As talk of blatant terrorist action sweeps the globe and as the colours shift on that mood ring we call a Homeland Security System, George Bush recently ran over a Scottish policeman. Both were on bicycles, but the accident was clearly caused by Bush. What our president has against the Scots is currently unknown, but an informant says it has long been understood that the president has it in for any country playing football that "isn't really football".
I'm in a bit of a cynical mood today.
Chez moi is still floundering from the turmoil of the floods- the furniture is all moved, but everything that migrated to the higher ground has not yet been taken care of. Unfortunately, it seems that cleaning falls to me (except the laundry, and the garbage). I, who hate to clean. I, who would rather wade through piles five feet high than clean. Why am I the one who ends up breaking down and cleaning?
I'm tired of pretending to be a grown-up. I guess I never got enough practice as a child, and why should I? There were always so many more interesting things to be than grown-up: orphans, magicians, fairies, explorers... To always be seeing uncharted territory is much more exhilarating than to be grown-up.
I take adulthood with bad grace, I suppose, but it's a horrid thing. The bit I hate most are the obligations. There are so many things in life that people do simply because no other choice seems avaliable. People work jobs they hate to pay rents for apartments they dislike all for, what? The idea that someday, something wonderful will happen?
Why does this sound like the dogma of the Middle Ages somehow?
I want to see mountains again. And find someplace to write. Unintentionally I've echoed Bilbo Baggins, and he eleventy one when he said that.
Oh dear.