“Confession that is almost entirely not about fucking” by N.T.
 Sometimes I follow ducks around and tell myself I’m part of something.
 When I am alone I maintain a constant commentary on my clumsiness. I am always wondering what I am doing but I never come up with an answer I can get behind. It occurs to me that I should spend this time dancing but it is difficult to reconcile dancing with self-criticism.
 I feel like I’d be able to sell my good points better if I’d arrived in this country in an orange crate / taken more than one gender studies seminar / was Russian or German or something. I know a handful of German girls and they all dye their hair in primary colours. I’m pretty sure that’s a disgusting generalization. I go on my experiences and bite my tongue a lot.
 I know one girl from Sweden and she has waves of pale hair. I respect her for taking what’s expected of her in stride. I admire her for wearing blue nail varnish / indulging in animal prints. I used to think about her a lot and I didn’t know if it was love or a positive kind of envy. I decided it might be better to hate her but then I saw her in the street and her iPod was playing ABBA and then I had no choice.
 Once I let a short girl called Angel stand in front of me at a concert. Her friend hugged me and he was so happy I think he might have been on drugs. I was sad that I met him after the concert.
 The collision of our pinkies on a sofa ended with my organs shaping themselves to yours.
 If a cat meows at me in the street I always stop and talk to it even when I’m really late. I guess a lot of people think of this as a flaw but I am proud of it. It’s good to remind yourself of the ways wildness punctuates the city.
 People seem to be giving up on dignity. If you take me for coffee I will always ask for a take-out cup. It doesn’t mean I don’t like you. I am just trying to minimise spillage. For the same reason I never eat on dates. It is impossible to be erotic when you have to contend with fries / chicken / salad dressing. My last serious relationship ended because she thought I had an eating disorder. Also all the cheating.
 A doctor once called me borderline but not borderline enough to prescribe something. I wish it was okay to be disappointed by that. If I had a steady intake of Valium I think I’d be brave enough to:
[i] wear red shoes at night
[ii] tell my parents I cheated in the poetry competition
[iii] kiss someone on New Year’s Eve
[iv] call you back because I lied, I’m interested.
 Sometimes when I sneeze I can taste blood. I think of losing teeth / pennies on my tongue / how long you can hold up the receiver without dialling and the possibility you will be put through to the police and then you’ll have no idea what to say when they ask if you need help.