Unravel unravels as you say it...

the yogurt is too runny. i have to drink it out of the small plastic tub. i like my yogurt really viscous. and the sky is grey. but i'm not complaining. i've become remarkably resilient to the weather here. i'm not quite sure what's happened. i've been here, let's see...just over a month I believe. a month. of shitty shitty weather. and i'm more or less doing ok. whereas in NZ it took four days of rain to unleash a torrential flow of bitch bitch bitching, I haven't done much at all. Perhaps, I just haven't written in the blog. I heated a pot of water halfway before deciding i didn't want spaghetti and turned the stove off. the pot and the water are still sitting on the burner. (element, in those decidedly more english of ex-english colonies). I opted for three slices of reheated pizza. Ah the life of the unemployed.

I started Nabokov's Lolita (arguably his most famous work?) and at one novel and 55 pages later I'm at the point where I find Nabokov, weird. In any and all senses you could ascribe to the word. Do people ever stop to consider how all encompassingly complex and absolutely *perfect* a word can be? apparently encompassingly is not a word. and also, blogger in it's rampant technical troubles cannot italicize at the moment. Thus the use of asterisks. (my my, my exposure to the french comic book Asterix definitely hindered my ability to spell asterisk correctly.)

I had an exhausting weekend. Not due to any large amount of activity, but the shift in hourly shifts of consciousness. Friday night, by all accounts, could've been classified as a "ripper" leaving much of the social circle hobbling to an odd rhythm Saturday. I myself was included in this, until I had realized I hadn't eaten or drank anything all day. Eating a pot of pasta and gulping several glasses of tap water soon alleviated my dizzying abstraction from my body and I felt capable of handling, in a young professional's world, what is Saturday night. But my companions felt otherwise. So it was one of those nights, where you chase around your desires. Themselves, pulling together into a tangible entity before again dissipating into a fatigued ennui that suggests to the back of your skull that perhaps your bed, should be the next destination. Stubbornness kept me out (or perhaps my alcoholism) and by excuse of having to reclaim a lost article of clothing from a local bar I set out, stripped of the majority of my company for the watering hole. And there, after quenching a nagging but needless thirst and enduring a pummeling DJ I decided to call it a night. In fact, my watery dregs of a drink were practically taken from my hand by the proprietor's minions intent on closing well before last call. All for the better I thought and left.

And so, it's Sunday. a sunday with a grey sky and indecisive spaghetti. and, well, what is it? Several hours perusing various job search sites and a dollop of Nabokov, Lolita's no less. Yes, that was definitely part of it. It was a sexual restlessness. No wonder the spaghetti was indecisive. I met a young German once. He had explained, that he thought "horny" was such an awful english word. He loved english, and loved learning it (which often lead to fantastic conversations, me, with a love of, shall we call them uncommon? english words and a great interest in passively learning german, and he, taken with english, and more than obliging in passively teaching me german.). But the worst english word he had learned had been horny. (i can't remember the german equivalent, so passive is my learning) but phonetically he abhorred the word. And after that discussion, so have I. it drips with vulgarity, but yet, in search of an appropriate substitute term, I've drawn blank. Any other word seems not so much an equivalent, but a euphemism and euphemisms on this topic can only relay frivolity. Perhaps I should attempt more zealously to remember the German expression.

I haven't read Razor's Edge. Let's add it to the list.

The club had that faux-nouveau decor that I can't say I dislike, but I can't quite commit to it either. It's the antique-y bohemian-y feel and style that I find comforting like victorian with an eastern flair, but everything in it is new. It's not victorian, it's victorian style. And that, on top of it all, makes me want to vomit. but it works alright when you're a couple deep.

i'm going insane.