That stuff dreams are made of?

What is it called exactly? And can you pick and choose to your heart's delight or does someone else get to choose and play willynilly around in your subconscious to haunt or delight you?
A dream doctor?
I'd like a word with mine because well, quite frankly lately my dreams have left a lot to be desired. They make very little sense and don't seem connected to my life in any way.

I'm doing it to myself so I should just quit complaining right?

Public Holiday tomorrow! And guess what I am doing all day? Studying! Yay for me!
I suppose it is all for a good cause. Passing my exam. Getting closer to my degree. I hope it is raining and miserable. Nothing worse than having to study in the sunshine. Songs like 'I'm walking on Sunshine' playing in my head while I'm trying to shove De Sausserre's linguistic theory into my head can be rather distracting. I suppose if I am going to be distracted rain is going to help either. 'Singing in the rain'!
Oh my tortured soul!

Made it!

Made it to Tuesday!! Woohoohoo!! My well laid plans to study last night did not materialize. Ended up having a beautiful Dinner- cooked by my wonderful man- and watching An Unfinished Life.
I think I needed a relaxing evening. Now I feel revitalised and ready to hit the books tonight. Well almost.
Good movie by the way. Strongly recommend it.

Mondays - love them or hate them

Here we are again. A Monday. Statistically the most hated day of the week. Poor Monday... a day by any other name would still be dreaded. It is the start of the working week. The first early morning after the weekend. It is Blue Monday.

My Pink Hair!!

Okay it's already faded since this picture was taken and though shocking at first I really started to like it. Certainly drew attention!!

You have no choice.

She couldn’t believe it happened to her again. She’d promised herself she’d dodge, duck or dive next time. She’d promised herself not to let it happen again. Yet here she sat - bleeding to death. She’d see it coming. She’d let it happen. All her own fault.
She didn’t really care. Maybe this time would be worth it.
Absently she looked at the pool of bright blood forming on the stark white tiles under her chair. Nothing a decent mop won’t wash away. No-one else seemed too bothered by the mess. The other patrons all seemed pleasantly involved in their own conversations and delectable food. Had they even seen the little cherub fly passed them? He could be quite sneaky.
She felt a little woozy. Could be the loss of blood. Could just be the 3 glasses of dry white wine she’d gulped down in the last half an hour.
It was all rather unreal. No pain. She felt rather serene, almost tingly. She thought her age would render her safe. She’d thought the little bastard would have given up on her after all these years.
Her dinner partner would be back for the bathroom soon. She’d just remain calm. He’d call an ambulance. She’d be ok. She felt very calm. Dead. Could she be dead?


‘Dana?’
‘Dana?’
Someone gently tapped her shoulder. It was her dinner partner. Oliver.
‘You okay?’ Concern in those deep green eyes.
‘Sure.’ Besides the arrow sticking out of the place where my heart is. Besides the pool of blood on the floor. ‘I was just daydreaming.’

Hi there! Well this is a start of something. I can feel it.