Hide and Seek.

A lot of my possesions are fond of this game, and quite good at it too.

I’m Sat down feelin’ all ambitions an’ all, but I can’t find my notes, my much needed and hardly recognisable notes which I jotted down during Spiteri’s class last year.  Good guy- interesting, amusing, smart. I miss him, and his notes. They seem to be in the mood for a lil game, and I seem to be  it.

Where oh where are my notes? Come out come out wherever you are.  I’ll shut my eyes, and count to three, maybe they’ll  come out of hiding.

Bugs Bunny and Beastial Orgies.

I was appreciating Fowles’s use of similes when I find myself wondering how my English teacher would look with a toupee on, which reminded me of how much he resembled Elmer Fudd, yes, he is the piggie-looking hunter from Bugs Bunny. That  lead me to picturing an image of Bugs Bunny chewing on a carrot, and I could almost hear him saying “HEHEHE-WHAT’S UP DOC” when my thoughts were rudely interrupted and I was brought back to the classroom by hearing the teacher go on about “bestial orgies”- and I had no idea what it had to do with the meeting of Charles and Sarah in chapter twelve, but my mind made an imaginative feast of out it.

… I don’t think I’m going to pass my A-levels in 5 months.

Another drink and I’m ready for action.

 

A lot of situations are leaving me flabbergasted lately.  I’d have pinch myself and try to decide if that really just happened or if she really just said that.

Some nobody in my year decided to try to start picking on me this year, being the mature person that I think I am, I decided to laugh off all the silly encounters she tries so hard to arrange.  But how exactly are you supposed to react, when a a 17-year-old freaky-geeky-life-needy girl, stops a few steps ahead of you, points, whispers to her friend and bursts out laughing, acting complelty oblivious to the fact that you were looking right at her?

Or how are you expected to react, when one of your slly-best-friends spits on your foolscaps one find day during a lecture, just out of utter boredom?

A midded aged man nearly ran me over a few days ago, he concluded that he shouldn’t wait for me to cross the road since I was texting, even though I was still walking at an average pace.  So he waited till I got right under his huge truck, and pressed the gass full on, missing me by less than an inch.  He yelled out something in a rude arrogant tone about me being alienated by my phone, if I were truely you would have ran me over wouldn’t you? Jackass.

A more serious situation now.  What is the normal reaction to your 25-year-old-psychologist- sister calling you immature, closed minded, and a murderer for coming to terms with the fact that your seriously ill dog who hasn’t eaten in 4 days, and hasn’t got enough strenght to sit up, needs to be “put to sleep”?

This is truely madness, which my sober mind can’t absorb.

Earbanglaces.

While choosing a new set of earings, a female should stop and deeply reflect upon her choice. Hoops should preferably be automatically elimiated from the competition, but if one insists, she should ask herself this question   “How stupid would these make me look, on a scale from lol-to-trololololol.  In my humble opinion, if they’re big enough to be bangles, or long enough to pass for necklaces, they probably shouldn’t be on your ear.

Of Muddy-Paws and drool-soaked-love.

Warning: Soppiness ahead.

Yesterday was a very awful day- the end of an era.   An era which has lasted through the past 14 years, that of Spike and Snoopy, the best two dogs ever.  It started in November of ‘97 with the bringing home of my first dog Spike, and ended tragically today, the 15th of November with the passing away of my second dog, Snoopy.

I will never forget how Spike used to prance around, purposely tapping her nails against the tiles to demand attention, or how Snoopy just loved to bounce out at you from the  most implausible places and attack your feet while you walk by, and then chase you around for a little while till he finds a new hiding place.  I will forever treasure the love-hate-relationship Spike had with fireworks and the similar love-hate-relationship Snoopy shared with chasing cars, and horses.  The time that fiesty little Spike jumped out of a moving car window to chase a dog three times her size down a main road, or how cute innocent little Snoopy used to bark down at cats from the safety of my hands, acting all tough, and then start to weep if a cat ever approached him without me there to scare it off will always make me chuckle.

They were lovely dogs, and the only thing greater than their bond with me was their bond with each other.  They brought out the best in each other, I adored the way Snoopy would jump at Spike play-growling at her and pretend to nibble at her feet, to start a game of chase.  Or how Spike would politely tease  Snoopy by gracefully slapping him across the face with her paw.  The way they’d cuddle up in the same cot on cold wintry nights, with Spike using Snoopy’s soft and cuddly body as a cushion was beyond adorable.

But most of all, I will never forget the way I’d feel to see them enthusiastic to see me, and the way they’d make me feel like the best person on planet earth.

Spikey Wikey and Snoopy doopy doo, in my heart forever and always.

It’s sad but it’s true

-How much the future worries me sometimes.  I’m like a little kid trying to see over a six-foot-wall, sometimes.  My future seems bright, and I feel like I should be living in it rather than stuck in the achieving part of my life.  Sometimes I wonder if I have a 20-year-old-soul trapped in a 17-year-old body. That, or maybe I’m just surrounded by dim-wits who don’t act their age.

An unexpected visit.

I walk outside the front door, to see my friend Amy’s (who had occasionally skipped her math lessons without her parent’s knowledge to hang around my house) Dad and brother, waiting outside my house, in an ancient car.  As if that wasn’t random enough, Amy’s Dad was, well a slightly shorter version of himself, and her brother was in speedos.  Yes speedos, and the weather here isn’t exactly  speedo-friendly at this time of the year.

After contemplating for a while, I decide to walk past them, trying not to get their attention.  They get out of the car, and come up to me asking if I knew anything about Amy’s current whereabouts.  For some reason, the speedos, contrary to everything else, were of a bright colour, orange too. And, for some odd reason, even though I was quite sure she was not, I reacted as if I was hiding her under my bed. As if she was an illegal substance, and I could sense that my face showed my fear of getting caught.  I mumbeled something about how the last time I spoke to her she was about to clean their attic.

“Attic? So she’s cleaning the lare dad!” her brother yelled out in an unusual excited manner.

My mind suddenly tried to make any connection between the possibility of Amy being a witch with all the memories I had of her.  But before I could try to reach a conclusion, her brother suddenly springs his elongated legs to my open-door garage, where my father was proudly squishing grapes with his bare feet to make his precious wine, and checked if Amy was hiding on the roof in there, and came out as her dog, Jessie.

THEN, I woke up. Is it any wonder that I wake up feeling so puzzled?  I spent all day looking at Amy with suspicion. Till it all came rushing back during my little nap time in fifth period.

Odd Sleeping Hours.

After a nice-5-hour-long sleep, I managed to wake up head-ache free, to face my literary essay! Hare in the Show, by Helen Dunnmore, you are ruining me.  It’s been two weeks of analysing you, what’s  more to see?  So much to say, yet I can’t seem start.

I can’t understand, how I find it so hard, to do something, I find so easy to do.  Criticism. This poem makes me feel makes me feel constrained.

Escapism.

“Escapism you say? How cowardly of one. Such a waste of time it is, running away, getting lost in thoughts when something practical could actually be done.  Quite a selfish thing to do too; learn to face the consequences already.”

Sadly that is the general attitude towards escapism, an idea to which, I am utterly opposed to. Few would deny that there are episodes in life when all one needs is a way out.  So why does escapism get such a bad reputation?

Society puts us under constant pressure to do, achieve, produce and succeed. They consider it waste of time maybe, little do they know that in the long run, escaping can come through for you.

As I see it, trying to fix things in a state of irrationality is about as useful as a chocolate teapot.  Putting time aside for a one-on-one session with whatever releases you from the harshness of reality gives you a greater desire to creative thought. A good read, a movie or a long walk, day-dreaming or music perhaps?-Whatever does it for you. It would allow you to return to reality with a fresh pair of eyes, it can show you an easy and maybe obvious solution to a problem which you could not notice when stressed.

Escapism is, in a very bittersweet way, a big large of my life. I can clearly tell the difference between fantasy and actuality, but wandering off to what could make my life better helps me attain it.

A great book provides escapism for me. I find the sensation of experiencing a world completely different from mine, in the trail of thought of artistic, talented person, who is much greater than me; better than any drugs.  I am yet to experience something as powerful as the escapism of  being another person, slipping into another character for a little while and forgetting about anything remotely important. But eventually it will come to an end, and while fingering the last pages dreadfully, I would feel more prepared to face the current chapter of my life.

Writing things down also helps me escape, but if books and essays and work are the bother, escaping my responsibilities for a little while does the trick for me.  Be it a quiet  night out with a close friend for a nice conversation over cocktails, or pulling off the occasional all-nighter of roaming around.  I find that I need the occasional escape, to break the routine, feel less constrained and have some spontaneous fun.