Before I start the post I'd like to say that I want to be this man when I grow up:
And if someone came and said, 'Write a poem on my left shoelace,' I'd be like:
Soft as the ocean.
White as teeth behind braces.
Tying up shoes, like worries.
Making left feet ready for races.
On the right; they're fine.
But what would we do
Without left shoelaces.
Okay, hi ladies and gentlemen, what was the last sugary thing you ate? (What a great replacement question to the stinkingly dull, 'how are you' that no-one ever answers.)
People all over the blogging world are participating in National Novel Writing Month, the clocks have changed in Belgium and darkness gathers at the tender hour of four o'clock in the afternoon, and Matthew Crawley's proposal to Mary made me cry tonight even though I've seen the scene about 100 times on Youtube. You might say that's a small summary of my life right now.
(By the way, do you think these people are facing the camera or the other way?)
Hey, you know what, let's do something extremely random and vote about this thing of no consequence whatsoever:
(And now we'll stop analysing random pictures and continue with the post.)
(And yeah, I know I've posted yesterday and today already, but it's been years since I've posted two posts in one day, so I'll do it. I won't post anything for the rest of week to balance off the extremity. Publish 'em when you write 'em, that's how I do things.)
In case you couldn't tell, I felt like writing a random post. Filled with little parts of my brain, and making a soup of random Wonderland Creek-ness.
I could have random questions such as:
Why is society like 'everyone has to be themselves, everyone is different' as their motto and then ALL the teenagers come to school wearing skinny jeans? (I wear skinny jeans a lot too, but I just added perspective to the world. ;-P)
Why is eye make-up a thing and lip-make-up a thing, but there are no special nose make-up-projects? Noses are often the ugliest parts of a persons face.
Why, when I make my characters say (sincerely!) "Thank God!" it sounds less sincere than when I make them say "Thank the Lord!"?
Why is this picture so cute when it actually might mean that the guy can't control the shift stick of the car which means that they might have both died after some awkward-third-party-guy took the picture from the back seat?
I could paste random writing snippets of random things I am writing in the honour of the National Novel Writing Month (I refuse to abbreviate it to NaNoWriMo):
Henffordd was Welsh for ‘Old Road.’ Over time they squashed the Welsh words ‘Henn’ and ‘Ffordd’ into one, and now no-one questioned it. It’s like ‘okay’, which used to be ‘all correct’ and somehow, over the course of our silly human history managed to end up as ‘okay.’ Maybe in one hundred years or so, it’ll be ‘Bokey.’ And we’ll say, ‘Bokey, I’ll go and fetch the salt for you.’
I went to Gayl the following weekend to try to get this stupid thing out of my head. We went to a pub with a small group of friends and ate chips with our fingers. We listened to the cute guy playing jaunty Scott Joplin tunes on the piano and we played card games while drinking coke or beer till the clock stroke 11:00 and we decided it was time to leave. We made an epic group selfie with our ugliest faces. It was blurry and dark, but it was epic.
The next day, my Mum told me at breakfast, “Anna. I have to tell you something.”
My fingers dug into the toast. My jaw clenched on a crispy piece of bacon. I knew what was coming. “I know, Mama,” I said. “I read it on the wall.”
I was slightly nervous. How on earth was I supposed to know who the creep was? Should I just sit awkwardly and wait, or should I pretend to be glamorous and order some tall glass with rosy gin? I went for the former, dismissed waiters with the ‘I’m waiting for someone’, and looked at the strangers on their evenings out.
‘You were right all the time,’ Laura said. There was an achingly sad melody in her eyes. Like an old Jewish violin piece. ‘I should never have gone out. I’m sorry I didn’t listen.’
My heart wept for her.
‘It’s okay,’ I whispered hoarsely.
‘Joe is a wonderful man. You have a wonderful time!’
‘Thank you, Laura,’ I said. ‘I think I will.’
Then I opened the door and there stood Joe, looking really good. As in, WOW HANDSOME WHAT.
(The last one is from a different story as the first four. The last one is from the one I once shared other snippets of, for those of you who remember. ;-)) (Those who remember are true Wonderland Creek followers. Otherwise, go, you unfaithful servant.) (YOU KNOW I AM JOKING DON'T LEAVE.)
(The boy in the picture might have fallen badly and twisted his ankle, so lets all take a moment to remember the pain he must have suffered.)
I could tell you random stuff that have been going on my life lately, such as me enjoying a weeks holiday (half term!!!) and that we have workmen redoing our roof and that yesterday we had pumpkin soup for dinner and that miss being in with my American friends like I was back in June and that I read two books today (okay, 1 book and the un-amputated half of the other.) (Actually it wasn't an amputated book, it had all the 400 pages on it. It was just a book not worth finishing.) and I could tell you that The Downton Abbey Season Two Christmas Special is just... ugh, so so so good.
(Random fact: according to the sad statistics, at least 8 of the children on this picture were bullied in school.)
I could list some random things that have made me happy recently:
The sound of hole-punchers.
People who actually laugh when I make lame puns.
NOT being behind on Goodreads.
Sending off letters.
Walking to the postbox with my little sisters. (They squabbled over who could put the letters into the hole in the red box.)
Dark evenings. I looove them.
Mint-green kitchen doors.
Do you know what else I could randomly do?
I could randomly end thi