Randomness. Why do I always seem to get the urge to blog about random stuff whenever I have papers which are due soon?

Maybe it's destressing. Huh.


Always doing things at the wrong time. Stupid girl. Finished watching ALL the episodes of Fumoffu that Henry passed to me yesterday; took me three-plus hours, and now that I think about it, I could've finished writing my part of the paper by now. Grr. Stupid girl.


It doesn't make sense to miss something that you've never had. But sometimes I think I do. Maybe a species really does have some sort of collective memory; maybe that's how we sometimes get an achy sort of feeling about something, even though when we think back, we realise we've never had any sort of experience like it before.


Quite a few of the archery people talking about getting their own bows, even some of the juniors. And I wonder what kind of bow I might like, what it would look like, and when I'll finally be able to afford one.


Struck me sometime last month how I seem to have a strange affinity with people born in December. People born on December 30th, in fact. I seem to get on pretty well with them. And I seem to have an uncanny knack for finding them.

Beatrice, a good friend from back in primary school, is born in December; we were pretty crazy then, and we still keep in touch now.

Pam is born on December 30th. Best friend I've ever had, and we're in our 12th year of knowing each other now.

Ivan is born on December 30th. While it lasted, I always thought it beautifully amusing that my best friend and boyfriend shared a birthday.

James is born on December 30th. I've only known him for a year, and while I wouldn't say that we're anything close to being best friends, on those conversations during the bus rides home, he sometimes puts a very different spin on my outlook on life. And I just like that we can talk and get along the way we do.

Vincent is born in December, and it's funny because I'm not sure I'd say that we're good friends-- I don't think we know nearly enough about each other to say that. I think. But he's good company. Despite the fact that he can be really annoying while we're shooting. It looks like I'm gonna lose someone that I can shoot with; I remember in my first year, a few of us talked about going on to shoot even after we'd graduated or were no longer on the committee; that number of people has diminished drastically. And seeing as Vincent's going on exchange for a year, I guess he's not going to be coming back to the sport.

December people have a unique kind of feeling to them. For some strange reason, to me, they all feel... right, in some way. Comfortable to be around. And I can't really figure out why, but oh well.


If someone could take a snapshot of the things that float around in your head at any random point in time, what do you think they'd find?

I've had this strange little thought floating around in my own head for a long time now, along with other strange thoughts like it.

If there were a freeze-frame snapshot of what goes on in my brain, I think I'd know what it looked like.

Half-finished images and fleeting, half-imagined memories of landscapes that I've never seen-- burning sunsets and reddened grass like the melting clocks in a Salvador Dali. Snatches of verses and truncated lines randomly conjured up; waiting for a poem to be fitted into and a title to go under.

A persistent image of a girl who looks too much like me, spinning circles in a wide open field.

Always laughing. And I wish I knew why she was so happy.

Knees touching, and someone with no face, but shoulders which were made for leaning on.

Papers with words on them; half careful, premeditated script and half angry, illegitimate, semi-artistic scrawl.

And I wonder why they aren't all bound together in a book, but all loose pages.