16 April 2009 1:00 AM
Chance favours those in motion, no?
"Our love for him was entirely pure, untainted by the struggles of everyday existence. The punishments, the weeping and the whipping, the severity of scolding and cold-eye pardons - all these belong to the realm in which Mama was empress and Papa was the commuter. From Mama we learned what sort of people we should be, and we loved her as a confidante; but Papa's image was the mold of our dreams."
I've been finding that perfect explanation for things, and this sums it up very well. Yes, the mold of my dreams, I miss him.
I've been devouring novel after novel, moving about the house finding spots that are comfortable for me to read, and pick at junk food my mother fills the kitchen with. Sometimes I've had this sick fantasy that my parents were busy people constantly commuting between continents and finding sweet accommodations in hotels all over the world but the one we register as home, so that i could waste my youth away in libraries and museums and picnic spots. Heaven would come in the form of entire shipments of the best novels man can churn, with me dropped right into the heart of it.
Nothing's new. I'm still jobless, penniless and pretty much aimless, and what have you. I have that on-and-off relationship with the fever, and I have a 7 year old and a 70+ year old in my care. I'm running out of novels to read and motivation to be firing resumes at every job opportunity that suits me. Sleep doesn't come easy and when it did this morning I jerked up from a dream angry at my brother, thankfully I didn't text him gibberish.
Mundane and bleak, I have no motivation to write. I'll tell you about Friday next time.
Raudah dear, you're a strong woman. I just want to remind you about that. (:
"Our love for him was entirely pure, untainted by the struggles of everyday existence. The punishments, the weeping and the whipping, the severity of scolding and cold-eye pardons - all these belong to the realm in which Mama was empress and Papa was the commuter. From Mama we learned what sort of people we should be, and we loved her as a confidante; but Papa's image was the mold of our dreams."
I've been finding that perfect explanation for things, and this sums it up very well. Yes, the mold of my dreams, I miss him.
I've been devouring novel after novel, moving about the house finding spots that are comfortable for me to read, and pick at junk food my mother fills the kitchen with. Sometimes I've had this sick fantasy that my parents were busy people constantly commuting between continents and finding sweet accommodations in hotels all over the world but the one we register as home, so that i could waste my youth away in libraries and museums and picnic spots. Heaven would come in the form of entire shipments of the best novels man can churn, with me dropped right into the heart of it.
Nothing's new. I'm still jobless, penniless and pretty much aimless, and what have you. I have that on-and-off relationship with the fever, and I have a 7 year old and a 70+ year old in my care. I'm running out of novels to read and motivation to be firing resumes at every job opportunity that suits me. Sleep doesn't come easy and when it did this morning I jerked up from a dream angry at my brother, thankfully I didn't text him gibberish.
Mundane and bleak, I have no motivation to write. I'll tell you about Friday next time.
Raudah dear, you're a strong woman. I just want to remind you about that. (:
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play
