Oh Girl, Sail Her Dont Sink Her (this is not readable)

Oh no. It's post overload, and they're of so little substance that it's utterly insane.
However, this one is worth committing to memory.

So upon discussing the matter of festival tents (because we can do that now, because we're fucking going to Reading), a friend of mine mentionned indoor tents, which prompted a fairly unconsenting trip down memory lane (it's late, I'm too tired for nostalgia). I always think of my early memories as scarce, scattered and often irrelevant (I remember my dog-when he was slightly more kinetic- eating a plate of fairy cakes from our kitchen work top, the plate was made of yellow plastic and my dog was standing on his hind legs, consuming every single one in an instant, I remember the plate spinning and falling. How very low-rent-Jon-McGregor of me). Anyways I think of them like that until something casually triggers off the recollection of one of these scenes, the revisiting of every sense and thought process. So this one specifically was the DIY tents me and my brother and sister use to make in my house, and the night in particular, christ knows what day, what year, presumably I was somewhere between 5 and 10... this one night it was just me and my brother, we'd fashioned the usual tent out of chairs and clothes pegs and bedsheets. I was prepared, full battery gameboy ([; old skool), probably a walkman and that OPM tape I found lying around recently in some box. In any case I think we were just talking, I have no idea what about, probably nothing meaningful or memorable, but I remember looking over at the clock to see 3am pass by and feeling so extremely hardcore. I love that that picture would mean nothing to anyone else but it feels really, really valuable to me right now. Just a moment I can remember put aside from the blurs of emotion and confusion which I shouldn't remember, which simply captures my favourite things about childhood, because I had a seriously ace one, all in all.

Earlier today I was thinking about injuries as well, one of my relatives staying over here from Australia got a blood clot and she can't fly home, which is really shit, but apparently it's not too serious and if nothing else it got me thinking. I complain about my ailments a lot. I'm a classic hyperchondriac and sometimes, specifically if I'm feeling a little awkward, I'm a moaner. But with injuries come stories, and I contemplated one of my favourite things to do- which I'll have to remember next time there's an uncomfortable silence- and that's explore the anecdotes behind the silly little aches and pains that trouble us from time to time. I realised there's actually a pretty cool one behind most of my recurring and occaisional twinges. There's the torn ligament in my ankle, which I did for the first time bouncing around on the trampoline at Jen's house (my foot swelled up so big it wouldn't fit in a shoe, I was going to Alton Towers the next day), second time getting halloween treats from Lidl... There's a severely bruised/slightly protuberant knee bone on the right which I recieved when navigating the biggest circle pit I've seen in my life; Anti-Flag, GIAN '08, worth it. The arm I cut open on a rock... I'ma say in Cornwall, on the beach where I also found a delightful dead fish. The scars on my hands from 1) testing the sharpness of a knife Louise was carrying around in her bra. I saw my own vein. That incident was not normal OR cool, 2) attempting to cut Louise a heart shaped piece of wood in the tech room and getting my finger instead- she seems to cause injury, 3) trying to make myself a guitar pick necklace, because I was too impatient/tight to buy one, and narrowly avoiding stitches in my thumb... The scar caused by my nail under my chin from our own brand of dodgeball at my primary school (this essentially involved a lineup of people against the wall/fence, and someone kicking a ball at us with some force).
And you know what ELSE is ace? Music and memories. I wrote a song recently (because I overcame the mental block, not that it isn't still excessively hard to do so) which was sort of... all over the place, but in a way inspired by the day I spent at Dungeness [; my new favourite place. The lyrics weren't about that itself, yet somehow, when I play it or listen to it back, I can feel exactly the way I felt standing on that beach. And I really love how music can preserve things that way.

And christ, nostalgia seems to be a running theme this week. I swear it was a matter of days ago when I was telling myself to make this year the best, and somehow it's almost gone. I take it back, I don't want adulthood, thank you. I'm being forced into this whirlwind and all I can see is a few set-in-stone, unchangeable/maybe minor events, the rest of it is hopes and maybes and unknown possibilities and surprises. I know it's supposed to be like that but it doesn't make it any less frustrating. It's times like these when you can cry over the future and the imminent departure of most of your best friends/perhaps intense and scary committments you'll now share with the rest of them, orrrr use the seeming sense of 'limbo' to pay a series of visits to the past, and cry over that, for whatever reason. Or both, clearly.


This is actual madness. Genuine apologies if you bothered reading this far, there's no way it can have been worth it. It ain't my fault though; 'Remember, posting is good', point made.