Is there a word for that awful, awful moment when you realise the thing under the foot of your almost completely extended leg is the cat's tail?



Gave us both quite a turn, it did.

I am in the study, the room in which I spend most of my time and have most of my things.

There is a truly bad smell in here, the sort that reaches right into your nose and behind your eyes then crawls into your brain to make its home. It overwhelms you as you enter, then takes you over if you stay and soon you forget the joy of fresh air.

It's the fetid rotting carcase of all my hopes and dreams. The bright eyes of a child slowly dimmed by the cold, cruel lasers of reality. Enthusiasm thwarted by the brick walls of my body.




Addit.: Actually I think it's a mouse.





*runs away giggling*

I have a list of local pilates instructors to phone, in the hopes of finding one for home visits.

But just for the record, there is no way on this earth that I will be ringing any pilates instructor who goes by the name of Tinkerbell.




Even on LJ it would be a stretch. Unless they were suitably ironic of course. And maybe had cylons in their default icon.