23.08.15

2pm. Southwold. 

SORRY NOT SORRY for not blogging.

I should throw it out there that I have been blogging my
life every week, but I’ve been using invisible digital ink so like, you
probably didn’t see it OR this is news to you because you haven’t even noticed.
Imma go for the invisible ink option. 

Ohhhhh there’s this font you can download
from Ryman (Ryman? Let me Google here now… yeah Ryman Eco Typeface) it uses 50%
less ink. It’s kind of like my invisible ink, but it’s an actual thing to save
the environment and not a silly lie to get out of saying FINE I HAVEN’T BLOODY
BLOGGED IN… SINCE LIKE FOREVER.

So I’m at home currently (Mum’s house in Southwold). My arms
are burnt from da sun and I had a Mr. Whippy from the seaside. I feel it’s
nessecary to point out that this week I’ve been feeling sad because I’m very
ill. Like flu-ill, not ACTUAL ILLNESS. Touch wood. *Jennifer touches the
wooden table, thinking, is this real wood, or this just a fantasy? Caught in a
landslide, with no escape from reality…*

So the Mr. Whippy cheered me up somewhat. And, mum just announced
to the empty kitchen (I mean like I’m here, but I’ve been talking for a while
and I don’t think she’s aware of my presence) that we’re getting a sausage with
our roast chicken. Hooray for meat sweats and boo hiss to being ignored by the
woman who created your very existence on this godly earth. Turn around damn you
woman.

 Today the woman (mum) took me and sis and her bf Ricky on a wild boat ride thing in Southwold. It really blew the cobwebs out of my hair and made me realise how greatful (just gonna leave this typo here because i am NOT ASHAMED) I am to be alive. These thoughts came to me when our boat NEARLY CAPSIZED MILES OUT TO SEA. But it was nice so thanks mum. 

I just got back from Budapest… well I got back on Tuesday
evening. I saw my friend Grayson who I haven’t seen in forever. He’s going to
be a famous writer now because I told him so. Sziget was fecking great, as it
always is (this is a sly way of throwing it out there that I’ve been before.
How much Sziget is too much Sziget? How long’s a piece of string? How many
sausages am I getting with my chicken?)

 

Anyway I had a jolly old time, saw some familiar faces,
and did not enjoy alcohol responsibly. If you ever fancy going, check out the
article I wrote for the Debrief here. PUT A DONK ON IT.

 

In all seriousness it’s nice to get back to writing
insidethemindofjenn. Anyone that knows me knows I love writing it, and I ain’t
been feeling too ‘with it’ lately, so hopefully it’s the start of regular
bullshit that travels from my brain, through my arms, into my ugly hands (I’m
being serious, I’ve got hands that look like golum had a baby with a jelly fish
and it was kept in a dark cupboard) and onto the key board.

 

I was meant to be at Eddy Fringe this weekend, seeing
Aunty Donna aussie sketch group. They are hands down one of the funniest sketch
groups I have ever seen and I hope they get uber famous and rich and one day
they are in the same bar as me and they all try to hide as they see me
approaching and one of them has to take a selfie with me just to get me to
leave them alone.
Check CLICK them CLICK out CLICK IMMEDIATELY (well finish reading this gold first
obviously).

 

Shit. Now I feel under pressure to write something
HIWARRIOUS…

I’m wearing a top

When I pat my cat

I say ‘bop’.

 

(Refer to image to
really feel the essence of this poem. If you don’t feel the essence you’re either not deep, not an artist or don’t bop your cat.)

 

I genuinely was senior poetry editor at a big magazine
called The Spixworth Times when I was 10 years old and now I can see why.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s