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I have a list of things to do tomorrow.
- Finish Washing.
- Clean Upstairs bathroom and downstairs toilet.
- Plan lunch/dinner for the rest of the week.
- Finish Book.
- Burn new car CD.
- Go to gym!
Of course, this all comes after sleeping in and being a lady of leisure for the first few hours of my day.
Yeah, so, I suck at blogging. Apologies and things.
Up until moments ago, I haven’t really felt like writing much recently. Luckily for me, an inconspicuous yellow notebook and red pen were easy enough to procure - but the writing was hideous. I’m talking god-awful, cut my eyeballs out and smear them on the page kind of terrible. Honestly, I’ve never been so disappointed by a display of my own thoughts and feelings. And I just went to spell “thoughts” with an a. Yes. “Thaughts”. So, I figure I’m undergoing the inevitable process of dumbening (Wait a minute, dumbening isn’t a word!?) and I can’t really say I’m enjoying it much. I always figured the Atkinson gene just sent the males crazy and left the females unharmed. Apparently it makes us lazy, indecisive and unintelligent. Who would’ve thought.
As I was saying - the writing, both online and in any physical form, seems to have come to a halt. Until about 7 minutes ago, I haven’t felt like writing a word. It isn’t as though my life has become any less interesting. Infact, it has been quite the opposite. Perhaps that’s where the problem lies. In any case, the chinks in my armor are becoming more and more evident, and I’m feeling like the uneducated idiot I am.
It’s not just the education thing that’s bothering me. The indecisive thing is causing a bit of discomfort, and I’m not enjoying it. I’m happy to sit here and say “I can’t make a deciiiiiiision” - but that isn’t the root of the problem. I’m pretty sure I know what I should be doing in relation to the problems that I’m feeling indecisive about, and I’m not taking action because I’m a nervy twit who needs to man up and take some responsibility for my actions. Sure, manning up would be a little trans-sexual of me, but I feel it’s a necessary evil. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, damnit.
That, and the lovely Paula took the time to point out that, quite obviously, I only have one life. And I’m nearly 20, damnit. NEARLY 20. NO LONGER A DAMN TEENAGER. Time to, y’know, stop fumbling around like an awkward schoolgirl and put on the grownup pants. Time for home loans and those annoying little wrinkles that women are always complaining about. Nearly time for liverspots and tracksuit pants and one of those really really ugly dogs.
Also. NIN. WOOO.
There’s nothing I love better than a party. I also discovered that being the only sober one at a party is also quite interesting. Hell, I managed to lock Jon in a cupboard. Twice. Fantastic stuff. I took some photos with the new camera, and I’m uploading the entire gallery as we speak. Thanks to Joel, there are about twenty-seven-hundred of mister Tom. But for now? Have some highlights.
The Desk
The View.
The point and click.
The Scott.
The Grant.
The Sweaty Post-Gym Jess.
The poorly made bed.
I honestly could not be having a better new house experience than I am right now.
The house itself is fantastic - now we have furniture and things to make things more homelike, it feels good. Comfortable even.
Strangely enough, I’m having weird pangs. Weird mother-house-boobalah pangs. Luckily for me, the woman is only a phone call away, and a stuffed Boobalah doppelganger has taken up residence of the sofa. In an unexpected show of stuffed toy solidarity, Christmas Bear (Larry) has decided to call our staircase home. I’m assuming this is either a preview of the mass-teddy-exodus they’ve always threatened me with (they REALLY don’t like messy rooms) or they’ve aged vicariously through me and are attempting to find their feet in the real world. Either way, it’s exceptionally cute.
Scott is a very cool lad, too. He has an insanely awesome DVD collection, a foosball table, and an assortment of posable comic figurines. Oh yes, we tested the posability. Well. I did. Scott looked on in what I can only assume was either fear, amusement, or a 40:60 combination of both. My immature, excessively tired side took over and somehow all the figurines ended up mounting each other. Weird, I know. Some kind of strange phenomenon. Strange copulation phenomenon.
In any case, he’s an awesome guy. So far, the house looks like it’s going to work well.
Much love, ladies.