Christine, this is for you :P Come and visit the upper states instead of the Down Under some Christmas!

Hot child in the city

Lately I have been finding myself half-awake at different times of the night, wondering over whether I'm living my life the right way. I know it's no-ones to tell how I should be doing it, so I usually don't let anyone get me down when I catch something that should be critical towards my life in what they're saying, but sometimes I can't help myself.
I know my babysister isn't reading this blog so I feel almost fearless when saying I once upon a time read her diary and the following is very close to what she wrote in one part: looking at my sister I feel kind of sad, because I'm hoping that at her age I will be an attractive young woman going somewhere with my life. She is good, though.
Now that last part, the one that sounded exactly like pity, that's what hurt. Not the part saying I'm not attractive nor going anywhere with my life.

My flatmate has her friends over, they're drinking rum&coke and getting ready to go out. A very frequent thing. I used to go out and drink till I got sick and have a blast, enjoying myself (till I got sick) and generally having an awesome time, I don't do that any more.
There's more than one reason - 1) I don't want to be spending money on alcohol, 2) I was recently discovered a health condition that alcohol could make much worse, 3) I don't want to get hangovers, they're getting worse these days & 4) I used to go out often in a childish hope to meet someone, but I've buried that, too.
So now, after actually having written those reasons down, I feel like a miserable muppet who has lost the last of her abilities to have fun or be fun.
Now I'm not saying it's all down to going out and drinking (the "having fun" part), but I suppose it all came down to that in my past.
I do have other things I consider fun for myself, for example I'm very much into extreme sports, but that's only looking at others having fun doing them, because I'm too insecure to actually go out there and learn to windsurf, skydive or even do a bungee jump. If there was someone there really into it all who woul be delighted to take me along, I would be delighted to go along. Haven't met anyone yet. I'm moving in wrong circles of people, I suppose, because everyone I know, is into heavy drinking and passing out in the toilets kind of extremities.
Even expressing myself with painting or (jeez) even doing a fucking collage ( I do create my own jewellery - earrings, that is..)is kind of too much of an effort for me. Maybe because there's no one around e to go on and appreciate it. Besides me of course.

So why did I go and let it all aut for the first time in a public blog? I dunno.. Maybe because I could and no one barely ever comes here besides me, so that's OK, too.

You have a pleasant night now, I will. Wallowing in my self-pity.
I will correct the grammar and spelling mistakes tomorrow. Or maybe not this time. The hell with it, I just won't do it at all this time!

ILUS!

And there's more to come! Bright, white, pure snow covering the frosty ground, a tortoiseshell cat walking across the playground and it's so silent.. if it wasn't for the cat and the wind, throwing the snow around, you'd think everything and everyone was asleep.
The dim lights from the 3am windows tell you there's others. They are sitting there too, waiting, holding their breath.. something will happen. Soon.

Pollyanna and the seventy-second wonder of the world.

Did you ever read the book? It's coming back to me now. Reading it as a young girl, I remember being amused by her ability to see the good in everything, even when there really is nothing to be seen.
I'm like Pollyanna.
Skating home from my friends place, the ground under a thin layer of snow, ice beneath it, listening to music, thinking of just how perfect it all is.
I pity you. You, who you are not able to see it all - the beauty in details. Taking everything as it comes. You're complaining how all that bright snow is going to turn into uncomfortably slippy pavements and brown muck tomorrow. That's tomorrow, I tell ye, tonight it is the seventy-second wonder of the world.

Cherry tomatid ? FTW?!?

The jar that says it holds my pens and pencils I hardly ever use for anything else than marking down someones b'day in the calendar.
I woke up at 4:40 this morning. Sure I did go to bed slightly after 10 because I was drunk of 2l of beer, but .. (Well ok, I practically passed out. Yeah, I'm weak. Lightweight. Call it what you want.) Recently I've been trying to figure out what the perfect time for me to go to bed is and how many hours of sleep my organism needs. I can easily make do with just 6 hours, but if that 6 hours is from 12am to 6am then I'm awake too early and have nothing whatsoever to do. As I've realised, too, if I go to bed before 12 at night, I get better quality sleep. But then I get up even earlier and have even less to do. So if I want to sleep for 6 hours and not get up before 8, I need to go to bed after 12 and I don't want to do that. I have nothing to do until then apart from nolife. I don't want to nolife.

I need to get a hobby. Or two.

Oh.. cherry tomatid = cherry tomatoes + kirsstomatid. Made in Hungary.

Crack The Shutters Open Wide

It's been far too long since I last posted anything.
This was said more to myself than anyone else, although I'm not really sure if there is anone else at all who actually comes here every now and again to read this.
I do tend to sometimes think that I have this blog, like tons of other people, for sharing my "excellent" writing skills with the world. Other times I just bring myself back to the ground because why on earth would anyone come here and read this? To find out how I did nothing last weekend at my parents? Didn't think so.
I've had blogs before on different sites and I've always kind of had them as semi-public diaries so that I could come back some two years later and realise how much I've grown since then.
Actually, two years ago I had a month or so when I had no internet, but I still kept a diary on the desktop of my PC as a Notebook file. I was going through a period of having lots of bills to pay and practically no hours at work. So no money and lots of free time, then. Every night I would write. About my day, about life in general, just pouring everything out of me onto the screen. After I had done my entry I spent at least 15 minutes making up a playlist to listen to while I fall asleep playing Solitaire.
Then I was going out with this guy who read my "diary" and even after I finished things with him, every time we met, he asked me if I keep on writing because he thought I should do it for living. Suppose it was part of the reason I sometimes think I'm good at it although I know I'm clearly not. I simply have my own way with words which is OK. He gave me a lot of material for writing later on, though, that bastard!
I'm reading "Seize The Day" by Saul Bellow at the moment, in estonian, and I feel like retyping it. Someone's done a really bad job at editing this thing, the mistakes in punctuation are enough to make a 9-year-old laugh out loud. I know my grammar and punctuation might not be perfect here, but I try to check on it after I finish my post and it's a BOOK for crying out loud! Not a blog entry. It's embarrassing to read!

The reason I got out of bed at all after having retired there two hours ago to read and then sleep is Clon. As I've understood, I'm not the only one with that problem in my circle of friends - not being able to sleep at night because I want to go back - there's others. I was leading the most ordinary life there for two years, working, partying, making friends, having relationships, breaking them, trying to be independent, trying to settle. Then I came back home and now I feel like I need to go back there again, because for some reason all I did there seems so much more special now. The grass is greener (I had to say it!) and it just seems that the people there actually miss me more than they did here. Yes, I know how unfair this is to a few of my very good friends and family here, but most of them wanted me to come back here for selfish reasons, see - I was fun. Now that I don't drink and party much any more and am boring, I'm not necessary any more. I could just as well go back. So I lay in my bed at nights, thinking of how life is gonna be when (see, it's not even "if") I go back to Clon and it's going to be brilliant, I'm going to have a family there, settle down, have a job I like, dogs and a countryhouse and who knows - maybe I'll even learn how to drive a car.
It's the place where all my dreams will come tue, just like Estonia was when I was in Clon.

What I've learnt from this tonight?
I obviously don't know how to live my life.
But that's OK, too. No-one does. Really.


Oh, by the way, Snow Patrol's new album is surprisingly good.

Apples

All the apples. The leaves are gone, but the ground is covered in apples. Apples. Apples. Lots and lots of apples. Endless amount of apples. The apples no one of us will eat. The apples that will end up being eaten by earthworms and the apples, through the remains of which pumpkins will grow next year.