Mightn't something hitherto unseen have eaten me right after?
The highlight of my day was when one of the giant spiders on my patio doors caught a bug and spent thirty minutes spinning it into a ball. If I stood at the door, I could watch the drama unfold only an inch from my eyes, but instead I chose mostly to watch from my desk chair. Not long after the spider finished its handiwork, it darted into the door frame when a rather perky bird appeared to eat spiders on the patio. Ah, the food chain! We would have had a veritable "This is the house that Jack built" if I had scrambled out to eat the bird. But, of course, I didn't do that.
It does appear, however, that I may have inadvertently eaten an ant or two. And then, as one does in such situations, I shrieked and dropped what I was eating. It was a cookie, for the record.
I finished Bryson's book last night and then read Murakami's book After the Quake. (My favorite stories were the last three: "Thailand," "Super-Frog Saves Tokyo," and "Honey Pie.") Now I'm reading the sixth Harry Potter book. I managed to avoid spoiling the ending for nearly a year, despite being in London at the time of its release (sometimes I had to clap my hands over my ears and hum at the bus stops), before Andy blurted out a very important fact at a restaurant a few weeks ago. He had forgotten that I hadn't had time to read it yet. Bad luck, but I don't know the circumstances behind it all, and that's very important, as both Andy and my mother have assured me. I'm also trying to finish David Mitchell's Ghostwritten, which I had to put down a few months ago when work became too pressing.
This morning it suddenly struck me that I'm going to London in about two weeks. I felt amazed that I've been lucky enough to do that for longer than I can remember, since before I even have any memories at all. I reflected on my life as though I'd never really examined it before and felt nearly incredulous that this is the life I get to live. Isn't that the best feeling to have when thinking about one's life, that awed and giddy sensation, that who-would-have-thought- and I-wouldn't-ever-change-it-ness?
And I finally started working on a project that I've been wanting to work on for over a month now. Old, familiar, delightful feelings are creeping back, and I'm remembering myself again. How strange that people often bury the most important things, but how nice it is to find them again, all the same.
It does appear, however, that I may have inadvertently eaten an ant or two. And then, as one does in such situations, I shrieked and dropped what I was eating. It was a cookie, for the record.
I finished Bryson's book last night and then read Murakami's book After the Quake. (My favorite stories were the last three: "Thailand," "Super-Frog Saves Tokyo," and "Honey Pie.") Now I'm reading the sixth Harry Potter book. I managed to avoid spoiling the ending for nearly a year, despite being in London at the time of its release (sometimes I had to clap my hands over my ears and hum at the bus stops), before Andy blurted out a very important fact at a restaurant a few weeks ago. He had forgotten that I hadn't had time to read it yet. Bad luck, but I don't know the circumstances behind it all, and that's very important, as both Andy and my mother have assured me. I'm also trying to finish David Mitchell's Ghostwritten, which I had to put down a few months ago when work became too pressing.
This morning it suddenly struck me that I'm going to London in about two weeks. I felt amazed that I've been lucky enough to do that for longer than I can remember, since before I even have any memories at all. I reflected on my life as though I'd never really examined it before and felt nearly incredulous that this is the life I get to live. Isn't that the best feeling to have when thinking about one's life, that awed and giddy sensation, that who-would-have-thought- and I-wouldn't-ever-change-it-ness?
And I finally started working on a project that I've been wanting to work on for over a month now. Old, familiar, delightful feelings are creeping back, and I'm remembering myself again. How strange that people often bury the most important things, but how nice it is to find them again, all the same.