In which a Blog is visited with Forlorn Hope

So! It's now been over a year since I last successfully logged in to this account, mainly because of the changeover to google accounts, which my account never really worked for.

Note to self: when next unable to remember password, the clue is lolcat.

So much, as usual, has happened since my last foray into the blogosphere that it seems like perhaps the best thing to do is simply ignore all the water under the bridge, and do some kind of Clone Wars-style backstory thing with poor animation and continuity at some hypothetical later date. I don't really remember what blogs are for, to be honest, but I remember being disticntly under the impression that the very early posts I made (though distressingly fanfic-heavy) were the best-quality writing. Possibly because that was way back in the mists of early 2005, a time distant enough to warrant the golden haze of pleasantly inaccurate recollection. The upshot of all this is that until I find my feet again, this blog will be written in a lax, scattershot sort of way.

I've been writing my thesis-plan over the last two days, with perhaps indifferent success. Still, if I put all of the bits of plan and the copy-pasted paragraphs which seemed relevant in my various readings and generally all of that not-really-deserving-to-be-wordcounted bollocks into one Word document and wordcount it anyway, I get the very reassuring figure of 7, 750 words, which is something. I have every intention of having the first draft of the first chapter (not the First Chapter; Chapter 1, you understand, but the first to be written) done by Monday.
Give Us Successful Meeting Of An Arbitrary Deadline Or Give Us Death!

(Cake or Death? Cake, please!)

Also to be achieved in that time is a trip to Circe Du Soleil, a day's work, a trip to the cinematograph show with Sylvia, a double swing-dance class, and what my parents like to call Lunch At The Club. If you listen closely when they say it, you can actually hear the Emphatic Capitals dropping serenely into place as they footle about at The Club (actually the Royal Automobile Club) thinking of it like the Drones Club in a P.G. Wodehouse, or White's in a Regency novel, as their various fancies take them.

Then, next week it's my birthday on Tuesday, whereupon I shall turn 23. This means that I'm almost exactly a mere 5 years from "pushing thirty", but instead of thinking about that, I'm going to... well, try to ignore it, because it's Clearly Stupid.

Also clearly stupid, but considerably more fun, is the Ridiculous and Princely Sum I spent on socks in the last month. I went in on a group order at sockdreams.com, which is pretty cool, and now own more socks than a centipede with poor circulation. Today's ones have this fantastic lace on them, but it's Swing Dancing tonight, so I might wear my skull-and-crossbones shirt and skull-and-crossbones stockings, Just Because I Can.

In other news, and in a spirit of enterprisin'-ness, I totally discovered (and then was Lured into commenting on) the blogs of some people who I don't really know in a bloggy way, due to the Siren Call of facebook. I'm not sure if I hope they read and respond to the comments, or hope that they never notice at all.

Anyway, it's now 2 o'clock, which makes it definitely time to Get Back To Work, and really very probably time to never abuse emphatic capitalisation so again, so I shall bid you adieu, Fair Readers, and though I seriously doubt your existence, do not let this induce Existential Angst in you.