I should probably not tell boys that I once had a dead cat in my freezer.
(It was my cat, it died suddenly, I was traumatized and refused to allow him to be cremated but you can’t bury a cat in February because the ground is frozen and we had a spare freezer, which we threw out afterwards. So it’s not that weirdbut um, also it is).
Sometimes bloggers post things about their house, or whatever their living space is, and it’s all neat and well edited and everything is sort of nonchalantly draped and effortless.
And then I’m just sitting here in my attic with a mess that looks like, you know when in cartoons when the tiny mouse sneezes and the entire city for miles and miles is decimated? Mass hysteria is going on behind them, trees uprooted, houses displaced or crunched and flattened, while the little mouse just stands there like, oh goodness bless me!
That’s basically what my living space looks like.
Having a room that looks like the set of The Virgin Suicides is totally fine when your age still ends in ‘een’ but once you hit your mid-twenties it suddenly feels very different.
Mom and I are watching Brideshead, which is always down a rabbit hole and we emerge 13 hours later bleary-eyed like moles and starving because suddenly we realize we’ve only been drinking tea and eating toast and cookies the entire time.
But there are SHERLOCK things going about the web. New friends and people e-mailing me to tell them that Moriarty is an evil, male-version of me, and gifs, and fic.
BUT THEN Jules updated TLAT, and I have to decide, do I read it tonight? Or do I save it for a later date since it’s going to be months since another update?