Okay, I am in rapture.

Norah! Get your pretty face down here, we're going shopping!

Repeat to self: Paycheck (mostly) is for sensible things like tuition, and not for gorgeous things like polka-dot sandals and summer-y pink dresses. Well, y'know, maybe the odd pair of knickers.

P.S. I just really had to quote Confessions of a Shopaholic in this entry. It wouldn't have been the same otherwise. Be thankful I stopped before "Ten quid or so."

Spring's rolled round, and again I'm hopelessly infatuated with the world. Open the windows, feel the air rush in past the dingy curtains. Put on pretty, happy songs and dance around in a pair of secretary-shoes too tight. I love my glitter-white-bead ankle braclets, my old green gloves, the way the bus surges up the road like water around rocks. I can wear bright red cropped pants (with daisies!) and call people 'dahling.' I cleaned out my room, cleaned out old love notes, took my dog for a walk and laughed with relief at the way the pale morning light shifted over the orchard.

I'm going to start reading my mail again. I'm writing letters to people. Long overdue. I'm reading whenever I get the chance. I played the paino this morning and redesigned my blog. I put coins in my piggy bank, clink clank, just like Cabaret. Shiny dimes and quarters, dull nickles, pennies are good for luck alone. I'm dancing again, solitary waltzes in my basement to Patti Smith. Someone, remember me how to tango. My glass dragon is peeping out of her teacup. My hair is getting long, a thick braid that lies loosely on my back. I want to fall in love for the summer, part time position, May through August, interested fellows only may apply.

And of course I have a swanky new layout, perfect to suit my little white nightgown with tiny ruffles and pink satin ribbons.