Right I try and always be humble, grateful, loving etc etc, BUT when you’re half asleep in your double bed in brand new jim jams and your latte has developed a milk skin, and you’re so tired from eating food and receiving presents from the past two days, and you gulp down a thick layer of solid soy milk, there really is nothing worse.
Anyways. That’s a real time update, but perhaps it’s a good thing my latte offended me this morning as it’s spurred me on to inform the world, therefor creating… drum roll… my next blog entry yayyy!
So Christmas came and went. A flurry of Facebook status’ about families, food and festive fun were actually a good read. I feel bad for all the aussies travelling who can’t be with their loved ones, but then I see they’re on a beach in Thailand sipping on a cocktail, and as I look down at my brussell sprouts, I can’t help but feel a bit resentful. Just kidding, although I feel it in my bones (fingers, toes, it’s everywhere I go) that I will be abroad next year- either that, or sacked and working christmas day in Tescos in order to pay my rent. Yippee!
I wrote poem about writing. For no other reason than I like to write, and to write poetry and I want to create this false allusion of being profound and deep. Here you are:
My hands are simply a good utensil
For a pen or a pencil
(I prefer the latter)
For on their white platter,
Is some newly picked paper,
Served by a wordsmith waiter.
I like using metaphors in my writing, but hate sounding cheesy like, ‘my love is an evergreen, never fading in the cold months of…’ SHUT THE F*CK UP.
So I like the idea of writing being like a recipe. I think I write how cook actually. A bit erratic and all over the place. I normally can’t be arsed to do it properly, and when people don’t like my lemon and pistachio and ginger muffins (they literally tasted like post hangover vomit), I say, ‘well I was experimenting anyway.’ Always experiment. Even if you take a different route home. (Says the girl who can’t drive and gets pissed off when we have to wait for more than 30 seconds at, ‘a red signal’ on the underground. Warning- i’m a massive hypocrite. Yay.)
So anyway, that’s enough ‘intellectual’ for one morning. I write this with one leg out of the bed, admiring my new pi’s, and on tenterhooks (another favourite word) of Dad or Kirsten coming into my bedroom to pretend to get something, when really they’re making a point that I’m still in bed.
Right so following on from my ‘adventure’ to Saxmundham, mother mine indeed did pick me up, bless her cotton socks. Christmas was a success- nobody (in my household) died, we ate too much, slept it off, then ate some more. My predictions on the present front came true- perfume, socks, more socks, slipper socks, thermal socks, chocolate pennies, and some monayyyy which I will spend on a holiday JUST KIDDING I’M GONA BUY SOME BAKED BEANS AND PORRIDGE SO I CAN LIVE.
I mustn’t complain about having no money- it makes me more creative. Although I’m going to give up selling my clothes on eBay as so far i’ve made a loss of, well, my clothes, and about £6.77. So all in all, that venture did not work entirely to plan.
I’m excited for 2014 I really am. Each year seems to get better and better (touch wood, there is no wood, touch fake wood from IKEA? I can’t reach. Touch duvet.)
Debating whether to go see Irish for new year or stick it out in Norwich. Plan plan.
Dad’s gf has the dog in the house- this makes me very happy indeed. I love dogs. A simple sentence I know, but I really do love them- but especially Charlie. He always looks sneaky (a bit like me when I innocently go to Boots and I always get followed by security guards, which makes me check if they’re checking, and they’re checking to see if I’m checking so it’s kinda like flirting in a club, minus the sexual attraction and amp up the suspicion of theft slightly. You know when you’re conscious of people watching you and you start walking funny, as though you’ve only just learned how to swing your arms?) anyway the dog looks sneaky and it makes me laugh.
Yesterday at dinner I had a glass of wine therefor was wasted and started ranting about Russell Brand again. I bloody love that man.
Kirsten and I might go out Saturday. Dad wants to take Charlie for a walk today on the beach. I’m sure if this happens there shall be a a nice photo of Kirsten and I feigning happiness. Charlie and myself both share the feeling that West Runton/ Cromer/ Mundsely beach are the last things we wish to be doing on a Friday afternoon.
But today is Friday hooray! I mean it’s hardly TGIF, because I don’t have the Friday feeling. It’s not like I can finally get drunk, i’ve been doing that for the past two weeks or so.
Oh oh oh I got a kindle for Christmas- so downloaded Game of Thrones. It’s right up my street and is apparently 91238109 times better than the series, which if you’re in my close vicinity on a daily basis (this is only aimed at Gina) you’ll know my love for the series, my passionate but understandable resentment toward King Joffery, and my newly found admiration for Cersi.
Oh and I got a big red jumper which my granny knitted (isn’t that so impressive?!) and there’s a photo of my with the sneaky dog, and a picture of Kirsten and I with the sneaky dog AND look at my new jazzy (literally) sequinned beret with matching jumper. What more could a 22 year old want?
On that jolly ho ho ho note, I better go and eat some porridge and convince dad that the dog and I have other plans and will not be joining the merry band of beach walkers.