A few months after I got my favourite pen, my Dad packed it and the rest of my life into the car and drove me down to University. As The Dixie Chicks blasted out of the speakers and through the open windows, I was as excited as I’d ever been up to that point in my life. Scared shitless, but excited. Pretty much ever since then, I’ve employed Personal Assistants to help me do any of the stuff that can…
My pen actually ran out of ink today. I’m still writing down thoughts first thought on the island, and sometimes get carried away. Sarge bought me a red Moleskine Daily Planner that I am using as a journal. I need the lined paper. Or else my writing runs away with itself. It does that even on lined paper. And even though I ‘need’ the lines, I still find myself running out of ink on envelopes and bank statements. And envelopes…
I am a natural blonde. No, really. I have proof: It got lighter in the summer and darkened in the winter. By the time I was eight it no longer changed with the seasons, no matter how much lemon juice my Nana squeezed on my head. Maybe that’s why I felt such infinity with fish as a child. My favourite doll was a redheaded kilt-wearing thing of beauty from the ‘International Collection’. I wanted her hair. When…
I like snow. When it’s falling outside my window, lit by street lamps and I’m inside, curled up with a book and hot chocolate, I love snow. When I’m out in snow being pulled backwards and neither eight years old nor on a sled, I turn into a bitch. We went out to run Christmas/birthday errands on Saturday, before heading to a Christmas party. We got two feet away from the front door and my front wheels caught some gray…
And so, I switch off the computer and my eyes fall on my favourite chair. Currently piled with duvets and a guitar, it is wedged between a loveseat and a laundry rack. A penguin is perched on the loveseat, propped up by pillows and the last publically visible box in the house. This is half of the office. The half I can conveniently turn my back on while typing. But I miss the chair. It started out as my Grandfather’s…
