Thinky Thoughts

I think a lot. This might be slightly obvious since I don't end up writing out as many thoughts as I have. Strangely, they only seem worth sharing at the time. I've toyed with the idea of carrying a notebook around with me at all times so I won't forget any thought, but between an umbrella, a gym bag and a bag of takeaway sushi, there's hardly room for a pen.

By the time I sit (read: collapse) down to write, most of my thoughts have fluttered away like so many frustrating insects. So here I am with a butterfly net equipped for catching errant thoughts, don't mind me while I coral them.

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I contemplate gathering up all the funds that I possess and taking off on some grand adventure. That desire hasn't changed in the last few weeks. There are a few problems with this idea, the major one I'm dealing with is fear. My parents have indirectly instilled in me a fear of having and knowing nothing. I live, perpetually thinking that everyone who sees me watches me and judges me. Although, that fact is probably neither here nor there. In any case, I've watched my parents "never talk about money in front of the children" and now I know the state of affairs. I do not want what they live with to be my lot. So, I started to work at the age of 16, constantly saving up to make sure I don't end up like my parents. But from time to time, a grand adventure seems worth the price.

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Books. They used to take up my entire existence. Food was something I did so I could go on reading books. My parents tried to enforce the rule of no books at the table; that would work for about the length of time it would take to voice that rule. My life has changed, and although reading doesn't take up as much of my leisure time, I'd like to think it still infuses my soul's cup of tea. I have a book in me somewhere, I would like to get it onto paper. Using this blog as writing practice makes me want to compose something more complex although probably a little less personal.

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I've discovered an interesting quirk of mine. I can cook and  bake. While I'm fairly confident of my skills, they only become evident when I am alone. Baked goods created anywhere in the vicinity of my parents or even the Handsome Lad tend to erupt into gloriously globular failures. There's probably something psychological about the whole things. However, the more tangible result of this would be that my pie crust contains half the required amount of butter and tastes like concrete (don't ask...).

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I have found that there are days where I couldn't care less if I get wet. Today happened to be one of those days. The top of the mountain was wreathed in mist, muting the vivid colours of autumn. It was if the world had been drenched in pastels. I would say watercolours but that just seems too obvious. It rained, and for the most part, the droplets were icy. But I had no umbrella and as I walked, I found that I rather enjoyed the sound of the rain on my slick, black hood.

There are more thoughts, but I thank you for reading these ones. Sometimes, I like to write without a general purpose; the ideas start to leave me be for a while after they have been transcribed.

For your troubles, weary mind wanderer, here is a song I currently enjoy.