This describes my day*:
I was nosing around in one of my Romanticism textbooks (looking up an obscure sonnet by Percy Bysshe Shelley) when I started perusing Jane Austen's biography.
Turns out she put on the spinster cap at 24, not 23.
Disgusted -- I'm 24 -- I put on a Belle and Sebastian CD, The Boy With The Arab Strap, to do something --anything -- else.
Ha, ha! The first line of the first song is...
"He had a stroke at the age of 24..."
So I started to read The Pickwick Papers. Mr. Pickwick was sent to Debtor's Prison.
Tonight was also a Spoon concert. Needless to say, I didn't go, as I have no money.
I called Indie Girl Prime, who was of course going. I called her. She was watching Ed so she watched that instead. Of course, she did call back. Talking to her was nice, but brief. She's like a flash of lightening in the summer. You never know when she'll show up or what she'll do, but you don't want to miss it and it's always fun.
But I do wish she were around more...
I watched the Simpsons tonight. They had a parody of a British comedy, called Do Shut Up. Homer described it thus: "If they're not making time with a bird, they're having a row with a wanker." It had two drunks beating each other with bottles.
Now this confused me. I never saw anything like that on when I lived there, nor have I seen anything like that since. ('Cept maybe Andy Capp, and that was on before my time).
Oh, and maybe EastEnders, a bit.
[For the other Americans: that was a joke.]
Speaking of dreams -- I thought quite a lot about this today -- I realized I have one dream much more often than any other. It's about Manteo, a little town I used to live in on the NC coast. There's always lots and lots of water in the dreams. Not unusual as Manteo is on a island, but there's even more water than that. It's like Venice, built on stilts and pylons and islets. And the water is turquoise. I typically tool around the places I used to work, like the Half Moon Junction, Waterside Theater and the ship Elizabeth II and try to work there again.
This dream almost always goes hand in hand with a dream about travelling to Key West and the Seven Mile Bridge you take to get there. Not at the same time I have them, mind, but almost always both on the same night.**
I'm pretty sure these dreams are me trying to go back to a place where I was quite happy. But they are very pretty, with the water and the beaches.
Somebody -- a minx, no less *growls* -- told me that losing teeth means uncertainty about the foundations of my life. Hmm... How far back has Maddie read? Yep... the past few weeks have challenged them all, and that's a fact.
I'm told -- frequently, lately -- that Murphy is not a small cat. That he is, in fact, quite large.
How weird. He seems small to me, but then again I remember him when he was 3 months old.
Any way, I wish I was a) as comfortable as he looks when he sleeps
b) as cute as he is when he sleeps (head cocked to one side lying on his front paws with his tail wrapped around his back paws and nose crinkled up)
c) and that somebody looked at me like that when I was asleep.
Hmmm. Now I feel all alone and sad. Again. I wish it was raining.
* This post should be accompanied by Bach's "Air on the G String," BWV 1068
** Except this bit. Go listen to Sara Vaughn's "Key Largo"