I have finally decided that I will go and attempt to pick me up something pretty tonight.
I wanted to leave things on a slight positive. I popped over to the Reichstag yesterday in a fit of the suicides. Alistair was quite sweet to me. Included in this sweetness was the moment when he came over to the sofa to share my cigarette. I was perched on its back looking out onto the balcony. He gently ran his fingertips up and down my back. I could feel the faint pressure of his nails. I love to be touched like this, it always gives me goosebumps. After a time, he smiled his mischievous smile, and pushed my hand against his crotch, and told me I was exciting.
Long live the small victory. My life pains me to distraction, and I generally look like a wreck. And in this particular instance, I looked like a wreck. Yet, I Miss Maisie, (that's Ms. to most of you), can still tighten pants, even when looking like a bag-lady who has just climbed out of a bin.
And actually, that does provide me with some comfort.