It’s us, but in dead animal form. But not really dead because they weren’t ever alive. Undead? No. That makes them sound like vampires. So not that. Fuck. I don’t know the word. Hey, how long can a title be? Because this seems excessive. Someone should stop me. Jesus. This is as bad as 280-character twitter.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
fishy. . .
(a pam ghurs carr painting)
life in the wee pink house has become regimented. shockingly regimented. yes. that's it. i think i am in shock.
school has started.
i now wake up at the ungodly hour of six thirty. and then sort of shock myself into a levitated position, about a meter above my bed, before i stumble out the net, mumbling all sorts of curses. narrowly missing stomping my toe against the stairs. and throw on pin stripes and pearls. with my takkies. as my brain audiably chugs into life, throwing out a million things to remember at once. along with a pretty tendril of smoke from an ear or two.
not good. not good.
i have been neglecting my daily little gratitude ritual. which goes like this:
open eyes to a soft dove grey light. a blurry light. i am awake. i think. yes. i am. i lie still, not moving a muscle. a lash. sometimes i curl over to my right and find my little silk piece of silver satin, smooth as water (called a lala. don't ask.) which i rub against my cheek. i throw a hand over the edge of the bed and blindly feel for my phone, knocking yesterdays earrings into the cracks of the floor and try and focus on the time. this can take a while. reading the time.
after messily staggering off the bed i fall through the mosquito net. i stare out of the window, look longingly at the mountains and southwards over the maasai steppes. i pointedly ignore the factory, appreciate the skies and the tiny deep red desert rose below my window. in a wee while i start remembering all the things for which i am deeply thankful. the list grows as i go along. and grows. uncurling itself like a sun warmed snake. so by the time i carefully and lightly wind my way down the spiral stair case, i feel well, like an incredibly lucky, lucky, lucky little fish.
this is a good feeling. and i want it back.
something is up in Bloggy World tonight. the font is cunningly and ever so slightly not the same. i don't seem to be able to see the posted picture. it appears as lines of secret printed codes. bold and italics are being tricky little upstarts and refuse to do what they are asked to do.
it's all a little odd. do you think wordpress has sent little gobbling aliens?
in which case, i shan't be posting the kitchen board.
so you won't know, oh bestest beloveds, that we need:
de worming dawa for the dogs
to fix the bearcroft gate post
to mend the fence on the upper paddock
to mend the gate to the schooling arena.
and other such rivotting things.
i hope the handsome blogger fix it man has his spanners out and is wearing a crisp navy blue overall rounded off with squeaky clean gumboots. and a shiny silver space age gun to detonate any wordpress invaders. i sure hope it's him doing some maintenance to our sparkly spinning blogging planet and its not our tanzanian network - which i am now convinced consists of an intricate web of fish line and tins. . .
this could get complicated.
even for an ever so lucky fish like me.
toodely ole toot, y'all...bisous X.X.X. fishy ones. on ya nose. x j