Caravel

I was looking out from the balcony a few hours ago wondering why I prefer the night. Even in the most basic aesthetic sense, I tend to go for items that aren’t gaudy, well with two major exceptions, first is my interest in ‘lime’ which is the colour the menu text is printed in this page, green is my favourite colour, followed by blue, which is no doubt a result of my preoccupation with nature.

The abberance in my favourite colours is one that I describe as ‘hysterical orange’, if you’ve ever seen it you’d understand, the colour itself looks like it’s in the throes of a maddening breakdown, it’s a wonderful colour, I can’t resist it. My computer is that colour, it’s tiny and undersized and I had to buy all new parts to fit into it and then spent a day trying to create some airflow but it was worth it, totally worth it. It’s nice to have nice things, I think that is a major developmental step in some ways, the reason children don’t clean their room, even many teenagers, is because there is no great compunction to do so, as you age though you begin to collect items you really adore and keeping the room clean becomes a worthwhile experience because it allows these items to stand out, allows you to admire them.

I’m terrible with construction matters, I bought a flat pack table once from Ikea, it arrived, I still remember the day, there were essentially two ways you could construct the table, I failed to do it the right way three times in a row… Meaning I did the same thing every single time, thinking I had done something different. Never, and I really mean this, had I lost so much faith in my intelligence, I remember the event with exquisite detail, I decided that my faculties were either not cooperating or were incapable of it so I left it alone for the day to try again the next.

I can build most of a car with the right parts, a computer, a watch, that’s a joy of mine, I love building watches, but I can’t build furniture. I constructed my piano once, that was satisfying, a rarity for me, I’m not sure whether I made a mistake though and I’m simply in the grips of a psychosis which won’t allow me to notice how flawed my construction was, how out of tune the keys must sound now, perhaps my mind is worried I’ll suicide from it. What a nice mind I have, worrying about me like that.

I’m in an odd mood, I’ve got a good day ahead of me, every day is a good day but I’m feeling very positive about today. I find going to the gymnasium does wonders for my mood, I’m already an exceptionally happy person but the daily exercise puts me into a euphoric state, I do cardio because weights come easily to me because of my size and as most women will happily attest there reaches a point where muscular physiques go from appealing to appaulling (couldn’t resist). There’s something primal and satisfying about being covered in sweat, looking at it glisten on the skin, heavy breathing and all that, it’s akin to sex I suppose, maybe that’s it actually, the way a female dances is a direct emulation of sexual movements, and if you disagree and you’re a female just watch yourself in a mirror one day, I assure you on behalf of all males it is… hmm… hypnotic. So perhaps strenuous exercise is a male equivalent.

I’ll stop here before this gets any more pointless.