Nothing much.

1) There's the most fantastic drizzle outside the office window at the moment. The sky has that eerie, lucid look that means it's probably going to storm soon. It's calming. We're listening to Bjork. If I could climb inside my computer and curl up with all the nouns and verbs and prepositions I am editing, I would.

2) I think if I could change one thing about my body, I would want the ability to breathe underwater. Isn't being amphibian such a nice idea? You could lie under the water in the bath for as long as you wanted, wrapped in a wet, level blanket of warmth. Or you could run to the ocean and plunge into the salt, and feel it sting your eyes, and swim out as far as you wanted and watch fish and boats and clouds skim across the surface of the water above you. You could bury yourself in the sand at the bottom of a lagoon until only your nose and eyes were uncovered, and watch the phosphorescent fish and glow-in-the-dark eels wiggling around your face. You would never have to worry about laughing too hard at a joke in the pub and panic at momentarily feeling your lungs fill with water that you inhaled by mistake.

3) This morning as I was tidying my room/looking for clean underwear, I found a green bag full of decomposing pomegranates. In my semi-coherent state, they seemed full of fuzzy symbolism, although that might have just been the mould... the fuzzy, symbolic mould. They would have been sitting in that green bag for a few weeks, left over from a picnic with a boy, previously the boy, which may or may not have been a date and which, true to our retarded, self-referential form, seemed charmed for a little while and then fell spectacularly apart. I don't know. When rotting fruit seems like the most rapturously apt metaphor for the state of a relationship, perhaps it's time to move the fuck along.