"We've gone on holiday by mistake."

This would probably be the best thing that ever happened. Ever.

I'm not sure why I haven't written in a while. I haven't really done anything in a while. I'm in a familiar state where I'm caught between trying to live my life and trying to run away from it. I hate when I get like this. I realised that a big part of why I act like this is that I'm very impressionable. It only takes something very slight to inspire and carry me for a long time. I'll hear a great song on the way to school and be lifted all day. Or see a particularly great film, or read a book and be mulling over it for a month. And everything I come across will seem relevant to it, and as inspired, and not ordinary at all. I'll just let myself be exposed to whatever, and try to appreciate it. In this way, I'm frustratingly passive. I'd love to have more urgency.

Another reason is that, recently, everything got really stressful really fast, so I'm choosing to ignore it.

I saw most of Ireland through the backseat rental car window. It was always fogged up, and the sun through the glass gave the entire place the feel of old Polaroids. In my mind, it's a collage of telephone masts, road signs, and rows of painted houses with green and white bunting. I like remembering it like this. My travelling companions were my three childhood best friends. We'd gone to seperate high schools, and would only occasionally slip in and out of eachother's lives and social circles, and it was strange to find ourselves stuck in the middle of nowhere with eachother. I'm so glad that we did, because I hadn't realised how much I'd missed them, until I was subjected to all their old quirks and habits that I recognised and took comfort in. Can we go get lost again, guys? And just stay in bed eating baked goods and watch B-horror-movies all day again, guys?

Also, earlier this week, Withnail & I was on, which I hadn't seen in far too long. It is easily one of my favourite films. It's just so bittersweet. I don't think any other film can make me laugh as much, while making me as melancholic as that film. It reminded me of my last week (except with a little more butchery, alcoholism and attempted buggery) and made me crave getting away again. I love Marwood as a narrator; he's completely anxiety-ridden and I can identify. I need to find me a rich uncle's cottage right now.