My arm is so sore and hurty. I gave blood. I can�t go to the one nearest to me anymore because it always runs on a Saturday and my boss won�t let me go. I normally take the plaster off as I walk out the door but I am absolutely keeping this one on because I�m going out with my dramatically squeamish friend later and somehow a big old plaster and sticky tape makes it look worse. It might look even more gruesome if I had some red ink. One of the reasons that I am so resolutely bothering to go and give blood is because this particular friend, my mother and one of M�s friend's have all had a few blood transfusions. I am giving it all back to redress the balance. I have this possibly completely stupid notion that if I can put back what they needed then the level will be equal instead of minus. Yeah, it sounds miles better in my head when I am not trying to explain it or follow it through to any kind of logical conclusion.

To be filed under oh so gross: The syrup squash that you are supposed to drink after donating. Do they know that it is meant to be diluted with water? The attempts to look like I am drinking that are more hassle than the needles.

And even worse: The desperate need to touch your own bag of warm blood and look at the process when you know that you really should not.

The greatest most wholesome part of this whole boring story is that my new local blood donor place is just off of Oxford Street so I get to go shopping straight after. Requisite amount of ooooooooh and aaaaaaaaah to my cute new red shoes and underwear. Maybe shoes are not the ideal purchase when one has been warned not to lift anything heavy for the rest of the day. Yeah, but maybe they are really nice shoes.

Last night I finished work and was doing the usual hour long chat to Fin when he suddenly screamed and looked very excited. M was sitting on the wall waiting for me. Ah, the nicest feeling ever to be planning on going home and finding whatever skuddy food is rotting in the fridge and watching whichever skuddy docusoap is on telly and for that to be hugely altered and get some love instead. However, ruining the moment I did accidentally crack myself up (and not quite recover for quite some time) over a candle which came with some umm *things* that I purchased. Wait! Shall we smell the erotic candle? Let�s just take a moment to get a whiff of the mood enhancing aroma. Really, probably a mal idea to be wafting a naked flame around naked bodies.

Tomorrow I am meeting someone that I got on with quite well at university. I really can�t be bothered. It�s one of those people that the only reason I got on so well with her is because she is Croatian and can�t speak that much English and so wan't able to participate in the extremely pretentious speeches that most of the other students in this particular class seemed to enjoy so much. (Yeah, past, present and future tense all muddled into two sentences, I know but I am feeling gung-ho about it). I used to close my eyes because my body chooses eye rolling as an involuntary reflex in these kind of situations and I was too afraid that my spinning eyeballs and gritted teeth would leap out of my person and start attacking people. Awful artfully meaningful speeches would be an excellent torture method in a hostage situation - WAIT PLEASE ENOUGH WITH THE REPRESENTATION OF THE FEMALE IN FAIRY TALES I WILL TELL ALL I KNOW ABOUT THE SECRETS OF GOVERNMENT AND YOU CAN TAKE MY LIFE AS WELL! It wouldn�t be so bad if I didn�t have to do the whole travelling to Seven Sisters thing, why can�t people come and see me? Why can�t I be the regal come and see me person?

I have got to stop buying books and taking more books from the library for a little while. I have books scattered everywhere and my passion for falling asleep at every non-everything-else-that-one-must-do-moment is overtaking the reading and so books are piling up. If I die firefighters will have to wrench open my door and I will be buried alive in pages and words and I will be upset that I missed firefighters breaking into my bedroom.

Inkysoso, guided by penguins