Yesterday was Sunday, but yesterday was also Saturday. Yesterday doesn’t really exist for me in the present, because yesterday I was awake for 32 hours and now it’s all just a dream. I am also in severe need for nicotine though, because I used up all my tobacco on Friday, or rather I gave too much of it away, thus having next to nothing left for myself by Sunday morning as well as no more cash and a mysteriously not functioning bank card.
So i just wanted to say now that I found it rather funny, er, quirky.. creepy, that I was just saying on Friday how my blog is turning into this fail blog thing featuring the extremely unintentional clumsiness of mademoiselle moi. (Pardon the wacked language, I am, as I said before, really and truly in need of a cigarette – I’ve already shouted to myself for the one or other unimportant reason at least twice today. It’s almost four and I got up at one thirty. Help.) Then I was just explaining exactly that to some friends very enthusiastically, when lo and behold, exactly 12 hours later (not. it was probably 10 hours and 46 minutes later) I noticed that I had broken a wine glass that evening and proceeded to abuse it as an ashtray. Evidence shall follow. Later.
THEN. After that wacked, sad night I reported about “yesterday”, during which, I recall now, I also unintentionally pretended to be a foreigner in Moabit (!!) whilst trying to help a Spanish-speaking someone light his gone out joint and then ran away from him because I didn’t want to cross the road on a red light, I proceeded, once home and full of porridge and peanut flips, to quietly break my only salad bowl. In the still of the Sunday morning night/light/fright. And there I was again – happy:
Of which I obviously also the lost the first post-processed version. How could it be different. It was beautiful. In my memory.