i've not been writing. i've not been drawing. i've tried to do house things, rummage, clean, cook. neither of all that succeeded much. i'm missing snow. mosquitoes aren't dying. it's a topsy turvy world and for once i don't want to feel bad about climate change, if ever.
i bought girly pink slippers tonight and had them gift wrapped. i'll be opening the parcel before long. i might snuggle up, pull the blanket tight and transport myself to bloomsbury, in the company of helene hanff, revisited. i might.
these are weird times, aren't they? i find i'm thinking too much, worrying too often, dissecting it all and analyzing just about everything. it will not ever change, because this is me. usually i can live with that. lately it doesn't work out much.
i miss my childhood. i miss childhood stuff. holidays in spain, falling in love with a french camper, having a bff, losing that bff, throwing tantrums, hop skipping shop. 'born to be alive', but not actually knowing what it means, yet.