It's 3pm. It's raining. It's Monday. I'm sat in bed with the curtains open and my eyes closed. I'm writing an essay about applying analytical approaches to film. Hitchcock. The MacGuffin. I can't wait to get back to college. I'm listening to Taking Back Sunday and screaming along like it's the first time. There are papers that will decide my future sat on my bed. Stafford, Bournemouth, Stafford, Bournemouth. I've been hearing so much more lately, things I've never noticed before, I've just been picking up on every little sound - it's weird. I can hear the rain but I can't see it. I can hear everything. It feels like something big is going to happen but I have no idea what. This is the almost-calm before the almost-storm; this is the barometer rising and the severe weather warnings. Something big is going to happen. I can feel it. I can hear it coming. Oh the magic of strikethrough text. Feelings hidden but screamed out so loud. Saying everything and nothing. Hidden and dangerous. It's all about the subtext.

I am in a weird mood today. Everything will be fine I think once I see everyone again. I've had too much time on my own, just thinking about things, messing things up in my mind. It's what I tend to do when I'm on my own, which is probably why I spend so much time on MSN and stuff. I don't handle loneliness well. No sir. I spoke to Ruth on MSN. This is a blogspot success story I think! It was sehr intense. I don't know. There has to be some psychological reason for it I guess, but hey we've all been through stuff, my story is probably worse than some but not as bad as others and we can leave it at that. I haven't been to my hometown in around a year, is this a bad thing? I guess I'm the only one who can decide that. That place was killing me. There was nothing there for me, and I'm glad I got out when i did. The memories are still there ... but not a lot of them good. I feel more like myself here that's for sure, more able to be who I know I am, and not who I think I should be. You know I read the other day that we dream to fix experiences in our long-term memories, that is to say, we dream about things worth remembering. I wonder if this is true. I don't really want to remember some of the stuff I dream about, like that time I dreamed I watched Richard and Judy on my own for an hour. That was probably the worst dream ever.

I need to say thank you to Joseph as well because a little while ago he blogged about Bright Eyes [Bright Eyes may refer to: Bright Eyes Sunglasses, an Australian Sunglasses Retailer] well while that may be true wikipedia I'm actually referring to the band. A few days later I found myself imagining Conor Oberst's voice in my head before I fell asleep. I decided this was somewhat strange. Either way I realised I hadn't heard anything from Cassadaga or I'mWideAwakeIt'sMorning in far too long. I needed Bright Eyes back in my life. I'm currently listening to Landlocked Blues and realising how much I missed it. It's an anaesthetic. So thank you man!