nobody's gonna say it outright, just go, la la la...

I remember weird things. If someone I am interested in tells me their favourite song, I remember it. I could tell you what each of my friends got at A-level. I remember the face of somebody I have met once and barely even spoken to (and they never fail to forget me, resulting in an awkward, stilted conversation). I never forget middle names. I remember meaningless quotations from meaningless novels and the lyrics to a ridiculous amount of songs. However, I never retain any useful knowledge: I forget when I've arranged to meet up with my grammar buddy, I never remember birthdays or phone numbers or homework, I don't ever know the date. I wish I could use my superfreakingmemory in a way that would actually benefit me.

Today, there are many things I should be doing. Writing blogs is not one of them, but I'm back on the blogging bandwagon now and I fear I cannot be stopped. I was going to post a picture of my hopelessly untidy room, so that somebody would cajole me into doing something about it, but I am too ashamed. I'll let you use your imagination. The beginning of the week was a bit shit, but I'm getting into the swing of things today. I actually dried my hair, put on proper clothes and ate something that wasn't chocolate. Things are looking up!

I saw my mum yesterday, which is nice. If you like that sort of thing. She wasn't too much of a crazy, and even brought me my UPS parcel which was delivered to the wrong address. Good old Mum! Cait and I went to Stratford (where she happened to be), and in the space of about five minutes, my mother managed to mention the Labour Party, gender discrimination and new shoes. I fear that we may be the same person. This is probably why our relationship is somewhat strained at times.

I hope you have a lovely Thursday, and that you are more productive than I will be. I leave you with a snippet from my favourite album of the moment. Enjoy!

reach for the stars, so if you fall you land on a cloud... BULLSHIT.

Just over a week in to the Christmas break, it's hard to say just what I have achieved. I certainly have not done any work, have not been anywhere exciting, have not really spoken to anyone. It's been a nice week though; a week of solitude and Salinger and snow. I also have the somewhat lame excuse of having been quite ill, but from tomorrow I will be slightly less pathetic. I will do some actual work, and I will leave the house. Probably.

I'm really really bored of cooking curry all the time. I mean, it's delicious and it's one of the few dishes which is not hindered by the absence of meat, but I'm sick of it. Somebody please give me some ideas! I really do like cooking, but I feel like I'm stuck in a bit of a rut, so if you have any thoughts, or if you would like to come round and cook up a storm with me, send me a little message.

I literally slept all day, and as a result, I'm on top of the world! So it occurred to me, the answer to all the world's problems - sleep. I reckon if everyone got ten solid hours every night, we'd all be a bit less angsty and a bit more pleasant. Perhaps all of our problems would dissolve. We wouldn't have family tiffs, the Koreas would get on, every day would be a good hair day. Call me a dreamer, but in the words of Gloria Steinem 'Dreaming, after all, is a form of planning.'

I hate supposedly inspirational quotations like that one, don't you? It's like the speaker genuinely thinks that their vague, corny words will have an effect on the life of a complete stranger. And everyone's been at it! Even people I quite like (Einstein, Angelou, Woolf, etc) can be quoted in such a way. The thing is though, it is not these lame affirmations that render these people great. In general, their acts speak for themselves, and they are genuinely rather inspiring with or without their empty words.

Words are always empty though. Aren't they?

My sister is a fuckface.