Saturday seems to have been designated art and chillaxing day. I usually creep out of the flat at about 11, trying for as little interaction with the gruesome twosome as possible - managed no speech at all today. Glorious feeling of freedom hits me as I walk up and down the hill to Costa, where I avoid ex-Year 11s and buy a small vanilla latte. I used to get an almond croissant as well, but the combination of those two and trains doesn't always turn out well. First sip of coffee produces an almost post-orgasmic glow. I try to speak to people as little as possible.
When I was at university, I craved company all the time. Couldn't stand to spend more than an hour on my own. Never would've imagined desperately needing a day out of contact with anyone. The longest conversation I've had today was with the woman who entered my membership details into the Tate computer.
The Degas etc exhibition was very good. Much more satisfying than Munch at the Royal Academy. Going round to Jamie's tomorrow for lunch and an Almodovar film about bondage.
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