That’s Where It’s At

I’m sitting in a tiny tea house, on the edge of the high street. I have a copy of the new issue of DIVA in my hands. On the cover is harbinger of controversy Naomi Wolf, with the word VAGINA emblazoned under her picture.

I’m dying to read the interview. I’ve heard so much about this woman and her crazy theories that I want to know what she’s about. I want to form my own opinion of this issue.

And then it comes to the point.

I actually have no idea what the issue is about. I know the broad strokes of it, and I know that she’s caused a hell of a lot of controversy, but I don’t really remember what it’s all about.

My brain has officially left the building. And has rendered me incapable of reading the interview. Although the fact that my lunch has just arrived plays a part in that too.

The thing that’s really on my mind is my own health. I haven’t eaten properly since Saturday, and I feel like I’m about to keel over. The eggs Benedict in front of me look almost like an alien quantity. It soon transpires that I need to take it slow, eating-wise, seeing as my body isn’t used to it anymore.

Later, I’m walking up and down the street looking for something to catch my eye. When that doesn’t happen, I just sit down on a bench. I can’t move. It’s the first time I’ve been out since Saturday and I feel like utter shite. I have to force myself to leg it to Tesco to get myself some food.

As I am writing this, I have changed into fluffy pajamas. I’ve taken cold medicine and have good food on the table for tonight. Finally. I’m taking care of myself.

And you can expect my dissection of Naomi Wolf’s interview soon…

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1 Comment

  1. Sounds dire, I hate when that happens though, the feeling like you might pass out at any time.


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