Saturday, September 12, 2009

Definate lack of cool

I know I'm not cool because:
  • I am listening to Clannad
  • I am currently teaching myself, through various You Tube videos, to crochet a granny square. And I'm doing it badly.
  • I am wearing a Celtic t-shirt with a gold knot work ring and bright green dragons and I don't care who sees it
  • I have red hair
  • I don't like Twilight
  • Conversely, I do love Charlaine Harris's 'Dead' series and have just bought another three volumes; upon which purchase I was laughed at by the shop assistant
  • I like Starbucks skinny lattes, even if they are all froth and no coffee
  • I'm indoors hiding, when it is probably the most glorious day of the year so far
  • I have never stopped wearing thick black (occasionally ribbed) tights all year, and now it is the season, I am contemplating moving into my woolly versions
  • I like proper hot water bottles without novelty covers
  • I have a Peugeot 206 that is covered in dog.
  • I write bad poetry
  • I love Dr Hook and Billy Joel, and I'm playing 'Innocent Man' just a bit too much these days
  • Just as graphic novels gain some credibility I find I'm going off them. C'est la vie

So there we go. Not cool. Not bothered.

GD: emotionally screwed and thinking she's about to break (I'm not kidding - I ran away from home today for three hours and ended up in Starbucks. Some rebel, I). Physically crippled but unable to get a doctor's appointment because the crones beat me in the 8:30am stampede.

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

The Abundance of Snot

I have cold, so therefore it follows logically that I must be fed up. Which is true, but not necessarily cold related. No, I have cold because I'm stressed and my immune system has hit it's peak of brokenness which inevitably kicks in when I am mentally below par.


I am dreaming of face eating zombies, which is also affecting the quality of sleep I am achieving. In recompense, I have also dreamt about Sean Bean in (and possibly out) his Sharpe uniform, a dream so filthy I was actually blushing when I awoke. That I most definitely am not complaining about!
Sean Bean, aka Sharpe, aka a very, very bad man...

There's so much going on outside of the virtual life that I can't post; it's not myself that is suffering most but there are times when you wish for the worst, because the increments become ever more difficult to endure.


So I sit here in twee land, listening to Buddy Holly sing True Love Ways, I drink cappuccino and eat toast and I read Charlaine Harris obsessively (which incidentally may be where some of the more extreme elements of my dreams may be stemming from...!). Not great literature perhaps, but certainly great escapism.


I will be back sometime soon, indelibly changed and most definitely older and sadder. Until then, be well virtual world.