This is a rare occasion when I'm writing on a Wednesday night instead of craving for bed. I do crave for bed, but felt the urge to communicate with the world. It's almost 11.30 and I'm hungry. And tired even, because I woke up at 5.30 and had three classes and wrote three lesson plans (and will have to print and cut out a bunch of papers for them, but not until tomorrow). Tell you what, I just feel splendid. Satisfied even (almost). You're old enough to know the reason but let the veil of secrecy cover it gently, so to speak.
I'm still in this sort of optimistic birthday mood. Perhaps due to the nice outfits I got from my lovely Daddy. And the hairdo. I intended to take a photo of them but just then I found a giant acne on my chin and I wouldn't like to be remembered (or even seen) that way.
I finished Nabokov's Lolita on Monday and it was a hard one. I don't want to discuss it now, only to let you know I'm reading P.S. I love you at the moment. I know it's nothing like classics (though it is, in the field of chick lit), but it's just what I need these days. I'm planning to write more about it. Right now there are two topics in it that I've started to wonder about. What would my dear one put on his list for me and what would I be like (life be like) at 30? Have you ever pondered it? Or is 30 safe and far enough? Anyway, I'm still only 25, so let's make the most of it (though definitely not by writing lesson plans).
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