Work sucks. That's all I have to say about that, other than I hope it improves next week when Agent B gets back and can train the two new agents. Right now, I'm biting their heads off every time they ask me for help. Agent A was actually relieved to get fired, and has a new job already so things are okay there.
Dixie's developed a worrying limp. Whenever she gets to her feet she has difficulty putting all her weight on her right foreleg. It seems to work itself out after she walks for a short period (5-10 minutes) but it's strange that it should suddenly occur. She's also eating grass more often, but I'm hoping this is just a seasonal urge. The cats are chomping on the new spring grass as well. They all come in to throw up, helpful creatures.
No corn lilies. I was robbed. The snapdragons are growing rapidly and I'm pretty sure I see the beginnings of buds. The begonia, curse it, is flourishing. No sign of the violas or the lantana. The geranium decided to live and has started shoving out leaves at ground level. I am very happy about the geranium.
I am reading Kipling's Puck of Pook's Hill which I both like very much and am irritated by. It's so devoted to the idea of the superiority of the upper class. I would have loved this book had I read it as a child, Anglophile that I am, but as an adult I take umbrage at some of Kipling's social and political hobby horses. Lord save me from the Victorians and their mythologizing the class structure. Nonetheless, it's great storytelling.
John munched up a spoon in the food disposal, and made me stick my hands in the goopy, half-blended garbage to root around for the broken pieces. He said it was because I had smaller hands but I think it's revenge for telling the Internet that he eats nutritionally incomplete meals. In the interest of fairness and domestic harmony I will now admit I had celery, peanut butter, gummi bears, and a grapefruit for dinner tonight. There was some nutrition in there, kinda. The carnuba wax was just for fun.
Ioan Gruffudd, the lushly handsome and distinctly talented lead in the Hornblower series, was actually in one of the two movies I saw last year, and I have just now realized it. He was one of Oscar Wilde's lovers in Wilde; I'm sure he was the temperamental artist. I remember remarking on his dark good looks at the time. There's something so wholesomely appealing about his Horatio Hornblower; perversely, it makes one wish to corrupt him just a little. My Welsh pal Alun Harries says Ioan is in a current BBC production of Great Expectations, playing Pip. Nancy Firedrake and I will keep our eyes out for it as we both fancy him enormously. Come to think of it, we both fancied Guy Pearce. Spooky!
There is absolutely no clever way to end a diary entry composed entirely of brief, unrelated paragraphs.
The Index
Next Incarnation