Truisms

The truth will set you free

In despair I find my strength

Vaccines are good for you

Ignorance is not bliss

Hamsters are stupid and not dogs

Work keeps me from being a hypochondriac

tolkien/Geoff taylor's art for the bedroom, islamic art for the dining room, something pol ledent-y for the living toom?

Oh I don't know. Art is so strange. Likes, dislikes overlaid with chords of snobbery, names, future valuation, a tight budget and fear of changing tastes. But I am trying not to care. If it is beautiful and lends a little of that to my room, if it catches my eyes and takes my mind on journeys, that should be enough

I have no faith in sententious morals which aggrandise suffering and gestures whilst sneering at the general soft prettiness of life, its sunny cheerfulness. I don't deny hardships exist and unbearable misery but no healthy spirit could determinedly turn towards them when the simpler things are there like little fresh flowers that grow almost like weeds.

This is a reactionary post from reading victorian novels. I wonder how the authors/authoresses could fool themselves into thinking they were writing real life down. Did they proselytise morning and night. Or did they snap, gossip, giggle, flirt, burp and nap too

N.B. I make exceptions for Wuthering Heights and very little else.

Hooray.

It's all over. I'm done and am recovered too from the post wedding illness. I have celebrated by washing the sheets, unpacking and getting a new WC installed. Ah domesticity.

Was also reading a big fat biography of the Brontes. Heart goes out to Bronwell. Dislike Charlotte as thoroughly as before. Much prefer Emily or Anne.

Speaking of Juvenilia, I rate our barbera comics right up there . And my little plays with Sunsilk whom I still have and adore. There are somethings one cannot remove from ones life. A little rubber sheepdog with masses of nylon hair is on that list.

Yet so much to do while still tired. Vaccinations, paperwork and home improvement before the honeymoon and the final plunge into work. I refuse to work up trepidation for it just because I ought to. Whatever I may feel later I can't find anything in me but enthusiasm. Here is to work!

The villains are alive but the protagonist (As I like to think of it) is being slowly killed by her own mind. Boo!
So much for books.
I miss Chicago. I loved Chicago. What a beautiful city. I shall and will go back to it one day. I miss my friends. I wish the wedding could have been held so that everyone could attend. I would have loved to meet everyone once more. Ah well (pulling out the metaphorical planner), here's a good excuse to travel.
I miss Singy too. I want to finish up the new house. I keep dreaming of what I can make of the third bedroom. I love the view and the french windows. I love the snug dimensions. I want that room. It is myyy room.
I feel troubled and restless. As if I had new teeth that were due to come out. Teething pains? I can't imagine why? I don't have any reasons to be so and I can't fathom why. Cabin fever? Perhaps. I think it's just the sitting around doing nothing. I have spent my whole life studying. Getting married is a nice interlude but it was not for this. I want to work. I want to compete. I want to win. I don't even mind writhing if i don't win, that only makes me work harder to win. I want hamsters and dogs (who will be supported by my salary). I want to be able to be entirely independent and that means money. And if I have to die sooner or later I really want to get something done. And that does not mean sitting around in this half asleep stage of life. I know, I know. Really driven people would have made a lot out of this two weeks. Just call me not really all that driven but unfortunately driven enough to still be restless. Sigh. Double Sigh.
It remains to be seen if Irony will raise its lovely head once I start working and pining over the 'idyllic days'. What a hypocrite I shall be then.

Heeby Jeebies

Getting bogged down with this wedding. My advice to all introverts out there, have a small wedding with as little ceremony as possible. I'm being dutiful and quiet but the price of duty is frazzled nerves, tension, a vague restlessness and a rising swell of panic. Just 2 weeks more. Just two weeks more.
It doesn't help that I am sitting jobless with no useful work to do. I am just about rusting away. I miss my MBA hecticness. I miss the excitement of my internship. Heck, I even miss the plod and toil of Frost compared to this. That's a longer wait. All the way till October.
An empty mind is a devil's workshop so I'm trying to fill my time as fruitfully as I can. Reading as much as I can. Playing a lot of Sudoku. Rediscovering the lovely and priceless Kingdom of Loathing...
Patience, patience, patience....

I dreamt last night that I could sing. A bit of a let down to wake up and find that I still couldn't

In more interesting news I realised that poor Shakuni had his motives. He and his entire family had been starved by Dhritarashtra when he realised that Gandhari hasd been married to a goat (for astrological reasons) and technically this was her second marriage. The whole family was fed a fist of rice a day which they gave to the youngest (Shakuni) in the hopes that he'd survive and avenge his family. He was the only survivorand he took the ashes and bones of his father and brothers back to their Kingdom of Gandhara. Here he fashioned a set of dice from his father's thigh bones. This is what he used for the famous gambling game. Fascinating. I never knew. It certainly transformed him from a one sided pantomime villain to a more fully fleshed person.
In other news, I vegetate and read. I can't wait to have this wedding done with.