Planning my mini garden in the balcony

Reread Nicholas Nickleby and feeling disappointed.

He is indeed a child of fortune in the latter half. Recuited into house of finance at tender ages, a prodigy of book keeping who supports his family, defeats his uncle, wins the love of a bee-yootiful young lady who has a secret fortune which is restored miraculously etc etc etc

mmph.. I wonder why I enjoyed it so much before. The only thing that I still founf excellent are the miscellaneous supporting characters. Dickens is always stellar for those and the Kenwigs and Crummles do not disappoint...

My brother in law asked me in jest how my mood was. Little does he know that I am in one of those frames of mind which the Bhattacharya sisters are famous for. taking a small mistake and hitting themselves for it, over and over and over and over again.

I know it was a tiny error but to hear the censure, however mild makes me go into a totally submissive state. Why did I do it? What will I do to prevent myself from doing it again? Again and again and again and again...

Am I glad I'm not in investment banking. I couldn't have the pressure. I love my work culture. If only I can manage to live up to the expectations and standard of work.

So, mood? Very very self recriminating

I went to check on snowy last night. She was sitting by the french window, one paw against the glass, gazing out raptly. I tiptoed away not wanting disturb her. I came back after an hour. She was still there.

My heart melted. There's something wonderful in a rabbit transfixed by the sight of a big wide beautiful world

Clever Obama to do a balanced feel-good speech for the Tucson shooting. A good political move. His advisors must be doing high-fives

I like my quiet minutes in the morning. Rabbits going nuts and me checking email and putting finishing touches on work. The rabbits are quite companionable this morning. Snowy licked my ankle and gave me a tiny nibble by way of hello. Miffy gnashing her teeth in a rabbit purr. It's a cloudy morning and it's a friday. What does that mean? I don't know. I still have to figure out plans.

Birds falling and dying everywhere. While it's not the apocalypse; these things happen and are only getting news coverage now. Yet there's something so soul achingly sad about it all. I need to get more environmentally friendly.

If anyone thinks that growing up and settling down is an easy thing, let them think again. I am tired by the endless burdens of responsibility placed upon me. I not only have to make sure that all my work tasks are thought out and executed, I have to pay loans, bills, do dry cleaning, laundry, supervise maids, do the groceries, clean, iron, feed and clean bunnies, make sure the house is stocked, dream up pretty things, shop for formals, accompany people to places when I would much rather be doing things on my own.

And anytime I want to just let be, I can't. There is a duty to override it. And there is always a duty. At least 16 hours a day. Usually when I sleep, the time is my own and my dreams are my own. But yesterday night I was working and running all night. I woke more exhausted almost.

Why can't I dance, read books, go have cocktails and dress up instead of being a babysitter, watch people slur, listen to loud annoying music. I don't have any of *my* music lined up in the system and I listen to it covertly on my laptop. Soon my personality will be a covert hidden thing, to come out at the full of moon.

I haven't danced in so long. I hate bad blues. I hate whisky. I love dogs, I love wakeboarding, I love the water, I love good food, silly movies. I am tired of being the one doing the looking after. I miss being looked after.

But this is in the end a silly rant. Childhood's end. Boo!

Edit: I was being whiny last night. Forgive me Bloggy

Edit no 2: I am perfectly happy!!!!!! I am allowed to be moody

I read slower and slower unwilling, being dragged to the conclusion of my book and Lincoln's life. I have to hold my angry tears back as I write

"Did you ever dream of some lost friend and feel that you were having a sweet communion with him and yet have a consciousness that it was not a reality? That is the way I dream of my lost boy, Willie"

-Lincoln

I dream of Brutus in the same way