I think I'm hungover

But I'm sure that I didn't drink that much last night. Wine and single malt. I spent $71 on second hand books - finally re-found the first journal of Anais Nin, a book of letters between her and Henry Miller, Simone deBeauvoir She Came to Stay, Gormenghast trilogy, The Constant Nymph - which I think I bought on the basis of title alone. Reading Anais' description of June Mansfield and thinking about how much I'd like to be that mysterious... haphazardly dressed and perfectly made up, background lost in stories. I'm terrible at being mysterious, it is patently obvious. I should maybe work on that a little more.

Drama: The Bohemianism I crave is denied me by the Post Modern society in which I live. O, Woe!

Ugh, I really do feel quite spacy and ill.