Two Years Old

31 January 2003

I woke up in a miserable mood this morning. No nightmares. Just bad dreams. So this is going to be short, so that it's not too whiny. And that's the kind of bad mood it is. This mood is about two years old. So my reactions to things like reading the paper are kind of like stamping feet: "No! No have war now! Have peanut butter now! No war! EEEEEEEEEE! No!" Pause. "Want Bagthorpe book!"

It doesn't help that one of the articles in the paper was "A Guy's Guide to Valentine Giving" and didn't feature books, Dan's chocolates, warm slippers, GeekGirl T-shirts, new yoga tapes or music of any kind. Who are these losers who want reservations at a hotel that won't even open for another three months anyway? And who wants someone to cook her a $60 meal at home? If you're going to spend $60 on food for two, do you want to have to clean it up the next day?

I will stop now before I go into full cranky mode.

I reread Bagthorpes Unlimited yesterday, and it was as much fun as Absolute Zero. I look forward to getting the rest from the library (and finding them used when I can, thereby paying someone who is not the author for her words -- oh mercy me, alack). I also reread Maud Hart Lovelace's Heaven to Betsy. I loved the Betsy-Tacy books when I was little, and I passed by that part of the children's section when I was in the library, so I picked up one in the middle of the series to see how it holds up. And the answer is, eh.

I mostly liked these books because Betsy wanted to be a writer, and that's not a very big aspect of this particular volume. Can't say how much it features in the rest of the series. These were copyright 1945, and I think they were the author's idea of a junior high girl's wish-fulfillment fantasy about high school. Betsy has a ton of guys trailing after her all the time and a best friend who is never jealous and always willing to listen to her ramble on about said guys. She also has the rest of a crowd of girl friends, understanding parents, an older sister who'll set her friends up on dates and do her nails, and a younger sister who never makes messes or whines. She's not very good at algebra -- when we choose our imperfections, after all, we might as well choose the ladylike ones. And she never has to do housework because there's a hired girl. None of that came through when I was little at all. I liked that she wanted to be a writer, and I was fascinated with the conversation she had with her parents about changing from their church to a different one. The rest of it didn't concern me much.

Now I'm reading Gordon Korman's Macdonald Hall Goes Hollywood. I anticipate that my reading material for the rest of the day and possibly the rest of the weekend will be at about the same intended age level. We'll see how quickly I come out of the mood. I'm not sure I should go near anything editable in this state, lest I start pitching mental fits at it, too. We'll see. Mark's got the car, so I don't have to feel that I should go get groceries, which is good. I could deal with people if I had to, but some days it's good not to have to.

Back to Morphism.

And the main page.

Or the last entry.

Or the next one.

Or even send me email.