Progress

I like hungover days.  It may be an unpopular stance to take on the issue, but I do.  It's that point when you find a spot to rest your head such that your headache contents itself with just waiting and someone puts Spaced or some other relevant comedy on the TV and your mind shuts off for a day.  That's how I spent my new year's day: it felt like some kind of time lapse video, people rushing around me tidying up while I sat, as still as I could, watching the television in between bouts of half-sleep, wrapped up in a big red hooded jumper with the hood pulled as far over my head as I could manage.  That's the only time I ever find myself so happy doing so little; any other situation, and sitting still for so long, thinking about so little, really gets to me. Today I made a big bold move and began throwing out old clothes, including some of my huge and totally unnecessary T-shirt collection.  I have even been so strong as to throw out one or two of my more ridiculous items of plastic jewellery.  Over the past few weeks I've stated "It's all becoming very real" a lot, and it's becoming more and more true with every passing day.  The whole adventure is starting to feel very real indeed, and everything else is starting to pale in comparison.

It's Been a Summer

It certainly has. One of the problems I have with writing is recounting past months in any kind of detail, and for that I'm glad of my paper journal which has helped me to fill in some of the growing gaps. The Summer has, by and large, been unremarkable - all of my Summers in the past six years have been epic and this was no exception, but compared to previous years it has not stood out. The parties have been good, although woefully irregular, and my lack of work has been an incredible relief. I've decided that rather than recount the Summer in any decent way I'm just going to copy some sentences at random from my journal. What follows is a bit of a stream of conciousness. Sorry.
There is no way I could ever find the words to match this rather grandiose leather-bound book, whose blank white pages are shining, full of potential. My future, you see, is bleak. I have just obtained a 2:1 MEng Computer Science at Southampton University, and while most people would be ecstatic, I'm just not ready for a life in an office just yet. I have savings, a year in a house with an excellent group of people, a plane ticket to Ireland, and I have this big blank book. Forget Everything And Remember, For Everything, A Reason. Southern Ireland looks like a car crash involving the Mediterranean and the North of England. Ireland was fantastic. Every day was a dream: wake up in the shade, crawl out into the scorching sun, stretch, and juggle with 3000 other people. Juggle until tired, sleep. Ireland is one big stereotype. At my graduation I was endlessly amused by the chancellor's appearance - he sported a bee-coloured yellow and black robe. It was a glorious Summer's day and I sweated Pimms in my full suit and black gown. The English Summertime continues to fill me with uncontrollable happiness. As I write I am on an incredibly expensive train to visit a girl with an insatiable appetite. I am currently failing to manage my money especially well, but the universe seems to have a way of making everything work out alright in the end. I have not yet got my tattoo done. Beautiful, romance, deodorant, house parties dominated by loud music which should be banned from house parties altogether. Apparently, my parties are boring. I do not care. I have decided to postpone my travels until July 2007 in order to plan them better and save money on rent. I feel that this is another example of me backing out of something because I am scared and I must not be deterred. Arnies Sarnies: You'll Be Back. I am employed. Visiting family members, embarassing questions and television. Russell Brand is a subhuman: his hair is a joke, his twisted collection of facial hair looks thrown together like some kind of folicular Frankenstein's Monster and his fashion sense is more dangerous than the Kray twins. The way he speaks defies words: it fills me with anger like nothing else. The dinner we enjoyed does not deserve to be marred by Big Brother. Our housewarming was another excellent party. A friend told me that she intended to get a tattoo matching mine, and while I don't know if she'll go through with it, it's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. Increasingly, I find myself tempted to ask the dice.