It makes me glad to hear pumpkin seeds pop as they toast in the oven.
As I was reading my book last night – namely the novel Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie, – I came across a familiar-looking song, sung by the protagonist, Breq, to herself as she ventures off on a daring mission:
This blog is an exercise in vanity.
This is my favourite sentence that starts with ‘and’:
Whenever I open up and rinse a can of chickpeas, I find myself idly picking one up and with two fingers swiftly slipping off its transparent skin—
I have a great love of editing. Semicolon—
or m-dash? Too many syllables? Too languid?
too clipped? One sentence twisting, another
straight-ahead. Warp; point; zig; zag. I once
dropped my house-keys such that they fell
between the boards of the front porch:
I rescued them with a bent coat-hanger.
In which I reflect upon the inciting incident in my relationship with oomancy.
For the first time in my life, the nearest body of water to where I live (ignoring little ponds and the like) is artificial rather than natural.
I first met my fiancée on .
I have started using a paper notebook for an agenda/planner/to-do-list thing. It's been an interesting experiment.
I have a secret, which I’ve never revealed:
This city is a strange place—so much of it is paved.
The trees here—it must be lonely for them, not being in a forest; stretching their roots out and finding soil compacted by cement, soil sparse of arboreal conversation.
In which it is cold, early morning; mist over the lake; I set my service leaflet on fire.
I have a secret to-do list. The problem with my secret to-do list, though, is that it’s easy for me to forget what is on it.
I used to be able to make purple sparks shoot from my fingertips. I just had to snap my fingers at just the right angle, with just the right force, when the humidity was just right, when my hair was tied up in a bun in just the right way …
This morning, ﬂatmates and I had a brief dance party in the living room. It was a lot of fun—it felt long overdue. It made me think of a note I had written to myself about a year ago.
In which I have to blow my nose.
Eternal praise! eternal praise!
Spotted Jack Mitchell searching the Perseus English-Latin lexicon for the word ‘virtuous’.
I was bored this afternoon, so I ate a raw clove of garlic.
As I was walking down Duncan street last Sunday evening, I came across a tree that that had a face—eyes, a nose and a mouth affixed to its bark.
Whatever is necessary that such dance parties as that of last night should happen again—that’s what matters to me.
Sometimes I space out for a moment.
I made a remark shortly after I came in the door—paraphrased from David Lebovitz—about the state of the Parisian baguette: Emma is this moment recording it in her quote-book. I am flattered.
I was pleasantly surprised to find the security area virtually deserted.