Watched The Mist. Wanted to shoot Mrs. Carmody.
Watching Iris. Wanting to be Judy Dench. And Hugh Bonneville and Jim Broadbent are amazing in their portrayals of young and old John Bayley.
“You know many secrets now, Iris…”
It’s very quiet here when I get home. I talk to Alfred a lot in the evenings, but I’ve noticed he doesn’t tend to have much to say in reply. I don’t really want a roommate, and Mr. Right has yet to come ’round to love me and boss me around and all those other very nice things fellows often do. As such, I’m thinking about getting a pet.
Fish also have precious little to say, and there are times when I’m not around often enough to manage a dog (which I don’t even know that I’m allowed to have in this building anyway). Birds are charming, but obnoxiously talkative, especially after Alfred. And while I really like lizards and snakes and things in principle, I’m after something a bit more mammalian.
But oh my God if I get a cat I’ll never hear the end of it.
On the one hand I have mild allergies and my family would tease me for being 26, working for my dad, living alone, and adopting a feline.
On the other hand, I like the idea of having something moving around in the apartment so when I hear noises at night I have something to attribute them to, and soft things that make noises on their own are nice to see, and I want to care about something that will die before me, and I’ve always liked my friends’ kitty stories.
There are lots of places in the area I can go to adopt a cat that’s already had it’s shots and all that. I wonder… I wonder…
I’d have to see if I could even have one here, and how much my rent would go up, and then dump a boat load of money on cat food things and poo things and collar things…
My head hurts. And this movie is awfully sad. I don’t want to go to bed, you see. I just want to already be asleep.