Hah forgot a title, and put this in after the fact.

Well I always wanted to try stream of consciousness writing, so here I go. Actually that's a lie, I haven't always wanted to, as in my entire life, but this is trite so moving on. Just in my room looking out the window, it's snowing which is nice, although it was as green a Christmas as you could get here (oh wait this is another lie, as it actually snowed on Christmas day. forgive me). Er...Tybalt is sleeping, all curled up like a croissant, croissant chat, oh how I amuse myself. There are dishes in my room that I need to take downstairs, but I'm disinclined to acquiesce society's request for neatness because 1, my brothers are playing in the room next to me and I don't feel like being fucking barraged with nerf shite, and 2, it's cozy here and I'm likely to be on my computer until I get so hungry that I will brave both the chilly walk out of my room, and my brothers' antics. Something interesting, something interesting.....oh! She looks around her room, looking for something to light her eyes upon that will spark a thought or topic or anything really...she types, she types...shite. nothing. I'm not even sure what's going through my brain, only that I wanted to write about something cool, except every time I google "interesting blog post ideas" all this business synergy client shit comes up, which is confusing, because I didn't think people blogged in a business type-way, except I suppose they must, if the majority of results aren't what I was looking for. Some people think blogs are a bit narcissistic, but I say fuck 'em. If you're interested, read it, and if you're not, you're probably not even reading this now, so I ain't even bothered. Tybalt looks so cozy, sometimes I just wish I was a cat and could lounge about and be silly and chase things and still be loved even though surely he knows that the laser isn't a real animal and that the ladies who jointly own him and I sometimes call him "Fuckhead" and laugh at him, albeit lovingly. But then again, after just a week of freedom from school, and the time to do whatever I want, really, I'm almost (quite very close to) bored of it, and then I start thinking that that sort of life, as a cat, would be boring as anything. Now i feel like going and doing something productive, but I (and probably you) know that it won't happen...the most productivity that today will bring will likely reach no further than picking up the clothes from my floor, and feeding said pastry. And my self too, come to think of it...I had hoped to cook like a chef on acid this holiday (er no. not like that at all, that seems like it would turn out quite horribly) but what I mean, is that I wanted to cook something new every day, every day cook something new, and delicious, and free of charge, coincidentally (for some reason just thought of Gilderoy Lockhart here) as it would be funded by my family, who, would likely either like it and appreciate the fact that they need only pay for the meal, and not make it, while my brothers would quite possibly tell me, at least in the case of my youngest little brother, that it was gross and can he just have pasta without sauce. Right! Well I've got a week left to do such things, should i choose to. I always get so excited for holidays, or for the end of such mountainous passages of time like exams, or certain weeks with loads of school things due...although I think, that ultimately, the brief respite is the one best enjoyed, most appreciated, and well remembered, whereas the days are already bluuring for me here, and I'm already dreading the fucking summer because I really want to get a good job where I'll be required to think, and not staple or photocopy or stamp (although the stamp machine was, admittedly, cool.) so Mindlessly with a capital bloody M, because I do quite honestly think I lost brain cells that summer. So as long as I'll still be required to think while I get paid, and maybe do some classes or something, the summer will be altogether brilliant, just I'm that much closer to them that I was in semester 1, and I know that the second one will pass with probably even more speed than the first and excellently brilliant (which it was for so many reasons) one did. shite shite shite shite "Sarah out!" she says, copying one of her internet idols (ooh and I actually got like 5 mini bottles of booze in my stocking this year...did a Mamrie impression but no-one got it, although I'm not surprised really, me brothas are too young to even have heard of milady's crass brilliance, and my parents wouldn't find her funny, i don't think.) Ok this has gone on long enough. A wee bottle to anyone who read to the end, and that's a promise.