Mundane Woes and Little Joys

Bleh. I hate my room.

Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that I was in there for hours today, attempting to clean it, but I'm not sure. The real estate moguls chant: Location, location, location! (at least, I am assured they do by my mother.) and my room fails this test absolutely. It is located in such an unfourtunate position as to be not much more than a glorified hallway.

The hall starts at my brother's room, continues past to the bathroom, and then does one of two things. It either, (a. stops at the door to my room and sort of leaks into the living room off to the right) or (b. continues straight through my room, into the kitchen via the door at the other end.)

I am inclined to the latter of these two theories, which popular opinion backs me on. Not only is it the shorter, more attractive route to the kitchen, but has the added bonus (if you are one of my little brothers) of almost certain irritation to myself. Anf then if they are caught, they can widen their eyes angelically and say.

"But I was only trying to get to the kitchen..."

I know this sounds a rather trivial subject to take offense too...but after years of people tromping through my room, without permission or even acknowledgement of my presence, it's rubbed a raw spot.

To change the topic dramatically to a much plesanter subject, I was reading recently The Uncollected Wodehouse, which is a collection (ironically) of some of P.G. Wodehouses earlier works, short stories, poetry, articles. I highly recommend it. No one should go through life without having read any Wodehouse, and his short stories are a great place to get a good taste. You are commanded to get it from your nearest library, even on the merits of "The Man Upstairs" and "When Doctors Disagree" alone. "The Best Sauce" is another charming piece of work.

The nice thing about his titles is they don't seem to make sense until you've read the piece, then go back and look at it, and then the light goes on. "So that's what that means..."

However, I mustn't be using up any more of my creative juices...I have things I am supposed to be writing at this moment, which I have been trying to finish up for a while. In fact, the family members in the living room probably think I am buzzing away happily at the ol' manuscript, while I am, in fact, typing this. Which I will stop doing presently. As soon as I am finished. Which will begin (or end, depending on your point of view)...now.

THE END (I mean it.)

P.S.: A note to the worried (or perhaps relieved) This does not mean forever. Just until next time. I see those looks, I'm really stopping now, I promise...