I was imaginative as a child and after bible class on Wednesday nights I would wander through the empty upstairs rooms and sing songs into them to hear the acoustics, not knowing that there was a likeminded individual who had a hiding place for reading, and who would listen to me sing and try trills I couldn't manage and notes I utterly despair of now. Three years before I found out. As a thirteen year old I was mortified. I have a greater respect for singing into empty rooms, now, and I also care less what people think of me. It is the clever people I'm worried about; this isn't a work of art as much as it is one of self-expression.
Anyway, I broke one of my favorite china cups tonight. My sister gave it to me for Christmas a few years ago and I only use it when I'm having a bad night and now the lid of it is broken into a hundred tiny pieces, with all the gold filigree and pretty porcelain raised bluebells all shattered and sharp. It has been a bad day so breaking the cup was enough to make me tear up a little. It is only a cup. I have other cups.
I need to move to Wordpress. Blogger's intellectual property rights aren't my favorite. Or maybe I'll go back to Mindsay. But there has to be some writing in my life and blogging seems like a pretty easy way to get back to it.
Recently too I've found that my capacity to daydream is resurfacing:) And that is all to the good.