Tuesday, January 18, 2005



You won't believe it, but I'll tell you anyway. I had actually written something of an email to you this morning, but I thought better of it and deleted it before I sent it. I thought you must have forgotten all about me by now. How strange and how wrong. Am I seriously well? Am I seriously unwell? Don't tell me you spent some time after Christmas in C[..]. I heard them page you in the airport on my way back from holidays at home in America. It was a nostalgic journey down memory lane. Do you ever watch Sex and the City? If so, then you know Mr. Big, and he's you. Sooo sexy and sooo elusive. I'd leave my husband for you, if only you were real. I'm all butterflies and madness and I'm reading this book called "The man who mistook his wife for a hat" and I think I must be suffering from all sorts of madness(es). But it's really your well-being I'm concerned about. I have very few lessons nowadays. I even have time to call you if you want to talk. Do notify. xo

Talking spirits. They link our minds? (But I never watched Sex and the City.)


Blogger sissoula said...

I never knew betrayal could be so flattering. A biography is all we are, a narrative, unscripted but continually revised. Some of our stories are private; others are shared. Who decides these matters? Does anyone have the right to protect her story, or to feel betrayed with the other half reveals his?

8:26 am EET  

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