Musings of the vaguely philosophic kind.
In which I also discover that I seem to be a terribly uninteresting person:
1. I have a particular order of how I do things in the morning and if it doesn’t happen I get a little antsy. I also like sweet things for breakfast, and it makes me sad if I have to eat something savoury.
2. I detest celery and carrots with more passion than I have for most of my schoolwork.
3. There are six post-it notes on the wall behind my desk right now, and four of them are recipes (in case you’re interested, they’re for cinnamon sugar scones, crepes, granola, and pumpkin mug cake…)
4. I am extremely particular about my use of stationery, and also rather proud of my handwriting. It’s an expensive preference, unfortunately.
5. I still have the same eraser from high school. I’m determined to finish it.
Tagged by novelteanottes.
1. What’s the happy thought you would use to summon your Patronus?
I’d like to think just thinking about the lovely friends and family I have would do it. But if not— spending my childhood with my best friend; high school Europe trip with the coolest group I could ask for; graduation with some of my favourite people of all time; and everything about Berlin.
2. Dream city you’d like to live in?
London, if I could afford it, or Berlin, which is much more affordable.
3. Do you have a specialty dish that you can cook really well?
Not to brag, but I make nice crepes. Who am I kidding; I’m bragging and no one can stop me.
4. Favorite hot drink?
Milk tea, or tea with milk. (They’re different.)
5. When did you start consuming alcohol?
Hahaha well. First year uni, I guess. I had my first vodka with Model UN, and it all went downhill from there…
6. What’s your idea of a hot date?
I’m not hard to please, I think… wandering the city, seeing something new, eating something delicious, and/or just relaxing..
7. What do you look for in a good book?
If it makes me cry, it’s good. It doesn’t have to be sad, or particularly emotional, it just has to resonate. I also appreciate an interesting style, and characters who are human and surprising and not just made of tropes.
8. If you could own any kind of dog, what breed would you own and why? (Mutts count!)
I already own a lovely Shiba, and he is the cutest thing in the entire world other than maybe other Shibas.
9. Ever dealt with any paranormal activity?
Hm… I think I’ve had some moments. But I don’t believe much in paranormal activity, so I don’t give much thought to it.
10. What’s the best pun you ever heard?
I’ve heard so many bad ones, I couldn’t even tell you. My friend mylifeinmonochrome makes some fantastic ones, though.
11. Favorite dessert ever—the one dessert you can’t live without?
Oh, there’s too many… I can’t do it. Sorry.
I am dreaming of the sun on the Gulf and orange morning haze and the textured bark of date trees. Somehow the white on the tree-branches here isn’t nearly the same as the feel of bare feet on white marble; the pale face of the moon looks more kindly on that sandy shore.
(Sheik Zayed Grand Mosque, Abu Dhabi)
But you slip away like a changing maple leaf
And I try to find any dry land that I can
For the last time, though I have loved you
You keep slippin’ away, slippin’ away and I am finished with
All the chaos and the ticking clock
The college life, the bomb that drops
And blows the whole damn thing to bits
Freezing are my fingertips in this cold
In this cold, cold town
We make such different people
Climbing into different beds at night
With both such different feelings
Mine are overwhelming, are yours
I might be screaming while you’re
Dreaming without any concern
It took so long for me to find
That I can’t try anymore
It’s ironic, isn’t it, that the winter cold that drapes the people on the streets in black and sets down coats of white snow is so revealing. It strips this city down bare, scrubs shoes and sidewalks and hearts raw with coarse salt, cuts skin down to the bone. Heavy layers that aren’t warm enough, never enough, carry the weight of empty rooms and cold sheets and hollow words. The white returns the city to a blank canvas. Everything is clearer, sharper. What was once a the forgiving anonymity of asphalt traps the shadows of strangers in icy ridges; simultaneously it pushes them together into cramped coffee shops, bus shelters, under scaffolding, between doorways…
I honestly did not think these existed, but here we are— a fluffy chicken.
I am happy to say that I have petted the fluffy chicken, and it is, indeed, fluffy.
(Sydney Taronga Zoo)
A very green view from Bag End. If you look carefully, you can spot a rather frightening number of sheep in the distance…