Mom: What are you doing? Me: Blogging. Mom: You have a blog?! Me: Yes. Mom: What’s the address? Me: Hell no! It’s personal. Mom: But I want to read about your life! Me: You live with me! I tell you about my life everyday! You don’t need to read it -_- I don’t want you snooping around on my blog. Mom: Oh ok.
My mum has an infruiating habit of staring at my laptop screen if I’m sitting on the sofa.
Don’t really have time to post, too much stuff to study :’(, so I thought I’d debut my new Tumblr theme! There are still a few things that need finishing, but I feel it’s already such an improvement over my old one that I just had to share it with you all =). I’ve called it “Polaroid”.
There I was, minding my own business in the train, reading one of those free newspapers, when a woman old enough to be my mother sits in front of me.
After a while she starts smiling and staring at me intensely, she asks me what time it is and comments on how nice I look. At this point I’m already completely weirded out, but I say thank you and keep on with my reading.
She starts rubbing her foot against my leg, while she stares at me. I move my leg away and pretend like I didn’t notice it. She does it again and I move my leg away again. Again, she sits in a completely awkward position just so she can rub her foot against my leg, at which point I kick her leg away, tell her that she’s disgusting, stand up and go to another carriage.
I’m a freak magnet.
I’m unsure if I should be weirded out more by the old woman, or by the amount of odd people you seem to encounter in day-to-day life.
On the plus side, if old women like you so much, you should befriend them and get all their shiny treasures when they die. Then you’ll be rich! Or, end up having to care for thousands of cats. Either way, it could be a fun, and interesting adventure.
I mean those really big ones, that could fit you inside. I have a vague recollection of spending what must have been an entire month of my childhood pretending that a huge fridge cardboard box (huge from my perspective at the time, which was rather short) was a castle!
I drew stoned walls in it, cut out a door and a couple windows, and would just spend hours playing by myself fighting imaginary dragons.
I miss being a kid, I was easily amused. Not so much anymore.
My mother still has photographs of me at about 2 years old, playing in a cardboard box on Christmas Day, because I liked it more than the toy that came in it. I loved boxes. To be honest, I’d still love playing in boxes if they were big enough.