It's ok if they are deformed, I can just eat them first.

How easy it is to stray from the written word into the mirky world of practicality. So here I will record some of the more active moments which have occupied me.

Spontaneous gardening
After much deliberation I decided that a garden with weeds with the ability to tower above me can only be a dangerous thing, plus there is definitive consideration regarding my wish to actually see out from my kitchen window.
So I spontanously sprung into an evenings gardening early last week.
The plans have been made to replace the in enterprising Galium aparine and Senecio vulgaris with their prettier and more edible counterparts. More word when something wonderful grows.



Midnight baking
Last night, after much less deliberation, I decided to make gingerbread men (and possibly women.) I couldn't really tell you why but I don't suppose you have asked so there isn't yet a requirement for reason. I stray, back to the point, so I got together the ingredients and set about my baking expodition in the uncultivated setting of my kitchen. Needless to say the affair became somewhat of a marathon as I was, lets say, optimistic regarding timing. I too was optimistic about my shaping abilitities and my first crack at human creation was limited to a single vital organ, and quite mishapen they were too. Although this did give rise to the interesting thought process of, 'Its ok that those ones are deformed, I'll eat them first.'












Visiting a fraction of myself
This is my grandma, I went to her, I will give more words to her later when i can think of even one which deserves to describe her.

Sleeping in an unfamilial bed with an increasingly familiar body
The night before last, when I was still to have yesterdays thoughts, my boyfriend (I hate to use such an 'insert label here' term but it does save sentences from excessive length i suppose) and I, pushed by intense heat and the desire for turbulent air, slept in an unfamiliar bed. What was more noteworth was just how familiar he felt. In such an embryonic state as time has granted us thus far, still fresh with interest of what we are yet to know of one another, it occured to me how quickly this apoptoses and is replaced with the fervent desire for comfort, for predictability. He calls himself old, and me he calls new. And i call myself juvenile and him grown. It's difficult to tell what will come but I don't want to forget how known you felt. And believe me, if I was not of absolute confidence that there is no chance of his looking at his own face here he would never be placed here (as he would be most likely to have some stern words.)










Look a Jukebox
Yes a Jukebox inexplicably arrived in my living room. Yes it was beautiful and broken and now it is fixed. Although it plays at the wrong speed. Any ideas on a button which may alter this.