Sunny days (:

Aw, today was such a lovely wee day. It didn't rain or anything. There are only two things that brought me down which were the fact I had (and did) my Spanish Oral and that our Biology teacher decided to be a perve and watch all the pupils in our class break their faces down on the rock pools before making us use a key to decipher seaweed :S. I got 8/20 in Spanish, which I really don't give a fuck about, so yeah. 

I've decided that I'm incredibly self absorbed at times. I mean sometimes I can't tell myself from all those other big headed people about. But I suppose everyone's big headed in a way. Maybe it's just the way the mind works sometimes... I don't know. I'm never going to have the right subjects to follow a career in psychology.

I'm pretty sure no one reads this, which is comforting in a way. I treat this like its a personal diary... which scares me. I don't pour my heart into things, and I don't want to pour my heart into something that every randomer on the planet can nosy into.

I've been plotting a story in my head for about a week now. I honestly love it, which doesn't mean that it won't be dropped this time next month. It's funny to think that it was around this time last year that I started planning a vampire book and I sworn I'd finish. I didn't finish it, but it was around 80,000 words long. See, I'm a vision-ist if that's even a real word. I can vision people and how they would do things. I suppose it's like an artist in a way. Artists capture the world around them from how they see it, and then they make it visual for others to see how they see. That's what a writer is. But writer's use words to create visions to explain how they see things. That's what I think writing is. Being creative is hard laboring work, especially when your mind goes blank. I hate that. Writing is my drug. It made me a better person, I think so anyway.

In ways, I'm dreading the summer. It's great that we're getting off for two months, but sometimes it just seems so daunting that our GCSE's are getting closer and closer. Life is ticking by painfully slow at the minute, but how will we react when we're eighty and wonder where our lives went? There are so many worries about growing up to be honest. Too many. I honestly don't know why people would want to fuck their lives up when their young because when your old, all you have is the bad memories and regrets. Life's too short for regrets, maybe. But what if your regrets are the only thing you have left?