Well, I think I just had one of those moments.
I'm not totally sure what to say on this thing. In fact, I don't really feel like I should be here. I've kept a blog on a website for runners (www.fetcheveryone.com) for over a year, and I'm still keeping it. This feels like cheating on it. I feel dirty.
And I think about six months before that I got an account on LiveJournal, and I think I only ever put one entry in there and that was about this dream I had in which me and some friends ended up in the Maritime Museum and then I think we were at some football match where the stadium kept moving like some kind of radical fairground ride. No wonder THAT blog never took off.
I think that maybe this blog should try and be a bit more serious, but, er, I kind of don't like being serious about anything, ever. I mean... Well, I mean if it ever comes down to either jeans or a suit, it's a pretty obvious choice, isn't it?
Anyway. At the moment I'm trying to keep my eyes open after downing a load of Piriton to counteract the Penicillin the doctor gave me this week when I was ill. Turns out I'm actually allergic to Penicillin, and, also, it turns out that 'drowsy' is an amazingly fun word but really not a fun thing to be when you're desperately trying to revise for your French exam next Wednesday.
So in the end I spent the afternoon kind of collapsed on the sofa watching Amelie. Which counts, right?
It's also really windy outside and the windows are starting to sound strained. Also, one of the plants in the front garden just flung itself rather strongly against the double glazing. That's not so good.
That means the cat will be sleeping in the all-new dip in the flowerbed tomorrow. Ugh.
Also, my parents are now arguing about their seating arrangement in the next room:
I mean, I kind of thought the point of sofas was that more than one person could sit on them at a time? But apparently not.
But, yeah, basically, I'm eighteen, I live in Swansea and do the International Baccalaureate. I'm in the middle of my final exams and relying quite heavily on the healing powers of cocoa to get me through them. In the time I've been writing this, I've forgotten the first three paragraphs of a French essay I tried to memorise this morning so that I might be able to do the writing paper next week.
That's some achievement.
Anyway, because I feel I should put SOMETHING serious in here, and because I've just worked out how to copy and paste using the shortcuts on an Apple keyboard:
I'm not totally sure what to say on this thing. In fact, I don't really feel like I should be here. I've kept a blog on a website for runners (www.fetcheveryone.com) for over a year, and I'm still keeping it. This feels like cheating on it. I feel dirty.
And I think about six months before that I got an account on LiveJournal, and I think I only ever put one entry in there and that was about this dream I had in which me and some friends ended up in the Maritime Museum and then I think we were at some football match where the stadium kept moving like some kind of radical fairground ride. No wonder THAT blog never took off.
I think that maybe this blog should try and be a bit more serious, but, er, I kind of don't like being serious about anything, ever. I mean... Well, I mean if it ever comes down to either jeans or a suit, it's a pretty obvious choice, isn't it?
Anyway. At the moment I'm trying to keep my eyes open after downing a load of Piriton to counteract the Penicillin the doctor gave me this week when I was ill. Turns out I'm actually allergic to Penicillin, and, also, it turns out that 'drowsy' is an amazingly fun word but really not a fun thing to be when you're desperately trying to revise for your French exam next Wednesday.
So in the end I spent the afternoon kind of collapsed on the sofa watching Amelie. Which counts, right?
It's also really windy outside and the windows are starting to sound strained. Also, one of the plants in the front garden just flung itself rather strongly against the double glazing. That's not so good.
That means the cat will be sleeping in the all-new dip in the flowerbed tomorrow. Ugh.
Also, my parents are now arguing about their seating arrangement in the next room:
MUM: YOU have the big chair!
DAD: I don't WANT the big chair, YOU have it!
MUM: *I* want the SOFA!
DAD: Well, *I* want the sofa!
I mean, I kind of thought the point of sofas was that more than one person could sit on them at a time? But apparently not.
But, yeah, basically, I'm eighteen, I live in Swansea and do the International Baccalaureate. I'm in the middle of my final exams and relying quite heavily on the healing powers of cocoa to get me through them. In the time I've been writing this, I've forgotten the first three paragraphs of a French essay I tried to memorise this morning so that I might be able to do the writing paper next week.
That's some achievement.
Anyway, because I feel I should put SOMETHING serious in here, and because I've just worked out how to copy and paste using the shortcuts on an Apple keyboard:
PERFECT DAY
Kathleen Jamie
I am just a woman of the shore
wearing your coat against the snow
that falls on the oyster-catcher's tracks
and on our own; falls
on the still grey waters
of Loch Morar, and on our shoulders
gentle as restraint: a perfect weight
of snow as tree-boughs
and fences bear against a loaded sky:
one flake more, they'd break.
