Dearest
Just thought I would have a minor rant now, to avoid doing it constantly whem I next see you.
But first, GOING TO VENICE TOMORROW!!!!! How much does that rock?!
Ok, here it is. Why do I let myself get treated like a 4 year old? Why am I putting myself through another year in this place, when I know I'm going to end up hating myself even more than I already do? GAR! I'll bleeding well walk to Nottingham every day, rather than be given bus money or have to stay here for the majority of the time. Dinner money and bus money, as if I'm not perfectly capable of finding a job, or making myself lunch. And if my mother thinks me living at home is going to mean I spend every waking hour when she's not at work with her, she's got another think coming. I'd rather swallow razor blades. Which doesn't necessarily sound like a bad idea right now. I feel like I'm going to end up like the 40 Year Old Virgin at this rate. Why can't I just muster the courage to get out there, move to a different city and live. I need to be braver, moving to Uni wasn't a risk, it was still being mollycoddled. There was somewhere to live and something to do when I got there. I need to grow a spine and get out there..after my masters, or there won't be much hope of having something to do when I get there.
London might not be the best idea for a first move. How about Edinburgh, or Portsmouth. Or maybe Germany. I can brush up my German to working standard surely, I didn't do too badly in LFA. Or Austria. Hmm... I have a year to think.
Actually, I don't think I have much else to say. Except, I have been practising my guitar, a lot, in the past couple of days. Still sketchy but not too bad. Oh and USA has had the thumbs up, I have savings in the bank to cover quite a bit. Apperently, our 3 week jaunt cost about 2 and a half grand, altogether, including car hire, hotels and flights. Not 2.5 each, but 2.5 for all 4 of us. Cool?
Sorry this is all of a babbly mess, that makes little sense. That's how it popped out of my head. Will tidy it up later, my head and my posts.
All my love
Tuesday 18 March 2008
Tuesday 11 March 2008
Pie
Dearest
I have the urge to eat pie. Not just whelming, but overwhelming. Unluckily, I don't actually have any around, nor do i have enough fruit to make any. So I will just have to simmer down to being whelmed by my urge.
I also, bizarrly enough, have the urge to do work. Which, I'm sure, is exactly the reason I have taken the decision to go onto the internet and write about my desire for pie. I put it down to forward planning, work is all well and good, but I'm planning for my immediate future at the moment. When I go home, I will need some escape, since my own Escape will be in a different county (if it makes me sound a bit stalkerish and needy for you to be known as such I am dreadfully sorry deary, I don't mean it to sound like that, but I'm sure you knew that). So I have decided that the method of escape I have been developing while here, will be brough to full force back home. I will bake things. Bread, pizza, cakes, and pies. All will be attempted, and hopefully perfected, during the month of homeward bound. I'm sure mother won't mind, and dad will be more than happy to partake of the last 2, so long as no rhubarb is involved. I just need a pie tin and cakes tins, which surely aren't that hard to come by.
Anyway, enough about pies. What am I talking about? You can never have enough pie. I always enjoy making them, as you can probably tell. I'll be bouncing around at least 2 days after making them, I'll just be that proud of myself. I feel like a little kid who's just been given a gold star or something, its an achievement. For some reason I never feel that happy when I've done well in an assessment, it's almost as if I can hear, well it is the fact that I can hear, the voices in the back of my head going, *yeah very good, but you know everybody else can do and has done better than you* and I'm all too ready to agree with them. But with cooking its different, yes it may not always turn out like it was supposed to, but that doesn't matter, because it still tastes very good, to me at least. Also, when I do share it with people, its usually quite well received, the praise can shout down even my most boistrous inner voice. So pie is good, and if I could only perfect the pastry it would be even better still. If all else fails I could open a bakery. hmmmm.... It could always run alongside the other back up plan...
Pie and Prostitutes. What a good combination would that be? Please the customers in every way imaginable, by using 2 of the 3 ways to a man's heart (I don't think it would be too good for business if we went straight through the ribcage, the authorities tend to frown on that, although what they'd think of pie baking prostitutes is debatable). We could charge double. of course we could charge double, what was I thinking, it would just be bad business sense otherwise.
I wonder what mum would think if I said I was practicing baking pies for my future career as a brothel madame. Worth asking just to see the response don't you think? But I can tell you now, it'll be The Look, the look that says *Riiiiiiiiight, I think that's a very stupid and crazy idea*, as sort of disbelieving reproof. But who cares? As long as pies are made, and the pleasure is spread around the populace, The Look is nothing to worry about.
The only problem I can forsee is, how can funeral directing be worked into all of this? Buy the premium package, get a rosewood coffin, a horse and carriage, a burial in a prime spot, a blueberry pie and an companion for the widower. I will work on that I think.
All my love
I have the urge to eat pie. Not just whelming, but overwhelming. Unluckily, I don't actually have any around, nor do i have enough fruit to make any. So I will just have to simmer down to being whelmed by my urge.
I also, bizarrly enough, have the urge to do work. Which, I'm sure, is exactly the reason I have taken the decision to go onto the internet and write about my desire for pie. I put it down to forward planning, work is all well and good, but I'm planning for my immediate future at the moment. When I go home, I will need some escape, since my own Escape will be in a different county (if it makes me sound a bit stalkerish and needy for you to be known as such I am dreadfully sorry deary, I don't mean it to sound like that, but I'm sure you knew that). So I have decided that the method of escape I have been developing while here, will be brough to full force back home. I will bake things. Bread, pizza, cakes, and pies. All will be attempted, and hopefully perfected, during the month of homeward bound. I'm sure mother won't mind, and dad will be more than happy to partake of the last 2, so long as no rhubarb is involved. I just need a pie tin and cakes tins, which surely aren't that hard to come by.
Anyway, enough about pies. What am I talking about? You can never have enough pie. I always enjoy making them, as you can probably tell. I'll be bouncing around at least 2 days after making them, I'll just be that proud of myself. I feel like a little kid who's just been given a gold star or something, its an achievement. For some reason I never feel that happy when I've done well in an assessment, it's almost as if I can hear, well it is the fact that I can hear, the voices in the back of my head going, *yeah very good, but you know everybody else can do and has done better than you* and I'm all too ready to agree with them. But with cooking its different, yes it may not always turn out like it was supposed to, but that doesn't matter, because it still tastes very good, to me at least. Also, when I do share it with people, its usually quite well received, the praise can shout down even my most boistrous inner voice. So pie is good, and if I could only perfect the pastry it would be even better still. If all else fails I could open a bakery. hmmmm.... It could always run alongside the other back up plan...
Pie and Prostitutes. What a good combination would that be? Please the customers in every way imaginable, by using 2 of the 3 ways to a man's heart (I don't think it would be too good for business if we went straight through the ribcage, the authorities tend to frown on that, although what they'd think of pie baking prostitutes is debatable). We could charge double. of course we could charge double, what was I thinking, it would just be bad business sense otherwise.
I wonder what mum would think if I said I was practicing baking pies for my future career as a brothel madame. Worth asking just to see the response don't you think? But I can tell you now, it'll be The Look, the look that says *Riiiiiiiiight, I think that's a very stupid and crazy idea*, as sort of disbelieving reproof. But who cares? As long as pies are made, and the pleasure is spread around the populace, The Look is nothing to worry about.
The only problem I can forsee is, how can funeral directing be worked into all of this? Buy the premium package, get a rosewood coffin, a horse and carriage, a burial in a prime spot, a blueberry pie and an companion for the widower. I will work on that I think.
All my love
Sunday 9 March 2008
Sunday mornings
Dearest
I love Sundays, especially when its bright and sunny outside. I love to just open my blinds and lie stretched out on my bed and let the sun wash over me. Its warm and bright, and makes you believe the world is this perfiect place, nothing bad or dark can exist there. So why is it, on this bright shining day am I lying in bed thinking about the remedies suggested for depression? The professionals always suggest you should exercise if you feel depressed. Bit patronising, and slightly redundant, don't you think? The last thing you feel like doing, when you wrestling with the temptation to bring forward your meeting with your maker, is go out for a jog. When I feel that low I barely have the energy to roll over in my bed, let alone play a game of tennis. I suppose there is some logic to it, nobody feels their best and brightest when their digestion is sluggish. Even so, I'm always reminded of that Senakot advert from a few years back, where the women in the office is all tired and mopey, then the day after taking the pill she's bouncing around (with suspiciously shiney eyes) drumming on the furniture and fixtures. Maybe that's all I need, maybe there is a quick fix pill for it after all. Laxitives, get happy, and a rhythm.
Or maybe I should just let myself have a lie in. I have no idea why I set my alarm for 8am for a Sunday morning. It's just cruel and unusual torture, even if I did go to bed at 11 last night. I don't sleep the full 8 hours as it is, even when i do go to bed early enough. Only very do I sleep through the night without waking up at least 3 or 4 times. Should just let myself lie in, that way I'd be more awake and wouldn't end up doing the mindless student thing....
yes, yesterday I joined the ranks of Mindless Students, I lost my phone. I got it back, and it wasn't really my fault as it fell out of my bag, so I'm only an honourary member. Me and Jiffy were discussing it last night after the retrieval operation (i.e. he asked at the bar and I crawled under the tables) and we decideda pub was the safest place to lose your phone. In our considerable experience, as in Jiffy's considerable experience, you can always get your phone back from a pub. Not so when you drop it in a a mug of coffee or, in Escape's case, a toilet. To be fair Escape's phone did still work for about 2 months afterward, if a little temperamental.
But, back to Sunday. No, back to last night, as that has seemed to cause the tensions of this Sunday. The Boy stayed over with my housemate (let's call her H1) last night, no hanky panky so I've been told, but he still managed to bang his head against the wall repeatedly. This woke up my other, very tired, housemate (H2). I heard H2 moving about upstairs, and going downstairs to watch telly after the other 2 got back, because she couldn't sleep. She was very annoyed this morning, quite rightly so I feel. H1 has taken it to heart, possibly a little too much, she thinks its the end of the world and H2 is going to hate her forever and never forgive her. I told her she was being melodramtic. Everyone gets cranky when they've had no sleep, and feels better and less irritable when they have regained the lost slumber hours. Problem is H1 hates making mistakes, she jokingly says she never makes them, not yet getting over her native naivety of life. She just needs to chalk it up to experience, these things happen and its not the end of the world, the more it happens the easier it will be for her to deal with it in the future when she's actually in the world and she makes real mistakes. She just needs to apologise, in person, possibly the chocolate she's out buying at the moment is a little overkill, and don't do it again in the future. Make sure the strange boy she is dating stops causing himself a brain hemorrage. And all will be well in the house of sunny Sundays.
Right now I can't think about melodramas or sunshine, I need a shower if I'm ever going to get to the Belgium's in time to start making bread. Its becoming a weekly ritual. I'm becoming very domestic, baking bread, croissants and iced buns. And pizza, how could I forget the pizza? Going to teach them how to make pizza from scratch, like-ah the Italians-ah make-ah, except without the spinning up in the air or, like-ah the movies-ah make-ah, it will end up stuck to the ceiling, to land on someone's head at an unsuitable (but undeniably funny) moment. Yes I do have the maturity of a 4 year. Deal with it.
Enjoy your shiney Sunday mornings people, more fun than the senna I'm sure, I'm going off to get covered in yeast and tomatoes etc.
All my love
I love Sundays, especially when its bright and sunny outside. I love to just open my blinds and lie stretched out on my bed and let the sun wash over me. Its warm and bright, and makes you believe the world is this perfiect place, nothing bad or dark can exist there. So why is it, on this bright shining day am I lying in bed thinking about the remedies suggested for depression? The professionals always suggest you should exercise if you feel depressed. Bit patronising, and slightly redundant, don't you think? The last thing you feel like doing, when you wrestling with the temptation to bring forward your meeting with your maker, is go out for a jog. When I feel that low I barely have the energy to roll over in my bed, let alone play a game of tennis. I suppose there is some logic to it, nobody feels their best and brightest when their digestion is sluggish. Even so, I'm always reminded of that Senakot advert from a few years back, where the women in the office is all tired and mopey, then the day after taking the pill she's bouncing around (with suspiciously shiney eyes) drumming on the furniture and fixtures. Maybe that's all I need, maybe there is a quick fix pill for it after all. Laxitives, get happy, and a rhythm.
Or maybe I should just let myself have a lie in. I have no idea why I set my alarm for 8am for a Sunday morning. It's just cruel and unusual torture, even if I did go to bed at 11 last night. I don't sleep the full 8 hours as it is, even when i do go to bed early enough. Only very do I sleep through the night without waking up at least 3 or 4 times. Should just let myself lie in, that way I'd be more awake and wouldn't end up doing the mindless student thing....
yes, yesterday I joined the ranks of Mindless Students, I lost my phone. I got it back, and it wasn't really my fault as it fell out of my bag, so I'm only an honourary member. Me and Jiffy were discussing it last night after the retrieval operation (i.e. he asked at the bar and I crawled under the tables) and we decideda pub was the safest place to lose your phone. In our considerable experience, as in Jiffy's considerable experience, you can always get your phone back from a pub. Not so when you drop it in a a mug of coffee or, in Escape's case, a toilet. To be fair Escape's phone did still work for about 2 months afterward, if a little temperamental.
But, back to Sunday. No, back to last night, as that has seemed to cause the tensions of this Sunday. The Boy stayed over with my housemate (let's call her H1) last night, no hanky panky so I've been told, but he still managed to bang his head against the wall repeatedly. This woke up my other, very tired, housemate (H2). I heard H2 moving about upstairs, and going downstairs to watch telly after the other 2 got back, because she couldn't sleep. She was very annoyed this morning, quite rightly so I feel. H1 has taken it to heart, possibly a little too much, she thinks its the end of the world and H2 is going to hate her forever and never forgive her. I told her she was being melodramtic. Everyone gets cranky when they've had no sleep, and feels better and less irritable when they have regained the lost slumber hours. Problem is H1 hates making mistakes, she jokingly says she never makes them, not yet getting over her native naivety of life. She just needs to chalk it up to experience, these things happen and its not the end of the world, the more it happens the easier it will be for her to deal with it in the future when she's actually in the world and she makes real mistakes. She just needs to apologise, in person, possibly the chocolate she's out buying at the moment is a little overkill, and don't do it again in the future. Make sure the strange boy she is dating stops causing himself a brain hemorrage. And all will be well in the house of sunny Sundays.
Right now I can't think about melodramas or sunshine, I need a shower if I'm ever going to get to the Belgium's in time to start making bread. Its becoming a weekly ritual. I'm becoming very domestic, baking bread, croissants and iced buns. And pizza, how could I forget the pizza? Going to teach them how to make pizza from scratch, like-ah the Italians-ah make-ah, except without the spinning up in the air or, like-ah the movies-ah make-ah, it will end up stuck to the ceiling, to land on someone's head at an unsuitable (but undeniably funny) moment. Yes I do have the maturity of a 4 year. Deal with it.
Enjoy your shiney Sunday mornings people, more fun than the senna I'm sure, I'm going off to get covered in yeast and tomatoes etc.
All my love
Saturday 8 March 2008
Escape and Jiffy
"It's a David Bowie coffee morning"
"Well, I'm paying for it"
Jiffy turns to me "I'm talking about her not me"
"Well, all know you have repressed desires for David Bowie J"
My day dreams are well and truely snapped out of at this point. Its a Saturday afternoon and we're weaving through the masses of bloody tourists who think its perfectly exceptable to stop in the middle of the street and stare at the pretty buildings. Yes my darlings, the buildings are pretty, but can't you just do what I do, and carry on walking while looking up in awe at them...then walk into a angry geriatric with a walking stick, or a lamppost. Eitherway, have some respect for the girl whose charging mindlessly down the street in a daze, and finds it as easy to steer herself out of the way of obstacles as a 3 year steering a shopping trolley.
IT'S RAINING! I love the rain! It's belting it down, and I'm curled up on Escape's sofa watching House. Lovely. Anyway, this in no way relates to the David Bowie coffee morning. Yes...
I was just planning on spending the entire day curled up in my bed, fully clothed (if I'm going to spend the day being a lazy sod, I'm going to be clean and not stinky), not reading about the 1798 United Irishman rebellion, when I got the invitation I can never refuse. "Lunch?" Although a day without any contact with human beings was appealing when I first woke up to the sound of the bells of the monastry right outside my window, but by 3 in the afternoon (typical student lunchtime, atypical Blue lunch time, but that isn't the point) my objectives for the day had changed. My housemate's new boyfriend, the Boy (oh, come on! I had to work that nickname in somewhere and my love life is about as active as a geranium), came round to make pasta, and I didn't feel comfortable disturbing their flowering relationship, (plus, although I may seem all outgoing and bubbly, I'm always going to be this shy little girl), so I avoided going downstairs, except for a drink of water (I'm shy, not chronically stupid... well...). So having no other option but to stay in room all day of course made me want to leave it, and having noone to speak to made me want to speak to someone. So, in a very long winded way we get to, I decided coffee in town with Escape and Jiffy would be a good idea.
Bad idea, the coffee bit at least. Town on a weekend is just evil, but we've already experienced this rant, and let's not go back to the same point in one post. How can every bleeding cafe and pub in York be full?! There are nearly 400 pubs in the city, and probably as many cafes, thats a heck of a lot of tourist... probably why you can't move for cameras on a Saturday, or school holidays (don't start woman!).Yet still, me and mine can carry a conversation, while threading our way through people traffic, without missing a beat. And our conversations are not exactly public material, we're talking full on debauchery. Little kids and their innocent ears be damned, if they go to any of the schools we went to they would have heard it all, and worse, anyway.
But this conversation was fairly PG, at least I thought it was. It started out innocently enough, with Jiffy saying he wanted to mug the Costa coffee van that was parked up in the middle of the market place, and I drifted off in the a reverie of "these people are amazing, I love them so much" and just allowing myself be engulfed in this general feeling of contentment (which doesn't happen that often so I was going to milk it for as long as possible) when "It's a David Bowie coffee morning" and the above conversation knocked me clean out of my airy fairyness. I think I was supposed to respond when Jiffy said it was for Escape not him, but its difficult to know what to say to the suggestion of a themed coffee morning, because I know full well, without the rest of the conversation, that the theme wouldn't be David Bowie, but his trousers...............
Blue's not in right now, she'll get back to you in a moment.
OK, back. What was I saying? Yes, being assulted with the idea of coffee mornings. I have no idea how Escape decided she was going to hold a David Bowie coffee morning, I really should listen to conversations between those 2 fully, and not drift off into a day dream. nah, I should combine the 2 and let their conversations fuel my day dreams. Except, day dreaming and listening to conversations is all well and good, but trying to do that AND walk leads to the aforemented collisions with pensioners and large solid objects. Then again, life's no fun without a little concussion, and the occasional wrestling match with members of the public.
much love
"Well, I'm paying for it"
Jiffy turns to me "I'm talking about her not me"
"Well, all know you have repressed desires for David Bowie J"
My day dreams are well and truely snapped out of at this point. Its a Saturday afternoon and we're weaving through the masses of bloody tourists who think its perfectly exceptable to stop in the middle of the street and stare at the pretty buildings. Yes my darlings, the buildings are pretty, but can't you just do what I do, and carry on walking while looking up in awe at them...then walk into a angry geriatric with a walking stick, or a lamppost. Eitherway, have some respect for the girl whose charging mindlessly down the street in a daze, and finds it as easy to steer herself out of the way of obstacles as a 3 year steering a shopping trolley.
IT'S RAINING! I love the rain! It's belting it down, and I'm curled up on Escape's sofa watching House. Lovely. Anyway, this in no way relates to the David Bowie coffee morning. Yes...
I was just planning on spending the entire day curled up in my bed, fully clothed (if I'm going to spend the day being a lazy sod, I'm going to be clean and not stinky), not reading about the 1798 United Irishman rebellion, when I got the invitation I can never refuse. "Lunch?" Although a day without any contact with human beings was appealing when I first woke up to the sound of the bells of the monastry right outside my window, but by 3 in the afternoon (typical student lunchtime, atypical Blue lunch time, but that isn't the point) my objectives for the day had changed. My housemate's new boyfriend, the Boy (oh, come on! I had to work that nickname in somewhere and my love life is about as active as a geranium), came round to make pasta, and I didn't feel comfortable disturbing their flowering relationship, (plus, although I may seem all outgoing and bubbly, I'm always going to be this shy little girl), so I avoided going downstairs, except for a drink of water (I'm shy, not chronically stupid... well...). So having no other option but to stay in room all day of course made me want to leave it, and having noone to speak to made me want to speak to someone. So, in a very long winded way we get to, I decided coffee in town with Escape and Jiffy would be a good idea.
Bad idea, the coffee bit at least. Town on a weekend is just evil, but we've already experienced this rant, and let's not go back to the same point in one post. How can every bleeding cafe and pub in York be full?! There are nearly 400 pubs in the city, and probably as many cafes, thats a heck of a lot of tourist... probably why you can't move for cameras on a Saturday, or school holidays (don't start woman!).Yet still, me and mine can carry a conversation, while threading our way through people traffic, without missing a beat. And our conversations are not exactly public material, we're talking full on debauchery. Little kids and their innocent ears be damned, if they go to any of the schools we went to they would have heard it all, and worse, anyway.
But this conversation was fairly PG, at least I thought it was. It started out innocently enough, with Jiffy saying he wanted to mug the Costa coffee van that was parked up in the middle of the market place, and I drifted off in the a reverie of "these people are amazing, I love them so much" and just allowing myself be engulfed in this general feeling of contentment (which doesn't happen that often so I was going to milk it for as long as possible) when "It's a David Bowie coffee morning" and the above conversation knocked me clean out of my airy fairyness. I think I was supposed to respond when Jiffy said it was for Escape not him, but its difficult to know what to say to the suggestion of a themed coffee morning, because I know full well, without the rest of the conversation, that the theme wouldn't be David Bowie, but his trousers...............
Blue's not in right now, she'll get back to you in a moment.
OK, back. What was I saying? Yes, being assulted with the idea of coffee mornings. I have no idea how Escape decided she was going to hold a David Bowie coffee morning, I really should listen to conversations between those 2 fully, and not drift off into a day dream. nah, I should combine the 2 and let their conversations fuel my day dreams. Except, day dreaming and listening to conversations is all well and good, but trying to do that AND walk leads to the aforemented collisions with pensioners and large solid objects. Then again, life's no fun without a little concussion, and the occasional wrestling match with members of the public.
much love
Popping the blog cherry
Dearest
See, now i've actually managed to set this damn thing up, i can't actually think of a thing to write. So I'll do what I usually do I suppose, ramble until i get bored and start searching obscure TV shows in IMDb. Corner gas is the present TV show i'm stalking, in case you want to know.
Well, that's not really true, at the moment I'm flitting between writing this and sorting out my bebo account so that i have some way of contacting my little brother while he's in Bavaria for the next month. I'm not even sure he has internet, so how I'll get in touch is beyond me. I'm not even sure why I want to get in touch with him actually, he's a pain in the hide. Why is it that I never really care if I talk to him, unless I know I'm not able to? So strange, the typical want what you can't have syndrome, except in a non-incestuous way that mother likes to hint at. Yeah, my family is weird, but since we have only just met, I think I may wait a while to go into details.
Hmm, what to bore you with? Well, I could talk about Toadie some more, my brother not the guy off of Neighbours, he's not actually that interesting despite the strange obsession all university students are suppose to have with that incredible dull show. Wow, already lots of reference to TV and only on the 3rd paragraph. I'm not a telly adict honestly, I barley watch it, I prefer to read all about shows that I'll never actually be able to watch because they got cancelled long long ago, before I even heard about them. I spend way too much of my time on the internet. Which is possible why I decided to start this blog, I spend so much time on the internet looking at rubbish that I don't have time to do anything offline except work, I don't even remember to write a diary most of the time. So, I figured, since most of my mind is invested in cyberspace, I may as well project out into it myself, and make a contribution to the already staggering amounts of meaningless crap out there. So well done you, for finding this blog and, with it, another way of wasting time. I'm not condemning you at all, I almost feel proud of being a distraction, that is if anyone does actually stray onto this site and keeping reading it, instead of clicking off when they realise its not the Folk orientated site it sounds like, or a parenting manual actually.
Oh, by the way, I spell how i feel like, my punctuation sucks, I ramble longer than Charles Dickens, and my idea of paragraphing is as illogical as the rest of my mind.
And yes, I am one of those people who will constantly point out their own faults, even if they aren't real.
So...what next? I didn't actually get round to telling you more about my brother did I? I went off into a tangent. Ah well, he isn't that interesting anyway. I'm kidding. Contrary to the evidence, I do actually love him, a lot, and we can be nice to each other, just not when there are witnesses. He was, at one point, the bain of my life, then I actually got a life, and realised he was OK. That doesn't stop us from having screaming arguements and threating to beat the living daylights out of each other, it just means we don't hate each other, as much. The less we're around each other, the better our relationship, we have this incredible ability to just wind each other up the wrong way. We also have the incredible ability to sit and just hang out for hours without anybody's blood pressure going out of the window, and then one of us following it. We're alike in so many ways, sometimes too alike.
We're both fairly creative, and we both have grand ideas and sudden bursts of energy and productiveness, and then we both get bored and forget about the grand plan of building a boat and paddling around Canada and move onto the next new fad. And we're both stubborn, stupidly so, which is where the arguements get impressive. Normal arguements are, we've spent more than 4 hours together and need a break from each other, or at least my ears need a break since Toadie can talk for an hour solid about backpacks if he so choses, so we get irritated and snappy with each other. Impressive arguements involve, well, just neither of us want to give in on a simple point, it could be anything from soldiers have to face the fact that they have to kill people to you're not allowe to dribble a basketball in the kitchen, and we will end up screaming at each til our lungs are soar, or until somebody throws a puch...or a bottle.
But I really do love my brother, even if most of the time he's just in the background of my mind, rather than me thinking about him 24/7. I don't usually miss him, even when I haven't seen him for 2 months. Its only if its been way more than that I'll get the urge to talk to him for 5 minutes. But he's very much in my mind at the moment, since he's moving to another country for a while. It's only a month at the moment, but it might end up being longer, and just knowing he's going to be more than an hour's drive away just seems to make me miss him that little bit more than usual. That's why this entry seems to be about him alone, he went yesterday. And it just seems like another reminder of how fleeting time is. He's planning on joining the forces in August, and I may never see him again, so not having him in easy reach for the next month seems a bit like time I should be spending with him but can't. So little time left.
I don't suppose it helps that I'm nearly reaching the end of university and will soon actually have to face the real, because no matter what some pretentious students say to make themselves feel less like children, this is not the real world. I'm still in a cocoon of not having to take responsibility yet, and I'm soon to leave it. I'm not upset at the prospect of having to take responsibility for my own life, I'm very much looking forward to that. I think that may be where the problem lies. I want to do something with my life, not just plod along in any old job to pay the bills. I want to do something that will have an impact, I know most people do, but this is almost a physical need, I need to feel like I am doing something worthwhile, otherwise what is the point of doing anything at all, and I mean that in the literal sense. Why just survive for the sake of surviving? If you're going to force youself to continue forcing your way through existence, there's got to be some sort of point to it. But I don't think I'm in the right mood for explaining this further, not feeling deep enough right now. Or quite ready to delve into that area of my mind on a relatively public forum quite yet, maybe in the next entry.
Anyway, right now I'm thinking about my stomach, which is quite empty.
But I shall leave you with this last thougt, or leave myself with it. While my brother is away, I can nick his guitar.
All my love
See, now i've actually managed to set this damn thing up, i can't actually think of a thing to write. So I'll do what I usually do I suppose, ramble until i get bored and start searching obscure TV shows in IMDb. Corner gas is the present TV show i'm stalking, in case you want to know.
Well, that's not really true, at the moment I'm flitting between writing this and sorting out my bebo account so that i have some way of contacting my little brother while he's in Bavaria for the next month. I'm not even sure he has internet, so how I'll get in touch is beyond me. I'm not even sure why I want to get in touch with him actually, he's a pain in the hide. Why is it that I never really care if I talk to him, unless I know I'm not able to? So strange, the typical want what you can't have syndrome, except in a non-incestuous way that mother likes to hint at. Yeah, my family is weird, but since we have only just met, I think I may wait a while to go into details.
Hmm, what to bore you with? Well, I could talk about Toadie some more, my brother not the guy off of Neighbours, he's not actually that interesting despite the strange obsession all university students are suppose to have with that incredible dull show. Wow, already lots of reference to TV and only on the 3rd paragraph. I'm not a telly adict honestly, I barley watch it, I prefer to read all about shows that I'll never actually be able to watch because they got cancelled long long ago, before I even heard about them. I spend way too much of my time on the internet. Which is possible why I decided to start this blog, I spend so much time on the internet looking at rubbish that I don't have time to do anything offline except work, I don't even remember to write a diary most of the time. So, I figured, since most of my mind is invested in cyberspace, I may as well project out into it myself, and make a contribution to the already staggering amounts of meaningless crap out there. So well done you, for finding this blog and, with it, another way of wasting time. I'm not condemning you at all, I almost feel proud of being a distraction, that is if anyone does actually stray onto this site and keeping reading it, instead of clicking off when they realise its not the Folk orientated site it sounds like, or a parenting manual actually.
Oh, by the way, I spell how i feel like, my punctuation sucks, I ramble longer than Charles Dickens, and my idea of paragraphing is as illogical as the rest of my mind.
And yes, I am one of those people who will constantly point out their own faults, even if they aren't real.
So...what next? I didn't actually get round to telling you more about my brother did I? I went off into a tangent. Ah well, he isn't that interesting anyway. I'm kidding. Contrary to the evidence, I do actually love him, a lot, and we can be nice to each other, just not when there are witnesses. He was, at one point, the bain of my life, then I actually got a life, and realised he was OK. That doesn't stop us from having screaming arguements and threating to beat the living daylights out of each other, it just means we don't hate each other, as much. The less we're around each other, the better our relationship, we have this incredible ability to just wind each other up the wrong way. We also have the incredible ability to sit and just hang out for hours without anybody's blood pressure going out of the window, and then one of us following it. We're alike in so many ways, sometimes too alike.
We're both fairly creative, and we both have grand ideas and sudden bursts of energy and productiveness, and then we both get bored and forget about the grand plan of building a boat and paddling around Canada and move onto the next new fad. And we're both stubborn, stupidly so, which is where the arguements get impressive. Normal arguements are, we've spent more than 4 hours together and need a break from each other, or at least my ears need a break since Toadie can talk for an hour solid about backpacks if he so choses, so we get irritated and snappy with each other. Impressive arguements involve, well, just neither of us want to give in on a simple point, it could be anything from soldiers have to face the fact that they have to kill people to you're not allowe to dribble a basketball in the kitchen, and we will end up screaming at each til our lungs are soar, or until somebody throws a puch...or a bottle.
But I really do love my brother, even if most of the time he's just in the background of my mind, rather than me thinking about him 24/7. I don't usually miss him, even when I haven't seen him for 2 months. Its only if its been way more than that I'll get the urge to talk to him for 5 minutes. But he's very much in my mind at the moment, since he's moving to another country for a while. It's only a month at the moment, but it might end up being longer, and just knowing he's going to be more than an hour's drive away just seems to make me miss him that little bit more than usual. That's why this entry seems to be about him alone, he went yesterday. And it just seems like another reminder of how fleeting time is. He's planning on joining the forces in August, and I may never see him again, so not having him in easy reach for the next month seems a bit like time I should be spending with him but can't. So little time left.
I don't suppose it helps that I'm nearly reaching the end of university and will soon actually have to face the real, because no matter what some pretentious students say to make themselves feel less like children, this is not the real world. I'm still in a cocoon of not having to take responsibility yet, and I'm soon to leave it. I'm not upset at the prospect of having to take responsibility for my own life, I'm very much looking forward to that. I think that may be where the problem lies. I want to do something with my life, not just plod along in any old job to pay the bills. I want to do something that will have an impact, I know most people do, but this is almost a physical need, I need to feel like I am doing something worthwhile, otherwise what is the point of doing anything at all, and I mean that in the literal sense. Why just survive for the sake of surviving? If you're going to force youself to continue forcing your way through existence, there's got to be some sort of point to it. But I don't think I'm in the right mood for explaining this further, not feeling deep enough right now. Or quite ready to delve into that area of my mind on a relatively public forum quite yet, maybe in the next entry.
Anyway, right now I'm thinking about my stomach, which is quite empty.
But I shall leave you with this last thougt, or leave myself with it. While my brother is away, I can nick his guitar.
All my love
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