Children

I was just done with a cuppa and some muesli for breakfast this morning. yes, It's a late morning after a heavy night's sleep, and I have a class awaiting Ich. Anyway, I decided to write something before getting on with my day's work. I've been reseaching on children for a while now. I'm just in my twenties, and I've already got only faint memories of what it felt like as a child. (I think i can now sympathise with all those adults who supposedly don't understand their children, or the so called generation gap), and research is sort of helping me recollect.

I think I love children now, the fact that they are beings who haven't yet learnt to wear a mask.
The other day, a dance competition saw me seated next to three children, on a raincoat trying to ignore the annoying occasional droplet on their heads while paying attention to the dance. The audience grew  and the amphitheatre grew cramped, so I seated one on my lap.
Very honest, very harsh. They were supremely practical, and I could see a slew of politics playing out with the deftness of masters, only, they didn't have to mince their words.
One was the sweet best friend, trying to be the life and soul of the party and trying to be accommodating, obviously she was the older of the lot, and the second, a slightly disgruntled girl who came and went, and the third, a pretty little thing with a mouth like a whip, virtually ordering the other two around, while one had a bright smile, the other was silent.
They switched sides with the performers easily, and gave some of the most direct critique I heard that night.
Children are harsh. 

Another block

The only time I feel like writing something is in full company where there is something interesting being said and I have no notebook.
Seven empty paper cups of tea testify to a long night of unwritten conversation, and fially, a worthwhile pen to write with turns up and the will to write comes back.
I am in the middle of a huge block, the inability to do anything, put anything on paper. Not work not info gathering, not thoughts, not what I've seen, heard,....
I don't even have a way of making this post look interesting.
There are these magical old papers from long done assignments that had a lot of love invested in them, which I tore up to write on today.
And with a flutter of wings, the angel returns.
And i decide it is absolutely annoying to try and edit a post and make it more readable, so i let it go, and move on.