Sorry I didn't blog yesterday or on Friday. I had a surprise party and a major case of the "ceebs", respectively. Anyway, I'm glad that I am able to blog to you on this day.
Because the matter I wish to type to you, dear reader, probably affected you, even as it shook the international community. It chipped away at the global faith in humanity, and erected cultural barriers where buildings of commerce once stood. 10 years ago, ordinary men and women went to work as usual. Unbeknownst to them, many would never go home.
The events of September the 11th, 2001, made many fear for safety. For what seemed an eternity, the world stood poised on the threshold of Global Thermonuclear War. America would have flicked all the switches, if only they knew who to aim for, and every country feared the retaliation that would ensue. And every nation feared that they would be the next target.
Maybe you remember being bundled away from school, or rushing home to be with your family. I remember wandering into the living room, fresh in from school. I barely registered what was happening, aside from the footage being replayed over and over again. A plane crashing into a skyscraper. And again, and again, and again. And though I didn't understand what was happening, I knew it was something dreadful.
I was too slow to turn away. I saw ordinary people in fear and panic and chaos.
And I watched them jump.
That was when I feared for the worst. Have you ever feared like that? The end of it all? An event, straight from a nightmare, sweeping the globe? It made a lasting change in all of us. For the first time in my life, I saw the horror of extremism. I saw people murder others in the name of a peaceful religion. In short, I saw religion destroy faith.
Like I typed previously, I didn't understand fully. I couldn't comprehend the horror. But even as I still struggle with the concept of so many broken families and broken lives, one thing has become clear. The event was not caused by a religion, or even an ideal. It was people who perpetrated such atrocities. In the words of the National Rifle Association "Gun's don't kill people. People kill people." And such people can never take the moral high ground.
Now, I shouldn't judge those extremists. Its not my place or authority to do that, even in the face of all the terror that has plagued the world since. Many have said that they were violent revolutionaries, seeking to overthrow Western ideals and religions in the name of jihad. But I view true revolutionaries, the ones who bought around positive changes to society, as heroes, and the terrorists were not heroes. There is a key difference between the two.
Both are willing to die for the cause, but no revolutionary is so eager to kill for it.
Sunday, 11 September 2011
Thursday, 8 September 2011
Long time, no blog.
We all now I suck. More specifically, I suck at sticking to a project. Yet more specifically, Spawn Of Boredom (tumblr) shall be no more. If I do attempt to start up again, I will relaunch through blogger.
And speaking of blogging, Greying Rainbow is now back! Commence partying hard (with padding and soft drinks)! I feel like I need some therapeutic blogging, so we'll get down to that tomorrow, and I'll use this as my main update site.
I'm not going to run you through what's been going on in my life, mainly because I can't be bothered, partly because I need to sleep very soon. I'm in college now, which is the big thing, but aside from that I've been ticking over quite nicely.
And I've been writing. While its not quite Vogon-standard poetry, it does have an air of mindsploding awfulness. It will be on YouTube within a week.
Toodles!
Saturday, 19 March 2011
Happy to the Max!
So, today started with rugby training. I know last week was my last match, but I couldn't leave the guys with a sorrowful goodbye. The funny thing was that I'd recieved a letter about joining the Warrington Collegiate Team, which would then give me a chance to move up to Warrington Wolves Academy. I left the house coming round to the idea of at least enquiring about it, but on the road to Victoria Park (training grounds) I got a kind of...feeling. It was like a voice without words, saying that this was the right choice. Maybe it was just my subconcious, an overactive imagination of actually feeling good, but I'm inclined to believe that this was one time that God was speaking to me. I'm not over-religious, I'm not one-hundred percent certain, and I'm not going crazy, but as I asked for guidance I looked out of the window. The first thing I saw was a Bible.
Training was excellent, which spooked me after that. I played well, scored a few tries, took some hits. I left the guys promising to come back for the Crosfields game, and my coach said that whatever happened I was welcome to return at any time. I came home, got showered, and went out. I didn't give a thought to my image when I was out with my mates, I just had a good time. We went to McDonalds, then Blockbuster and ASDA, then went to the cinema and watched Battle: Los Angeles (which is an awesome film). Throughout the day, I just felt like I was running on a high, and I've still got the buzz. It's wierd, but maybe I just never feel this good because I get myself down. I'm my own worst enemy (lol).
Anyway, I'm hoping that tomorrow carries this on, and I'll be super happy all next week as well!
Training was excellent, which spooked me after that. I played well, scored a few tries, took some hits. I left the guys promising to come back for the Crosfields game, and my coach said that whatever happened I was welcome to return at any time. I came home, got showered, and went out. I didn't give a thought to my image when I was out with my mates, I just had a good time. We went to McDonalds, then Blockbuster and ASDA, then went to the cinema and watched Battle: Los Angeles (which is an awesome film). Throughout the day, I just felt like I was running on a high, and I've still got the buzz. It's wierd, but maybe I just never feel this good because I get myself down. I'm my own worst enemy (lol).
Anyway, I'm hoping that tomorrow carries this on, and I'll be super happy all next week as well!
Friday, 18 March 2011
Thantos: Awakening
I'll get round to the title in a second, but first let me tell you about my day. Got up in a good mood, got dressed for non-uniform day with my Ghostbusters T-shirt, had my coffee and went to school. Had a Physics lesson that I enjoyed (I'm sad with numbers), then a Drama Award lesson in which I was complimented by several people because of my shoulders and arms. Saw Kathryn, who looked really annoyed/upset, but later said she was fine apart from being a bit slow and confused today. Had English, which was fun because I chatted to the girls behind me about my apparent campness, which kind of devolved into humorous anecdotes and odd conversations. Maths was blissfully easy to me today, and P.E was fun because we were playing badminton (which I love). Today has been a good day!
Now, the title. You've heard of Flash, right? It's basically animation software, which I hope to acquire in the near future, in order to start a series based on a group of people. Now, this is going to sound odd, but bear with me. 4 people, who have been genetically and bionically modified, break out of their confinement: Rogue, who is the intellectual and team analyst; Theta, the agile and lightning fast runner; Rachael, team firearms and heavy ordinance specialist ; and some other guy (name not decided upon) who will serve as the melee specialist. As they break out of the facility, they will encounter a prototype named Thantos, a powerful sentient humanoid robot, which is able to take life through a single touch if it so chooses. As Thantos is the Freudian term for the "death instinct", you can kind of guess that he's highly agressive and dangerous when something ticks him off. However, as he has a remarkable degree of control, he will prove useful as the team assassin. Thantos will serve as a metaphorical "Reaper", but one with a vengeance.
Anyway, I've got plans for what happens in later episodes, and the characters'...unique fates. More if I get Flash soon!
Anyway, I'm seeing a good friend tomorrow who isn't in these parts more than four times a year, so it'll be good to catch up with her. And so until the next blog...
Peace Out.
Now, the title. You've heard of Flash, right? It's basically animation software, which I hope to acquire in the near future, in order to start a series based on a group of people. Now, this is going to sound odd, but bear with me. 4 people, who have been genetically and bionically modified, break out of their confinement: Rogue, who is the intellectual and team analyst; Theta, the agile and lightning fast runner; Rachael, team firearms and heavy ordinance specialist ; and some other guy (name not decided upon) who will serve as the melee specialist. As they break out of the facility, they will encounter a prototype named Thantos, a powerful sentient humanoid robot, which is able to take life through a single touch if it so chooses. As Thantos is the Freudian term for the "death instinct", you can kind of guess that he's highly agressive and dangerous when something ticks him off. However, as he has a remarkable degree of control, he will prove useful as the team assassin. Thantos will serve as a metaphorical "Reaper", but one with a vengeance.
Anyway, I've got plans for what happens in later episodes, and the characters'...unique fates. More if I get Flash soon!
Anyway, I'm seeing a good friend tomorrow who isn't in these parts more than four times a year, so it'll be good to catch up with her. And so until the next blog...
Peace Out.
Sunday, 13 March 2011
For The Old Guard.
I'm sorry I've not blogged for a while, but...actually, I'm done with excuses. I couldn't be bothered. I'll get on top of that, but in the meantime stick around for an emotional blog of epic proportions.
Today was the end of an era. The sunset of my passion. The culmination of a journey through more than half my life. Because of one sport, I have become who I am today, and that's not an understatement. Without Rugby, I wouldn't have made it here. But, with the switch to Summer Rugby interfering with my exams, it has heartbreakingly been snatched from me.
If you're still reading, I assume you want to see the bigger picture. Let's go back to the start of my journey: to the rough end of a town called Saint Helens. My dad was a vicar at Saint Michaels church, a large church with a huge front lawn. The vicarage looked out onto a field of wheat, and one of my earliest memories is flying kites with my parents and brother on a huge hill round the back. My dad helped to turn a small area of land in between four roads, full of dust and burnt out cars, into a rugby pitch. I was unaware of this at the time, but my dad has done so much for the communities he has been in. But this is not his journey, though he supported many others. This is my story, however selfish that seems.
The school where I went was the only school in the area. My mum was a teaching assistant there, and it was at this school that I was first exposed to rugby. Not really the grandest place to start, a school where some kids had police squads attatched to them and which was frequently broken into, but there was no other option. I was in Year Two when my teacher, who had always got on with me, my brother, and my parents, informed us of a competition to do with rugby. I remember my friend Jason sitting next to me, both working on our entries, and us both laughing at my question "Is Rugby the one with the posts that go above the crossbar?". Just ten minutes ago we had had a scrap, but then we were the best of mates again. He gave me a note saying "Im soree mayt" and I gave him a high five, and that was the end of it. Friendships healed so much easier back then.
I ended up winning a small prize despite my ignorance, a magnetic contact book with the Saints logo on the front. It felt fantastic, the unruly mob of kids suddenly becoming united in the support of the 30 or so who won prizes, and me being one of them. I was unstoppable, indestructible, although I couldn't articulate this despite my advanced vocabulary and intellect. Then came the news that would turn my life upside down. Clock Face Primary was being demolished to make way for a block of flats.
They kept me there for the penultimate term as a parting blow to the authorities who were shutting down the place of my first memories, friends, and dreams. Due to me being remarkably academically gifted for my age and the area, the school saw the best individual Year Two SATs scores that it had ever had, and several other smarties like my good friends Paul and John pulled the grades up even more to the best Year Two SATs Overall in the school. I regret not keeping in touch, and I still wonder about how they are.
So, with sadness, we moved to Warrington. However, I quickly integrated into the local school (that had rather less "personality", which I missed), and I met a bunch of new friends who I am very happy to say that I still know, and know them better. I joined the local team, Grappenhall Giants, and trained twice before I got put on the team as a starting prop forward. I was six years old. I ran up and down the pitch, scoring tries and tackling players. It was a beautiful day, and I came out of that game knowing that I had done something absolutely and totally right for one of the first times in my life. It was us versus them, and we played in the sun. From that day on, rugby was me.
Three years later, the team saw a shift. Players were joining local superteams, leaving us with just seven players at the end of the season. The last to go was a girl who's name I forget. She moved to Australia, and her leaving party was the second party I can remember going to. She played prop as well, and the opponent's faces when she took her headguard off were priceless. I don't remember much else about her except for the look of shock when they found out the player who had thrashed them so thouroughly was a girl. Still makes me chuckle, looking back.
So, the club merged with a new team, Latchford Albion Unicorns. They had two teams, and we were all put into the lower team, which was justly renamed Latchford Giants. I got pushed into the backs, but quickly established myself as the best tackler and safest pair of hands on the team. The other six who stayed on quickly established themselves in their roles. Martin as a Prop, Billy as Hooker, Pete as half back, Cameron as Second Row, Ste as Winger. The "Old Guard", as I've always referred to them, and who this blog title is named after, were ready for anything. It was us versus them, and we played in the sun. The U10s were moving on up.
Billy's dad, Ian, had always helped out with training. Our official coach left due to family commitments a season or two after the merger, and Ian became our official coach. He embodied the nature of Rugby League in his coaching: we respect him, he respected us. He has had a major influence on my life, and I'll never forget him and his overwhelming and universal good nature.
A few other coaches came and went, more players left and joined, but those seven people were constants throughout my rugby life. They've all impacted me, and without them I would not be the person I am today.
When I was in Year Six, I suffered a bad injury. I went up against the biggest lad on the field. He thought he could run through the little winger on the left. He was wrong. I floored him, and we both came out of it pretty badly. He was left gasping for air, and I was trying to make my right foot move. I went off for the last five minutes of the game, and I remember watching them score down the side I was on before coming off. I know I couldn't have done anything else to stop it than I had, but I've added it to the list of mistakes I've made in rugby. There's always a "what-if?". But my foot would not move for a day after the injury, and even then only minimally. Even all these years later, I sometimes have to drag it around for an hour before it realises it's meant to move, and it doesn't move as well as the other one. But the thing is, that's not an injury for me. It's the memory of so many seasons of Rugby, and although it seems stupid and irrational, I wouldn't get my gammy foot fixed even if I could. It's part of me in more ways than a mere walking thing with toes.
I brought my best friend down to the park for a session of training. He enjoyed it, and became part of the time, establishing himself as one of the best fullbacks in the area. He went for Warrington team trials, and I think he got in, but I don't know what he made of it. I made my first Warrington development session the season after his trials, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous of his abilities at first. Then I remembered that I was the person who brought him into it, and I felt happy, because without me he wouldn't be in that position. I had helped him realise his potential, while I kept steadily commanding my side of the field and taking the hits no-one else wanted to.I didn't care that I wasn't a spotlight player, because without me there wasn't a spotlight player.
Today was emotional for me, but I hid it well. I kept my cool, helped the play a little bit, but nothing really happened on my side of the pitch. Somehow, the last few seasons have been slower, with hardly anyone running at me or allowing me to really shine. The last person I saw was Ian. The memory of that goodbye is still making me cry now. He asked if I was going training on Tuesday, and I slowly shook my head and explained the situation. I wanted to cry, and he looked like he was going to, but I told him that he was the best coach anyone could have, and gave him the note I'd been working on. We promised that we'd keep in touch, and that was it. My dad gave me a hug as we went back to the car. Before he'd even started the engine I was crying at the pain and loss of that goodbye, and I still am.
I know that I can't just bury ten years of my life. I might take it up at some other point, but it will take months, years, or longer to get over the departure of a decade's loyalty to one club, a commitment to myself and the Old Guard to play well and never give up on each other. I don't think I'll ever desensitise to it. Rugby has changed me, utterly and completely, and now there's a hole in my life that I can't fill with anything except pain at the moment. But there is a silver lining to the day.
For one last time, we stood our ground. It was us versus them, and we played in the sun.
Today was the end of an era. The sunset of my passion. The culmination of a journey through more than half my life. Because of one sport, I have become who I am today, and that's not an understatement. Without Rugby, I wouldn't have made it here. But, with the switch to Summer Rugby interfering with my exams, it has heartbreakingly been snatched from me.
If you're still reading, I assume you want to see the bigger picture. Let's go back to the start of my journey: to the rough end of a town called Saint Helens. My dad was a vicar at Saint Michaels church, a large church with a huge front lawn. The vicarage looked out onto a field of wheat, and one of my earliest memories is flying kites with my parents and brother on a huge hill round the back. My dad helped to turn a small area of land in between four roads, full of dust and burnt out cars, into a rugby pitch. I was unaware of this at the time, but my dad has done so much for the communities he has been in. But this is not his journey, though he supported many others. This is my story, however selfish that seems.
The school where I went was the only school in the area. My mum was a teaching assistant there, and it was at this school that I was first exposed to rugby. Not really the grandest place to start, a school where some kids had police squads attatched to them and which was frequently broken into, but there was no other option. I was in Year Two when my teacher, who had always got on with me, my brother, and my parents, informed us of a competition to do with rugby. I remember my friend Jason sitting next to me, both working on our entries, and us both laughing at my question "Is Rugby the one with the posts that go above the crossbar?". Just ten minutes ago we had had a scrap, but then we were the best of mates again. He gave me a note saying "Im soree mayt" and I gave him a high five, and that was the end of it. Friendships healed so much easier back then.
I ended up winning a small prize despite my ignorance, a magnetic contact book with the Saints logo on the front. It felt fantastic, the unruly mob of kids suddenly becoming united in the support of the 30 or so who won prizes, and me being one of them. I was unstoppable, indestructible, although I couldn't articulate this despite my advanced vocabulary and intellect. Then came the news that would turn my life upside down. Clock Face Primary was being demolished to make way for a block of flats.
They kept me there for the penultimate term as a parting blow to the authorities who were shutting down the place of my first memories, friends, and dreams. Due to me being remarkably academically gifted for my age and the area, the school saw the best individual Year Two SATs scores that it had ever had, and several other smarties like my good friends Paul and John pulled the grades up even more to the best Year Two SATs Overall in the school. I regret not keeping in touch, and I still wonder about how they are.
So, with sadness, we moved to Warrington. However, I quickly integrated into the local school (that had rather less "personality", which I missed), and I met a bunch of new friends who I am very happy to say that I still know, and know them better. I joined the local team, Grappenhall Giants, and trained twice before I got put on the team as a starting prop forward. I was six years old. I ran up and down the pitch, scoring tries and tackling players. It was a beautiful day, and I came out of that game knowing that I had done something absolutely and totally right for one of the first times in my life. It was us versus them, and we played in the sun. From that day on, rugby was me.
Three years later, the team saw a shift. Players were joining local superteams, leaving us with just seven players at the end of the season. The last to go was a girl who's name I forget. She moved to Australia, and her leaving party was the second party I can remember going to. She played prop as well, and the opponent's faces when she took her headguard off were priceless. I don't remember much else about her except for the look of shock when they found out the player who had thrashed them so thouroughly was a girl. Still makes me chuckle, looking back.
So, the club merged with a new team, Latchford Albion Unicorns. They had two teams, and we were all put into the lower team, which was justly renamed Latchford Giants. I got pushed into the backs, but quickly established myself as the best tackler and safest pair of hands on the team. The other six who stayed on quickly established themselves in their roles. Martin as a Prop, Billy as Hooker, Pete as half back, Cameron as Second Row, Ste as Winger. The "Old Guard", as I've always referred to them, and who this blog title is named after, were ready for anything. It was us versus them, and we played in the sun. The U10s were moving on up.
Billy's dad, Ian, had always helped out with training. Our official coach left due to family commitments a season or two after the merger, and Ian became our official coach. He embodied the nature of Rugby League in his coaching: we respect him, he respected us. He has had a major influence on my life, and I'll never forget him and his overwhelming and universal good nature.
A few other coaches came and went, more players left and joined, but those seven people were constants throughout my rugby life. They've all impacted me, and without them I would not be the person I am today.
When I was in Year Six, I suffered a bad injury. I went up against the biggest lad on the field. He thought he could run through the little winger on the left. He was wrong. I floored him, and we both came out of it pretty badly. He was left gasping for air, and I was trying to make my right foot move. I went off for the last five minutes of the game, and I remember watching them score down the side I was on before coming off. I know I couldn't have done anything else to stop it than I had, but I've added it to the list of mistakes I've made in rugby. There's always a "what-if?". But my foot would not move for a day after the injury, and even then only minimally. Even all these years later, I sometimes have to drag it around for an hour before it realises it's meant to move, and it doesn't move as well as the other one. But the thing is, that's not an injury for me. It's the memory of so many seasons of Rugby, and although it seems stupid and irrational, I wouldn't get my gammy foot fixed even if I could. It's part of me in more ways than a mere walking thing with toes.
I brought my best friend down to the park for a session of training. He enjoyed it, and became part of the time, establishing himself as one of the best fullbacks in the area. He went for Warrington team trials, and I think he got in, but I don't know what he made of it. I made my first Warrington development session the season after his trials, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous of his abilities at first. Then I remembered that I was the person who brought him into it, and I felt happy, because without me he wouldn't be in that position. I had helped him realise his potential, while I kept steadily commanding my side of the field and taking the hits no-one else wanted to.I didn't care that I wasn't a spotlight player, because without me there wasn't a spotlight player.
Today was emotional for me, but I hid it well. I kept my cool, helped the play a little bit, but nothing really happened on my side of the pitch. Somehow, the last few seasons have been slower, with hardly anyone running at me or allowing me to really shine. The last person I saw was Ian. The memory of that goodbye is still making me cry now. He asked if I was going training on Tuesday, and I slowly shook my head and explained the situation. I wanted to cry, and he looked like he was going to, but I told him that he was the best coach anyone could have, and gave him the note I'd been working on. We promised that we'd keep in touch, and that was it. My dad gave me a hug as we went back to the car. Before he'd even started the engine I was crying at the pain and loss of that goodbye, and I still am.
I know that I can't just bury ten years of my life. I might take it up at some other point, but it will take months, years, or longer to get over the departure of a decade's loyalty to one club, a commitment to myself and the Old Guard to play well and never give up on each other. I don't think I'll ever desensitise to it. Rugby has changed me, utterly and completely, and now there's a hole in my life that I can't fill with anything except pain at the moment. But there is a silver lining to the day.
For one last time, we stood our ground. It was us versus them, and we played in the sun.
Monday, 7 February 2011
The Importance of Being Idle
The King is dead. Long live the King.
I know that an Oasis song title isn't much to do with Elvis Presley, but I'd just like to give a small shoutout to Kathryn, who gave me a fantastic Elvis CD for my birthday, and has also agreed to help me with a part of my next YouTube project. I'll keep you posted.
Last week was pretty average, apart from my girlfriend and best mate being ill (they're both better now though), and the fact that it was my birthday on Friday. I got a new microphone, clip-amp, DVD boxset, Elvis CD (mentioned), and a load of wonga. Counted up how much I have saved up today, and was happily surprised. Anyway, neither Tiff nor Kathryn could come to my little birthday thing, due to being ill (in case you're forgetful or have only just joined us). We had a good time anyway, and I had a chance to re-evaluate my position on many things, which was why I posted yesterday.
I fell asleep for half the last lesson, so I only got halfway through my differentiating question. I need more sleep, but apart from that conclusion, nothing remarkable happened today. Still feel a little disconnected, but I did a little bit to change that today. I think I may be thinking too much, but I don't want to reveal why or what about to anyone just yet.
Found my diary after a month of searching, and I'm going to start again. I don't want a hgue gap in my written life, so I'm off out to get a new one tomorrow. It's funny how, looking back, so little in my inner emotions or mindset has changed. There's still me, the dividing facade, and everyone else. Time for a change.
I've decided to re-join the Directive-930 community, at a lower rank than previously held. They helped me through so much, and I kind of abandoned them half a year ago. That'll take place mid March I hope, but I'm searching for new online forums where I can geek out a bit, and that have a decent community.
Final Quote: The hardest battle you have to fight is against yourself.
I know that an Oasis song title isn't much to do with Elvis Presley, but I'd just like to give a small shoutout to Kathryn, who gave me a fantastic Elvis CD for my birthday, and has also agreed to help me with a part of my next YouTube project. I'll keep you posted.
Last week was pretty average, apart from my girlfriend and best mate being ill (they're both better now though), and the fact that it was my birthday on Friday. I got a new microphone, clip-amp, DVD boxset, Elvis CD (mentioned), and a load of wonga. Counted up how much I have saved up today, and was happily surprised. Anyway, neither Tiff nor Kathryn could come to my little birthday thing, due to being ill (in case you're forgetful or have only just joined us). We had a good time anyway, and I had a chance to re-evaluate my position on many things, which was why I posted yesterday.
I fell asleep for half the last lesson, so I only got halfway through my differentiating question. I need more sleep, but apart from that conclusion, nothing remarkable happened today. Still feel a little disconnected, but I did a little bit to change that today. I think I may be thinking too much, but I don't want to reveal why or what about to anyone just yet.
Found my diary after a month of searching, and I'm going to start again. I don't want a hgue gap in my written life, so I'm off out to get a new one tomorrow. It's funny how, looking back, so little in my inner emotions or mindset has changed. There's still me, the dividing facade, and everyone else. Time for a change.
I've decided to re-join the Directive-930 community, at a lower rank than previously held. They helped me through so much, and I kind of abandoned them half a year ago. That'll take place mid March I hope, but I'm searching for new online forums where I can geek out a bit, and that have a decent community.
Final Quote: The hardest battle you have to fight is against yourself.
Sunday, 6 February 2011
Wow...a week?
Seriously, I'm not cut out for this blogging stuff. My life's too boring.
Even so, I apologise for the delay in blogs. I had rugby, work, controlled assessments, my birthday, then rugby and more work. I hope you accept my apology. You do? Still friends? Excellent!
I shall blog tomorrow, then probably Thursday, Friday, and Sunday.
Also, as a little closing point, I was reading a friends blog today, and it so hit me. I could really empathise, because I feel like what they said all the time, and it's always there at the back of my mind. I've made so many promises to myself to discard "the mask", but even though I don't think most of my "friends" are proper (I only trust 3 of them, and even then I still feel we don't "click"), surely it's better than having no-one to talk to or hold on to.
I want someone who knows me, not the person who I put in control every day.
Even so, I apologise for the delay in blogs. I had rugby, work, controlled assessments, my birthday, then rugby and more work. I hope you accept my apology. You do? Still friends? Excellent!
I shall blog tomorrow, then probably Thursday, Friday, and Sunday.
Also, as a little closing point, I was reading a friends blog today, and it so hit me. I could really empathise, because I feel like what they said all the time, and it's always there at the back of my mind. I've made so many promises to myself to discard "the mask", but even though I don't think most of my "friends" are proper (I only trust 3 of them, and even then I still feel we don't "click"), surely it's better than having no-one to talk to or hold on to.
I want someone who knows me, not the person who I put in control every day.
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