You change all the lead sleeping in my head

"The hardest knot is but a meandering string; tough to the fingernails, but really a matter of lazy and graceful loopings. The eye undoes it, while clumsy fingers bleed" (Nabokov, in The Real Life of Sebastian Knight)

Last night I watched Pan's Labyrinth. Then I went outside and looked at the night, and a rather bright shooting star materialised and disappeared again in the corner of my eye. After I'd finished making a wish it happened a second time and I got to wish some more. Then I imagined fairies on the roses and they felt so real. Then I looked at the moon through the tiniest hole possible between my curled fingers and the palm of my hand, and it was only then that i resolved the violence of the film in my head and came to understand it better. The night's (and a continuity of the strings of coincidences it had with the day) legacy: a heightened ability to write, because writing is so inextricably intertwined with an ability to life. The story I'm writing at the moment is about man in his early twenties who is a night time taxi driver, which was supposed ot be a temporary job but has gone on much longer than intended because the woman who was pregnant with his child and he was supposed to marry (she was sixteen) disappeared (left him?), and now he hallucinates her, and talks to himself a way that is harmless but still disconcerting to his passengers. He has a strangely heightened sense of light, and falls in love with a transexual male wearing a gold sequined dress like the sun.
I was waiting in a line the other day and a little girl, three or four, stood in front of me, looked up at me with this smile on her face, and then hugged my legs.
I finished an assignment the other day almost a full twenty four hours before it was due, and I'm doing another one now that I was half way through yesterday (Monday) and isn't due until Friday!
Baibai :)