Non sequitur - You know when the same weird thing happens more than once and you think to yourself - this can't be a pattern because it's so completely random it would be the equivalent of winning the lottery and damn it - Did I just wasted my chance card on this obscure nothing coincidence sequence rather than winning the lottery? I'll be seriously pissed off if I did. you've thought that haven't you? Well, My random weird thing is; I bought this book from my local library years ago, it's called English Literature From 1785. It's a college textbook, well more like a Cliff Notes synopsis collection, but I liked it so I bought it for 20pence. The weird thing is, every time I open it, I open it to the same page. Now, it's not got a cracked spine, dog ear or anything that makes it flop open automatically to this page - it just does. If this book were alive it would be saying "Will you read this fucking story already!! I mean geez, how many times do I have to show you this page before you figure out I'm trying to show you something, you fucking dishit! Read it! Read it now! Arrrrrrggg!!!" (Because my book has a possessed by Sam Kinison feel to it for all it's Eng. Lit. from 1785) (Kind of weird really that my Sam Kinison book is going to tell me a love story. Considering) The story is the real life love story of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett. Did you know their romance was a love story all in itself?
In a quick paragraph (taken mostly from the book, of course) because my CTS is acting up, Robert admired the poems of Elizabeth, a semi-invalid who rarely left her house. He wrote to her and asked to meet her; when he did he found her very attractive. Her father was a tyrant who forbade his daughter to marry, but in 1846 Barrett eloped with Browning and escaped to Italy with him. they lived there for fifteen years, and she regained her full health, and they had a son.
Isn't that great! I just love that wee story - can you see her sitting in a
So I wonder why this book kept opening to this page as if insisting I read their story. It's barely a paragraph, and yet I can't stop thinking about them. I see them fleeing in the night to escape from Elizabeth's father who, oddly, forbade any of his twelve children to marry. How can someone have twelve kids and still think marriage is bad? Was it a duty bound thing? Did he hate himself for liking sex? Did he love his wife a whole lot and was sickened by the anxiety, worry and fear of her dying in childbirth - twelve times! - and couldn't bear the thought of his kids going through the same? Was he just a dick?
The mind is just buzzing!
I met a woman yesterday, new to the area. She says she's from London and she's a freelance. A freelance what I ask - she never answered me. I now will have to badger her to death until she tells me. You can't just say "I'm a freelance" without saying what you freelance in! It's like saying "I'm a painter" and not clarifying house, canvas, erotic body paint, decorator etc. Oddly enough, and trust me this is odd, she approached me and asked me about where certain things are in town. She said she saw me walking around town earlier - I was on my way to the dentist - perfect teeth BTW if you were wondering - and it turns out we live a few houses away from each other, our kids are in the same class...and I just want to fucking know what her freelance fucking job is! So I'll have to invite her for coffee one morning and ply her with caffeine until she dishes the story about herself. Or I'll Die. We may become friends, I'll just wait and see. She was asking about nanny agencies and how we folks manage out childcare so I'm cautious that she wants to arrange some kind of kid swap thing with me.
You all think I'm crazy now don't you...well. I blame the hormones.