Sunday, lovely Sunday

Ah, my one day of weekend!
Working in retail, which I misguidedly do.
And teaching on one of my weekend days, which I do under protest,
means that sunday, that day of sweet laziness, is all I get at the moment.
And even though I'm usually finishing off a lecture to give the next day or eek, beginning said lecture, I still have the Sunday love.
Today I love,
My boyfriend getting confirmation that he has got his new, highly desired, job.
Ptolemy trying to get into the world in the mirrors, again.
Sleeping in after wine induced coma-like status.
The sunshine, oh, lovely last rays of summer sunshine.
The roast I plan to cook for dinner.
And eat in front of my favourite Sunday activity, Sunday ABC television, which is new Poirot! (I heart Agatha Cristie, way too much.)
Going to bed feeling like I had a weekend, despite the awful Yum Cha last night, despite me writing a lecture for a good chunk of the day, despite the feeling like I'll never stop being busy again.
Ah Sunday, you day of magical powers and brownies and all.


Lectures and Tantrums and Autumn, oh my

I am currently embroiled in my first ever Lecturing position in Children's Lit and, wow, is it a giant leap for MissKit-kind. I think I've been saying how much I wanted to be a professor since I was about twelve. I have no idea why but its always been there.
And now I'm walking down that road.
What a thing to spend your life dreaming and then have your dreams come colliding with reality. It is both exhilarating and terrifying. I am either bursting into tears at the sheer size of the wall I must scale or else I am the most triumphant I have ever been. 
But today I have decided that no more tears and tantrums are necessary ( though some may be inevitable) I am going to be positivity itself.
Its Autumn, my favourite season. I have everything ahead of me. I am loved. Life is beautiful and I will carve out a pocket of happiness in the exact shape I desire.
It will be the shape of afternoon tea.
Of bowls of flowers.
Of the Botanical Gardens.
Of sweetness and contentment.
Of Yoga and walking everyday.
Of stopping and breathing and thanking.
And it will be the shape of me, all the inches of imperfect, lovely me.


In the beginning...

In a time that feels like miles ago there was just me and my black cat. 
We liked it that way. Lots of time for mischief and just being.
And then you seem to hit some age, some time that means there is no more perfect silence, perfect contentment. 
Now there is noise and busy and crazy.
There is difficult jobs with difficult people.
There is trying to decide who we are.
There is the beginning of Master's and careers where we want them.
There is tired and scared and full-up.
There is also love though, with a brilliant, beautiful boy.
There are rainy days and Jane Austen.
There is chocolate and expensive shoes.
And there is still my cat. 
So welcome to my blog.
Which is all about a silky black cat called Ptolemy and, me.