Obviously the tradition of heavily scented flowers when someone dies began in order to mask the smell of putrefaction.
How many people have died since the beginning of humankind? Looking at things, I can't help but wonder if we really have evolved.
Had you told me 20 years ago that I'd spend 20+ (happy) years with the same person I would've laughed in your face.
I don't think I can consider myself a nice person. Or a good daughter.
Why is rosé a summer wine, whereas we drink white year round?
With my headset I can answer the phone away from my desk - which means just one more thing to add to the list of things I do at once. Multitasking, schmultitasking. I asked for the headset - what the hell was I thinking?
I need to clone myself and use myself to replace the CFH. Between me and me we'd have this place nailed down.
The Road (by Cormac McCarthy) is miserably depressing but unputdownable. Horror at it's most horrific (spoilers in the Wikipedia article).
Speaking of (horror not wikipedia), I still have nightmares about Frank (Suave! Goddamn you're one suave fucker! ) in Blue Velvet .
I envy people who are able to just pick up and leave their lives behind to go start a new one. I don't think I'd have the guts, or the recklessness to do so.
I have another plant that seems to be dying. No, it doesn't seem to, it definitely is. It was given to me a month or so ago. Depressing.
I think I'm having a mid-life crisis. Again. Or I'm continuing from the last bout. But I don't want a sports car, nor do I want to trade in the spouse for a younger model. I just don't want to be approaching 50. I don't want to be old and decrepit. This too will pass.
4:30 am is a weird hour. All quiet except for the neighbourhood nighthawk. And the background hum you have in a city. Have you ever noticed that there's always a hum in the background in a city? It's never really quiet even when it's totally quiet. Then you get to the country and realize what quiet really is.
So, 4:30, weird hour. Lying in bed awake, alone with your thoughts - which are sort of muddled as you just woke up from a dream where you were alone in Bali and had been robbed - or thought you had. And the dream Bali had nothing to to with the real Bali and you really don't care because you just want to get back to sleep already damnit.
Why am I incapable of spelling weird right the first time I write it down? Ever?
It must be great to be a bird and just fly. And eat bugs. Or roadkill... Meh...
I sometimes have very graphic fantasies of bludgeoning people to death. Nasty, but I suppose it takes the edge off.
I hate being whiney and out of sorts.
I think I'll shut up now.