Wow

For all those of you who have just tuned in, all the previous posts are from some time ago. They're not really worth reading unless you're really bored. In fact, I wouldn't even recommend it then.

Now, will be my first proper blog entry on my new stlyee blog. Thrilling.

This might take me some time to get used to. The layout is different. I'm not sure what I can/can't do on this site. MySpace is easy like that. I'm sure this is easy too, but it'll just take some time to get accustomed to it.

Anyway. I have recently returned from Denmark, for the second time since I moved back to Blighty, and once again am surprised at how nice it was to be back. Not, for those who really do know me, for the obvious reasons, but mostly because it's where I know. It's where I 'grew up' almost. That's funny isn't it. I have been there since I was.......20......4?? 3?? I'm not sure really, but it's really besides the point. My point is that over these past X years, I have grown more and more into myself. As will happen. But, I felt the same way from, say, 20 to 24. In fact, basically I've felt the same way over every period of 2 years or so. I suppose this is only natural. But does it mean that I will never fully achieve 'me'? Only in the last moments before my death will I be able to really say that I know me? Probably not. In fact, reading this doesn't really make any sense. What I'm trying to say is that maybe London isn't for me. Maybe my memory of it as a 22 year old just doesn't compute with my new, more mature self. Maybe I'd rather go out for dinner/some drinks, see a film/theatre/show, than get twatted on pills and liquor and be chewing my lips for days on end after. Maybe I'm growing up. Or, maybe, I'm just becoming old and sad. Who knows? All I do know is that it was nice to be in a little city, where I knew my way around, where I didn't have to rush like a fucking loon, and where a tenner can last more than 7 minutes.

BUT.

I do love London. I love England. I really do. I love the language. I love the food. I love looking out of a double decker bus, or a train, and seeing London. I love the history. I love the pride. I love the sense of being that I have when I'm here, and maybe that's what I worry about losing the most.

I am so, so intrigued to see what it's like to be back in Denmark. I guess time will tell. But if I hear that phrase once more I'll kill myself and then we won't have to wonder anymore.

However, this is not affecting my sleep, or so I have been told.

You see, this morning (and this is a little embarrassing), for the first time ever (not including when I was but a wee infant), I woke up and to my shock and amazement, discovered that I had slept with my mouth open, and had created a small puddle of, well, spit. I know some people who do this frequently, but I am not one of them. I talk/laugh/cry, hell, I've even sung in my sleep, but dribbled? Nope.

I presumed it was because I still have the same (fucking), cold I've had forever, but Emma (my lovely flatmate), put forth another suggestion that she had been told about. And that is that my mind was 'innocent'. Let me clarify (althought I can't do it that well. Neither of us were particularly clued up about it, but it was an interesting point).

Adults don't really sleep with their mouths open. Generally speaking. But babies do. Is this a nasal passage thing, or, is it, because we are taught to close our mouths while sleeping? What I mean is that babies have no worries. Toddlers even. They don't worry about school, bills, relationships, money and all that crap you amass as you grow up. They don't worry about spiders crawling into their mouths, or about snoring; nope. They just relax and let it all hang out.
I like this idea. That when your mind is truly relaxed, and at peace, then your body reflects this and just....unwinds.

However.

My mind is not truly relaxed. I do have a couple (3, to be precise. So, a few), rather important things on my mind. On the other hand, I was, absolutely exhausted and really rather content. In general.

Maybe it was a combination of things?
Maybe it was neither.
Maybe, this is the ideal post for you to read now, so you can see that I do write a lot of shit, and you really shouldn't read on.

Whatever it was, I slept well. But woke up with dribble on my cheek. And to be honest, even if my mind is truly at rest; I'd rather not do it again.