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Friday 14 December, 2012

It’s 1:27am and for some reason I’m up. My least favourite personal attribute of myself at the moment is how much time I’ve spent not doing the Mozart thing, compared to how much time I’ve spent actually yes doing it. The ratio is infinity to zero. I haven’t even touched it since my promise, kind of like every other time I’ve written about stuff on this blog then not done it. Slowly this website is becoming a record of all the things I said I was going to do but didn’t: maybe I should just run with it and write heaps of other things that would be cool but I Aren’t Gonna Do.

Of course I’d love to write music so early in the morning but I’m really not in the mood. I have a christmas party tomorrow and I want to drink hot chocolate now. Ok now I have made hot chocolate. It’s soy.

Did you know snails only have one foot? Snails with one foot, underfoot, crunch. Flattened gastropods ooze spectacular wads of slime. Shoes cover themselves with newly formed bioadhesive. Sensate feet determine resistance. Well-trained ears listen, sounds of death.

Too hardcore for your own good, says me. A story:

Geoffrey and Lisa. Lisa and Geoffrey. Which way around sounds best? he thought to himself, lying on his back on top of crushed warm sheets of his unmade bed, legs protruding over the end and feet on the floor. The door was closed so nobody would disturb his obsessive train of thought. If I believe it, it can really happen, he thought, not really believing it, but repeating whatever bubbles of thought mingled into his mental viewpoint – bubbles which started far back in his subconscious, clung to each other for dear life, and carefully moved thorough the perils of his mind. By the time each thought reached the forefront, it was tangled around several other thoughts, thus causing each individual thought to materialise not in a clean fashion, but in a bundle of confusion. Everything at once. Me. Her. Beliefs. The end of the world.

A loud group of classmates stumbled past his door, drunk or drugged, severely disturbing his train of thought. Blinking, he inhaled and stood. This is awful, he thought, what am I doing? There must be some better use for my time. Indeed, there was. Even if some students felt they did not need any further study time, he certainly did. He stared at the walls of his room, tracing invisible patterns in the stucco. There were no decorations. There was nothing in this room except a sense of dread for not having understood everything he’d learned this semester.

The walls need something on them. He took the box of crayons he’d been keeping for creative purposes, pulled a fistful out and tapped them so the tips lined up. He stood on the bed, forgot inhibition, and drew a rainbow over the wall. Perhaps I should have not done that.

The End!

(unless anyone requests the rest of that story.)

I’m going to have another shot at sleeping.


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