Anything, but Toast should be locked away

I am cultivating my spontaneity. Like the other day I took a picture of people on the street (yay), strangers even. They were yelling at me to do it, but still, I have some pretty strong objections to that kind of thing and it's sort of nice to finally abandon one's moral high-ground.

Hi, my name is Haiyan and.. I have control issues. So much so that Alex quipped at lunch today I would be one of the few people he could keep house with, simply because whatever bothered him (if only in the slightest), I'd already be on it like psychotic blowfly to a sealed window. It's Monday and already I busy myself with plans for the weekend.

Sometimes I can do things on the spur of the moment. Oh sure, only if spur of the moment doesn't interfere with the ordered running of the universe. Seeing The Catcher In the Rye on the shelves Friday night, I convinced myself that it was 20% off for the sole purpose of facilitating my rather impromptu purchase, which was only made after much pacing and gnashing of teeth. This happened also, though noticeably less, with Heavy Water and New York Trilogy.

When Haiyan goes slightly mad, she goes all the way out to the outer perimeters of slightly madness. Further out than say... the quaint hipness of somewhat odd, right out where the air reeks of sour expressions and whispered rumours about institutionalisation. This is what happened. Weeks ago, she can't recall the date, weeks ago she received a letter. It was a letter from a theatre company in a small well-to-do suburb of London advertising its forthcoming season. Why they sent her (of all people) this letter is another mad little tale she hasn't yet finished transcribing (it's been two years, don't hold your breath), but glossing over that point there is also the fact that Haiyan is very bad with mail.

Haiyan is bad with all versions of mail, she is bad with electronic mail because she doesn't answer them, or she doesn't answer the ones she means to, the ones requiring long winding passages of thoughtful, enlightened discussion. The badness with real mail, tactile, legitimate mail comes in her not ever opening them, or opening them and then tossing them. This would happen also with electronic mail if they weren't so automatically kept someplace locatable.

When the catalogue of Almeida productions arrived in her letterbox, Haiyan never opened it, she knew where it was from and of course impersonal advertising from another continent always brought a small surge of electric joy to her inner core, long deadened to the effects of excitement and surprise. On the Friday night she opened it. Finally. Some moments later, after perusing the catalogue, Haiyan decided to go to London, actually Haiyan decided to allow herself to think about the possibility of going to London (so as to not disturb the workings of her ordered universe), to the conclusion that, she was going to go to England.

She booked her tickets on Monday night, the man at the other end didn't seem particularly interested in her Australian mailing address, in fact she should double-confirm those seats sometime soon.

And so... On Saturdays it will be possible to see both plays in one day. (I find that picture a little insulting, actually)

By Tuesday she'd hooked up with the nicest bunch of gals on the Ralph Fiennes mailing list who were doing the exact same thing while frantically exchanging information and seating arrangements... Today, she made mental plans to accompany them to Stratford-Upon-Avon where-upon they would view an archived collection of taped Ralph Fiennes' stage performances. She convinces herself that this is for the company (because that last time she went to London by herself, she spent a week fending off assholes not unlike the ones she photographed and talking to herself, going madder still) and the added pleasure of staying the night to catch an RSC production.

Oh who am I kidding? I am such a stalker.

None of this is happening till next June. In the meantime, I'll just move to Toronto and be lonely.