listening: serenade for strings in c major, op. 48; tchaikovsky
i slept twelve hours last night and i am still sleepy in a slow, heavy-limbed way. i dreamed of my grade six english teacher, sailing-ships, of kites, and not a wisp of you. as soon as i publish this, i am going to climb into warm pyjamas & read until the weight of my novel pulls it from my good-night hands.
when we finish classes, we have been sitting on my bed and movie-watching (false mustaches & inspector clouseau), knitting & parsley days (the quintessential halifax film), once. i am reading atlases, picking destinations for traveling, dreaming, working in the days to come. everything, everything at peace.
tomorrow, i am going to a ball beside the train-tracks. perhaps because it is the annual event, it always seems a measure of how much has changed, is changing, under night air and the haze of balcony lights. i will wear a lace skirt as a dress, a top hat with feathers and a mask (japanese paper, pages copied from blankets & persuasion).
when we finish classes, we have been sitting on my bed and movie-watching (false mustaches & inspector clouseau), knitting & parsley days (the quintessential halifax film), once. i am reading atlases, picking destinations for traveling, dreaming, working in the days to come. everything, everything at peace.
tomorrow, i am going to a ball beside the train-tracks. perhaps because it is the annual event, it always seems a measure of how much has changed, is changing, under night air and the haze of balcony lights. i will wear a lace skirt as a dress, a top hat with feathers and a mask (japanese paper, pages copied from blankets & persuasion).
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