I watched a programme last night where Joanna Lumley went to the top of Norway to see the Northern Lights. And it wasn't one of those unsatisfying programmes where somebody goes on a trip and nothing really happens. She went, she saw, it was fantastic. It's something I've always wanted to see. I've wanted to go North since his Dark Materials and South to see all the penguins since I read To Trouble a Star (which is a title I misremembered, wikipedia tells me it was Troubling a Star but I like mine better). I read a lot of Madeleine L'Engle books, I never thought much about the whole God thing. Bit like when I read the chronicles of Narnia, never associated Aslan with Jesus.
Anyway, apparently my gran also watched the programme and has seen them for herself when she was younger. In Orkney. Guys I think I just found a reason to visit family I don't even know!
Also everytime I find out Svalbard is a real place it's like my heart wakes up.
Also, also I've been doodling tattoos for about a week now. All I need is money, a large helping of courage and my dad to look the other way for the rest of the time I'm living with him. Not much at all.
Oh give me a girl singing over acoustic guitar and if she laughs in the recording I fall in love. Give me a guy who speaks in plain riddles. Give me something I don't have and I'll learn every part like it's new every time. Give me something to live for, tired of things to die for. I'm throwing out too much here, I'll never know if you wanted it. Like the boy in the union who asked for a pen and bought me a coffee when I started talking too much. Or the girls in my tutorial group who tracked dramas like soap operas. I changed names and altered situations a little but spilled out secrets, mine and everybody else's. I'm on the brink once my watch passes a certain point, well no it stopped. It's always at a certain point and I'm always at the brink of picking up the phone and calling you. I'm just too afraid that you might not pick up.
But there I go again, telling you all too much when I only wanted to share something small.
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4 comments:
Feelings are like a dam; you make a little hole to let a little out and then it all cracks and floods out.
And here we are, your unseen audience, who might or might not be there to drink it all up. Like a sponge. Many sponges.
...
What are sponges, anyway? Are they made from plants?
They come from the sea, which I always thought was a bit daft. Like what if there was a particularly crazy sponge that just soaked up the whole ocean one day, what would we do then?
use our glowing sweat to fuel sweet rave parties?
...wring it out again?
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