. . . Long day culminating in a supper of hot chocolate and pringles with Dvorak as my backdrop. I win at life.
Happy Friday, petals. I post this;
Anyone who hasn’t seen Ugly Vampire yet . . . What sort of silly rock have you set up shop under? Go look. The art is droolingly brilliant. I would get my left bumcheek to be able to colour and balance a page like Sully does. Her colours are so vibrant, her layouts and design sense innovative and ingenious . . . Angh, just go now, will you?!
Not much to report from F.-land save that I have had some wonderful reading material as of late. My darling K. was kind enough to not only procure some utterly ace mittens to keep my poor, skinny fingers warm, but she found a copy of Frank Harris’s Oscar Wilde for me to read (first published under the title Oscar Wilde; His Life and Confessions). It is simply gorgeous so far . . . even heartbreaking in places, and I haven’t even gone past Oscar’s time in school . . . Who knows. I may actually cry over this if I don’t take care.
Also, I have been reading Napoleon’s letters to his wife, Josephine recently. My God, the man has to have had the most hilarious case of ADD . . . His letters, steamy as they are, tend to read rather along these lines; “Oh wife of mine, you are adorable. I love you so. You’re a vindictive little bitch, not writing to me, making me wonder about you like this. The armies are advancing nicely, and everyone seems to like me a lot. My brother wants to marry this chick, but I don’t want him to, so please tell him I said as much. You must be terribly busy to not have written me in so long whereas I have sent you so many letters. We’re sending some ships out to someplace or another, but, you don’t care about that. How I long to be in your arms, where I may rest my weary head upon your bosom till dawn . . . Kick me in the nadgers, it’ll hurt less than your failure to write to me. XOXOXO -B.”
And lastly . . . Is my colouring getting better? I think it might be . . . I hope so anyway . . . If it is I probably owe it to that wonderful Bizet piece I can never remember the name of coming on the radio today as I was working. Fabbity
GOOD GRAVY I AM SO SORRY, YOU LOT. My brain was absconded with by circumstance (more on that later), and I totes and utters forgot to update on Friday. I could not be more ashamed if I were caught in eating nutella out of the jar.
Not that I know how that feels at all.
As to the aforementioned circumstances, K. came to visit for the week-end and my grasp of time-slash-reality tends to slip and sink itself into the Bermuda Triangle when that happens. At any rate, it was glorious. Just about everything that could go wrong did, but we had a marvelous time. I miss her dreadfully already. Forgive me whilst I cry on Zekiel’s belly . . . He’s the size of a pillow and almost disturbingly absorbent . . . Sigh. Making the great leap back to reality (and time) is always like Jack making his infamous leap over the candlestick . . . Unpleasant. Why do I smell singed arse?
But yer, I don’t mind saying I wish I could have this weekend every week-end of my days. Ah, even the cats are moping . . . Maybe I should weep like a forlorn fraulein onto Ru this time for the sake of maintaining the balance. Feng Shui and all. Important in these dark times ::dramatic flail::
. . . Aaaaaarse. I really, really hope this little radio I’ve just bought gets the classical station at my office, elsewise it’s going to be a long day. But! In better news! Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony! Fabbity way to start the day off and a mood-booster if I ever saw one. . . . Er, heard one.
Also, my little resident mountain goat, Ru, has finally succeeded in breaching the final frontier of the flat; He can now get ontop of the cupboards above the sink, meaning that as of now, absolutely NO part of my dwelling is safe from his climbing/batting/nudging/assclownery. And here I just procured a new tea pot . . . He has already broken three of them (made a bid for four, recently, but his spirited effort to nudge my cast iron pot off of the table rather backfired). At this point, I am no longer calling it a tea pot. Tea pots, cups, saucers, and anything of the sort not being of the cast iron persuasion are now lumped under the heading “something for Ru to break”.
Sign of the times, people.
Very grouchy. Shan’t blog.
This is me, today . . . Only shorter, less charming and more metrosexual;