Sinister: ink-ay olaroid-pay

[petula]

Peeps,

	Having to do without IRC tonight as I'm having the most damning pooter
problems in the whole wide world <insert childish whining here>, so I'm
forced to settle for some old fashioned email and relate an e-snap that was
taken late last night...

	It's 1 am and I'm sitting in the wicker chair on my front porch, dressed
in my penguin flannel pyjamas and the white cardigan that my gran made me
before she passed away. See, I couldn't sleep, as I'd been a bundle of
nerves all day trying to sort out a nasty bureaucratic error in my college
application. According to their computer records I'd FAILED the laughably
easy english essay that was to sift the chaff from the straw so to speak.
Yeah, I noticed my hair's sticking up, thanks!

	But anyhow, after tossing and turning for ages I'd decided to take my
walkman and sit outside for a while. 'Cos the street was MINE at that hour,
all still and heavy with the scent of forsythia, and B&S singing in my
ears. My own private concert. 

	I do have a slight smile, and that's because the little lamp in our lawn
was casting that late night glow that made even a girl in her silly pyjamas
feel like Jean Harlow. I remember, the air had a warm humidity to it that
made my heart go mush with pleasant thoughts of those dates in high school
where you were both too broke to do much besides go for coffee and walk
around for hours, until it was 2 am and you KNEW you'd get a romantic kiss
good night and then run inside giggling to yourself, grabbing the cat and
making it hug you when all it wanted was a midnight snack. And aren't those
the best kinds of dates anyhow?

	Soon enough, I felt my eyelids drooping and returned to bed. Little did I
know that the next day, the college bureaucrats who had been so snide the
day before would be tripping over themselves to apologise for their error,
which had marked my essay as failing instead of 85%.

elisa xo
(listening to ennio morricone's 'la moda' at the moment) 

p.s. pardon the crap pig latin, I'm sure it's all wrong!

P.P.S. Sometimes it's better to be loved than it is to love...
(this is from a Sandy Posey song I was listening to earlier)

	





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