the inner child

it's short past midnight and I've just realized something kinda odd.
well, I've been busy with the latest Harry P. (yeah, I know, don't laugh) *chuckles* and looking towards the other couch, into the furry face of a stuffed kangaroo wearing a hooded bear-fleece jacket with ears in the hood so ya can stick its ears through... the toys cluttering my appartement (well, they are the kind for grown-ups... or anyone older than 12 hrmpffff)....

it might be I'm treating myself like the child I never had. and I'm a messy child, at that. I can't bring myself to tell my inner child to fecken' tidy this mess up, possibly because deep down inside I grin with glee at the wee chaos I'm inhabiting.

I'm starting to see I behave like men often do when they have a midlife crisis in their 40ies.

damn, this is more fun that it looks when watching them lads.

I could do with a house elf, too... someone to come here and tidy this lurvvvely place called my home ;o)