at home, i continued to tidy up my bookshelves. halfway, guests came and my mum directed the little girl to take some children's books home. i had arranged the 'children's literature' shelf to perfection earlier in the afternoon. so now there are two great gaps in that shelf reminding me of the big part of my childhood memories torn out when the girl left with my books. and they were my entire roald dahl collection, save one book -- the bfg. matilda, witches, the wonderful story of henry sugar...... all gone... all gone... i can never bear to part with memories. especially of books.
friends, if you ever have kids one day, or if you already do... i think my house's a perfect education centre (regarding knowledge only). it has the best books from toddlers' to university students'. that is, assuming you want them to turn out arts students. not that i'm such a genius or what, but i really thank my parents (mostly my dad) for investing all that money in those books. we have shelves and shelves of penguin classics, puffin books, windmill series, shakespeares', encyclopaedias, and all that bloody lit shit. problem is... i haven't read a large half of them (direct translation).
oh, anyway, to continue with my message to friends, my books are available for loan only. must return one! you can take a couple of years, but they must end up back in my possession eventually. so, unblur, don't think you can escape with my yankee doodle scorebook! haha... nah, joke. music books are different. they don't leave deep impressions on me. and if they ever did, i don't think i need them, 'cos they're probably of my music teacher scolding me and hitting my fingers with the ruler and stuff like that. ;p besides, i have your ski strap as ransom!
uh-oh. and i just realised that i can't loan my roald dahls to jarcheenta anymore. unless you want the bfg. sigh. sob sigh. sorry ah. i reckon you don't have the time anyway. haha.
feel quite ridiculous. here i am feeling really rather depressed about my kiddy books and yet i write on lj and type in icq like it's all a joke. i say i'm sad about them and all but my words come out so it doesn't sound so. so people find it funny and crazy. besides, i'm prone to self-pity (which i am). but how to explain how much roald dahl has done in my life? and it won't be the same even if i got an entire new series of them... which my mum did promise to get (but i know it isn't true anyway). comfort is in that my sis understands. this is crazy... i felt my eyes go wet as i was telling her.
i have no life.