Web Cowgirl 衛 思 維 (webcowgirl) wrote,
Web Cowgirl 衛 思 維

I'm rambling and I can't shut up

Yesterday was a fairly undelightful one for me. I am feeling like escaping from my life but the old brain pattern of "keep a job so you have a place to live" and "have to stay in place you live as it's paid for and you can't afford to go anywhere else" keep me doing what I've been doing. I do know I have places I can run away to for a day or two, and that's good - helps me keep from feeling trapped. And work isn't awful, it's just dull.

I didn't go out at all last night but found myself at home trying to read three different books at once - David Sedaris's When You Are Engulfed in Flames, the new Charlaine Harris (An Ice Cold Grave, and Johnathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. (This exciting news is all documented on my Twitter feed, which probably explains why more people don't use Twitter.) Actually, I only managed the first two as the third was ony read on the train and I didn't actually pick it up again once I got home. The problem, see, is that the Charlaine Harris Harper Connelly books are so good I just have to stretch them out. The same is true of David Sedaris. I could probably plow through both of them in two, three hours tops but I don't want to hurry it - I want months and months of Sedaris' essays and a few weeks at least of the Charlaine Harris. In some ways Johnathan Strange is the pefect book to help attenuate my reading experience, as it's, you know, the size of In Search of Lost Time (though much easier to digest so far).

This morning I'm probably up too early, in part because my rather dull evening had me in bed before too late. I'm probably not operating at full speed yet, based on the fact that, as I stood in the bathroom getting ready to dye my hair, I realized I needed to get my water spray bottle (which is also used for discouraging the cat from begging for food too early in the morning), and then walked to the spare bedroom, our bedroom, the hall, and then back in the bathroom, finally realizing it was sitting on the bathroom counter all this time. The dye's on now, though, and while searching for a "safe" shirt to wear I found my very fuzziest sweater, which is 100% artificial (I should say it's made of whipped dinosaur, I suppose) but warm as can be, which is good as it's 39°(F) outside and I am in dire need of clothes that ward of the chill - in part because we're off to apartment shop today. We have three properties we're looking at in Earlsfield and a similar number in Tooting - no idea which will be the winners, and we're only even checking out Earlsfield for the very first time. I don't really want to move out of our neighborhood as we're very content here (and near wechsler, and transport, and grocery stores, and the river), but I can't see how we can stay. And in my next place, I will have a garden, and when you come to visit me in the spring, you will say, "Oh, how lovely."

Which reminds me - I need to, very much, remember to wash the RED DYE out of my hair, lest the estate agents think I was scalped before I left the house. After all, that's what _they_ want to do.
Tags: charlaine harris, estate agents suck, my boring life, reading, whinging
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