My Handy Tool of Procrastination

Enormous history project. Six days. EEP.

That is all, since I should actually be doing the thing instead of complaining.

I Would Like to Submit a Complaint about the Weather

I went surfing yesterday, with the full knowledge that my coast is a frigid collaboration of the Irish Sea and Arctic Ocean. You do not know cold until you have ran, swathed in nothing more than a flimsy wetsuit, into the Arctic Sea (see what I did there?). At first I didn't think it was too bad. My feet were instantly numbed by the water and things were going well. Then I came across my first wave. Trying to keep my head dry at all costs, I threw myself and the board over the wave, my entire torso getting covered in liquid ice.

My first (MIND BLANK, SMALL WORD WARNING) try at getting on the board was laughable. I was pushed swiftly by the freezing foam, and began the swift ascent into the standing position. Somehow I lost my balance, fell, and was completely engulfed in the water. It was like I had been struck by a thousand brain-freezes as I madly tried to decipher which way was up. Finally, I breached the surface and wiped my eyes, just in time to see my vertical surfboard crash down before me. I barely had time to glance before the thing smashed down on my head. I fell into the water again, feeling even worse than before.

To sum up the next ten minutes (hypothermia would have been the outcome if I had stayed any longer >>;, it consisted of vain attempts to get aboard and fretting about my purple hands. In the end it was just too cold, so I came out. That wasn't the end of my troubles, though. Carrying the light-weight board was more difficult than you could ever imagine. If I turned the board just the tiniest angle from the direction of the wind, it grabbed the board and tugged so much that I just felt like letting go. To add insult to injury, it started to hail millions of tiny icy bullets on my frigid, stinging face. I got into the car and sulked and cried for a little while.

Something out of American Suburbia

So, my friend got a basketball net today. Both of us are pretty hyped about the game (since we've been playing it during P.E. and school) so we had a little one-on-one tonight. He kicked my ass - my alibi being that he is like two stones lighter than me and can actually shoot the ball. I don't care about the score, because it was really fun. By the way, that happened at 11:00pm tonight for whatever reason. We've made plans for a little rematch tomorrow.

Moving on, I'm ashamed to say that I haven't been reading very much. The Pure Land sits idly on my bedside cupboard, and I haven't taken a look at the poetry book I'm supposed to read for my literature club. The one good piece of news is that is that I have ordered George R.R. Martin's A Game of Thrones from the town library. They didn't have it, so it is coming from forty miles up the road in Belfast. From my experience, the journey should take several months.

Finally, I'm heading up the coast tomorrow. I'll be gone until Tuesday, in which time I hope to buy a surf board, receive a lesson and get on the waves once or twice more. My sources tell me that the weather will be miserable, but they said that about today and it was heavenly. Silly weather office seems to be getting it wrong every day now.

It's 1:12am; should I go to bed or something?

Indian Summers and Forgotten Blogs

Well, I hadn't actually forgotten about my escape from the brutally real world, but I kept on forgetting to write in it. Regardless, the outcome is the same.

So the weather in Northern Ireland has been, dare I say it, good for the past few days. I can actually feel my faith in Summer returning again. The ironic thing is, news reporters predicted frost and clouds yesterday, when in fact it was nothing short than the glorious return of Spring.

Huh. I have forgotten all the stuff that was cooped up inside me. Well, this post has served it's purpose of reviving my blog.

Ciao for now!

*Kills self because of terrible pun*