Linguistics

[desperance]

There is no English word, apparently, that can quite capture the long lascivious stretch of Barry on a windowsill in sunshine. I'd hoped to go with "lounge", but even that is too hard-edged and doesn't have half enough vowels in it to represent the soft liquid sheer melt of the thing.

In other news, package still not - hah! I take that back! Even as I typed the words, there came the ticking of an engine and a thunderous knock upon the door.

Which occasioned, as it always does, much running downstairs and yelling on my part, because the boys have to be gathered into the dining room behind the only door they cannot open, before I open up the front. Trying to take deliveries and sign for them with two wriggly cats eager to escape around my feet is no fun at all, except for them. Fortunately they are idiots good boys, and still come when they are called despite the constant disappointments. And the UPS man is lovely, despite thinking that the single bookcase in the hallway on its own represents a tremendous number of books. He, um, hasn't seen the rest of the house.

So. Can haz package. Can go out now. Ah, if I only had anywhere to go...

Maybe I'll go out anyway. Maybe going out would be good for me? Sunshine, fresh air, exercise... Retail therapy...

Maybe I'll stay in. It could grow to be a habit. Reclusivity, here I come.