Drunken nights out in bars notorious for their leniency in selling alcohol to underage school-goers where your clothes are old and recycled and your make-up's cheap and so are the drinks. That is the beauty of youth. As well as never holding yourself responsible and never realising the importance of things until they're long gone. Beautiful.
Or maybe that last part just applies to me. Maybe I'm the only person on the planet who never notices my errors until much later and am adamant in my self-defence 'til then. Who knows?
January has been tough. I am happily sending it on its way out. A trying month and probably only for the misery connotations that go with it. But err and err I do, it's almost over and things are going quite static, thank you very much. Maybe I've finally started to pave my own path. For example, I used heat protection spray on my hair today before I straightened it, which says something. And I've stopped making the usual weekly and fortnightly mistakes. And I'm giddy.
I want to be blonde. And thin. And rich. And beautiful. And happy. But I'm content enough at present to keep going as I am. Right now I'm only writing because I can. Maybe some day soon I'll have something interesting to say.
Things keep moving, don't they? Scary previous blog posts and I just don't know how I feel. If things were that bad, as bad as I made them sound, why did it last? How did it last? In truth, it didn't, did it? It went on hiatus. And returned triumphantly and I'll never love anyone so much.
I'm excited for the stage. I'm excited for the opportunities and maybe fate is real. And maybe things really are falling into place. Perhaps I'll never, ever stop learning and one day I'll learn to draw something from these ever-frequent errors. And to form coherent and aesthetic sentences. But I wouldn't hold my breath on that last part.