Straight No Chaser

Dickon

so glad i don't have one of those blogs that emails me every few hours to remind me it's time to update. i get edgy enough when i think it's been too long.

looks like art class meets on tuesdays. there are ten or eleven students that i can see from the window, plus one very colorfully dressed teacher, and they are all putting the finishing touches on the abstracts on their easels. and, in fact, it looks like some sort of couples class--even number of men and women, everybody vaguely paired off...this, i think, would make me very nervous. not only would having my husband standing next to me very much restrict what feelings i could express in my painting, i'd also just be constantly terrified that his work would be better than mine. which of course is dumb, because they're abstracts and because everyone in there seems to be a novice, but still.

today i am reticent. i feel like it would be the hardest thing in the world to try to talk about my weekend or my day or how anything is going. i'm reading the secret garden again, and somehow it is every bit as magical as i remembered it, though ridiculously repetitive. back in india, it was so hot and languid i could scarcely move. now that i've got the fresh air of the moor, i grow fatter and happier every day. it's infiltrating my thought process, affecting the way i mentally describe things, including myself. in all her life she had never felt quite so contrary.