I got RM200 worth of book vouchers, planned to get myself some books and fancy stationeries, reached the bookstore, lingered, touched things, ooh-ed at things, scrutinised almost everything there, and then I left an hour later without getting anything.
(I remember complaining about not being able to afford anything at the bookstore earlier this week and now that I have these vouchers that enable me to buy the world … I can’t make up my mind what to get.)
(Hot instant mushroom soup and a new novel at midnight. Also, it’s horror film night. Again.)
Am I the only one who gets terribly weepy while watching any one of the three the Lord of the Rings films? I’m currently taking a break from watching FotR, and boy, was I not a human hosepipe. I don’t understand this. I’m happy that Gandalf’s done so much for the hobbits in the Shire (fireworks!), I’m sad that the hobbits are far from home, I’m sad that Pippin and Merry have to tag along, I’m sad that Gandalf can’t do so much until his “upgrade”, I’m sad that Arwen’s giving up her immortality, I’m sad that Aragorn is being Aragorn, I’m sad that the trees are felled in Isengard, I’m sad that the nine Great Kings became Ringwraiths etc. etc. Too many feelings.
And this is just FotR.
Made another fort this morning. My suspicion is now confirmed: stormy weather’s now enamoured with morning. Who knows how long this affair would last? (Last week it was late afternoon.) I could only burrow myself deeper into my blanket after to stave off the cold, and felt like a fox trapped in its own hole.
Everything I want to do since May can be seen in each one of the abandoned seashells at the kitchen window sill. Now it’s August, warm August, sad August; five weeks to live before I leave for another term.
Pray tell me what is that noise, my mother asked. I told her that it was only the booming thunder when not long after she responded, Can you not hear the dogs yipping? and this shows, this shows how I am only focusing on bigger things instead of the little things that encompass this world, if that makes any sense, and this does not bode well at all.
I have:
- eight more Pushing Daisies episodes to munch,
- the first season of The Borgias to get it all over with,
- Bright Star (thank you, T.!) to watch again,
- two medieval romances to read, and
- nothing to write.
Pushing Daisies excepted, I am down with this period/costume drama boat. (“I am down with this boat?”—what am I even saying?)
Cakes and books and pies!—those are my roses and wine and jewellery.
I feel sorry for Friday for not knowing better and more profound adjectives other than fun, fun, fun and I feel sorry for true flies for not having more imaginative name other than “fly”.
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I asked everyone (well, not everyone) about Friday and these were their responses:
- “Cool!”
- “Wait. It’s already Friday? GREAT!”
- “Tomorrow’s Friday, of course I know tomorrow’s Friday. Fun day.”
- “TOMORROW’S FRIDAY, YAY” — this is my dad’s. Don’t ask.
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Fancier flies include (thank you, wikipedia):
