I make nice birthday cards too

WHEN I WANTED TO GET OUT OF BED THIS MORNING I SIMPLY FOLDED UP. THIS HAS A VERY SIMPLE CAUSE, I AM COMPLETELY OVERWORKED. NOT BY THE OFFICE BUT BY MY OTHER WORK. I shall certainly be myself again by tomorrow.  p38 K's diaries, 1910

I have a silly hamster called Tilda, I eat corn and the cob, tire of it, and give her the dregs. She acts like a meercat and watches like an owl.

HE she is not 

I now sleep so much and so soundly during the day, I have greater weight while I sleep -p35

I am so boring, I claim that my dissertation is my life but all I do for it is read things that K says that I find strange and write them down. I hope that I can shape the BEST WORK BRIGHTON UNIVERSITY has seen by repetition and post-it love notes attached to each page. 

I realise that I have an abundance of things. Purples, mints, browns and reds litter my floor and make for cushioned stepping stones. A muddled bedroom is not enough, still I insist on creating a jumble sale complete with livestock! But I am now crying because she bit me, and I cannot bring myself to wipe away the blood because it is so red and dark and forms a perfect circle. Now I hate her in an instant! She is horrid, evil. 

(I put my finger in her bed to pet her head)

I am daydreaming of a place that smells like damp wood in the winter and of faint leather and faint flowers in the summer. These shoes and pollen are nowhere to be seen, which should be unsettling or maybe confusing, but it's only the beauty of the place. I toy with cats and follow chickens with tall plumes and blue beaks, until I tire and settle on an unsteady tree-swing until I get so high I can see the tops of chimneys, the stars and the back of my own head. There is always enough food and water and although I am always a little cold there are blankets to hand, which I much prefer than being comfortable enough to go without. Laughing is always subtle and seems to be background noise, as though somewhere children are running, zipping between the bushes in a park over the fence in a neighbouring street clutching ice pops until they melt in their hot hands and flop over, spilling their contents onto the grass and leaving sticky fingers leaving sticky marks on clean upholstery. Your hair is soft, that much I can tell without being close enough to touch it. It is blonder because we lie only in the light during the day. We can whistle and weave wires around plant pots so that music follows us wherever we potter. I sing faintly and hope you don't mind but you do. Do you remember this? I remember this, with a fondness much like my desire to repeat the past (But of course you can?) We were so cared for and cherished, maybe somebody made idols of us once, cold and unmoving, marble to the touch. This was your home more than it ever was mine but I pretend and I smile and I grill tuna when everyone else grills pork.

I really do make nice birthday cards. I like craft and playing with glue.