It's been a while...

Look mummy!

Whilst I was talking to my mother on the phone I made a drawing. The proportions are all wrong, but I figure as far as freehand telephone art goes it's pretty acceptable.

Personally, I would knock this wall down...

I had a dream last night in which I was selling my friend's parents house. In reality, as well as in my dream, they sold this house a couple of years back, and a young couple moved in, turning it into a minimalist orgie (I'm not sure, but that kind of sounds like a paradox). Anyhow. I was selling this minimalist place, since the young couple had moved out. Although I think the only reason I ended up playing real estate agent was that I was caught by a prospective buyer after I'd broken into this house. I was pretty good at it though. I was talking about how the ceilings were pretty low, but it gave one a sort of country cottage feel, and how I would knock down walls to make the kitchen big enough for a proper dining area. Et cetera for ever. The place in my dream was a lot bigger than what this house is in reality. And as I was walking around with the first couple, more people gathered and wanted to know about the house. Weird. But it still beats the previous night's dream, which I'm not even going to mention.

My plans for today are either to go into town and buy a hat, or to go to the hairdressers and get my hair cut. It's getting way too long now and I'm beginning to look seriously special-needs. It's not charming.

Sunday morning jazz...

I used to spend my Sunday mornings listening to jazz. This Sunday morning I've spent listening to Edith Piaf, as I'm about to send a few of her songs to my mother, who is a huge fan of hers. The recording I have features Mme Piaf introducing the songs inbetween, and it's quite impossible not to love her French accent. I might start speaking English with a French accent just for the heck of it. Well, it's my project for the summer, as I think I've mentioned about two billion times, to learn French. Or rather to brush up on the French I already know. And now back to Ye Olde Studies.

What a difference a day makes...

Well, that's a day, a shower, some crystal wax, moisturiser, powder, blusher, contact linses, mascara, bronze eye-shadow, a cup of coffee, and whatever. But you don't need to know all that. In an unusually Dolly-esque mood, I'm trying my best to make sure no one will ever see me pre morning routine. I think the closest I ever got was the early morning arrival in Stockholm with Sean M, on our way back from... That's right, Dolly. No coffee, no shower, only a horrid night next to a guy who insisted on talking about "interesting" things. I was feeling rough, to say the least.

Last night I had a weird dream about going to pick up my last exam, and the guy working in the reception had a ponytail and kept whining about bees and bear. He was literally just standing behind the counter going "iiiiiih, beeeeeeees". It was very odd. Even more odd is that it was yet another of those dreams where I can't see things properly, as if I'm not wearing glasses or contacts and have lost all sense of direction. I need to figure out what that means.

Odd like watching a teenage boy adjust his bra strap at the bus stop.

Yeah, well you think of a better title for this posting.

The hair is now cut, and no, I do not look like Annie Lennox (but thanks for the suggestion, Sean M). I suppose I kind of look a bit like Mia Farrow in Rosemary's baby or Jean Seberg in Á bout de souffle (that's what I was aiming for, by the way). My husband was initially unhappy about it, but has now gotten used to it (or so he claims) and has joined the ranks of Fans of the Hair. For those of you who haven't seen Á bout de souffle, here's a pic that I don't own the rights to:



Today's song is I ain't broke, but I'm badly bent. Because the title is funny.

Is Dorian Gray stalking me?

No, of course he isn't. But I spent the better part of last night feeling certain that he'd show up by my bedroom door in all his frightful beauty. I re-read The Picture of Dorian Gray yesterday, and it's one of those books that just refuse to let you go. Cliché? Obviously. Still true though. I've got a painfully cheap copy of the book that I got at a sale when I was in my early teens or whatever, and it contains both Dorian Gray and the story about the Canterville Ghost. Cool, huh? I heard the Canterville Ghost story when I was a kid and I was so scared I felt sick. And for ages afterwards I nurtured a phobia of corridors, which I think remains with me to this day, really. In a diluted form, of course.

During the brief period I did actually sleep last night, I had a weird dream. I was going to Västgöta nation for some sort of weird party, along with the guys from Miami Ink for some peculiar reason. Only we were all living out in the forest by a lake, and there were loads of problems to actually get to the bloody party. I told everyone else to go ahead, and I'd get there later. So I was staying behind, trying to sort my hair and stuff out, which ended up with my hairspray exploding and me losing my eyesight. In the end I managed to get to Västgöta, but it was a pain trying to get anywhere as I couldn't see anything. Yeah, whatever.

I'm getting my hair cut on Monday. Can't bloody wait.