sheldrake

I left my nice gloves somewhere between work and home. I might get them back and I might not. Either way involves asking the same people I went and asked for the book I left on the bus last week. They're made of lambswool and angora, and they're nice and long! [ETA: um, the gloves, not the people].

I had a Brilliant Idea about my life, but as time progresses the idea seems to be slowly deflating or losing its shine or seeping into the floorboards. Something. And someone kind of sneered when I mentioned it this morning, which didn't help.

Some people are, in a very well-intentioned way, pissing me off mightily. I came to work this morning and found a little leaflet for Barratt Homes on my desk. The idea is, I think, that I need helping out because my life isn't exactly like theirs. I, for instance, need to buy a nice little house on a housing estate just like theirs. I need to find myself a nice husband and settle down and have some children, because then I will be ok and and normal, like them.

I am actually perfectly fine apart from these minor irritations. I read a nice story today, listened to some nice music, drew a picture of vampire!dom in the kitchen at the bookshop, and learned some more about metre in poetry (why yes, this would be what we call the Quiet Time at work). I'm not sure why I felt the need to write the crap stuff down first, but I'm afraid it was entirely necessary.

A while ago, dandywalker and galactic_jack said I could post some of their BAFTA red carpet pics, so maybe I'll do that this evening. Better late than never, eh?