Bollocks, this is tricky.

I am trying to be a good blogger and sort out my blog so that it looks prettier, and write something that makes sense, rather than these emo rants that I seem to be into nowadays. The thing is, I used to have a life, then I started my A-Levels. Then I took on two jobs, and started volunteering for the hospital radio. Then I started chasing people up for work experience, and being shot down (twats.) Then I developed a boyfriend (yes, me! In a committed relationship! Shock, horreur!)

Like Kate and Johnny, only less cool. So I'm transferring to tumblr for a while (I know, hipster faggot) to see if thats easier. Please bear with me!

Mx

Do it. DOO IT.

An evangelistic post on faith and shit.

Don’t you just look at people sometimes and wonder; what drives them? What is it that, no matter how many times they’re knocked down, no matter how many times their spirit is crushed and their dreams shattered, always manages to pick them up and help them to start again?
You see people all too often in horrific accidents that lead to a loss of mobility – they are put into an induced coma and it is all but their sheer strength of mind that helps them to open their eyes, learn to move, to speak, to walk, to start to put their lives back together piece by piece.
Of course there are always those unfortunate ones who will be left behind, those who cannot move on and rebuild.  They are not to be pitied, they are not the weak, they are merely ones who believed so strongly in the element of their life that failed, that they cannot comprehend life without it. Again, you see them all too often; those who have taken their life because they can’t cope with the changes, those who rely so heavily on others for support you wonder whether they are really alive at all. Then there are those who, like my grandmother, never truly recover, but go through all the motions – a shadow of their former self.
So I come back to my question: what is it that some people have that drives them on? Is it religion? Or just faith, perhaps not in a God, but in some sort of divinity, a way of life. Is it their belief in themselves, the conviction that only you can truly determine what you will be? Or is it their belief in someone else, their absolute certainty that this person is their life, their reason for living? Is this love? Or just devotion?
Have they never experienced loss, experienced the feeling when all has been taken from you? Or does this conviction just lie in the hope that this something will never go away?
This reminds me of a Doctor Who episode a couple of weeks ago (don’t judge me, I have unbounded love for this show)where a creature fed on the faith that others had. At the end of the episode, the Doctor had to save Amy from the creatures clutches by breaking her faith in him. She survived, but it was like something inside her was broken without this faith.
Whatever “it” is, I envy and admire those people who can have such

unwavering faith in something. They show the rest of us just how beautiful it can be.

Would you Adam and Eve it?

I haven't written a post in a whole month. That's pretty bad, I know how much I hate it when I'm getting kind of into a blog, and then the blogger is all "weell, I just fancied a holiday and let this whole telling-you-every-step-of-my-life thing tail off."
I had this totally interesting article coming your way, about different types of males, but half way through I got quite depressed at the prospect of categorising every man on the planet, so... don't hold your breath for that one.
ANYWAYYY... look at these thrilling and strange things that have happened to me this month!

1. I LEFT SCHOOL
Oh yeah. That one. The big one. Except, y'know, I'm coming back for Sixth Form next year, but the prospect of a nine week summer is just - mm mm mmmm, tasty.

2. I BOUGHT MY PROM DRESS
Yeah! Me! I CHOSE one! A conscious decision from the non-decision maker! And it's red!! My grandmother says it makes me look like a hussy, but I am willing to let that slide, as she also once said that I'm single because I'm too skinny to bear babies, and no man wants a girl who can't have his babies. Which is wrong on so many levels, really.

I'm not showing your a picture.

3. I GOT ABSOLUTELY WANKERED
Am I allowed to say that word?

Again, there will be no picture for this.

4. I GOT TONSILLITIS
And am consequently now really into soup.

5. I WENT GINGER
But it came out purpley, and I don't like it. I'll get it lightened and then unveil it on here.

6. I'VE DECIDED I WANT TO GO TO ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY
Because it sounds lovely, and the countryside is beautiful, and I love Scottish people.

So that's everything really. I'm now on study leave, feeling quite humdrum with my soup and my studying.
Love, Peace and The Difference a Month Makes,
Mx

Stars hide your fires, these here are my desires, and I won't give them up to you this time around...

Pardon the extraordinarily long title; it is (if you don’t recognise it) from a Mumford and Sons song, Roll Away Your Stone. If you haven’t listened to it yet, I really think you should, because the lyrics are ambiguous but beautiful, more like poetry really. They’re written in iambic pentameter (nerrrrrd!) and have a Macbeth reference in there… that’s what I like to hear!

I’m trying to get back into the normal swing of things, but obviously things are a little crazy here in Megan-ville, so instead of writing something meaningful I think I’ll write about…tattoos!

Tattoos are baad. They’re for bikers and bad girls and general commoners. Celebrities glamourize tattoo-ing their other half’s name upon their body (I always wonder why they don’t have a list as long as they’re arm, each one crossed out every time they break up.) Your middle class parents think they’re crass and tacky, and if you dreamt of bringing home a boy with sleeves of naked girls and sailors he’d be out of the door before you can say “tramp stamp.” Therefore, they’re the obvious choice of rebellion for this teenage rebellll!

I have given this quite a good deal of thought (as I’m studying for my GCSE’s and obviously have a lot of time on my hands…? Idiot!) and after choosing and then rejecting barbed wire inked around my upper thigh (two words. Cheryl. Cole. It’s out.) I have settled on a short shortlist (is that possible?) of possible tattoo choices.

1. The Vitruvian Man

I am an immense fan of Da Vinci and I have done a rather pathetic amount of research on the Golden Ratio, so this means quite a lot to me and represents my love of both art, history and conspiracies. Also, I think it would be kind of cool to have a naked guy with his junk out tattooed on my butt-cheek.

2. Irish Serpent Knot

I love everything that this stands for - love that reflects the eternity of life, loyalty towards the person one loves, and the four sections representing the four seasons.

Or maybe both? In the words of Mrs Charleton, who knows???

Mx

Note to self...

...Posting pictures of attractive Italian men really boosts your page views.
I hope you had a lovely Easter.
Mx

This is a fairly shit sketch I did it a little while ago. It's a drawing of a statue that currently stands in Rome. The artist's name was William Wetmore Story, and it now stands at the grave that he shares with his wife. I'm not particularly fond of this drawing, but I thought it was quite topical.

I realise I haven't written in a while, and I'm sorry that my first post in about two months is going to be depressing, but I'm not going to write a cheery, petty little post at the moment.

Grief is a shitty, shitty thing. One might say that pain is something that unites each and every person on this planet, as they're all going to feel it sometime. Pain is also something that isolates you, that makes you different from everybody else. Your pain is never going to feel the same as anybody else's. Type "grief" into Google images and you'll find lots of pictures of people weeping in despair, head in their hands, a comforting hand on their shoulder. But that is not my experience of grief. Grief is what's left behind. Grief is a mother and father having to bury their son. Grief is the brother that is left behind trying to hold his family together. Grief is a business in ruins, a house in disrepair, a family revolving around a hospital ward. Grief is not knowing where to put yourself, not wanting to cry or think or break down. Grief is a pile of papers and sketches, of memories pushed under the bed where you don't have to see them. Grief is the relief that someone you love can finally feel no pain. Grief is the numbness that follows, the anger, the sense of injustice. Grief hides itself away and feeds on you like a parasite, and it rips families apart.

Sorry for being a bit of an emo fag here, folks.
My prayers and love go out to the people who need it most.

Mx





O 's follas gur líon do chroí dom grása, a stór.

Something wicked this way comes...

I have just given my first performance as Malcolm in the Kinetic production of Macbeth - two more to go and I have to say, despite not being a "drama person" the buzz you get afterwards is unbelievable!
We are doing a slightly modernized, industrial version, where Macbeth is set in some sort of warehouse or old factory, we fight with broom handles and beat dustbins for rhythm, and the witches are "druggies." My costume (obviously forefront in my mind) is all black, with red braces and a red corset belt. And yes, I am playing the part of Malcolm, the King-to-be and lead soldier. In a corset belt...

In other news, I've been hit on by a twelve-year-old, and may or may not have indulged in some extra-activity in the interval of Macbeth, the repercussions of which I have a feeling I shall feel for quite some time.
Apologies for my lack of post of late, but it has been really difficult to access a computer (due to obvious reasons for busyness.)

Love, Peace and All things Shakespeare,
Mx