Writing silence.

I can't believe it's been so long since I've posted on my blog. It's like my baby, and I've neglected it and just shoved food under a crack in the door rather than commit to any proper regime whatsoever. Stupid analogy but who cares, I am pretty stupid at times. So, why have I been gone? 

Well, I could rhyme off a long, convoluted list of excuses, or instead, explain where I've actually been for two weeks or so. I'm not sure which of those I intend to fulfill but here goes. Between finishing uni for the summer (minus a deadline and an exam, niether of which have even been considered, never mind completed) and sleeping, basically all I've done is drink and laze about and channel blind avoidance with regards to my uni work. I have a 3,000 word creative piece to write that is due soon (I honestly can't even remember the date, it's sometime before May!) and I'm so desperately uninspired. Stuck in fact. An idea is blossoming in my tiny little mind and yet I'm unable to really run with it. Preoccupied with alcoholic outings and socialising with my friends, as they gradually creep their way back home to not-so-sunny Chester-le-Street (it's Newcastle way-FYI.) from various locations for uni. Tonight will be my third night out in five days. I haven't done this in ages, so the air is filled with hairspray and excitement. 

Let's go get drunk. Basically. Drink too much and laugh so much our stomachs ache. Oh, and of course, prepare ourselves for Sunday. Yes it's Easter, and for some people who are religious this has another significance. But, it's also Bank holiday, which for me and my ever-expanding group of friends, means lots of laughs, and even more alcohol. The celebrations start at 8. I'm counting down the hours. 

First impressions don't count.

It's mad, looking back. Today my sister and I were talking, and those old times kinda talks just drifted in and out of our minds. Remember when we used to be friends with [insert name] and when we used to spend all of our time [there] and, well, you get the picture. 

It's all so chaotic. I have fragments of memories hidden in the shelves of my brain, and yet, certain things that didn't seem to matter at one point, really do now. Like, for example, as everyone says, first impressions count. Well, I can't remember the first time I met most of the important people in my life, because, I suppose, at the time it didn't really seem significant. A first conversation, an impression, a look, an action. Whether the first time you met me was drunk or sober, at 14 or 18, in a pub or a classroom or a bus stop, I probably couldn't tell you what I thought or what I said. If I do, you must be pretty damn special. (Either that, or maybe I was younger and just didn't have the opportunity to get drunk!) 

But there are one or two I do remember. Not vividly, but in fragments, some pieces are sharp and clear, others are blurred around the edges, softer, out of focus. Maybe I remember the first thing you ever said to me, or what I was wearing, or what you were drinking, or the class we were in at the time. A smile, a laugh, a clumsy introduction. A handshake? A kiss? I'm damned if I remember. The significant people in my life are just that because of what they are to me now, what they've become, not who they were when I met them. I guess that's what fascinates me. You never know, when you meet someone, what they're going to end up meaning to you. That's kind of scary, but also kind of brilliant.