Sexy Birthday

Dear Miss J

Happy birthday. My how old we have gotten! I knew about your surprise trip to Prague, your mom rang and told me to put you off coming to London that weekend if you mentioned it. I must admit the selfish side of me thought fuck Prague come to London! What a cunt I am. I'm sorry.

I can identify with your thoughts of knives and smashing glasses too. Instead of wounding myself or someone close by though, I tend to clench fists and scream through gritted teeth, like a proper little princess tantrum. How have I turned into this? I throw stuff, but only stuff that I know won't break or hurt an unsuspecting cat passing through the eye of my storm. I throw things softly and then feel pathetic.

I'm sorry you had a shit time on Saturday. I'm glad you rang me, I feel happy knowing I'm still a useful friend even though we hardly see each other anymore. It sounded shit and awkward and the fact that you're left feeling like you don't deserve him, after all that, makes me angry. That's utter shit. Good Lord.

The gig was good, there were nice people there. People I feel comfortable around. There was a girl in a cat suit playing bass. Miss P could see Tony looking at her, I could see Pj looking at her but for once I didn't care. Miss P gave me a plaintive look and I whispered back "girls with guitars". Pj sometimes hands me his danelectro and says "you look hot with a guitar", sighing.
"I'll never play guitar dear."
I asked Pj about her later and he said "oh what, sausage legs?" which made me laugh out loud because he knows me all too well.

Love O