Five and a half hours to go

I am not well. Sick. Under the weather. It sucks ass. Black Keys come on in five and a half hours, and I don't even know if I'll be alive then. What a fucker of a long weekend. Of course, there's no way I'm not going to the gig. I may actually go out soon and find me some codral or something. Not that there are gonna be pharmacies open, as it's a public holiday, so, like, fuck. I may just have to settle for panadol. Or Barcardi. Whichever is closest to my deathbed. Dinner. Also problematic, as it means moving. SIGH. Claire was sick for Ian Ball and didn't go, and I swore that I would never be sick enough to miss any or all of Gomez, which is true, I would spend all night in the bathroom, spewing, if it meant I got to hear them through the wall. But Black Keys... I like them lots and lots, but I don't know. I'm definately going tonight, this isn't sick enough to keep me home, but it's making me think there IS a sick enough to keep me home. Which is shameful. SHAMEFUL. It's a testiment to my extreme stubbornness that I'm going. It's at that achey stage and everything. I feel generally passable though, but drugs would help. (Paracetemol drugs, kids, not the real ones) Bollocks. I was so looking forward to being excited about this. I'm talking shit. I know this, but my brain is broken. I had some awsome fever dreams last night though. Me and Claire went out to Brunswick street to 'shop' and ended up eating dinner at Bimbo's, the $4 pizza place. Usually, they're $4, on Saturdays they aren't, they're 'the regular price', which is $8. The pizza was not worth more than $4, I swear it. That was the shittiest 'proscuitto' I have ever tackled. Tough, half fat, and not nice. Still, a comfortable place. We almost fell asleep on the couch after we'd eaten, actually. Probably looked like we were a couple, which is funny, but not not unusual. We are like cats. It pisses the other flatmate off, as we tend to sit on top of each other on the couch (it's warmer) and she's all, 'there's a whole other couch, why are you both sitting on the same one?' I think, maybe, she wasn't hugged enough as a child. Cuddles are lovely. Maybe she's just pissed because everyone expected me and her to get on better than me and Claire. I don't know what people were thinking there - Tineke and I have vaguely similar career-type interests (we both do design, though very different types) but Claire is more of a match for me mentally, she thinks similarly, and a lot, which I appreciate. I love her to little bits and pieces. She shares more of my musical tastes as well, and is more spontaneous. And she dances. And then there's cuddles on top of that. At times she makes me miss Lucy more than usual, and Sara. But that's a part of life I'm just living with. Though... Im getting all doubtful about the UK, thanks to both my own perceptions and to Siobhan, who flat out told me not to go. Which is fair. Scummy scummy England... why do I want you so bad? I think I just need change, and England is different enough, but at the same time, the UK is still home in an ancestral sense. And I want more music. I want there to be something on every week. Australia is a huge step up from NZ in the way that bands actually come here, but the lure of London is still strong. And as much as I hate to admit it, there's a certain draw to the US as well. And yet, I still miss Grey Lynn, and going to Whipping Cats, and seeing Che in the supermarket. Home is still home, even when you live somewhere completely different. I wonder, if I end up hitched and sprogged in somewhere amazing and beautiful, and perfect, will Auckland still feel so much like home? Or will home change? Maybe Melbourne isn't quite enough to transcend my first home? Fucking hell, I'm babbling. I never even explained the crazy fever dreams... Well. This guy I used to be best friends with in high school, Matt, is in Melbourne at the moment. I was meant to meet up with him and Katherine (another ex-pat) last night, but, obviously had a fever, and was tired, and wanted to save my health points for tonight. So, anyway, I came home from Bimbo's, fell asleep, and dreamed(dreamt?) that Matt and I were married, which is fucked in itself, and that he for some reason, had no neck, like a body builder or something. Then I had another dream in which I wasn't married to him, but was, in fact, er, actually, I forget, but I promise it was weird. There may have been some pornographic elements, and something to do with the police. I don't know. I'm gonna nap now, I think, or I'll never survive tonight. I'll proof-read this tomorrow, it's probably a mess.