god's moving about his furniture.

friday night and for the first time this year i think, we have a thunderstorm. this makes me very happy, i love nasty weather when i'm all snug as bug in my tattiest h&m jumper. everyone seems to be doing something tonight, the friends are watching a sketch show in town, the boyfriend is gallivanting about the harry potter film set and rubbing shoulders with the stars, even my parents are out on the lash somewhere. the only company i have is the dog, but actually it's nice to get some 'me-time'. i've been so busy and stressed what with exams and everything that it makes a real change to be able to have the luxury of sitting and writing about myself for quarter of an hour as etta james serenades me. aaaaah.
so, i've got AS theatre studies under my belt now, finally. what grade at remains to be seen i suppose, but at least it's done and dusted. i'd like to say no harm done, but unfortunatly my lovely friend shuna managed to stab her foot with a pitchfork in our performance. blood everywhere. my infamous vom nearly made an appearence actually, but the show must go on i suppose. i didn't really enjoy the play we performed actually- i found it rather boring, both to act and to watch. the gestus didn't really come through, which was a disappointment, but to be honest i'm just relieved that it's over and i never have to think about 'fear and misery in the third reich' ever again.
i feel like i should do something constructive. the urge to write a poem is getting stronger, which is good. i've not written anything decent in ages, the last one was a shitty ditty about how happy my friends and random walks into york make me. but it had no substance or real emotion to it and it felt as if i was making up random imagery for the sake of it. i genuinely don't think i've ever been happier than i am now- i have the best friends possible, i'm with someone amazing and it's nearly summer. however all this happiness does not make for good poetry it seems! maybe i can only write about depressing things. all my best poems have been written in times of turmoil, however right now i'm about as far from depression as possible (touch wood). i won't complain too much, if it's a choice between happiness and creative genius then i'll pick a day with harri in museum gardens followed by a night on the lash with the fold any day of the week, thank you very much.
so i feel like i've written enough for now, i'm gently weaning myself back into the world of blogging ;). nanight boys and girls- the ones who are still reading this! :)
x
ps there's no food in the house- tea tonight for me has been a cucumber.