I feel like a pacing jungle cat. However, the title of this post actually refers to my house cat, Cleo, who was stalking birds outside from behind the blinds and a vase of flowers. But I still feel like a jungle cat held captive. I hope you'll permit me to let my imagination take me away for a while.
Maybe it's because I was reading about Eve or I'm infused with the words of Clarissa Pinkola E., but I'm just bursting with romance. This is what happens when I listen to charismatically old and tasteful swing music. It's a slow one - I just want to dance the eight count steps in that red dress I have and pretend I'm in France or something helplessly cliche like that. I always hear about all these girls wanting to fall in love in Paris and I'm like, "Love is love, why does an accent make it better?" Anyways, that's just the BBC Big Band Orchestra talking through me. Not my fault.
*raises hands*
I just wanna dance.
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