Beware

This is probably going to be a phenomenally sappy post.
I came across a quote from the Winnie the Pooh books by A. A. Milne today, and it said this.
'If you live to be a hundred, I hope I live to be a hundred minus one day, so that I'll never have to live without you.'
And I got all stupid and choked up about it.
I've been thinking about friendship a lot lately, and what it's made of, I suppose. I've come to the definite conclusion that candy floss isn't actually involved.
Anyhow, I'm not going to wax poetic about how lovely my friends are. I don't have a lot of them, mainly owing to the right swot that I am most of the time, and the cynical shrew I am the rest of it, and also because I just sincerely don't like most people, but the ones I do have are the sort of people I couldn't possibly get rid of.
There are the brilliant ones, the ones I love because I admire them, who won't stand for mediocrity, but somehow manage to put up with me, who give a half damn and don't know why. There are those who know exactly why they're in my life, and how they got there, and still aren't terribly interested in giving me up.
And for all the bits of me that have been scattered all over the globe, all the little shards of heart and guts and unsightly emotions, you're still a part of me.
So there, and good luck getting rid of me.
Damn it, my chest hurts now.

every now and then

i want to go blind.

Syncopating my Repotaph

It has been an eventful week, mostly owing to Stephen Spielberg.
It's the last weekend before Christmas, and I'm only just starting to realise exactly what that means.
The Dreaded Holiday is upon us.
Not that I don't like Christmas, and certainly not that I don't like the event of the birth of our Lord, but quite frankly, people are simply past bearing during these lovely times.
I'm sure you've been following the news. Wal-Mart greeter trampled to death on Black Friday et al, and I just wonder sometimes what people are thinking.
I'm going to stop myself here before I start ranting about the sheer idiocy of consumerism.
I'm going to be happy because I'm going to cut my hair on Monday.
Yippee.
I'm also drinking a grape powerade. It is foul.
In case you were wondering.
I ache in places I didn't remember I had.
And remember, kids:
Import all the best boys so the Swedes don't get them!

the trouble with exhaustion...

...is that I find myself writing these brilliant bits of imagery in my head as I'm drifting off to sleep, and I vow to myself that I'll get up in two minutes and write them down.
But I never do.
So if you were expecting long, loving lines about how I am the sieve through which the world is spun, look elsewhere.
Sorry.
In other news, I'd like to apotheosise cough syrup. Particularly when I have a bad cough, and need to go Christmas carolling.
Oh.
I'm getting the best gifts ever this year.
Happy Christmas, Fafi.

okay seriously

Am I the only person who thinks David Tennant is mindbendingly sexy?
Yah. Mkay. I needs help.

Erised

I'll be there
as soon as I can,
but I'm busy mending all the
pieces of
the life I had
before.
Before you.
--Matthew Bellamy
Isn't he just the sweetest?
Okay, so I'm reading Kurt Vonnegut's Hocus Pocus, and I get to the part where he gets busted by the retarded girl for saying obscene things and being a commie, and I start thinking, that girl should get punched in the ovaries.
Not literally, of course, but she should at least be sat down and given a stern talking to.
Really unloving, what she did.
Cough.
I am so happy right now. I've been enjoying one of those butterscotch lollies from See's candies.
Last year, the sample-girl was a mindbendingly hot thing called Makayla, or something. She had pretty blue eyes, and she couldn't make up her mind whether to flirt with me or my roommate. It was epic.
I'm off the save the world!
Oh.
Have a pretty piece of poetry, from a man that both Seamus Heaney and I love.

Relic

I found this jawbone at the sea's edge:
There, crabs, dogfish, broken by the breakers or tossed
To flap for half an hour and turn to a crust
Continue the beginning. The deeps are cold:
In that darkness camaraderie does not hold.

Nothing touches but, clutching, devours. And the jaws,
Before they are satisfied or their stretched purpose
Slacken, go down jaws; go gnawn bare. Jaws
Eat and are finished and the jawbone comes to the beach:
This is the sea's achievement; with shells,
Verterbrae, claws, carapaces, skulls.

Time in the sea eats its tail, thrives, casts these
Indigestibles, the spars of purposes
That failed far from the surface. None grow rich
In the sea. This curved jawbone did not laugh
But gripped, gripped and is now a cenotaph.

Ted Hughes