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A pinch and a punch for the first of the month. A slap and a kick for being so quick. These were the greeting I recieved from the baby of the family this morning. But I can't blame him - weren't we all the same at that age (and some of us haven't changed). And now I can't think of anything to write, 'cause this is my first entry ever and I don't know what I'm doing. And I can't sound sentimental and poetic either. But there's 100 words in the bag, take it or leave it, drop it and run.
My first weekend in months where I am not completely busy, tied up with work, or tied down with illness. In fact, I think I might just go and laze in the garden with a good book for the rest of the afternoon, and enjoy the weather while I can. Or play bass guitar until I get blisters, which is just as fun. Or saxaphone until I can't feel my lips anymore, which is fun too. Or maybe I'll just go back to bed now and forget about fun things until my brain clicks into place. Yeah, I'll do that.
Monday. Ugh. Why are Mondays so hated by everyone who has to wake up on one? There must just be something about the whole 'Monday Mornings' senario.
I personally connect Mondays with a sort of pale aquamarine blue. Tuesdays are lime green, Wednesdays a pinky-red, Thursdays dark green, Fridays prussian blue, Saturdays sunny yellow, and Sundays a sort of laid-back, washed-out orange colour. My friends differ greatly in this opinion, but that's my week in colour. But I might be colour-blind, so you'll never know if you're seeing my colour week the same as me.
May the 4th. Official holy day for all Jedi (on account of the fact that they can say "May the 4th be with you"). OK, maybe not, but its a good joke. A friend of mine is considering joing the Jedi religion, due to her love of Star Wars. She is much the same as my youngest brother in that respect, but thankfully the similarities end there. Not that I don't love my brother, but I might love my friend slightly less if I thought of her being like my brother (all sisters out there will know what I mean).
German is an interesting language. If you forget the whole 'I suck at languages' sort of thing, and actually try listening to it properly for once (although, I admit, not many people bother to do this in the first place, and just forget poor little German completely). It also has very harsh sounds, that vary greatly depending on region, and a rather complicated sentace structure. I also love their tendancy to just string together words to make up one big word.
For example, Lieblings = favourite, Fussball = football, and Manschaft = team. So favourite football team = Lieblingsfussballmanschaft. Isn't that just great?
It's great the way teenagers can just have fun with anything. Nice the way they can get on with stuff, even though the rest of the world thinks the worst of them. There was a class I knew, that had no teacher for an hour. they did the work and got on with their stuff, and made a great time of it. It's nice to see, and I feel better because of it. No one is steroetypical, not really, but we are all steroetypicalised. Who thinks like that? Not me, I hope. That would be bad. That would be sad.
Who likes long coach journeys? Not me, thats for sure. with friends its OK, you can chat and have a laugh and some fun. But on your own it must be hell. An ipod can only play for so long, the window won't show new and exciting views forever. Afterall, in the end, one tree or hill is just like another. A good book might last you a while, but only if you don't get motion sickness. Which I do. Which is unfortunate. Because that means that I can't read, and my ipod is out of battery. Such bad luck.
I think I hate camping. Its not the weight of the bag on your back, the endless digging in of the straps against your skin, the agaony of your hips and shoulders rubbed raw. Its not the repetative food, the tiny tranjias that take forever to heat up and bring water to the boil, and produce only a lukewarm cup of pasta. Its not even the freezing nights, huddled in the loneliness of your sleeping bag, waking up every single other hour. No, its the smell of wet tent. The smell of wet tent in the morning makes me gag.
Walk walk walk. I know that's all you do on camping holidays, but seriously. Its ridiculous how much walking I've done this weekend. 25km, in Shropshire, in the rain - painful. I have blisters on my blisters. And no skin left on my hips. And a bruise the size of my face on my leg, where I fell over a style in my haste to get away from some stalker-cows. And stalker-sheep. Seriously, do the animals up there have nothing better to do? I'm sure sheep in London don't stalk people. If they have sheep in London, that is.
I don't know if anyone else has noticed this, but Shakespear was a genius. Seriously. He wrote an infinate amount of plays, in a period where it was not common to do so, and he came from a working class background, with little or no education. I remember hearing about there being some debate as to whether he actually wrote them, or if he was just posing for someone who didn't want all the publicity, but I like to belive that he is authentic. After all, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
Or so I'm told.
I am sure that it is someone's birthday today. I was just thinking of what to write, and I thought that it might be a friend's birthday today, but it isn't. However, there is someone out there who's birthday it is today, and so, if you're reading this, Happy Birthday. And if you're not reading this, Happy Birthday. And if it's you're birthday tomorrow, or if it was you're birthday yesterday, Happy Birthday. And if it's you're birthday in May, Happy Birthday. In fact, if you've ever had a birthday ever, Happy Birthday. I think that covers just about everyone.
Blisters are a terrible thing. I have a number of them on my fingers, due to the fact that I had a bass guitar lesson today. My bass guitar is the apple of my eye. I love it and treasure it like some saddo who just can't get a life. But my life is fine, and my bass is part of it.
For some reason, when people think of the bass they don't think of girls playing it. I don't know what inspired me to choose it over accoustic (probably my inability to play chords) but there you are.
The 13th - unlucky for some. I sort of pride myself on 13 being my lucky number, but today is not my lucky day. I have managed to catch a cold from one of my gorgeous friends, and my throat is
me. I suppose I've had it for the past few days, but today it is worse than ever. I might as well be breathing through a sandpaper tube. Strepsils and Soothers are my only friends right now. Along with hot honey and lemon in my favourite mug. And an hour or so infront of the t.v.
Boredom is a great and terrible thing. It can be great, for it means that you have little or nothing to do, which means that you are relieved from pressure of any kind. Or it could mean that you have time on your hands, which (if you think hard enough) you could fill with any amount of wonderful and interesting things. Plus you can never tire of boredom. Even if you just use the time to sit and mull over the meaning of life (the answer to which is 42).
On the other hand, you could just be bored.
Recycling is good. I'm all for it. So this morning I made a new bag, big enough to fit an A4 folder, with numerous buttons and other decorations on the outside, which made it look kind of jazzy. The bag itself was made out of a pair of old jeans. I measured how deep I wanted it from the waste, and cut the excess leg off. Then I turned it inside out and sewed the bottom together. A simple lining out of some other material was stitched in around the top. So why is it funny my bag has flies?
I just love Terry Pratchett. He is possibly the greatest author of all time, and I don't care if you disagree, because this is just my opinion. If you haven't tried his work then I
that you do, or else. His discworld series is my all-time favourite reading material. If anyone reading this knows him, or knows someone who knows him, or knows someone who knows someone who knows him, please tell him that I am his biggest fan. It's Official. I think there are 32 books in the series, and I'm reading them from the beginning.
I did an English presentation thing today. I had to do an improvised 3 minute monologue, in the character of Elizabeth Proctor, from 'The Crucible'. There were a couple of guys filming, a soundman and my tutor. I really got into the feel of the thing - so much so that they asked me to stop so that they could re-adjust the sound, because my performance was too good to miss. I hate to sound like I'm boasting (boasting is one of my pet-hates) but I'm just so proud of myself. English is my favourite thing in the world.
It is always nice when a close friend is asked out by a guy she likes. Possibly nicer than when you get asked out yourself, in fact. I say this because, when you watch it from afar, there's no painstaking decisions, should I, shouldn't I, there's no worry that in a minute he's going to turn round and say "Uhhh, maybe not..." and there's no trepidation about what's going to happen now? There's just the nicness, all wrapped up like a package holiday. In case you're interested, she did say yes, and I'll let you know if it works out.
Oh no. I'm boasting again. But really, when someone stops to tell you how amazing your performance was, you can't help but feel good. I don't tell my friends, because that really would be boasting, but this is my sort-of diary, so I suppose I'm allowed to write it down. And I'm not asking people to read this - I'm just letting them. Yeah. So if you're reading this (just for the record) I'm not boasting to you, I'm boasting to me. Because, at the end of the day, if you can't tell yourself everything, then who can you tell?
I don't like hating people. It makes me feel bad. But everyone hates someone (except perhaps Jesus. And Buddah. And Mother Teresa... OK, so some people don't hate people, but give the rest of us poor humans a break) So when the someone you hate is trying to go out with a guy you're friends with, it kind of sucks. I won't try to talk him out of it, I just can't hang out with him if she's there, mooning over him, like some sick puppy. If there's something I hate more than hating people, it's the people I hate.
I love Fridays. There's jsut something about them. I think it must be the feeling that the weekend is here and you can stay up and watch TV as late as you want, without having to worry about the fact that you're going to have to drag yourself out of bed with a killer headache in the morning. Either that or the fact that you can have breakfast at 11:00 am for the next two days. Or that you can go out into town with your mates, have a coffee, and go to the cinema, all before Monday morning.
What fun I had this evening. I was (sort of ) forced to attend a Barn dance, with two close friends, on some farm somewhere. It started out all nice and awkward, with some cheesy band of old men in the background, but after a while we got into the swing of the thing (literally). There were lots of dosie-does, and a few swing-your-partners, and even a couple of foreward-backs. But who can blame a couple of people for wanting an excuse to have a hog-roast? Even though I'm vegetarian, so all I had was nutloaf.
I have recently discovered a new-found love for Florance and the Machiene. I was listening to her on Youtube earlier, and I didn't realise just how much I like her music. Most music nowadays is all about getting famous - it's as if no one cares about the actual
anymore. I love Scouting for Girls too, but that's just me. I thinks it's their lyrics that get me going - I have a talent for learning lyrics, so I like a song that's not just chorus. Maybe that's what I like about Florance and the Machiene - their lyrics.
You can tell a lot about a person depending on whether they are a cat person or a dog person. Dog people usually have larger, more flamboyant personalities, and like long walks. Either that or they are frequently burgled. Whereas cat people are generally quieter, have a love of fluffy kitten posters, and sit inside with a good book when it rains. Of course, this is all steroetypicalisation. But I for one know that I would rather have a small, sweet, purring hot water bottle curled up beside me each night, than a howling, gowling excuse of a burgler-alarm.
If you ever get the urge to read the dictionary, I advise you: don't. It might seem like a wonderfully challenging idea, and to be sure it is, but you'll never complete it without a fair amount of pain. Believe me, I have tried it. Just getting thorugh the A's is a gruelling exercise. Maybe tomorrow I will list the first 100 A words, just to see how you like it. Then again, perhaps not. After all, there are far more interesting things to write about. Hopefully. If there weren't, life really wouldn't be worth living. But there we are.
Earlier this month I talked about a close friend of mine being asked out. Well, just like I said, here's an update:
They're still going strong. I Know it's only been a couple of days, but even that is something. And it's really sweet to watch them cuddle up together on the grass while the rest of us just chat in polite oblivion about life. He's good for her, and she's good for him. I like him personally - he's the sort of person who'll chat to you because you know his girlfriend. Wishes on a star really do come true.
Today was a scary day. Thursdays are generally scary (the God of Thursdays has it in for me) but today I was more scared getting up than most. It might have been the fact that last Thursday I seriously embarassed myself, so I was in some trepidation as to what today might behold. But, against all expectations, it was beautiful and sunny, perfect for one of my best friend's birthday. We had cake, and she had presents, and all in all we had a whale of a time. So much so, that I believe the God of Thursdays is ill.
I finished making my clock today. I felt ridiculously proud of it. Normally anything I make either breaks as soon as you look at it, or is so ugly that you wouldn't want to look at it anyway. But this clock (cleverly themed on the Amazing 'Alice in wonderland' - Alice you're very very late...) 1. actually works 2. has a clever bit of pretty lasering on the front and 3. has been complimented by someone other than my mum. Which is saying something.
For some reason, I get the impression that I was not cut out to be a craftsman
I love town. Going out into the city, or even just to the local shop gives a satisfactory sensation of humaness. Everyone is themselves, no one is uninteresting. if you just watch people as they go by you, its a wonderful feeling to know that they are just another human, doing other human things, and so what if I know nothing about them? After all, we're all the same species. That's why I don't understand racism or anything - after all, we're all the same. And yet, we're all different. Ahh, phycology. Its a wonderful thing. Keeps you going for hours.
Exams are hard but revision is hardest. what to study, what to remember, what to commit to. there's too much in total, and you won't need all of it, which is a pain. But I can take breaks in the sun, now that the weather has finally decided to shine and (hopefully) stay that way. I love the sun. I love the Beatles too, I play their music all the time. It helps me calm down when I think about exams. Exams tell you nothing, just how well you work under untimely and pointless stress. How we all hate exams.
I just watched the new film about John Lennon's childhood, called 'Nowhere Boy'. It makes you think - we all know him as the guy from the Beatles, long hair in later life, glasses etc. But before this film I had never really considered how they met, or what any of them went through as boys. Now it seems I have only more respect for them, and it was pretty infinate before. However, it's odd that the character who I found I related to most was that of the young Paul McCartney, played by Thomas Sangster. He played it very well.
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