Just Finished LOTR
I just bathed for the first time since arriving here, but I have not changed my long johns because I haven’t any others. Otherwise, I am wearing clean clothes. I also just finished reading The Hobbit. Quite a nice book, but I wish all good books lasted longer. J.R.R. Tolkien writes in a similar, albeit more long-winded and detailed, fashion to C.S. Lewis’ books; both have a knack of writing about the magical or mystic in a familiar yet charming way, as if they were next-door neighbours or some such thing.
I have just realised that I am an oddity of nature and that my DNA should be preserved for the lasting benefit and close study of future generations. I am destined never to have a beard or moustache and never to use a razor or other shaving equipment while always preserving a full head of hair. The Pig shaves; Canal—2 years younger than I!—shaves; I do not have the least bit of stubble on any part of my face but the scalp. Not that I care; it’s all the more money saved for me. The money otherwise spent on trimming back excess facial keratin-based polymers daily will be better used if redirected to the purchase of books. If, of course, I should ever choose to buy them myself instead of borrowing them, having others buy them for me, or reading them at breakneck speed in a bookshop. My 4th aunt has already promised me the LOTR trilogy, after all, and I can easily ask her for the Silmarillion, the Hobbit, and other books I want to read, including her extensive collection of horror stories (to borrow, of course).
I have practised my piano for the first time since landing, in Canal’s house this afternoon. As I didn’t know the way, I brought my brother as a guide. It was at best a doubtful choice, as he has a tendency to get lost in the most familiar places in most innovative methods, as have I. Anyway, we arrived without incident. He went rock climbing; I practised piano. Canal’s mini upright is quite damaged. The keys squeak, the body creaks, and the pedals are stiff. My fingers, on the other hand, are no better as they have gone quite numb from cold as well as rusty from want of practice; my pieces were woefully mistake-ridden. My piano teacher will most certainly have words for me!
I have finally settled into something of a routine—comforting to me, as I am a control freak who likes events to occur in an orderly manner. I like knowing what comes, or should come, next. My day generally begins with waking up, folding my three thick blankets, dumping the lot in my brothers’ room, restoring the sofa to usability, after which I have breakfast, which is followed by general mayhem as the flat is swept, mopped, wiped, and otherwise cleaned to sparkling perfection. Then, after that, comes some time to do little or nothing till lunchtime. After lunch, I play ping-pong or go for a walk or whatever to keep busy, until six—dinnertime. Next is an hour or so of TV, and then some study time during which I alternate between writing this journal to keep my hotchpotch cursive in use, and watching my siblings study. Last of all is washing up and sleep. Boring, but comfortingly so, if you get my drift. After all, I am no social butterfly or movie maven or mall rat.
My feet are quite sore; it must be the constant walking; I am certain beyond all shadow of doubt that my ex-classmates would be whimpering and whining if they were in my increasingly well-worn shoes. Of course, I should not like to be in theirs either, especially those who have been sentenced to Three Months of Torture. They are by now surely marching in endless circles while being constantly bombarded by brainwashing patriotic propaganda! There but for the grace of God go I. [shudder]
…Oh, and I returned the football to Canal. I had to do so before my siblings got any bright ideas about actually playing with the thing—the floors are thin and might break! In fact the downstairs neighbours just called to complain that our walking across the floor causes vibrations in their flat…
I have just realised that I am an oddity of nature and that my DNA should be preserved for the lasting benefit and close study of future generations. I am destined never to have a beard or moustache and never to use a razor or other shaving equipment while always preserving a full head of hair. The Pig shaves; Canal—2 years younger than I!—shaves; I do not have the least bit of stubble on any part of my face but the scalp. Not that I care; it’s all the more money saved for me. The money otherwise spent on trimming back excess facial keratin-based polymers daily will be better used if redirected to the purchase of books. If, of course, I should ever choose to buy them myself instead of borrowing them, having others buy them for me, or reading them at breakneck speed in a bookshop. My 4th aunt has already promised me the LOTR trilogy, after all, and I can easily ask her for the Silmarillion, the Hobbit, and other books I want to read, including her extensive collection of horror stories (to borrow, of course).
I have practised my piano for the first time since landing, in Canal’s house this afternoon. As I didn’t know the way, I brought my brother as a guide. It was at best a doubtful choice, as he has a tendency to get lost in the most familiar places in most innovative methods, as have I. Anyway, we arrived without incident. He went rock climbing; I practised piano. Canal’s mini upright is quite damaged. The keys squeak, the body creaks, and the pedals are stiff. My fingers, on the other hand, are no better as they have gone quite numb from cold as well as rusty from want of practice; my pieces were woefully mistake-ridden. My piano teacher will most certainly have words for me!
I have finally settled into something of a routine—comforting to me, as I am a control freak who likes events to occur in an orderly manner. I like knowing what comes, or should come, next. My day generally begins with waking up, folding my three thick blankets, dumping the lot in my brothers’ room, restoring the sofa to usability, after which I have breakfast, which is followed by general mayhem as the flat is swept, mopped, wiped, and otherwise cleaned to sparkling perfection. Then, after that, comes some time to do little or nothing till lunchtime. After lunch, I play ping-pong or go for a walk or whatever to keep busy, until six—dinnertime. Next is an hour or so of TV, and then some study time during which I alternate between writing this journal to keep my hotchpotch cursive in use, and watching my siblings study. Last of all is washing up and sleep. Boring, but comfortingly so, if you get my drift. After all, I am no social butterfly or movie maven or mall rat.
My feet are quite sore; it must be the constant walking; I am certain beyond all shadow of doubt that my ex-classmates would be whimpering and whining if they were in my increasingly well-worn shoes. Of course, I should not like to be in theirs either, especially those who have been sentenced to Three Months of Torture. They are by now surely marching in endless circles while being constantly bombarded by brainwashing patriotic propaganda! There but for the grace of God go I. [shudder]
…Oh, and I returned the football to Canal. I had to do so before my siblings got any bright ideas about actually playing with the thing—the floors are thin and might break! In fact the downstairs neighbours just called to complain that our walking across the floor causes vibrations in their flat…
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