Wow. I was just about to post a picture of Alex and I having a cappucino at Nicastros when I realised that all I have posted this week contains the words "shopping, drinking, laughing, eating". Yikes. Because that's really all I have done this week - eat, drink, sleep, laugh, and shop. I mean, that's not a really terrible thing, I've been reading Foucault (which my mother deemed definately not Christmasy with a tsk tsk), taking photos of friends and family, catching up with friends...shopping, drinking, laughing.. eating. Oh god. But the funny thing is, I'm not getting fat, because the things in my mothers fridge are far better for you than the things in mine. (antipasta vs. pudding anyone?). I do think, that with daily doses of various films (I actually watched Talledega Nights, the Ballad of Ricky Bobby...) that my brain may actually be turning to pudding. Every little bitty bit of knowledge is slowly leaking out onto the futon and being blown away, sparkles and all, out onto Cartier and absorbed in the canal. Perhaps thats why I feel the great need to read The Birth of the Prison - to ground myself. Lest I slip up and start eating receipts and attempting to drink perfume at the mall.
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