Christchurch boogie

Can you really imagine me in a place called Christchurch? I know... I can't say it without giggling. I'm such a f-ing heathen. The whole thing ain't doin' nothing for my language either -- they cuss like really potty-mouthed sailors here.
It's not so eventful, but we ride the buses around, going this place and that, spending half an hour agonizing over wool choices, and not buying anything in the end. I'm knitting my mother a pink sweater. It will do up with a safety pin. I hate button holes.
Today we went to the beach. Yesterday we went grocery shopping. I sprayed my bag with DKNY so it would smell like apples, sang along to the pop classics playing over the loudspeaker, and twirled around in the aisles.

"I thought you might HA-AVE, some advice to give -- on how to be-- I-INSENSITIVE"
"As long as you love me BAAYEEBEEE, OHH OHH OHH"

Obviously I need to get back to work.

I'm so used to sleeping in my noisy high-rise, that sleeping in the tiny darkened room of this absolutely silent bungalow is wrecking havoc with my dreams. Every night since I've been away I have had SUCH VIVID DREAMS. One about a hippo-demon which was chasing me around my parents' bedroom in Guelph. The only way I could get rid of it was to point out how fat its ass looked in their full-length mirror, and insult it into such a frenzy that it poofed. I may or may not have bigger issues than you think.

One more day, two more dream-sessions.