Are you desperate for an ounce of reality here? Slowly driven mad by the fact that I never post anything 'realistic' (ie what's going on in my life), or really, anything but the progenies of my (slightly mental) head?
Well, I'll deliver a slight relief to that, though I don't promise pictures, or anything interesting, really.
Written a lot, physically, today (so much so that a part of my right hand hurts and I had to make myself stop, because man, this ceaseless writing can be addictive. They're only law notes, but can they put you in a trance-like state). So technically, I've did a lot of work. Trying to make everything fit snugly, so they'll have a degree of permanence there. Please stay, kindly knowledge. I'll try to treat you well, dust you sometimes, and always use you benevolently.
Facebook is decent enough to permit the introduction of two avenues of actual activity, too. (You can't believe the hissy fit it's throwing these days - I suspect because it's made slightly insecure by the introduction of Google+, and because of the fact that I deactivated it for a while, so it knows I don't like it very much. I've had two - two - friends leaving comments almost simultaneously going along the lines of 'that's weird, I'VE LEFT A COMMENT HERE! Where has it gone to?!') Anyway, one is a warm, snug meet in a college (not mine), where I'm cordially invited for an afternoon of coffee-sipping, brownies-nibbling, and music-listening. All generally very cosy, artsy, and loveable. Something I'd drag my lazy self to, if I can persuade myself to stop being so lazy.
Another is a notice left by a friend who I live 1km away from but I haven't met since maybe 4 months ago (there were a few international sojourns in the way, and just stupendously bad luck after that). I'm induced to a - slightly devilishness, just because it can be so much fun - plan to go cook up something in her house on Thursday, where we would have a whole house to ourselves to cook in. Anyone who follows my twitter stream (of profanities and occasional insight but usually, just a lot of madness) would know of me spontaneously hatching up plans to cook mad stuff when I'm feeling restless. So far, the progenies of such restless states are: omelettes that are just unbeatable because they have the awesome combination of BBQ cheese and onions as stuffings. Nuggets with melted cheese on top. And odd combinations of bread spreads including marmite on bread, and honey + koko krunch on bread. With other mad - and frankly brilliant - spread ideas I couldn't execute because the intended ingredients are beyond my reach. So yeah, nobody says I can't cook, or don't have the inclination to try. My mad inclination to try will beat up your sad resignation to cook.
Before I descend further into the stream of utter hyperactivity, yes, I like cooking. So yes, I would like cooking something fun, very much indeed.
And this would also mean meeting something I can spend hours talking to without feeling bored, which is more than a good thing because frankly, those sort of people are running short in my social life.
Sure, people are lovely, but can they be less boring to me please?
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