Yes, mes petits choux, I am writing a diary entry instead of moving into my new house like a good little boy. Oh, lordy, am I excited about this place. (I'm not there at the moment, since the modem has yet to be set up there, and there's still spinetwisting amounts of packing and hefting to happen before it's all over.) From makrokosmos to mikrokosmos, it's in the middle of "Ethnic Cuisine" Central, right on a bus route, has church bells in the backyard and small children playing nearby; it has a solarium, fireplace (working), cats. My room itself is a fresh minty green with a bank of lovely clear windows, and is large enough to be divided into two room-ettes, with my desk forming an inflection point between them. I'm going to pick out a nice dark green fabric for curtains once I can find an honest-to-god fabric store in this repulsive town: all the decent fabric's in New York. I dreamt of black velvet with silver fleurs-de-lys, but even I don't live in that kind of fantasy world. Not with a $40 budget I don't. As MG, smoking my Dunhills on a break from work today, said of it: "And you can get nice curtains, nowadays. Used to be, ten years ago, you really couldn't get good curtains -- not for love nor money -- well, unless you went to SoHo."
I moved my exotic (and illegal) Persian rug into my room last night, and slept in the most glorious spaciousness. Just me, the eggplant bed of doom, the rug (with a one-inch think pink foam cushion under it, so it's like walking on butter, 'cept sticky not so much) and a shelf which will eventually hold my folios and the stereo system. My dreams all week have been of paint chips, Hepplewhite chests of drawers, trompe l'œil panelling and classy XVIIe Dutch maps. I also want to buy some canvas tomorrow and paint myself a set of ancestors to overhang the harpsichord.
Current Music: Mendelssohn's incidental music to A Midsummer Night's Dream. When the Wedding March came on, I think I heard my (QW) landlord fall out of his chair, laughing. His kitchen is just on the other side of the stairwell, and he must have heard Felix's molto pomposo through the walls.
Current Sexuality: Still into boys. Girls too, within reason. Coffee table reading in the new digs: the New Yorker, Vanity Fair, the Good Vibrations catalog (when you go to the site, be sure to peruse the antique vibrator museum, which is ... electrifying).
ShW's Current Plans: ShW is pysched as St. Teresa on Ecstasy, since she worked out today that she can become a paediatric nurse in two short years. Go ShW!