Overall, a good weekend.
A while ago I got a bit depressed because i thought that stinging nettles didn't hurt anymore. On the way into work there's a patch growing as I walk in, and in the spirit of investigation, I jabbed my hand in it.
I was alittle shock that I didn't really get stung. I assumed that I didn't get a full hit, so I held my hand in there, then waved it about for a spell.
My hand itched a bit afterwards, and i got a bit dejected. I remembered back when i was a tiny child, and stinging nettles were THE ENEMY. You'd get huge great welts on your arms where you'd been stung, the pain was electric. When we set of on japes and excursions, we all maintained constant alert ness in case of errant nettles that escaped our attention. We were like grunts in vietnam on the look out for tripwires and pungee traps.
When concentration lapsed and I was stung, I'd fly into a rage and get stung even more as I tried to smash the nettles into submission, until finally, sobbing under my breath with the sheer frustation that comes from being outwitted and outfought by vegetation, I would have to beat a retreat.
Once I fell out of a tree and into a patch of stinging nettles. That kind of mishap was the stuff legends where made off. In retelling the story, I felt no shame in admitting that I cried. Like a tiny lost baby.
Now that they didn't hurt, I felt as though my life had diminished somehow, that a door had been forever closed on my childhood. The lack of pain from the nettles sting was a sympton of a wider muffling of the amplified sensations and passions of infancy, decreeing that I could never again recapture the heady days of my youth.
Then this friday, as I was heading out, I dropped my keys into a patch of nettles by my car.
JESUS CHRIST. Four hours later and my hand and fingers were still throbbing like I'd stuck them in the plug. Recapturing the excitement of youth has never been so... stingy.
Things that were also good. Dancing with pretty! girls. Poker. Going for a run - Witness the Fitness. Eating a whole carton of kiwi fruit.
Things that are not so good.
I hate to add a bum note to my otherwise gorgeous flood of postive and optimistic feeling, but can the peeps with influence please dump the tag system? It kind of bums me out after I check out a pretty! girl to see some heinously crass mutterings scrawled underneath.
Stuff like "big tits", "shaved" and (shudder) "spread" or "genital" does not engender all round good feelings in The Paul.
it's like a comments system for the no mark trogolodyte cunts too socially withdrawn to just crack out "Wow!!!1111 Hawt!!!111"
Anyway...
Everyone needs to go and buy The Pipettes album, it's like a distilliation of sunshine and every girl I ever had a crush on in school. Pretty! girls, Pop! Music. Get on it.
A while ago I got a bit depressed because i thought that stinging nettles didn't hurt anymore. On the way into work there's a patch growing as I walk in, and in the spirit of investigation, I jabbed my hand in it.
I was alittle shock that I didn't really get stung. I assumed that I didn't get a full hit, so I held my hand in there, then waved it about for a spell.
My hand itched a bit afterwards, and i got a bit dejected. I remembered back when i was a tiny child, and stinging nettles were THE ENEMY. You'd get huge great welts on your arms where you'd been stung, the pain was electric. When we set of on japes and excursions, we all maintained constant alert ness in case of errant nettles that escaped our attention. We were like grunts in vietnam on the look out for tripwires and pungee traps.
When concentration lapsed and I was stung, I'd fly into a rage and get stung even more as I tried to smash the nettles into submission, until finally, sobbing under my breath with the sheer frustation that comes from being outwitted and outfought by vegetation, I would have to beat a retreat.
Once I fell out of a tree and into a patch of stinging nettles. That kind of mishap was the stuff legends where made off. In retelling the story, I felt no shame in admitting that I cried. Like a tiny lost baby.
Now that they didn't hurt, I felt as though my life had diminished somehow, that a door had been forever closed on my childhood. The lack of pain from the nettles sting was a sympton of a wider muffling of the amplified sensations and passions of infancy, decreeing that I could never again recapture the heady days of my youth.
Then this friday, as I was heading out, I dropped my keys into a patch of nettles by my car.
JESUS CHRIST. Four hours later and my hand and fingers were still throbbing like I'd stuck them in the plug. Recapturing the excitement of youth has never been so... stingy.
Things that were also good. Dancing with pretty! girls. Poker. Going for a run - Witness the Fitness. Eating a whole carton of kiwi fruit.
Things that are not so good.
I hate to add a bum note to my otherwise gorgeous flood of postive and optimistic feeling, but can the peeps with influence please dump the tag system? It kind of bums me out after I check out a pretty! girl to see some heinously crass mutterings scrawled underneath.
Stuff like "big tits", "shaved" and (shudder) "spread" or "genital" does not engender all round good feelings in The Paul.
it's like a comments system for the no mark trogolodyte cunts too socially withdrawn to just crack out "Wow!!!1111 Hawt!!!111"
Anyway...
Everyone needs to go and buy The Pipettes album, it's like a distilliation of sunshine and every girl I ever had a crush on in school. Pretty! girls, Pop! Music. Get on it.
VIEW 11 of 11 COMMENTS
The pipettes think they invented polka dots, for this i dislike them, although they do have pretty faces.
Since when was Kiwi fruit available in cartons?