How to kill a wife.

The post title this time comes from yesterdays late night pondering. I had, for some unexplainable reason, the song 'How to save a life' on my brain, in my brain, in my head, seriously it was everywhere except for maybe in the fridge (cold places are often silent places, i don't know why). But instead of hearing the original lyrics i heard... well, the post title. So i didn't get much sleep last night as i was slightly worried about the morbid way my head works.

Me blogging now is just an excuse really, i should pack. I should prepare, i should, i should. But i don't want to! I mean, i want to go to Africa, don't get me wrong, but why does it have to be so much preparation involved? The cleaning I'm alright with, i don't mind making things look nice and tidy. But the sorting out what to keep and what to throw away or give to charity is hell on earth for a sentimental person.
Everytime i pick something up from the ridiculously huge pile of things i own, i get these vivid flashbacks of summers past and old dreams, and i just want to keep it all. But i shan't (is that a word? It is now), i shall throw it all away never to see it again. How dramatic.

The only sentimental treasures i allow myself to keep are my diaries and notebooks, and the jewelry given to me by old friends, lovers and relatives. One of those pieces is a homemade sheep tooth necklace given to me by a friend just to mock my vegetarianism, i feel like Luna Lovegood everytime i wear it, but i refuse to depart from it.

I have 17 notebooks, some of them over ten years old, and i love them all to bits. Reading all the bad poetry and silly short story ideas is like watching my imagination and creativity growing up, like i am two people at once. My diaries tells a completely different story, they tell about boyfriends, arguments, alienation, all the regular teenage rants. I do have some disturbing 'what's so bad about suicide' pages in there, but i guess that's just part of the whole diary thing.
I mean, who haven't thought about suicide at least once while growing up? Or thinking that they might be gay or religious? Or both? I even went through a period where i refused to step on grass, convinced that it must be excruciatingly painful to be stepped on all the time.

I must say thank the birds for Neil Gaiman (just a stray thought really) if it weren't for him my favourite author would be a dead, gay man. And if you do not know who i am referring to, you are not worthy of reading my blog. So there.

Dun have a headline, dun care.

Ok, here's my schedule for upcoming events that i desperately want to attend:

1. Amanda Palmer (Dresden dolls), Ben Folds and more are playing Koko in Camden the 10th of October. Wanna go so badly, but have to check my financial situation..

2. A talk with Neil Gaiman, Piracy vs. Obscurity. 30th of Oct(i think) in London, but i have to go undercover as a Open Rights activist, and i don't know how to do that convincingly... No matter how much i support Open Rights, brilliant group!

3. Neil Gaiman reading and Q&A in London, book release of 'The graveyard book.' 30th of October.

4. Neil Gaiman signing in Blackwell, London. Very nervous about this one, i mean, i get to meet The Man!! 31st of October, Hallow's eve'n all, how cool is that, eh?

And last but not least, i'm invited to dear mothers wedding in the Gambia in February, i want to go. I mean, this is mother we are talking about here, her getting married at last is like me finding a suitable boyfriend here in Salisbury. A miracle!

I need a date for the wedding though, but i've kind of given up on the whole 'go out on a Friday in Salisbury and meet interesting people.' That would be equally high on the Unlikely Events List as proving the existence of the pink, invisible unicorn.

So, in other words, i am likely to go alone.