London. Leeds. Coventry.

I miss my Matthew.

"The idea of the mind being a white piece of paper comments on personal experience and the formation of opinions, the illustrating of a metaphorical blank canvas people are born as and thus creating an individual."

BLOGRAPED.

IS THIS A THING NOW?

I wish I had a scanner here.

I write shit stuff in seminars because I am too intellectually inferior to join in.

Vibrations on wood screamed suspiciously viscious.

Modern technology demanding imminent attention with greater insistence than mass idols of a mirroring time.

Your shocking announcement and my limited discouragements.

"You are something else aren't you?"
A curious window all blue and bright. She would look up at me with inquisitiveness to such an extent that I could feel her questionings pulse through me, through fixated shallow blood. In the mornings she would ask me to close the blinds, we would stare through stunted light; being uncovered would always be out of the question. If I was to lift the window that was littered to heaviness by the dust of each stale morning, I would grasp out accross the roof and swing the pure clarity of the clouds back inside and over her naked face.
"I can't help you."

God Forbid...

I should walk out of this room with no make-up on. A halloween worthy complexion and the constant loosing battle to hide it is becoming very tiresome. This is potentially reasoning for me being awake at 2.30am after retiring (party animal) at around eight o'clock. Since 'the move' it has become so much more apparent that when I interact with people I constantly feel like I am intellectually inadequate, and yet when I try to educate myself by working (as I have been doing since getting up at about 1am) I feel completely bland and mechanical; clockwork words I will assume I picked up at some point in a lecture where we are supposedly not spoon-fed.

I drew a picture for this.
It is offensively shit, but it is still a shame that it didn't get it's five minutes- even if they were to be nothing but appriciative mockery.

Fire alarm this morning at seven, why do it?
It was about as necessary as this blog.

Writing seriously

Is a waste of my time.

Especially when tired.

Sorry if this makes no sense.

I will just continue to provide reasons that people should be happy they weren't born as me.

I have recently become the owner of a pair of Nike Air tracksuit bottoms (Awesome).

On the first day of owning these badboys I noticed a small pocket inside the actual pocket which (as you can imagine) overwhelmed me with excitement and lead to me showing babyshez.

She replied to; "Look Grace, pocket within a pocket" with; "It's a condom pocket".

After my initial shock and anguish that she would present such an idea, being fourteen and all, I realized that actually (even worse) she was probably right.

The pocket is pretty condom shaped.

And so obviously I had to show EVERYONE.

So I put a condom in the condom pocket (seeing to believe) and impressed the millions.

Then I took them along with me to Bestival where my friend Tom thought it would be a great idea to hijack them on the last day (one of the few people who had not witnessed the wonder of condom pocket) and take them home to wash then give back to me.

Now I am not completely sure about this but I am willing to bet that Tom does not do his own washing.

The tracksuit bottoms are back in my house.

The condom is gone from the pocket.

Tom's mum used to like me and now she thinks that I jam around festivals in my tracksuit bottoms looking for tent bangs.

AND I saw her yesterday before I had known all this.

Oh dear, oh dear.

Dreams

1.

I feel like the real dream has just ended and I am back in my own bed with my eyes shut.

I then feel a hand reaching across my side onto my stomach, which at first I find comforting in a strange way but then the whole mood changes and I am trapped.

I try to kick out against the advancing hand and the whispering I can now hear in my ear but then it occurs to me that I have been drugged- I am paralysed and someone is laughing in my ear.

I am screaming at this person in my thoughts but he can't hear me and neither can anyone else.

I wake up for real as shouting "Get off me you prick".

2.

I have a child in this one.

We are at a music festival with the babydaddy who decides this would be a really good time to sleep with the barmaid. A guy who I played on the swings with earlier in this venture tells me and man am I angry.

I basically take the kid who is called Max, but in the dream we call him 'little boy'.

Wake up as my sister is shouting at me- I think I heard her voice in the house and my mind worked it's magic.

3.

This one is a little more vague because it wasn't as traumatic.

But it was like zombie invasion and by some critical mistake I had been left to save my family and the world.

One of my chosen companions couldn't quite create a gun that would destroy the Zombie virus, (which was developing fast) but instead started injecting them with something that made them perform popular Ne-yo songs.

If anything, it was better.

4.

Bob-Sledding?

I keep dreaming.