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02 FEBRUARY 2008
CHAOS
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Pink hair-mousse next to pink-topped night-cream on the desk. Jar of Benefit’s “That Girl” brightening cream. Black mascara halfmoons on cotton wool pads. Light gleams off a plump tube of Clarins ‘Stretch Mark Control’ cream (a fingers-crossed prophylactic against the rigours of pregnancy; o fat beach ball optimism, when will you die?)

What else? Scissors; staplers; wires for camera, speakers; discarded resin bangles; promo CDs; a wide black plastic bracelet that was o-so-handy for jamming halfway up my arm to hide the purplish bruise blossoming there last week. Then, the laptop, the tiny shining silver snow king on which all these items dance attendance.

Closer. Organic milk. Teapot (contents: two sodden Yorkshire Tea teabags and a dribble of water). Cup of (cold) tea. Amy Hempel short stories. A stationary box for letters unwritten to grandmothers barely alive. More hair-mousse. A candle in a jar (not an affectation, more a necessity, a symbol of hope for future light, like the Christmas decorations still glittering across Stockholm this February 1st).

What else? A knitting pattern for the scarf that sits half-knit beside me. I can trace my moods in the quality of the stitches - the wriggly regularity of the toppermost stripes contrasting with the section one-two-three-four stripes down, when I was knitting through eyes fogged: pooling in contact lenses, dripping on chest.

In this section, there are gaps you could stick your fingers through; chaos makes me gain stitches, not drop them; chaos grows holes. Chaos makes cosmetics and used cotton buds bloom in places where they should not. Chaos causes mess.

What is mess but items out of place? Cosmetics on coffee tables. Crumbs on the floor. Cocks in cunts not your own. It's time to tidy up.


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