Oh dear, my fixation upon the word whimsical is getting out of hand... I want to stop but I just can't.
Ho hum. Smile smile smile la la la.
Well so we all should, it is Christmas after all, hurruh for Christmas. A time for love and happyness and arguments and joy and giving and receiving and last minute gifts and too much food and good wine and horrible hangovers and pretty deocrations and tree smell and pine needles in your feet and parties and being on your own and good company and annoying people and enjoyment and intense relief when its all over. I have a bad feeling about Christmas, very bad indeed. It is not going to be good. This way I am not going to disappointed if it's horrific and pleasantly surprised if its bearable.
All I want for Christmas is.... Hmmm.... Ooh, a one way train ticket to North Scotland. Yes, yes that would be good. But then darling Wantage, with its cosiness and close proximity to places of ontoxication. Tricky. I must ponder further

Oh dear my hair is a rather shocking shade of something... I miss my old hair. silly and pointless I know but its a distraction.
The plan is, I concentrate on silly stupid things, get really stressed about those, and then allll the other stuff gets put in a bag with moths on at the back of my mind:)

oh dear, my thoughts are slipping slowly and somewhat ungracefully into incoherance. i need a net of some kind... a big butterfly one before my mind dissolves into a cloud of poppies. does anyone have a net?
my head is swathed in chiffon...

life is so strange... everything that happens seems to be reached via a back entrance of the building and not by the way you first envisioned.
and when you enter the air buzzes with little insects of things to come, and the longer you stay there the quieter the buzzing gets, as the unfulfilled becomes less so. and when it becomes unbearably quiet, you start to plan your next route; until you realise that the map is upside down... so what to do next? find a back entrance i suppose...

I stand inside this barren church,
an empty bible in my hand,
the blank faces of yesterdays saints
stare upon this once green and pleasant land.


I lie upon a faithless altar
and count my infinite rosary of what has been
for what is now and what will be
does not touch us,
remains unseen.

oh dear, i may start being nocturnal. it would make stuff a lot easier...

blarg, weird pretentious crisis fueled musings there... sorry about that. aaaaannnnnyway, yeesh that was some weekend, sorry to all involved- i want you to know that [lady sybil] did not steal my gnome, it was a vicious vino induced accusation. but now i have flu and i must sleep and plan things. kiss kiss etc nite nite.

hmmmmm. *insert insightful musing here*
if emotions can be entirely explained away by 'game theory' (ie, them being reactions formed by evolution to benefit our chances of survival- the game) why are many of them so pointless. why do people try to hurt other people? what drives that? it doesnt help society as a collective and it doesnt help the individual. it doesnt further our chances of survival and it doesnt fulfill any of our basic instincts.