squid ink

So I am back at my parent's home again for a brief flying visit for the wedding of a friend, which needless to say, I am dreading solely because it is exactly the kind of Sri Lankan affair I have intuitively learnt to loathe from a young age, full of blathering relatives whom one hasn't seen since birth inquiring passive-aggressively about one's love life and career ambitions. Nobody has anything nice at all to say about each other and the post-mortem is spent dissecting what everyone wore and how terrible they all looked.

The flight was disastrous. I was next to a horrible man who kept drinking excessively and shouting and was eventually refused alcohol and then he spilt his whiskey all over me at 4am and I was not pleased.

But. Chin up. I am hibernating. I just want to hide somewhere. i feel like I've been beaten by a baseball bat by an extremely angry Danish-Muslim and left for dead in Damascus.
but I came back, slept and went straight to da paolo and bought squid-ink tagliatelle, feta and salami salad, grilled aubergines and potato salad, tomatoes, basil, yoghurt, mangoes, raw almonds, honey and Israeli persimmons and now I've had a bit of everything and what I really want is a Starbucks coffee but it is Too far away and I have no wheels.

I keep thinking that if I can get through this next minute without alcohol, maybe I can get through the minute after that and this is what my life has been reduced to, getting over every minute after the next. I am not sad, nor depressed. I just want to Not Talk for a very long time.