Ther...

There is a little baby chameleon crawling over the keys of my piano. It's strange - I am near-panophobic, afraid of so many things, but these creatures absolutely delight me. Our house is full of them. And they are so wriggly and sweet with their milky black eyes and their flat tiny feet and their transparent bellies. I can see their internal organs! Adorable! They might as well be puppies. I just want to pick them up and pat them, but they probably have teeth.

I was...

I was so happy to walk out of this room just now and see that it was still dark. OH YES. I can go to sleep at NIGHT. I swear that in the morning it is somehow brighter inside my room than it is out in the street.So, yeah, having nothing scheduled on a Monday morning is really bad for a person. But at least it means I finished most of my French homework. And how many other people can say that, right? Oh yeah, and I made a blueberry cake and cleaned my mother's house. Kind of. So I feel very domestic right now, and I feel that it was a very productive waste of my time.Yeah... I hope it's still dark now. :/

still, I love tomatoes. (& 2 edits)

If only I could have nothing to do with Camus for the rest of my life. I think he feels the same way about me. [Haha, well, he's quite dead, of course - but still.]I actually find myself wanting to do my Spanish homework instead, that's how bad it is. When I have to get a job or something... it's going to suck.I even cooked tonight, which is my number one act of procrastination. I made everybody sit at the table to eat two kinds of tomato-based dish. My father was with us. He's so much better than last July. Eee, I love my daddy. :DBut I wish he would do my French homework for me.ALSO, I find myself thinking about things like mortgages. And why do some people say relator for realtor? It's realtor. Or is it Realtor®?And OOH. The good thing about my having cooked is that my family didn't know I was procrastinating, just that they were getting fed. That will buy me my mother's love at least until the leftovers run out. My mother has two kinds of love: unconditional and conditional. The food will buy the conditional kind. However, my mother doesn't believe in conditional love, on a philosophical level. When I was little she would not accept an "I love you" after she did something nice for me. She said I must always love her, even when I didn't get anything. Which is true, but which has resulted in my being nervous about expressing any excess of gratitude, lest I be told off for it. But she didn't know that would happen. Maybe I should go back to that book.

Divali pictures

...mostly for smiggitysmee's spiritual edification.I sort of abandoned the plan on Tuesday. I was going to have tons of pictures and they were all going to be breathtaking. But I kept forgetting, and when I remembered I would find I had already lost the camera to my sister, who used it mainly for taking pictures of ceilings and dogs. So I mostly did not get any pictures of anything, and what I did get kind of suck. But...!I forgot to take a picture of the deyas the way we bought them, but they come in plastic bags in cardboard boxes, and they are very dusty, and they have tiny cracks in them. You have to soak them before you can do anything else.We dried them on newspapers on the floor because the table on which we normally do it has taken a lover and they have run off together. Or so I like to think. Whatever, we don't know where it is.While all this was going on, Ron/Peter the dog was having a snack on the veranda.We set up a deya-making station on top of my poor mother's washing machine and dryer. What you have to do is fill the deyas with oil, in which you dip the wicks - the little white strings - which you then squeeze and light with matches.Finally, we lined up the deyas on the little wall in front of the house. Normally we put deyas everywhere. But we were all so lazy on Tuesday and nobody could get anybody to do anything. And you see how it turned out.And here is a picture of Rufus moping, having spent the entire evening rolling in oil and and dirt.The end. :)

In need of direction.

Two posts in one month! Whee!Okay, so. Do any of you enjoy pushing your favourite music on anybody who is willing to listen as much as I do? Well, I'm willing to listen and I'm making it easy. Please, leave a comment telling me about your favourite bands or songs or albums. I have two weeks before I'm back in class and I need some kind of non-homework activity to keep me off the streets. :) Also, I'm interested in finding out what kind of music you all listen to-- I've found I don't really know. So, tell me, and feel free to rhapsodise about whatever you love-- gushing is fun. I promise to listen.

Creepy famous art

Is anybody else as broken as I am over Hieronymus Bosch's egglike monster (pictured here, because terror shared is doubled) in the Hell panel of his Garden Of Earthly Delights triptych?!This thing haunted me my whole life until I happily forgot about it some time, I think, last Christmas. Then, late last night, I was reading Lolita and came across this: "From the very first terrace I saw, far below, on the tennis court which seemed the size of a school child's ill-wiped slate, golden Lolita playing in a double. She moved like a fair angel among three horrible Boschian cripples."Thanks a lot. And now I'm terrified. (Even though no one else thinks it is scary.) Hieronymus Bosch, not you again. :(In other, happier news, I really, really love Owen Beverly.Anyway, you will see me. This is a threat. <3I used to hate those <3 things. I don't even know what happened.

Yest...

Yesterday I tried to clean my room and I couldn't. My room is absolutely overflowing with books. Books on, above, and behind shelves, books on the floor, books in boxes, books in baskets, books in bags, books in drawers, books beside the bed, books under the bed, books on the bed, and the rest of the house is the same way. Books on the television, microwave and washing machine. Books on the piano, books in the car. And I haven't even read half of them, and today, I went out and bought more books. I think I'm a kind of criminal.I organise my books constantly, and my mind has become slightly bent because of it. Last night, I switched Dante's Inferno (which I haven't even bothered to finish yet, may god forgive me-- for that and for spelling his name with a common 'g', and for keeping this parenthes-ed comment going on for such a long time) for Sue Townsend's The Public Confessions Of A Middle-Aged Woman on the shelf in my bedroom. I told The Public Confessions... that I wanted her on my shelf to break up the monotony of all the white covers, and I tried her between Tricky Business by Dave Barry and To Say Nothing Of The Dog by Connie Willis. Then I decided to put her at the end because she was too distracting. Immediately, I imagined the book in a future position on a different shelf, telling all the other books everything about it and how readers say they want interesting-looking books, but really want ordinary stuff, and snarkily saying things like "I guess I broke more monotony than she was comfortable with," and going on about how hard it is for a strong, independent book to find work in this town. And there I was, genuinely cringing away about the reputation I would end up with if I didn't put her back where I had originally placed her. I'm beginning to think I need to get out more.Now, since I last posted here, my parents have bought the house behind our house, which stands on land that my father's son was forced to sell over fifteen years ago, and which my father has always dreamed of owning again. It's very different from our yard, stuffy and concrete-y and grass-less, and nobody lives there except when family or my parents' foreign colleagues visit. (Two very friendly, sweet Australian journalists are staying over there at the moment.) So my mother keeps trying to get me to move some of the books over there, but how can I do that? I can't bear to be separated from them. They're like my children. What if they wanted me? (!) They therefore continue to pile up in my bedroom.So I've been thinking about something and I need all of your help. If you're reading this, please stop and tell me what you think about the phrase 'staring blindly,' as in 'staring blindly into the distance.' Is it a decent idea or does it immediately strike you as impossible?And now that everyone is completely over it, I'm going to do the song meme. Read on!Okay, first twenty songs on a randomised playlist, excluding anything without lyrics, and anything that nobody will know, because that's no fun at all. Also, when two songs by the same artist came up, I chose the nicer one or the single and discarded the other. This is going to be easy!1) But beware my heart can be a pin, a sharp silver dragonfly...2) The smile of Turner and the scent of roses, the waiters whistling as the last bar closes...3) When you get old and start losing your hair, can you tell me who will still care?4) When I'm alone with my fancies, I'll be with you, weaving romances...5) And when she wakes up and makes up her mind she'll see...6) Another town that I'll go walking through, with the rain in my shoe, searching for you...7) I’ll shine up the old brown shoes, put on a brand new shirt...8) Never seen thee or touched thee but known thee with all of my heart...9) I saw a spaceship fly by your window... did you see it disappear?10) My shaving razor's cold and it stings...11) Trying to live without your love is one long sleepless night, let me show you girl...12) First class and fancy-free, she's high society, she's got the best of everything...13) When you called me on the telephone, I knew that you were miles away...14) I'm so alive, I'm so enlightened, I can barely survive a night in my mind...15) Oh, look what I'm holding here in my fire, this is for you...16) You swoon, you sigh, why deny it?17) How you got me blind is still a mystery...18) Some call it magic, the search for the grail...19) Would I run off and never tell me where I'm going?20) Good authors, too, who once knew better words now only use four-letter words...