MATERNAL CONTENTMENT
the house received a black, shaggy and wet visitor for a few days last week.
hazel had to fly off for a bit and i promised to have pammie, her boisterous schnauzer-bostonterrier over at mine, since it wouldn’t do for her to be sad and alone at home. the misanthropic old man silas had been staring at rasputin (the hamster) too longingly for both their own goods and pammie’s friendship could be a welcome distraction too. pammie descended upon the household like a whirlwind of joy – just look at that grinning face! definitely one of the most affectionate pups out there.
unfortunately silas didn’t really take to the excitable pammie rushing around and they had to be kept separate for the duration of the doggie’s stay, sniffing each other out tentatively through door bottoms. we were working on getting silas to understand that pammie couldn’t jump high enough to touch him if he be atop the dresser/cupboards.
but mostly he was just heartbreakingly sulky.
this was the closest silas would allow pammie after two days of getting used to each other and having them both within a hug’s length was enough for me to sigh in much maternal contentment.
Silas now has a social life! Hoping Rasputin the hamster doesn’t turn into dinner anytime soon.
BACK
because photoshop’s working after a fortnight of grief! i find myself typing and moving the mouse extremely gingerly now though, for fear that a sudden movement may jolt the petulant programme into another tantrum. here’s the pictorial sundry for the rest of a busy busy april and may.
the view from my hotel room in kl, where i abandoned the saddle of contractual responsibility for an inebriated weekend.
we visited a club which had extremely incongruous chinese acrobatic performances peppering the sets.
indian servers in bowties at a johnnie walker party held within a lovely marquee.
silas turned four on the twenty-first! here he is snoozing as i cut his treacherous nails, choosing the bedframe over the dozens of pillows i piled upon him.
painting at the memories at the old ford factory, but i’ll save the details for another entry soon cuz i gotta get back to work. the hair still looks trés plebeian but the rest of my life is lovely.
MOTIONLESS
is my one true love, waiting for birds by the window.
HOME ALONE AGAIN
the flu is in the family again, a particularly infectious strain it seems. the brother’s just started brewing a fever, the seventh victim in two days, while i’m on my second box of aspirin and zillionth favour from work associates (THANK YOU shirley).. it’s been a lonely mid-week. can’t wait for the parentals to get back from their sojourn tomorrow.
speaking of which, i am putting silas through his first working diet. the family’s properly dysfunctional of course – there is no actual schedule for feeding the cat. everyone generally leaves some food out when they wake/before sleeping/during dinnertime and owing to the most assorted collection of body clocks ever in a household, silas eats about ten meals daily. till tomorrow however, all his ration are monopolise by me.
JULY
i fell in love again. love love love love love.
SCRUFFY
aren’t you happy silas, you are in THE GRAVEYARD BOOK.
Silas, a Caretaker. The graveyard’s caretaker serves as Nobody’s guardian until he might guard himself, for the insubstantial dead must stay with their bones — and they have no means to nourish a living child. Teacher, counselor, and vigilant champion, Silas is not alive, but he is not dead. And unlike the ghosts, he may move among the living in order to acquire food, medicine, and other necessities.
couldn’t find the book anywhere here nor anymore illustrations from the web, alas! neil gaiman and dave mckean complement each other so effortlessly. mckean’s work reminds me of sound effects from the movie, 13 ghosts. it goes right up my skin. synaesthesia, much?
ARGH, ARGH, ARGH.
today i am immensely defeated and never want to wish my sketchbook upon anyone.
going to bully silas now to reclaim vague feelings of control.
QUATABAR
i think i have to come to terms with the fact that life… is not supposed to be a bed of roses. it is not about frappas in the afternoons, playing with silas and the occasional twenty-text harangue to jinesh lalwani. somehow, somewhere underneath the lazy-hazy, life requires simple cerebral innovation to progress. creativity begets development and change brings growth. i have been stagnant for a very long time, and, as with like messes, it boiling down to being my own doggone fault remains unmitigated by anglo-trickery. i need to, very ironically, create like a routine.
sheena brought bobo over last evening whom, by nature of being newly shorn, is only as tall as silas is wide. had my work cut out (pun intended) trying to hold the damn cat back. in lieu of this acquired canine-size-superiority complex, i am looking forward to fluffy shocking silas into a major existential crisis; should be funny.
