It's three in the morning, and if you consider the age I feel, I should rightfully be in bed, but because I'm rather above the age I feel and in a pretty loquacious mood, I shall not carry myself off straightaway to my 'attic' room, but sit by this standing fan and let it blow into my damp hair. I almost put shower gel in my hair today, so absorbed was I in my thoughts; thankfully, I realised it in time (I wonder how I've been saved any cooking mishaps- does my subconscious turn its alarms on whenever I'm in the kitchen?).
The kind of writing I'm doing now is what you would equate with breathless talking. I am not too much of a talker, I can pretty much keep quiet when needed, but I've been reading Daddy-Long-Legs, a book I should have read ten years ago, perhaps, when I read Anne of Green Gables (ten whole years, reading and re-reading it!), and I feel like Jerusha Abbott at the moment. She has such a gift for writing letters, oh, and I wish I had someone to write to, just the way she does. Oh no, I wouldn't want to be her, because it isn't very nice not to have a family and belong to no one. But she writes such lovely letters to Daddy-Long-Legs Mr. John Smith (as of now- don't reveal his identity to me, because I'm just halfway through the book), and I'd give quite anything to be able to talk like she does. She finds the right words for the thoughts in her head, comes up with the most splendid questions, and kind of reminds me of Anne Shirley. However, I can't let Jerusha (okay, Judy) replace Anne, can I, whom I've loved and admired so loyally over the last ten years? Okay, Katy Carr sometimes toppled Anne off her pedestal, but that was only when I was siezed by the Katy fit while re-reading her stories. If you ask me now, this moment, it is Anne who rules. I am glad I didn't know Judy Abbott earlier.
Daddy-Long-Legs is the kind of book to be held, breathed in and read in the comfort of your bed, at a stretch if possible. Reading on my laptop after eight hours at a computer in office isn't my idea of a pleasurable reading session. This is what I look forward to all day, though, the nightcap, the dessert, the grand end to the day with a book, any book, and Judy is certainly as adorable as Heidi, Anne, Katy and all the little heroines of my girlhood. What a thing it is to be young! Judy is right, a good childhood to look back on is definitely one of the requisites of life.
Worldly matters call, tell me to put an end to the dreaming and imagining (both Judy and Anne believe in the powers of the imagination: isn't that marvellous?), so I shall force myself under the covers now.
PS: This is my hundredth post here. Do numbers matter? I don't think they do. Not even age. Okay, that's not entirely true, but I'm hoping it will seem so when I'm on the brink of (gulp) middle age.