A lot of the time I'm supposed to be working, but instead I find myself playing video games where you get to turn guns into hats. Other times I frustrate my cat and wish it loved me more. Also I watch breaking bad. Or at least I did, until I finished it earlier today. What did we learn from breaking bad? Here's a list:
It's a series I thoroughly recommend. Claire Lovell, on the other hand, recommends that I do some work. Or at least something more wholesome that pretending to shoot people, watching people pretend to shoot people and antagonising God's innocent creatures. So here we are, indulging in the ageless pleasure of the written word.
I tried to update my blog like a week ago, but it just ended up being like a two page account of a train journey into London. I spent around an hour and a half writing it, but for your sake I have condensed it into a bullet pointed summary:
Doc Kazoo is basically the king of wooden kazoos and customer service. The whole process was wonderfully personalised and the kazoo is definitely the best I have every played.
I like the kazoo so much that I worry about it. Sometimes I feel like I'm playing it really well and that it is the greatest instrument of all time. Other times I'll be playing it not so well and I'll begin to worry that it was never as good as I imagined, and that kazoos can never be good instruments. There's this tiny fissure (like barely visible) along the grain of the wood that seems to have been caused by the screw. It's probably fine, but I have this horrible image of the kazoo just breaking in half one day. I'm always noticing tiny imperfections on its surface, which I know I've caused, but I'm not sure how. It's like every time I touch it, I make it less perfect and bring it closer to falling apart entirely.
I'm in a similar position with my new hat. Today I picked it up and felt like the brim had bent out of shape a little bit. It definitely hasn't.
Christmas was way fun and hanging out with my family is way cool, but I'm actually feeling increasingly eager to get back to my friends at university. I feel like hat wearing and kazoo playing is met with most enthusiasm amongst my friends in Sheffield, and I long for them to share in my materialistic joy. Sometimes I wish that all the people I love could live in some kind of colony, so that all my friends could be friends. I guess that would also make me the most popular person there, so I would have to be in charge.
Sometimes I think about writing things other than just this blog, but enjoying writing and even being good at it are different things from being able to write anything worth reading. Constructing a narrative is an entirely different skill to simply expressing things that are already in your brain. If I was going to write something, it would be a story about a hard boiled detective who was also a duck. This would pass the time and satisfy Claire Lovell's demands that I invest my time more wisely, but would it be any good? Who even knows. I guess good writing is the product of the mistakes learned from bad writing. Speaking of bad writing, does anybody know if bullet-points need full stops? They seem somehow exempt in my book, but I can't really justify this at all. I tend, as you may have noticed, to punctuate some and not others.
For a while I found myself putting large, square full stops at the end of my sentences, but that was an unusual period.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
- Human beings are nasty pieces of work
- When I say "Yes, I love you too," to a cat who is meowing disdainfully and trying to escape my clutch, I am bit like Walter White.
- Everybody is a bit like Walter White
- Hmmmm...
It's a series I thoroughly recommend. Claire Lovell, on the other hand, recommends that I do some work. Or at least something more wholesome that pretending to shoot people, watching people pretend to shoot people and antagonising God's innocent creatures. So here we are, indulging in the ageless pleasure of the written word.
I tried to update my blog like a week ago, but it just ended up being like a two page account of a train journey into London. I spent around an hour and a half writing it, but for your sake I have condensed it into a bullet pointed summary:
- I was trying to catch the 7:30 train to Doncaster
- I had to run for the bus
- I missed my stop
- I ran to the station. My hat fell off
- I had to renew my railcard. A very slow old lady was doing it. I took a free mince pie.
- I only just got my train. There was a funny bit with a lift.
- I realised I should actually have been rushing for the 7:00 to Doncaster, which meant that all my rushing had been pointless
- I ate the mince pie in Doncaster
- I started to freak out, then stopped after I realised that I had two bank accounts
- I missed a train because I was on the wrong side of the platform. My train stopped directly behind me and I turned around just in time to see it leave.
- I spent a while lamenting over how inept I was.
- I got on a very late train. The conductor wished me a merry Christmas and let me get on with the wrong ticket.
Hooray!
A couple of weeks ago I became the proud owner of a 'Hungry Hummer' kazoo, made by the wonderful Doc Kazoo himself.
Doc Kazoo is basically the king of wooden kazoos and customer service. The whole process was wonderfully personalised and the kazoo is definitely the best I have every played.
I like the kazoo so much that I worry about it. Sometimes I feel like I'm playing it really well and that it is the greatest instrument of all time. Other times I'll be playing it not so well and I'll begin to worry that it was never as good as I imagined, and that kazoos can never be good instruments. There's this tiny fissure (like barely visible) along the grain of the wood that seems to have been caused by the screw. It's probably fine, but I have this horrible image of the kazoo just breaking in half one day. I'm always noticing tiny imperfections on its surface, which I know I've caused, but I'm not sure how. It's like every time I touch it, I make it less perfect and bring it closer to falling apart entirely.
I'm in a similar position with my new hat. Today I picked it up and felt like the brim had bent out of shape a little bit. It definitely hasn't.
Christmas was way fun and hanging out with my family is way cool, but I'm actually feeling increasingly eager to get back to my friends at university. I feel like hat wearing and kazoo playing is met with most enthusiasm amongst my friends in Sheffield, and I long for them to share in my materialistic joy. Sometimes I wish that all the people I love could live in some kind of colony, so that all my friends could be friends. I guess that would also make me the most popular person there, so I would have to be in charge.
Sometimes I think about writing things other than just this blog, but enjoying writing and even being good at it are different things from being able to write anything worth reading. Constructing a narrative is an entirely different skill to simply expressing things that are already in your brain. If I was going to write something, it would be a story about a hard boiled detective who was also a duck. This would pass the time and satisfy Claire Lovell's demands that I invest my time more wisely, but would it be any good? Who even knows. I guess good writing is the product of the mistakes learned from bad writing. Speaking of bad writing, does anybody know if bullet-points need full stops? They seem somehow exempt in my book, but I can't really justify this at all. I tend, as you may have noticed, to punctuate some and not others.
For a while I found myself putting large, square full stops at the end of my sentences, but that was an unusual period.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA