I am so dis­il­lu­sioned and frus­trated at the moment. I can’t believe the Israelis thought killing a para­ple­gic spir­itual leader was going to help the peace pro­cess. I can’t believe I live in a coun­try where our PM thinks it’s com­pletely okay to tell the police com­mis­sioner what to think and say. I can’t believe I stuffed up my invoicing so badly that I’m dead broke again. I can’t believe I ran into Jonathan for the first time in four months and within a 5 minute con­ver­sa­tion man­aged to say some­thing to remind him of why he’s not talk­ing to me rather than just be a pleas­ant person he might want to be friends with again. I can’t believe I let my house get this messy again. I can’t believe I’ve man­aged my time so badly that I have one ser­i­ously over­due art­icle and another big art­icle due by Friday and so I won’t be able to work on my thesis much this week.

I want to wax rhaps­odic about urban space and queer film and lots of other stuff, but it’s not going to happen. I don’t even have the head­space to fill you in on Tracey & Craig’s hand­fast­ing, which I conducted…