There is no denying life's persistent dullness. Those weeks where inspiration and motivation dry up and we are left stranded in a big fucking metaphorical desert of nothingness and only slightly numb feelings towards things like Futurama and Jaffa cakes. Sometimes I am forced to doubt whether I will ever get any passion for anything back and just as I am giving up hope and resigning myself to a life of mocking the idiots off the television taking pictures of my feet - along comes hope.
'The Elegance of the Hedgehog'. It's one of those books where I am constantly finding similarities between my own thoughts and the main characters ramblings - they sum up feelings I've had but never been able to verbalize. It's set in Paris and has lots of lovely juicy themes like philosophy and sociology and the bourgeoisie and big questions and big answers and deep thoughts and I should just shut up and let you get on with buying it. I got a used copy for seventy pence from Amazon , so you really have no excuses. When it arrived in the morning post I immediately lay on my back (my preferred reading stance) and smugly opened my fantastically cheap copy only to be engulfed by a face full of sand. I'm thinking this was probably someone's holiday read last Summer.
I also bought myself some jewelry. Cause I'm a brat. It is gorgey but my silly camera is being a right stubborn cock refusing to take photos of it - I think it's fallen out with it's macro setting or some shit.
It's made by this lovely American lady called Colby June and is very cheap considering it's silver, made to size and has to be thrown across the pond.
I can't help feeling a bit silly writing to potentially nobody on here but hey.
Whoever you are, it's cool you took the time to read this. o
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