So we're here now. In the spanking new house, and I really love it here. My mother for some reason has upped her nagging quotient, and I'm desperately trying to stay under the radar. As if that is going to work; I cannot hide out in my room forever. Pups are doing well, I've taken full charge of their feeding, care-taking, love-giving, everything. I like doing that anyway, I worry less and less about their jealousy and all that, now if only I can keep these two from climbing me and licking and kissing and scratching me...Rusky (so the older one now has a name) tickled me by climbing up my back, can you believe it?! Gotta love em.
So I'm bearing my soul out to the whole world, and this blog still has zero readers/followers, how is this possible?! No clue. Anyway, why I do this I cannot imagine. Some part of me desperately wants to be seen and noticed - how lame of me, yet how completely human and honest. So I find nothing wrong with this. The day somebody actually posts a "comment", may be then I will think about pulling these posts down, hehe. Until then, naked-blog-running-loose-on-the-internet does not bother me so much.
What else, my room now has a very warm and cosy reading corner, complete with beautiful lavendar incense holders and all that. I feel privileged. Really. Not even all the money in the world can give me as much happiness as gently putting in all those precious books I've collected over the years into their respective shelves. So I have: 1) a new copy of The Prophet (because the old one got pissed on by my ex-kittens, which I've now replaced, complete with old underlinings and scribbles, because I thought I might have put in something golden), 2) Notes to Myself by Hugh Prather, 3) Love and Marriage by Bill Cosby, 3) Adrian Mole from Minor to Major (hilarious, I totally recommend this), 4) The Catcher in the Rye (don't judge me), 5) A Streetcar named Desire, 6) Brave New World by Aldous Huxley, 7) Siddhartha Hermann Hesse, 8) Richard Bach (Illusions and Jonathon Living..), 9) The Little Prince by Antoine (I have it in English, don't ask me why), 10) Stand Still Like the Hummingbird by Henry Miller (simply awesome), and many, many lovable others. I've read many of these books twice.
I now spend most of my time in this corner, along with my laptop, my beloved books (I have some "love stories" stashed away in this hide out as well, hehe), drawing notebook, sketch pens (I'm doing a colour study, and I've gotten as far as discovering the colour palette of Nice!)..how can a girl move her ass out of here when she's this settled?!! Who needs men, yawnn...
So it's 1:14 in the mornin, and me thinks its time to hit the cotton (who knows what they put in there anyway), but I don't feel ready for bed. These days my routine is partially liked by me, and partially disliked by both me and the rents: start day at 12 pm (I don't like this either btw, if I had it my way, I'd make the sun wake up a bit later, and I'd be just in time for beautiful dawn), drag on till night 10 pm when I become most active, and then suddenly I hit fifth gear which goes on till about 2 am. My favourite times of the day: dawn (wish I was up for it) and 4 pm. There is something magical about 4 pm, and I still can't put my whole finger on it. Its the colour of the sky at this time mostly that makes it likable, and the way the sun streams in through the windows.
Alrighty yall, all you ghost readers out there. Leave a comment to let me know what you think.