love, let us be true (to one another)

I don't know why I thought I needed some kind of project to justify a blog, or why I decided to abandon my old blog in favour of a new one. It's been about three weeks and I've only just become aware of this fact, while listening to sad indie hipster music that my boyfriend would most definitely not approve of (there you go, Calum, you get a nod in today's post).

But on the brightside, my sad indie hipster music - a playlist composed primarily of Bon Iver, Band of Horses, Beirut and Jose Gonzalez - is managing to drown out the mournful melodies of The Tallest Man on Earth next door. He's not really the tallest man on earth. In fact, he's not very tall at all. I know because I've seen him in concert. And as much as I do love that man, there's only so much of him I can take, and I think I've filled my quota for this month.

I think I've filled my quota for a lot of things already, actually. Like my snow quota, which has been filled since maybe about the first week of 2010's snowy apocalypse. I tell you, during those cold, cold weeks, people honestly thought the world was ending. They panic-bought everything in sight just incase, which resulted in a remarkable lack of product on supermarket shelves.

Regrettably, I've also filled my work quota, which is unfortunate, considering I've yet to finish any of my uni work, and I desperately need to do so. And in a similar vein, my patience quota is also wearing thin. It's pretty much been full to bursting point for weeks now, and I just know that one of these days, someone is going to say something that tips me over the edge, and I will blow up, like a large balloon, all red and puffy. I'll scream and shout for longer than is necessary, and for what seems like an eternity, because everyone knows that when a balloon is whirring around the room, just as it should never be allowed to do, all eyes inevitably focus on this sight. And it won't be until I've exhausted all my breath that I finally flop onto the floor in a heap of spent red ballooniness. When all the words I've been keeping trapped inside me have been said, I think I will collapse and wish I hadn't spent such a magnificent effort doing something completely pointless.

So no, I will not allow myself to whir around the room while everyone else stares at me. I will keep my words to myself, and hope that no one sends me into whirring balloondom.

I will hold my head high and trust in the confused words of Matthew Arnold, great English ponce.

"Ah, love, let us be true

To one another! for the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;

And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night."