Need more silly

Otherwise it's boring.

anot

Metaphors and similes strained out of me by the twenty pence tea leaf catcher, snatcher, devoider of thought
The Silver Band plays out my way, littered by cracked snails' carcasses and a crushed egg sarcophagus.
Slugs feet crush bamboo canes, tirelessly tormenting the tomatoes, who reach desperately for the wall and the sky.
The logistics of laundry is never more acutely felt when there is little left to launder but linen and lampshades.
Spitting neighbours, empty favours, unnecessary rhymes to convince of sublime...
The cat chases milk collars, distracted from the execution of hair toggles by the scratch, skitter and stubborn stare.
I never knew how to write and I was never more aware of this than now, when I want to, there is no coherent creation to be borne. A train of thought, a pointless aching consideration of why. Why what? I have been wondering about the nature/origin/reason of tradition, and quickly concluded that it is a 'social construct' (forgive the horrid phrase) that despite the superstition, religion, age, cultural/regional roots etc, the initial conception and growth of a tradition must be to create a community, to breed familiarity and commonality among people, to aid loyalty, a sense of belonging to a group of people.
Although people will share interests with others, is it possible to be entirely independent in an interest, to not feign interest in a certain aspect of a common passion so as to strengthen an alliance (albeit on false ground).
Is it possible to agree to disagree and accept another into the fold, to trust their loyalty in spite of differences, to respect them as an individual within the collective. Or are we all six again, devising a reason to ostracise the child we don't like, and coercing others to isolate them also, rather than simply stating that we don't like them.
*ramblerambleramble*

Cheese

Things are really grating this afternoon, not sure if this is hormonal or the accumulation of irritant, which began most notably last weekend. In observation, I try to abstain from being quick to judge, or unfair about individuals habits or idiosyncrasies, but it would seem I'm fed up of being forgiving I am increasingly of the opinion that people should get a grip and get on with it. And stop exaggerating and sensationalising events unnecessarily so as to render the situation irreparable. Reality is rubbish enough without topping it off with soap opera drama. But then I suppose the truth is mundane and can often lead to a simple solution, and if it's not hard, what is the point?

Start Again

Again

Obviously

Trying to be sensible and grown up with pennies with an idea of saving only works if you have something to save for. The desire to save for something implies an ambition or aspiration towards the something.
I stumbled across my old Amazon account the other day where I'd written in the summary that after university I wanted to travel around the world, working in as many places along the way as possible to fund it.
I can't even save up for a pair of shoes let alone a work visa and plane ticket. Getting bogged down in the mundane to enable myself to fund something I've only managed to get bogged down in the mundane, unable to fund even that.
Ultimately, all I do is annoy myself and irritate those around me by persisting in doing fuck all. Someone once asked why I lived in the city if all I was ever going to do was work as a bar maid, since I could do that anywhere. Worse, in trying to be indignant about this statement in relaying it to another person, they agreed with it as being an astute observation. I have since disappointed myself by moving out of the city and continuing to work as a bar maid.
I believe most of this may be down to me having concentrated so hard on establishing what it is I don't want to do, don't want to be, don't want to happen in my life, I've no concept of what it is I do want. The only clear ideas I have in my head are the negatives, and as such, they seem to be the only ones likely to materialise (thus far at least).
Being scared of my own ambitions and aspirations isn't much help either, and considering that I'm the only person who considers me incapable, it's ridiculous.

Title:

6th June
I don't want to do anything, even though I know I'd feel better and quite good about myself if I get up and go swimming before work in the morning, I can't convince myself to do it. Even with good reason to go, as someone pointed out to me, with my back starting to hurt again, and hurting as much as it does, you'd think I'd do something about it.
7th June
I did go swimming! My back feels ever so slightly less broken and my arms aren't talking to me anymore. I shall possibly swim again tomorrow.

Mouldy Slugs, Slate & Cat Crap

Because the cats think they're fancy and believe they deserve to defecate only in the finest Welsh slate, which would be some fricking expensive litter. But I don't understand how the slugs became mouldy.

Pretending to garden in a decked and concreted yard is my new favourite hobby; far superior to doing the laundry and tidying the house hobbies. Tidying the plant pots is much more mucky and rewarding, although the poor plants aren't necessarily benefiting as much as they could, because, as it goes, I'm not to good at defending their honour against marauding slugs and quenching their thirst so that they may thrive and blossom.