London was our first destination over the summer holidays. I walked my way through the city, ate my way through the city, gawked my way through the city and giggled my way through the city. So much fun. So much food. And I’m glad it feels so recent, it makes it easy to remember good music and good times. Real good times.
I’m not crazy about the sun setting so quickly these days; you get so little time to enjoy dawn and dusk, both are terribly quick are only caught in rare occasions. It gets super cold in the winter and I’m really glad I bought a huge coat to give me warmth and shelter. I think I look like a small bear and apparently it’s true. But I also look like a millionaire according to my brother, so I guess it must be true as well.
I made a Yare devil figurine a few months ago and the paint is already peeling off. Three out of the four horns have also succumbed to the forces of my dirty bedroom (I think the dust did it), so maybe I’ll have to make a life-sized one for my own face. I’m sure it would be easier to repair. I’ve lost hope for most of my miniatures.
Jack Rose died a week ago, and today the (thankfully false) rumor of David Bowie’s death hit my ears. Michael K talked about it being the summer of death this year and when I look back it is crazy, although as many people die every year right? I don’t know, but if I were to guess I’d call it Doomsday preparations. As for Jack Rose, it’s strange when a living legend goes, when they become effective myths even though you saw his brow furrowed over his humanity, and his teeth bared against it, and his mouth drinking it up in big X-marked bottles. I do wish him well, and I hope he’s not too bummed about Bowie not joining the party just yet.
Though they hardly represent the place where I was born, I am generally drawn to them.
These weeks have been busy, not much space for myself or at least I don’t feel like admitting it. I’ve been reading again, started reading Murakami’s Underground and suddenly every single one of my spare moments is filled up with the tragedy of the world’s randomness. For ten minutes at a time, I lose my health, my wellbeing; my husband and my son; my past and my future; my sense of self, my understanding of the world. And somehow I don’t get it at all, how the world is made for some but refuses to give up a little corner for others, for the victims on both sides. We could find ourselves in any of the situations, really.
But in this secular world, I’m just another person trying to make it so I won’t feel guilty when I buy myself a nice new coat.
