data is fake

Twenty-twenty-three is kinda slow for a modern year, isn't it? That's nice. We should do something. We could have another Meeting. Or a picnic. I'd like to have a picnic. I'd like to get one of those cute picnic baskets they sell at Selfridge's.

On Thursday night I went out for dinner with becky avery at Naïfs in Peckham. It's a lovely little restaurant with great food, Ocho tequila and cute, fun staff on an otherwise residential road remarkably close to that alley I spent an evening in smoking crack with two homeless ladies in the inconstant summer of '21. We went to Fox & Firkin afterward to watch some synthpop which started very well but each act was less convincing than the last and it was no more than 10pm when it was already bedtime. My every day thereafter has been better because I had such a nice time eating ruffage and talking silly with becky avery.

Other than that this week I've played the Zelda and watched TV constantly to mollify the relentless chatter of regret and worthlessness. I slept all day Sunday. I had good dreams.