Suddenly I feel like an artist. I think I've always been an artist but terrified to admit it to myself or others. The artistic temperament defies logic - how do I deal with defying my own nature with itself? (My nature defying itself? I hope you get the idea. I do, anyways.) By not putting so much stock in logic all the bloody time, that's how.
I was sitting on a train next to a girl who was oh-so-typically Western: Ugg boots, tight faux-faded jeans, ghetto-style white coat with fur trim, the works. This girl happened to be engrossed (this is the right word, trust me) in The DaVinci Code the entire ride back to London. The only thing I could think was "Which one is the ruse?"
Riding a train past an industrial park at night, when it's been snowing about an hour and everything is suddenly white, is mildly unsettling. Cranes and cherry-pickers look like skeletons of dinosaurs, wiped out in mid-stride by unexpected catastrophe.
Trying to rearrange your room is not nearly as easy as you might think.