Ballad of Mona Lisa, Panic! at the Disco. What a terrible name that is. It's like they deliberately chose the least catchy and charismatic sentence in existence and added the punctuation just to thrust two fingers up the sanctimonious nostrils of snobs like myself who think that a band is defined by their name.
Gave blood today! Feeling like a wonderful human being, albeit a wonderful human being embarrassed at the enormous fuss she made over having a needle rammed into one of her veins. It's really not that bad. They borrow your blood and then give you lemon squash and Penguin biscuits, everyone's a winner.
I'm watching Scandal in Belgravia because I'm pathetic. Ma just came in to say goodnight, saw what I was watching, sighed witheringly and said "don't stay up all night watching Benedict Whatshisface", after which she looked at him more closely and announced that he's not even that good looking. Blasphemy.
I figured that I needed to be in a better mood the next time I blogged, what with the last couple of posts being riddled with angst, and I'm happy right now. Don't really have anything to say, just thought I'd let you know that I'm happy. Mostly because I've given myself the rest of the evening off - and what with the deactivated Facebook and the whole leaving-my-phone-upstairs thing, I can pretend that no one in the world exists except me, leaving me free to wallow in my self-obsession, take a swim with my vanity, play croquet with my narcissism, discuss 16th century literature with my arrogance, etc.
Ohh man... I've reached the bit with the Christmas party at Baker Street, when Molly comes in... Ahhhh I can't watch this! It was uncomfortable enough watching it for the first time, new to the wonders of Sherlock, with no knowledge of their backstory or, indeed, what was to come and ahh. I feel so bad for her. He's such a prick! Damn those diamond-cutter cheekbones, damn them to hell!
This author dude [because it's not enough to leave it at his profession, I had to add the word "dude" in there] came into school today to talk at us about being a writer and, yeah, stuff. He goes by the name Essi Tolling, because that means he's next to Tolkein in bookshops [genius, when you think about it], but he told me that his real name is Richard, which I find unjustifiably funny. Got me thinking about what I'd change my name to if, by some marvellous, God-given turn of extremely fortunate events, I was to make it [whatever it is] as a writer. Who would I want to be near? Eoin Colfer? Stephen King? George R.R. Martin? Probably the first one. But Essi, he's quite a cool guy. Seems to think on a similar wavelength to me, in his curiosity of other human beings and the way he marvels at how every stranger you avoid eye contact with walking through Ipswich has a life, a story of their own. "Everyone is the centre of their own universe", he said. I like that. Makes me feel less selfish. Only place I found myself disagreeing with him was when he started talking about the best way to elicit productive creativity from your mind - he was banging on about something to do with alpha and beta wavelengths, and "how to detach your brain from reality" or whatever it was - and he said that alcohol and drugs are detrimental to creativity! I snorted when he said that. Other than the slightly annoying good, pure, sinless man image he was portraying, I quite like him. Seems like the kind of guy I'd want to buddy up with to write some epic stories, oh, ideas.
They took a pint of blood from me. A pint. That's, like, a ninth of all the blood in my body. Dat some freeky shit dude.
Time for bed! And blankets! And dreams! Last night's dream was good. I wish I could remember it.
If you can be bothered, look up Somebody That I Used to Know by Gotye, the official video. Pause at about 2:10, and allow yourself to become hypnotised by the greenness. [Fun fact, spellcheck hasn't corrected that modifier, funny old world.]
Until next time, you lovely, forgiving, charming, tolerant people.
Quote of the Day: One should absorb the colour of life, but one should never remember its details. Details are always vulgar. [Oscar Wilde]
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