maybe my favourite and search the internet with things that might help me cross one thing of my list or another.