confession: i really love the film dirty dancing
I used to think of marriage as a plate-glass window just begging for a brick. The self-exhibition, the self-satisfaction, smarmimess, tightness, tight-arsedness. The way married couples go out in fours like a pantomime horse, the men walking together at the front, the women trailing a little way behind. The men fetching the gin and tonics from the bar while the women take their handbags to the toilet. I doesn’t have to be like that but mostly it is.
aastrolatry asked: How is your novel coming along?
look dad, we’ve been over this, these things take time alright; you’ve got to work your way through, find the feeling tone you know? - and no dad, i don’t agree with you that i’m wasting my life; besides, the law appalls me while medicine simply frightens, and don’t get me started on business. the thing’ll be finished when it’s finished; and another thing dad! i rather think bullying or prying into my life vicariously through some nice unsuspecting tumblrer very insulting. grr and growl.
- aham, sorry, only playing… it’s coming along nicely, thanks for asking. how are you?
Flee the crowd. Follow Orwell. Be perverse.