Ay, there's the rub.

I'm restless and I can't sleep. So, not understanding it, I draw my laptop towards me and think about what to write and yet what I conjure is as light as air. I find myself riddled with thoughts, plots, ideas, people, music, wonders and nowhere to rest them. And so they race.

I see your brows are full of discontent,
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears.

This is only fleeting, like a sudden mist gathering over a cliffside town, but when I wake, I hope things are clearer.

We are such stuff that dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

I feel like my brain is buzzing. I'm already feeling the straight-jacket of stress. Though for the moment, there is nothing immediately pressing, I can feel it approaching. Is it just me or is this feeling common? I constantly find myself wishing to escape.

Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets!

O but that day should crawl closer and be sooner..

To sleep, perchance to dream- ay, there's the rub

Life imitates art

It must be wrong of me to aspire to live the american sitcom.

A while ago, Sylverine mentioned she couldn't wait till we're older and we could invite eachother over for tea and chat.





I finally get what she was on about.







I was just watching some random sitcom (My Boys) and I realised how much I wished I had an apartment door to close after a gang of my friends came 'round with food and drink for a night in.


Just an evening of good times yknow? Even if it's just settling in front of the TV to watch crappy stuff. Staying late because you're in a friend's home and not constrained by anything.




And then I thought about Will and Grace and Friends, and I adore that people are always dropping in just to hang out.

I want that.

And so I now take back my scoffing at Sylverine at wishing away our youth because now I see it.



I look forward to when I'm an older and more mature cheese (although mozzarella is best fresh), and I am going to have an eclectic apartment (in London?), which will be decked out with exotic things from my travels, and photographs taken by me, blown up and framed on the walls.



To this apartment I will invite Sylverine and hopefully other people who love me enough to overlook my atrocious eccentricities ( a nice way of saying idiocy).

I looked upon the wonderland

rupsi says:
i hate zefron
ms. zammil says:
o
ms. zammil says:
I see
rupsi says:
dont you?
ms. zammil says:
no..
ms. zammil says:
I like his name
ms. zammil says:
he sounds like a fabric soap
ms. zammil says:
Zac Efron! Get your whites whiter!



Sylverine is my favourite friend and I am so glad to have her.
She says 'Sometimes, you are so funny'.

I feel joyous.

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

I'm dancing to some mellow jazz at a wedding and it appears that I am in a white wedding dress. Beehive hairstyle. Very 60s bollywood. This is all very odd.

Then, I spot this man sitting at one of the (round) tables on the edge of the dancefloor, watching me. I walk over to him and I clearly know him. He's an older man, broad in chest and shoulders but lean all over. Navy gorgeously cut suit. And rather attractive.

I have good taste.

'What are you doing here?' I ask.

'I'm here to see you' he answers as he stands.

He shakes out a giant piece of white chiffon as he begins to move to the music with me. He tosses it into the air, and it lands on my head but instead of looking like a buffoon, it lands like a bridal veil.

We continue to move until he says we need to talk. Together we leave the dancefloor and sit at a table on our lonesomes at the back of the hall.

He puts a box on the table and it's clear I've been waiting for this.

I open the box and inside is a Tiffany's box.

Inside the box is this hideous monster of a ring, with no stone! My jaw drops and he laughs at me.

'Open the ring' he says. I proceed to unscrew what should have been the stone and find yet another flat metal expanse with a Tiffany's logo engraving.

Clocking onto what's going on now, I uscrew that. Again, flat metal and Tiffany's.

My ring was some sort of russian doll thing hmm? So I continue in this theme, until I'm thinking ' My diamond must be miniature'..

I keep going though, until I reach what must be the last casing. My sister has arrived on the scene at this point. I unscrew and again my jaw drops. There is nothing there.

He sits and laughs as he shows me a hidden compartment in the box which I completely missed.

He opens something shaped like a bullet casing and inside is a coloured diamond about 2.5 carats big. Putting it in my hand, he asks me to marry him.

Gazing at the stone in my palm, I hear my sister telling me to take it and marry him.

Looking from diamond to him and back, I tell him I need to think about it because suddenly I am daunted by the fact that this stone, once made into a ring cements the fact that I'm marrying him. For EVER.

We sit and we have dinner together and then --

knockknock

O sweet aargh...I am woken by builders knocking on my door.

What did the dream mean? I have no idea. I had no time to contemplate it as I hurriedly donned something vaguely acceptable and went to explain where the door and window should be in the developing extension.

Puff go my sleeves

Today was a good day.
As I write this, my scarf has kindly moulted all over my jumper and my toes huddle and curl in the attempt of warming themselves in my shoes.

It was fun being the patronising awkward mother/teacher of the school of virtue.

I dont know how long I'll be able to keep my position though:

"I like chests.i like them flat.like christian bale's...ooh christian bale..mmm...aargh its ramadan!"

Ted departs for spain in a few days. I hope she watches out for herself. I still see her as a child even though I shouldn't.

I bought a cute dress..

Yes it's been a good day.

Bestanak

I don't want to. Really. One of the applicants for the position of Man Of My Eye (MOME) emailed me this morning. So far, I don't like his height, or name. And i havent even seen his pic yet. Does this make me shallow?..yes. Which deadly sin have i succumbed to now? Little bit of vanity, bit of pride?
Is it too much to ask that my MOME is somewhat like the leading male in elissa's bitmoun video.
I have a sneaky feeling (sneaky like a punch in the face) that my MOME will not transpire through my mother's connections.

What am I Going to do?

Wait

Indifference and neglect often do more damage than outright dislike

It seems that to counter the numbers of those that do not abstain although they are obligated to, there is an equal and opposite force of people who abstain out of choice.

It can really disappoint one.

I don't know how I should feel about this.

So I just won't.

Or at least I'll try not to.