The old gods know I'm bad at updating my blog. Honestly, there's just nothing interesting to write about. I tried to do that book thing, didn't finish it of course, and most of my time is spent on exams, crying over the deaths of fictional characters, and not being able to sleep. Isn't my life just so interesting.
I've come to the conclusion, real life really isn't my thing. Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate the little things, like flowers and birds, coffee with friends, the sound of kids laughing, and smooth jazz, but it isn't really enough, is it? I'm not cut out for a loving husband and a 9 to 5 job, with takeaway afterwards. I've spent my whole life with my head in the clouds, and now I find it rather difficult to come down again so to say.
I love adventures. You know, the ones with dragons and fencing, and true love. Mostly fencing. I love "real" fencing. Not the sissy kind with white padded suits and blunt swords though. I also like "old fashioned stories", you know, the Charles Dickens and Jane Austen type. The kind where at least 5 people have to die, and the main character doesn't get her one true love until the very end. Honestly, I'll take anything that's more interesting than real life. Because that, doesn't interest me at all.
Don't get me wrong, I love my friends and family and all that, but I would trade it away in a second if I could go to another world/time period/reality. Sometimes I wish I was mad, just so I could at least believe in them, that the impossible stories are real. But I'm not, and I can't. There's just clothes in my wardrobe, there was no letter for me when I was 11, my uncle doesn't have a ring, and I don't believe in... well, you know, from Peter Pan... It's dawn, soon I'll go to school, then I'll go home, and do nothing. And all of next week and the week after that. Doesn't it all seem a little pointless?
If anyone finds a teleport, Delorean, or TARDIS, just let me know, okay?
“I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?”
~ John Lennon
Nemo, out.
I've come to the conclusion, real life really isn't my thing. Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate the little things, like flowers and birds, coffee with friends, the sound of kids laughing, and smooth jazz, but it isn't really enough, is it? I'm not cut out for a loving husband and a 9 to 5 job, with takeaway afterwards. I've spent my whole life with my head in the clouds, and now I find it rather difficult to come down again so to say.
I love adventures. You know, the ones with dragons and fencing, and true love. Mostly fencing. I love "real" fencing. Not the sissy kind with white padded suits and blunt swords though. I also like "old fashioned stories", you know, the Charles Dickens and Jane Austen type. The kind where at least 5 people have to die, and the main character doesn't get her one true love until the very end. Honestly, I'll take anything that's more interesting than real life. Because that, doesn't interest me at all.
Don't get me wrong, I love my friends and family and all that, but I would trade it away in a second if I could go to another world/time period/reality. Sometimes I wish I was mad, just so I could at least believe in them, that the impossible stories are real. But I'm not, and I can't. There's just clothes in my wardrobe, there was no letter for me when I was 11, my uncle doesn't have a ring, and I don't believe in... well, you know, from Peter Pan... It's dawn, soon I'll go to school, then I'll go home, and do nothing. And all of next week and the week after that. Doesn't it all seem a little pointless?
If anyone finds a teleport, Delorean, or TARDIS, just let me know, okay?
“I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?”
~ John Lennon
Nemo, out.