Without a doubt, there are plenty of things which I love with a capital L - my ever-growing obsession of handbags is visual proof of this oh-so-true theory, if you've had the misfortune of taking a peek in my overcrowded removal boxes recently - and I never feel happier than when I'm performing a task which doesn't provoke an irritated groan to escape my lips, such as, um, peeling the sprouts (personally, I like to believe that I'm entitled to stealing a few after being boiled) and rummaging through my old photos and drawings, intrigued by how I got away with very messy handwriting at the tender age of six. Why complain about being unable to visit Paris if I can take an instant trip down Memory Lane by seeing pictures of myself at various times throughout my life?
On a whole, my personality enables me to fall in love with certain things rather quickly - hardly a good sign if a bar of indulgent chocolate is lying within a five mile radius - but this doesn't mean that I can never be infuriated or sense a wispy steam of black smoke coming out of my ears; my erratic hormones have long proven otherwise! From mushy peas which look more disgusting than Bart the Greedy Kitten's furballs to Sky Sports News succeeding in their domination over the television every weekend, I could write several books - heavier-than-a-Biggest-Loser-contestant hardbacks, mind you - about the various things which ignite a fury that the world has never laid their eyes upon.
If world famous moaner Karl Pilkington has taught me one thing which my enormous Algebra book failed to include amongst the baffling equations and misuse of letters, having a moan is key to releasing anxiety and ridding oneself of the stress which has a tendency to build up to the drastic point that only a needle can burst the invisible balloon pressuring your emotions. In simple-as-baking-a-pie English, I mean that moaning or indulging in negative discussions can often lead to feeling happy - how can one live contently if their troubles are constantly bubbling underneath the surface? Once I spit my dislike of turquoise eyeliner out into the open, nothing is standing in my way of moving onto something more fascinating and less likely to add to my overflowing plate of teen-related issues.
Like the packets of Doritos which many seem immune to stop eating at parties and on the sofa, one's feelings about anything will be released sooner or later, whether you are on friendly terms with your emotions or not. Lots of people appreciate the uplifting joys (and feel-good factor, if you can sympathize with my guilt over gobbling a cream-topped butterfly cake without heading to the local gym) of exercising because it allows them to take their minds off whatever is being a cause of needless bother, but everybody has the right to find their means of letting off some steam in a healthy and preferably violent-free way.
As you can tell from the amount of entries I've posted since last Halloween (according to my calculations, I've almost written seventy pieces!), writing is definitely my first-choice cure for battling against troubles and returning to the welcome embrace of freedom, no longer a prisoner being plagued by my life-long dislike of bumble bees. Baking is another favourite remedy of mine which usually guarantees a rush of oven-heated pride after seeing the finished product in all its delicious-looking glory, but even putting my head into a punctuation-themed quiz in my English schoolbook offers some time off from stress taking my breath away.
Since starting on packing away three quarters of bedroom several days ago, I've been becoming more and more stressed about the following fortnight which awaits me: in twelve days' time (28th March, if you don't have a calender to hand), I will be waving goodbye to the home in which I have spent the past seven years of my life and will move to another part of the country within the space of a single, yet extremely long day. My mind is already racing at a 100mph because I cannot stop thinking about the tasks which I need to do next - but I don't even know which ones they are! So, in comparison to packing away literally everything I hold dear, immersing myself in a secretly loved hatred of Barbie dolls can only be viewed as a positive at the moment, and each minute I spend here is counted as a blessing - one of which needn't be disguised!
Before I dare to move onto the topic of stuffing my beloved teddy bears amongst my now unused handbags (if any of them are thieving pickpockets, I will surely find out), down below are things which I, a teenager whom has an undeclared penchant for disliking them, love to hate. At last, I'm having a proper Grr! moment - I thought it would never come...
N.B. In order to avoid receiving a lawsuit from the county court, I will not extend my sharp-as-sour-lemons opinions to real people or any companies which can actually afford the costs of going to court. Sometimes, certain views - even the ones which I'm dying to share with you - are best kept to oneself. Unfortunately.
Old papers: Since making a resolution to rifle through my drawers and the numerous cupboards across my bedroom, it is fair to say that I've come across old papers - from drawings to diaries I kept as a youngster, I mean anything on paper - and most of it has been thrown into the bin, never to see the light of day ever again.
What annoys me the most about these old papers is that once I sit back and finally relax after an exhausting day spent with my head stuck in a dusty drawer, another lot of unwanted pages appear out of thin, which only adds to my excessive workload. What joy I had earlier throwing away printed pictures of my one-time country pop idol Taylor Swift whose songs and albums I no longer listen to nor own - when will my pre-spring cleaning hell reach an all-final (it better be or my fiery temper will make a rare, yet memorable appearance) end?
My face - usually on a par with a fair English rose - nearly turned the colour of a cherry tomato when I read through my near decade-old writings about my primary school friends, many of whom I lost touch with years ago. Ouch. And I haven't even discussed my scribbly, unintelligible handwriting which was a pain to read, if I had to say the least - oh, the endless agony!
Minecraft: If you have never heard of this popular video game, I envy you with a glare which would turn anybody into cool, solid stone.
Since my little brother received his beloved Xbox 360 console on his birthday last year, he hardly does anything other than eat literally a whole bag of my Revels in a single sitting, sleep until past eight o'clock in the morning and play this game to his heart's content.
Despite being a self-confessed Sims lover, I still can't figure out why people enjoy sitting on their backsides for half of the day whilst playing a video game - wouldn't you become an inhabitant in the Land of Boredom after a while? Yet LB (little brother) utterly adores Minecraft because it enables him to do one thing which he cannot legally do on a noisy housing estate: build a property.
No, no, LB hasn't gained the legal qualifications or whatever necessary to use cement and bricks, but nothing prevents him from using his equally-vivid-as-my-own imagination by building a house via a couple of virtual blocks and wood. Even I have been pretty impressed with his work on the occasions that I sit on the sofa next to him, being lectured on a thousand objects of whose existence I never realized.
Perhaps what I hate about Minecraft is that I secretly like it, which definitely goes against all the rules of loathing; the piano music makes a vibrant change from the typical rock-inspired tracks played in the majority of boys-themed video games, and I have a fondness for several of the tracks which stay in my head long after they are over.
And, ahem, I need a brother to annoy sooner or later. Some duties are compulsory to be performed and Minecraft appears to be distracting LM from starting his annoy-LikeATeen shifts. Well, he has to work in order to gain his pocket money, right?
On a whole, my personality enables me to fall in love with certain things rather quickly - hardly a good sign if a bar of indulgent chocolate is lying within a five mile radius - but this doesn't mean that I can never be infuriated or sense a wispy steam of black smoke coming out of my ears; my erratic hormones have long proven otherwise! From mushy peas which look more disgusting than Bart the Greedy Kitten's furballs to Sky Sports News succeeding in their domination over the television every weekend, I could write several books - heavier-than-a-Biggest-Loser-contestant hardbacks, mind you - about the various things which ignite a fury that the world has never laid their eyes upon.
If world famous moaner Karl Pilkington has taught me one thing which my enormous Algebra book failed to include amongst the baffling equations and misuse of letters, having a moan is key to releasing anxiety and ridding oneself of the stress which has a tendency to build up to the drastic point that only a needle can burst the invisible balloon pressuring your emotions. In simple-as-baking-a-pie English, I mean that moaning or indulging in negative discussions can often lead to feeling happy - how can one live contently if their troubles are constantly bubbling underneath the surface? Once I spit my dislike of turquoise eyeliner out into the open, nothing is standing in my way of moving onto something more fascinating and less likely to add to my overflowing plate of teen-related issues.
Like the packets of Doritos which many seem immune to stop eating at parties and on the sofa, one's feelings about anything will be released sooner or later, whether you are on friendly terms with your emotions or not. Lots of people appreciate the uplifting joys (and feel-good factor, if you can sympathize with my guilt over gobbling a cream-topped butterfly cake without heading to the local gym) of exercising because it allows them to take their minds off whatever is being a cause of needless bother, but everybody has the right to find their means of letting off some steam in a healthy and preferably violent-free way.
As you can tell from the amount of entries I've posted since last Halloween (according to my calculations, I've almost written seventy pieces!), writing is definitely my first-choice cure for battling against troubles and returning to the welcome embrace of freedom, no longer a prisoner being plagued by my life-long dislike of bumble bees. Baking is another favourite remedy of mine which usually guarantees a rush of oven-heated pride after seeing the finished product in all its delicious-looking glory, but even putting my head into a punctuation-themed quiz in my English schoolbook offers some time off from stress taking my breath away.
Since starting on packing away three quarters of bedroom several days ago, I've been becoming more and more stressed about the following fortnight which awaits me: in twelve days' time (28th March, if you don't have a calender to hand), I will be waving goodbye to the home in which I have spent the past seven years of my life and will move to another part of the country within the space of a single, yet extremely long day. My mind is already racing at a 100mph because I cannot stop thinking about the tasks which I need to do next - but I don't even know which ones they are! So, in comparison to packing away literally everything I hold dear, immersing myself in a secretly loved hatred of Barbie dolls can only be viewed as a positive at the moment, and each minute I spend here is counted as a blessing - one of which needn't be disguised!
Before I dare to move onto the topic of stuffing my beloved teddy bears amongst my now unused handbags (if any of them are thieving pickpockets, I will surely find out), down below are things which I, a teenager whom has an undeclared penchant for disliking them, love to hate. At last, I'm having a proper Grr! moment - I thought it would never come...
N.B. In order to avoid receiving a lawsuit from the county court, I will not extend my sharp-as-sour-lemons opinions to real people or any companies which can actually afford the costs of going to court. Sometimes, certain views - even the ones which I'm dying to share with you - are best kept to oneself. Unfortunately.
Old papers: Since making a resolution to rifle through my drawers and the numerous cupboards across my bedroom, it is fair to say that I've come across old papers - from drawings to diaries I kept as a youngster, I mean anything on paper - and most of it has been thrown into the bin, never to see the light of day ever again.
What annoys me the most about these old papers is that once I sit back and finally relax after an exhausting day spent with my head stuck in a dusty drawer, another lot of unwanted pages appear out of thin, which only adds to my excessive workload. What joy I had earlier throwing away printed pictures of my one-time country pop idol Taylor Swift whose songs and albums I no longer listen to nor own - when will my pre-spring cleaning hell reach an all-final (it better be or my fiery temper will make a rare, yet memorable appearance) end?
My face - usually on a par with a fair English rose - nearly turned the colour of a cherry tomato when I read through my near decade-old writings about my primary school friends, many of whom I lost touch with years ago. Ouch. And I haven't even discussed my scribbly, unintelligible handwriting which was a pain to read, if I had to say the least - oh, the endless agony!
Minecraft: If you have never heard of this popular video game, I envy you with a glare which would turn anybody into cool, solid stone.
Since my little brother received his beloved Xbox 360 console on his birthday last year, he hardly does anything other than eat literally a whole bag of my Revels in a single sitting, sleep until past eight o'clock in the morning and play this game to his heart's content.
Despite being a self-confessed Sims lover, I still can't figure out why people enjoy sitting on their backsides for half of the day whilst playing a video game - wouldn't you become an inhabitant in the Land of Boredom after a while? Yet LB (little brother) utterly adores Minecraft because it enables him to do one thing which he cannot legally do on a noisy housing estate: build a property.
No, no, LB hasn't gained the legal qualifications or whatever necessary to use cement and bricks, but nothing prevents him from using his equally-vivid-as-my-own imagination by building a house via a couple of virtual blocks and wood. Even I have been pretty impressed with his work on the occasions that I sit on the sofa next to him, being lectured on a thousand objects of whose existence I never realized.
Perhaps what I hate about Minecraft is that I secretly like it, which definitely goes against all the rules of loathing; the piano music makes a vibrant change from the typical rock-inspired tracks played in the majority of boys-themed video games, and I have a fondness for several of the tracks which stay in my head long after they are over.
And, ahem, I need a brother to annoy sooner or later. Some duties are compulsory to be performed and Minecraft appears to be distracting LM from starting his annoy-LikeATeen shifts. Well, he has to work in order to gain his pocket money, right?
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