sunshine, sunshine

so, London was awesome. it easily beat any day in any other city. just like Star Trek kicked Star Wars's ass out of orbit. majorly. and this is from someone who has always had a soft spot for Star Wars - and never before seen even one episode of Star Trek. that good, i promise you.

plus!

the recent weather has been amazing. i woke up this morning to read Paper Towns (John Green you legend) and as it was fairly warm, i opened my curtains, and my windows respectively, then applied laborious amounts of tanning moisturiser as part of my plan to look decent for prom - and not like a white chocolate magnum ice-cream. it suddenly occurred to me, that this was madness. the weather had developed into a glorious anticyclone, and i was sat INSIDE tanning. oh, how the world of fake beauty has shaped me. so, i stuck on my sunglasses, grabbed that beautiful borrowed book and headed outside. where i have been for the past two hours, and where i am currently writing this.

i realised something yesterday.

i write all of the time. not like, pen-to-paper-get-your-thoughts-down-before-you-forget-them kind of writing; but mentally. i think in blog format. or novel format, depending on how creative i feel. i have written thousands upon thousands of blogs, however, i never write them down. because by the time i get myself to a notebook, or computer, or any sort of noting device, i have more than likely forgotten the entire thing. i estimated that for someone who writes constantly, i forget about 99.7% of it. because saturday is my 'thinking day' i must have come up with at least eight ideas for some really nice blogs, yet the likelihood of me ever actually writing and posting them, is next to nothing. this is sort of discouraging, but i'm not one to be easily discouraged; once i have my heart set on something, i'm not afraid to push through with my ideas.

but yes, i do infact think in blog format.

i also narrate my own life. now this sounds really odd when taking it as a straight statement, but the amount of people who wish their lives were narrated by someone seems like such a stupid idea, when who knows better what you are doing, than you? narrating in a novel format makes it sound like i am the main character of this mental novel; this is not true. i am merely a character playing this rather insignificant part in the bigger picture. the events of the novel happen to me, yet, it's not about me, it's more about the events in the novel altogether. i think to understand this strange way of processing thought, you need to have done it too; because reading it back, i barely understand it.

oh, how i wish i could go for a swim in the sea right now.

have a lovely summery day