Tis no fun; this illness existence.
This compression chamber of gloom.
Admittedly a glamorous one, thank the god(s) and our exquisite eye for decoration and light.
We had so many Plans for our last few days of manhattan-dwelling.
Breakfasts, lunches, movies, tea in 5 star hotels; all final moments with friends (the friends that don’t work in entertainment and thus will Never set foot in los angeles).
Instead we lie here, languishing.
Subsisting on sips of tomato soup and medicated losenges.
(thanks to Jonathan who left a care package at our door and a text message to let us know to emerge from this room and retrieve it with much gratitude and emotion. Nice moment: we said tomato soup please, expecting the tins/cans that So Inspired Mr. WARHOL and instead received a Delicious new experience of roasted tomato and basil from wholefoods. #yum).
The Very worst bit (apart from slinking out of Town having not said Proper goodbyes) is that we Cannot READ.
Ok. Not torture but highly annoying.
We got horrid cabin fever by 9pm last night so decided to pull on a thick coat and emerge under the protective cover of darkness.
Made it half a block and had to hold onto a lamppost for a while and rest.
And yet we’d never been so happy to sniff the late night manhattan air of gasoline, hope, dreams, ambition, something slightly burned or caramelized from the restaurants nearby and exhaust fuel.
After 7 mins we hastened back inside and collapsed into a deep sleep punctuated at regular intervals by some gremlin appearing to try and break free from inside our chest in a non-Alien imagery recalling way (or maybe that’s how it felt after hours Hours Hours of it).
Before we go back under for another sleep. We must just say
to our new friends from Uganda!
These were our virtual but oh-so-welcomed Visitors yesterday (we are Totally obsessed by the “stats”tab on the wordpress “dashboard”).
So Terribly glo-bal, non? ;)
Send good thoughts.
You are the Nicest sick bed visitors.
We don’t worry that you will somehow catch this lurgy and we don’t have to retrieve our looks from their wan-and-shockingly-unbrushed-hair-no-mascara state.
*hello, darlings (just in case you didn’t get to study swahilli at university of the Sorbonne).