SATURDAY, 9 SEPTEMBER, 2000, LONDON

Gah! Not a moment to write in almost a week. So sorry, little reader-type-people. I hope you have not forgotten me. I have not forgotten you. It’s dreadfully late now, and I’m as exhausted as a Korean hooker at a port-o-call on a Sunday morning, but I thought I’d just jot a few phrases down tonight before I nod off for some much-deserved sleep. To, you know, just sorta, keep my voice alive. Pee on my tree on the internet. You know. Just a word. Back in London staying with dear Mssr. Roop who prepared a lovely dinner of couscous and ratatouille. Yummatron 2000! Departing Edinburgh could have been a messy, teary, stupid event, but luckily I was suddenly stricken with extreme light-headedness on the train platform of Waverly Station, and instead of weeping on Juju’s neck my lusty farewells, I was more concerned with not toppling over nor passing out. I do hate a scene, you know. Juju tell me she likes to see her name in print with a link, so I will link it again. And again! And just once more! Whee!!! It’s the least I can do for someone who put her life on hold for an aimless, stinky Yank for three whole weeks of her life as I became a fixture in her computer room whenever she wished to write. Thanks a zill, Jooj. (Whoops, I did it again.) You have sold me on Edinburruh. Meanwhile, back in merry ole’ England, the Marquis has been recovering from a vicious hangover all day as I’ve been making my rounds which consist mainly of jostling about on the Tube for hours as I crisscross all over the fucking place tending to my little matters. For this, there is really no one to blame but Garcia who knows of too many places to drink in and around Leicester Square. No, really, kind sir, the pleasure was entirely mine. Maybe could have done without the taxi ride later that night where it was the most I could do to focus all my attention and energy on a light in the backseat and count to ten silently in my head over and over until the bile stopped rising into my throat and the taxi stopped squirming around bumpy, winding London streets. But other than that, the pleasure was mine all mine. Today I went to see Lo, my ex-girlfriend from college. Marquis Fun Fact: Betcha didn’t know that I was once in love. Just once, mind. It was great. And now I can check it off my list of “things to do,” and add it to my completed list of “things done.” Don’t need to go there again any time soon, thank god. Anyway, so yah, Lo and I were, like, a real live couple for a substantial amount of time here, in London, in the late 80’s. Chance has brought us both back here simultaneously and it was very — ¿Cómo se dice? — enlightening? No, that’s not quite it. Refreshing? Closer, but still not right. Okay, how about, we had a rilly, rilly noice toime catching up for a few hours while her actually-really-quite-cute son babbled around on the floor. (I don’t like the chirren generally.) Many other things have transpired over the last week, but duty, modesty, and common sense dictate that I do not publish these details just at the moment. Actually, only common sense dictates this. I have no duties nor modesty. Tomorrow is, sadly, my last day in Great Britain. I have extended my trip here, and while I don’t regret it, I’m moving back to New Orleans next week, and there is so much to do, as you can imagine. So much to do. It’sh mickin’ me shick!