Returnage

Ever get the feeling that nobody really knows you that well? Ever then get the feeling that that's probably a good thing, 'cos they wouldn't like the real you? These are both bad feelings and I hope you never feel them, but, in all probability, you will.

In reaction to these thoughts, I have decided to force myself back into ye olde blogodrome and make this a little space where people can get a more accurate view of me. Frankness, here I come! Step one: remove all the unnecessary cheerfulness, a lot of the time I'll write a blog without having much to say, and so instead just recount the days events and splash in phrases like, "which was awesome!" and "which I really enjoyed!" and "which scored a solid five stars out of five!" - well enough of those. My usually reaction to things is barely concealed misery, and that's the way I'm going to recount it. Like today, fr'instance, I woke up at ten, found no reason to be awake, tried to defeat a game of solitaire for three and a half hours, moped about how lame I am, walked through the rain and then pretended to be happy to see some people.

Also its raining. Thanks Lancashire, thanks.

Erm... what else... I saw Superbad. Didn't like it. That was, of course, mostly my fault, as I had decided in advance that I didn't want to like it, and when I got to finally see it, the weight of the world had brought me down and I was in no mood for enjoying anything. However, as a slight defence against any possible charge of depressive-loserness, my student newspaper gave it a very bad review, which I agreed with almost word for word: you can't be a touching film about modern adolescence and a gross-out American Pie-esque comedy at the same time.

Also, the subject matter pissed me off. I'm half toying with the idea of avowed celibacy.

Congratulations for reading 'till the end, saiyonara.