While I'm trying to clean my room these things are coming up:
I often think about whether or not I classify as a grownup. Like, does the fact that I had a blueberry bagel (toasted, with butter) and some popcorn for dinner make me mature?
I feel constant guilt about my laziness.
My room is so fucking small I constantly bang my left knee on the edge of the bed frame. Really hard-like.
Old books that I've purchased from Bygone Books (Nanaimo) are being added to the shelf: The Lady With the Camelias by Alexandre Dumas, Jesus' Son by Denis Johnson (already own a copy but this is a nicer one - and I guess it's not really old but who cares), and Christmas Stories from 'Household Words' and 'All the Year Round' by Charles Dickens.
I'm going to bring back the sash next season. I have currently fashioned one out of the bottom of a dress I cut off. It's smashing.
Have I failed to mention lately how much I love and admire Bradford Cox?
Well now that I have accumulated all my laundry into one pile, changed my sheets and folded all my clothes I feel like a new person. However, this room still feels a tad too small - until I get into bed (which is where I am now).
One day I'll have enough space.
Can anyone tell that I'm reading a novel about a bunch of Brits? 'smashing' and 'tad' and
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment