I really do love winter. It conjures up all these feelings of nostalgia and vulnerability and safety all at once. But it does make me long for something else, that one thing that I’ll never, ever have. Perhaps it’s time for me to start making myself happy all over again?
I don’t think there is anything in the world I love more than my own name. Generic and balanced and I could be anyone. I love it.
There is nothing in the world I hate more than being told what to do. Oh, you have no idea. I’m stubborn and I make up my own mind and if you tell me what to do, I will almost certainly do the opposite. Unless I specifically ask for your advice, I will ceremoniously ignore it completely and make my own mistakes just to know that they are my mistakes, and no one else’s forced achievements.
I like mistakes. I like throwing caution to the wind and disregarding consequences until much too late. I think being sensible is a waste of life. Maybe it suits some people but I personally prefer fucking things up entirely. Self-sabotaging am I etc.
Oh, I don’t even know anymore. But do I necessarily need to? Of course not. I don’t always need to know how I feel, do I? When I get like this, I tend to do what I call ‘absorbing’. Rather than express myself through blogs or whatever when there is little left to express, I revert back to old-fashioned things like reading and watching telly and going to walks and having conversations. And letting thoughts form on their own, without me forcing them to. And I think a period of hiatus is in order.
Don’t miss me too much. Consult the archives if you get very lonely. I’ll probably post wordless posts with pretty pictures in the meantime.
- Homework. That Leaving Cert. thing is a creeping slowly ever closer. And wrecking my buzz completely.
- Tea. Why not, in fairness?
- Nice , thoughtful music. Suggestions?
- Early night (please).
- Trying to cure this cold.
- Mourning Stephen Gately. I swear he was my first love. It broke my heart when I found out he was gay (and I must have only been about seven or eight at the time). My heart is further shattered with his death.
PS. My mother and her fella broke up today. I have no opinion as of yet. Other than she’s a miserable bitch.