about half an hour from when she left, the sink broke. Then, something behind the ice machine, or the machine itself, began periodically flooding the swampy wood. Even using paper cups, we dirtied dishes (plates, knives, serving dishes), which began to pile up. The floor behind the counter was covered in soggy newspapers. Our SNO decided not to close. The plumber came. Got angrier and angrier, me and my coworker had two large (plumber vertically, SNO horizontally) men moving the dishwasher around and lifting up floorboards and drilling and swearing), and we were trying to work over them. THis is all in a 25-foot by 3-foot rectangle of floor space behind the counter. by closing time we had amassed a mountain of dirty dishes (and food-encrusted serving pans) that couldn't be washed. the coffee machine also couldn't be cleaned. feh. so glad I am outta there!

Feb 23 2000 Just drained from a workshop on Caribbean Music at the Institute for Commonwealth Studies, a place I'll be spending much more time. Rather than talk about the ideas, which I need to simmer, I'll talk about food and representation: Since I hadn't registered, I had to fetch my own lunch, which I did from the student cafe (for students from the ICS, the School of Oriental and African Studies, and other such places nearby). The food was much better than LSE, with more and tastier veggie options. I wondered if they were just cooler there, or if the SOAS and food requirements of hindus and muslims who were probably better represented there made an impact. The seating area had about seven times more people of African descent than LSE. One of the many depressing things about my course (economic history), and much of the LSe is that sad fact. Not that it's homogenous in terms of nationality, but class class class, and race to some extent. In other departments there are substantial %s of people of South Asian descent. Not in this program, and only one person of African descent. very few Africans or Caribbeans at all. So to go from this to the ICS, where it's a roomful of scholars of Caribbean music, and musicians and activists and interested others, where it was maybe 1/3 black (even though only two of the five speakers I saw were).. I just prefer it. Even when the tension started to rise, which it did which it did.

Feb 21, 2000 This weekend was much less eventful. Last week spent in a flurry of papr-writing. hoop-jumping for The Man, writing to "demonstrate my mastery (whipcrack) of the material on one section of the reading list." not the kind of exercise which motivates me. o well, it's done, I think it's okay. curious to see what they make of it, these anonymous readers.

Another paper due this week. more library cloister for meee. but now I'm hungry as sin (how hungry could that be) and distracted as all (thoughts) get out.

Been having sensual hallucinations all weekend, and dreams too, about my LDL. A friend from my classes says she dreamed i was pregnant, big-bellying around the library with my hands on my lower back. not likely in my current situation.

Sunday morning I was picked up, sort of, by a man at the market. he walked past me, turned around, came back and began to chat. I was in that solitary but pliant state, alone-in-a-crowd style, and I didn't mind as long as he wasn't annoying. which he wasn't. He was funny, he was older (by maybe ten years), he was attractive. Jewish South-African artist working in computers for the money. Relaxingly self-involved. He asked me little and talked much. Funny feeling so detached, the possibility of stringless sex, of the familiar way to say hello to a new scene. Reminded me of me when I was traveling, more up for this kind of dip in the pool. Coffee, meander, back to his place (broad daylight, with his arms full of fruit from the market). Let me use his email connection (new games of give-and-take in the modern age.) some chat. Increasing undercurrents of sexuality in his words, more phsyical references, more body language. So strange, to be in the classic feminine position, having it all laid out there for you, and the way of acquiescence --letting them think they're making moves. I felt him a lightweight (nice enough, knows lots of people), and that became in itself somewhat attractive. The fact that it would mean little to me, but be fun, theoretically, was making my pulse pound more. An unflattering view, compared to the depth of feeling I muster at other times. Turned down a backrub (which offer made me feel like I was in highschool again. please! does this still work?) and left with smiles. A little shaken by my own behviour, although in control, not exactly pleasant.

an unromantic entry, purses up the post valentines day kissy mouth.