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I'm little, red headed mess, more hair than mass or sense. All I really want to do is make something magical and show the world and have it be proud of me.

Monday, 16 February 2009

Choo, Choo; Train Of Thought Coming Your Way.

My last blog has made me realise a lot of things. I've had the night to think about it, between drawing the most hugest picture of R-patz, as the crazy girl from Sugar magazine calls him and then claims that he is "swoonsville," which I'm almost sure should be a place, not a person. So, again, I drifted away on one of my trains of thought that could no way be followed had it been verbal, as I would have skipped bits out as my brain moved with such velocity through the motions of "R-Patz" and then developed once again my northern accent as the words tumble out of my lips with no means of pause. And yet again, there goes my train of thought, somewhat poetic. And in case you didn't connect, which I know that I wouldn't have, "R-Patz" is supposedly the bad-ass name for the rather respectable Robert Pattinson, who is total hotness, or swoonsville, as one might describe, but I don't know if I can actually fancy him because I found out the other day (from Rubey, the obsessed northerner who spends her Sundays researching her crush of the week and then reports back to me for some reason as I, as a girl, try to multi-task, doing some food-tech whilst consuming information being fed down from Leeds that I know will only ever come useful if I were to go on Junior Mastermindand have my specialist subject as "Rubey's Crushes," for example I know all of McFlys full names (Daniel Alan David Jones, Dougie Lee Poynter, Thomas Michael Fletcher and Harry Christopher Judd) and their birth dates, ages and star signs (March 12th, 22, Pisces, November 30th, 20, Saggitarius, 17th July, Cancer, 23 and 23rd January, Capricorn, also 23), Thanks Rubes. (and there goes another train of thought.)
Anyways, Rubey tells me that he has a double barrel surname (Thomas-Pattinson), and my steps are Thomas. So he might be my secret step-cousin or something. So would that be incest? Elly Wood says no. Fair enough.
So, my Mother's gone to pick up Grandmama Bridget to take her to the home Grandfather Thomas was living in to pick up his clothes as he sadly pre-deceased the living (obviously) and eventually died on Friday. And Grandmama, being her usual evil self, well she would, wouldn't she? Yes, the funerals scheduled for my birthday. What a crap birthday. Well, don't blame me when I become a goth. She's left a note and two pounds in twenty pences on top of my portrayal of R-Patz.
So here I am, defying everything. Because you can't put yourself in a blog, which is just what I've done, on my massive mission of edification which has somehow ended as a mission of self destruction which I don't know how to turn back. I'm like those tortured artists, the ones I've always loathed and despised for not making an effort which I never understood, which is probably why anyone even liked them in the first place. And it's a silly thing to be liked for, which is probably why I make such an effort, which is probably why it works out.

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