Hooked on a Feeling

I’ve got that finally-did-laundry-because-all-of-my-clothes-were-dirty-and-I-kept-putting-it-off-to-study-for-my-exam-but-now-I-have-taken-it-and-can-be-human-again good feeling. While I wait for my clothes to dry, let’s have us a blog post. And a little something to set the mood, complete with interesting visual choices.

These past couple of weeks have been stressful, but also more than a little great. I sent some letters, booked tickets for the first part of my summer ramblings, met Billy Collins, and, as of yesterday, took my Milton exam. When I get busy, I also tend to be a ridiculous human whose time is equally divided between giving muddled explanations of the problems with free will as a concept and screaming into her pillow whenever baby animals are mentioned. It’s cuter if you think of it like a cut-away montage.

Lucky for me, I have friends who knew what they were getting into when they signed my imaginary and utterly binding Mutual Friendship Contract. They draft my will, point out the absurdity of my procrastibaking (which I did not know was a thing), lend me books about the political landscape of Stuart England, and cuddle me into the early hours. I honestly don’t know how I’d be able to do anything without their support and back rubs. Thank you, you guys.

About a fortnight ago, though, one of my friends managed to do something so sweet that I had no choice but to invest in some horcuxes. As you know, I really love music, but have no mastery of it. Whatsoever. In any capacity. But the fabulous Mark does, and he sneakily put music to one of my songs, recorded it, and sent it to me. Because he is amazing.

It’s here.
(The words belong to me, and everything else to Mark and his wonders.)

And then I screamed into my pillow some more. I never thought I’d ever hear something I’d written performed, let alone by somebody so talented and lovely. Seriously, you should go and listen to his band, Jerome’s Law. Hey, Mark, are you reading this? I love you, you bastard. Thank you.

Now I’m off to read some Eliot for one friend and wrap birthday presents for another. Here, look at these flowers I bought for myself because I’m worth it.
Yeah, I’m worth two-euro flowers from Tesco, not flowers and a vase. What am I, a Rockefeller?

Also, I know that I haven’t been doing the Follower Love-Fest lately. I have no excuse for that. Don’t yell at me. I’m sorry. Enter the giveaway. I’ll throw in some candy.


2 thoughts on “Hooked on a Feeling

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