a blank box. Words appear.
"are you sick and tired of everything?
have your friends and relations become annoyed by your constant bemoanings of them?
Do you need an outlet for your swamp of passion, emotion, anger?
Well...
WE HAVE AN ANSWER!
Technology! Technology! Technology! [flashing]
BLOG.
[in small print] it will save your life.
Anyway, today is a prime time for grumbling, as it is, sadly, the final chapter in my period of happiness for the next 11 weeks. The last day of holidays.
Well, I should not be so dramatic. I’m sure there will be happiness in the following months, and it is a laughable matter that these holidays have been a ball- as I predicted, they were filled up mostly with ‘attempts at study’. Which mean: I start the day as a slug, begin work at around 2:00pm, give up at 3, and spend the rest of my hours doing cryptic crosswords.
I have it now beside me: they are really quite entertaining. Here: crunch on one.
Times change! Competent AND worthy of great respect? (9)
Look at the bottom for the answer. They’re so clever- when you get one (or, alternatively, when you yield and guiltily peer at the back for the answer) you’re like OH! That’s so smart!
What will be my next subject for attack? hmm. ah yes. Art. For the past three days (yes, i've left it a little late) i have been exerting myself most strenuously to an art project which is due at the start of term. On the first, i wasted, WASTED around four hours designing a cubist background. Slopping paint everywhere, i fought furiously with brush and splodges of black, brown, white to create something........which, you idiot, kate, was eventually going to be pretty much completely covered up anyway. Dimwit. 'background', kate, 'background.' nobody gives a stuff about the background.
mmm. i had sushi last night. it was nice. ooh, ooh, WHILE watching Black Books. Man, that series is a hoot [
(low growl) this is so annoying. My fingers are so close to dropping off from the cold, and yet, when i put my gloves on, i make about ten mistakes for every 4-letter word, and am stripped of typing efficiently.
ok, i'm going to try and brighten the blog atmosphere. Roll back the rainclouds, and let a little sunshine peek through. It's too gloomy at the moment.
um.
let's see. happy. positive. er. jeez this is tough.
wow. i can't think of anything. I'm serious. I've been frozen for the last five minutes, staring into space, fingers resting on the keyboard, trying to think of something to relate which will be interesting AND happy. I mean, there's the general stuff...like, i'm alive, i'm breathing, i'm relatively rich compared to the majority of the world (though i'm sure mum wouldn't agree), i'm not working in some fabrics factory where the machines eat people up daily and the overseer is an overweight guy with a hairy chest in a sweaty white singlet, who leers at all the little girls and boys saying in a...Slovakian(?) accent, "hello, my dears, my leetle flovvas, vould you like to come wit me to the truck? I am sure you would"
so yeah, i can be grateful for that.
Well, my fingers are becoming too cold to resist the comfy confines of my woollen mittens.
I hardly see the point in saying goodbye in a blog...it just doesn't seem necessary. Although i feel like i should. Well, i shall FLOUT expectation. and be rude to...no one. haha
answer: you didn't even try did you? well, here it is: estimable
QUOTE OF THE DAY: (Manny come Home; Black Books)
Fran: Where's Manny?
Bernard: Him? He left. That's what happens when you love someone and nurture them and take care of them.
Fran: You mean you fired him.
Bernard: There may have been an incident involving a hand and a kitchen item and maybe the item was a sandwich toaster and maybe the hand was Manny's and maybe I introduced them to one another.
Fran: So he's gone.
Bernard: Oh no, he still sleeps here, burrowed in like the little tick he is. But he leaves every day. Every day is another betrayal.
Evan: I took a risk when I hired you, Manny. Many people would have said 'Who is this rudderless hippy? How do I get away from him? Has he got a hunting knife strapped to his shin?'
Bernard: Up with this I will not put!
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