She runs, He turns

She runs, bounding through the field, though it feels like she's flying. The yellow daffodils are a blur in her peripheral vision, but the crisp smell fills her nostrils. He is all she sees. The yellow field and the blue sky are just background colours, the background music. He is the solo, the focal point. All that she sees, feels or thinks is him. He still hasn't seen her, and he wont, not yet, he never sees her until she is a certain distance away. Her boy, in his nice shirt. She loves him, she knows she does. Oh, he has seen her now.


He stands there, in the field, with his face turned to the sun. It's so warm and inviting. Footsteps... and the rustle of fabric is what he hears now. He turns and looks at the girl in the red dress running through the sea of yellow daffodils. The smile in her eyes lights up his heart, and the happiness overflows and he finds himself grinning. Opening his arms, ready to catch her, to hold her for what seems like the first time.


She's almost there. He's smiling at her, opening his arms, she jumps the last metre, or did she fly? Regardless, she is in his arms. They're together again, finally. The smell of the daffodils and the soft Spring air is forgotten, all she smells now is the aftershave he's used, and the crisp smell of clean linen... and paper. Old paper...


He feels happier than he has ever felt. There she is, in his arms, she smells sweet, it must be that perfume she uses. He buries his face in her hair at the crook of her neck and breathes deeply. Holding her in his arms, he never wants to let her go.


She begins to frown. The dusty smell of an aged book... funny, that's how her copy of Anne of Windy Willows smells. Why can she smell that? That's not right... Now she can smell grass and.. cars? She can smell cars? …No, she can hear cars and smell petrol but what are cars doing in her field? She looks into his eyes, his loving blue eyes and feels comfortable and safe, like she can stay there forever, but he isn’t smiling anymore. What's wrong? Why is he fading?


He feels safe and loved here. But now she's pulling away, why is she doing that? He looks into her hazel eyes, frowning, searching her expressionless face for an answer. She's never done this before... oh, but she has. Now he remembers. Every time it ends this way. Damn his imagination, couldn't it at least be a little creative with the ending once in a while?


She blinks, He's still there, which is a relief because she thought for a moment that it was ending again. With a jolt she opens her eyes a second time. Funny, she didn't remember closin- the light is blinding her, the sound of the midday traffic fills her ears and the pages of her book are creased from where her head lays. Sitting up she sighs deeply, why must it always be a dream. But it is so vivid, so real. And it's always him, the boy in the dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the converse shoes.


He stands alone in the field. The daffodils at his feet are in disarray. Crushed by their short-lived happiness. He stares across to where he had first caught a glimpse of her, in that gorgeous red dress. Every time he saw her he wondered anew how she managed to look that stunning in such a simple item of clothing. It was just a plain red dress, but it fit her so well and complemented the warm flush that was ever-present on her pale cheeks. Wait, why had she left whilst he was still here... surely he would never intentionally rid himself of her in a dream? The scenery is fading now, ah, yes, now he's waking up.


She pushes her hair out of her face and wipes the tears from her eyes. Why did it always have to end? She never gets to ask his name. They talk about everything under the sun but as soon as she thinks to ask his name she wakes up. Pulling out her notebook and a pencil she begins to sketch him again. The pages of this book are filled with his face. It’s impossible that she is only dreaming, he has to exist. Sitting at the foot of the tree, sketching the face of an imaginary young man who she has fallen in love with. Toying with the idea that if she could marry her imagination she would never be unhappy ever again. She needs to find a real boy, though… why can’t he be real?


He holds his eyes shut, perhaps he can fall back asleep and see her again. He draws images of her from his inner mind and holds them fast. But his alarm clock begins to beep and slices neatly through his memories of her, and the images are gone. The deep red of the insides of his eyelids is all that he sees now. Red… the colour of her dress, of her burgundy hair… His imaginary girlfriend, god that’s lame. He needs to find himself a real girl… why can’t she be real?

My incessant boredom is consistently, creatively, productive

Books! ‘tis a dull and endless strife:

Come, hear the woodland linnet,

How sweet his music! on my life,
There’s more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:

Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless—

Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

RFD

I really want to be a part of the Royal Flying Doctor service. Maybe for only a year or something.

Apart from that, i want to finish my degree, work a year or so, and then move to the United States. I'll get a job and be with new people and people i've known for ages and people i'll never even talk to and it will be wonderful :)

It's that time again

Hello, i'm procrastinating! Despite having signed out of tumblr, facebook, twitter, skype. In classic 'Day of the Moon' style i'm even keeping a tally on my arm of each of the different times i've done something that isn't my presentation.
You really don't want to know how many times that is now.
Problem is, it's really bloody difficult to find any information on this particular Theorist, because all her works were in German, and so to find a work of hers translated to English isn't too hard, but to find the one particular theory of hers that i need actually translated is the most difficult thing in the world i swear.
Not really, i think living in poverty would be a bit more challenging. But you get the idea.
It's a group presentation, so whilst it isn't actually due until Tuesday, the rest of my group want me to have emailed my bit to them by.. uh... well two days ago. I need it to them by Sunday afternoon at the latest. Thing is, i have work tomorrow so i am pretty sure it wont get done during the day. Which is why i am sat at my computer at 11pm trying to get this done! I could, literally, just rant on about nothing in particular, because i know and understand the theory, but if i get it wrong i'll probably fail, and that's not so good.

My head is also somewhere else completely. I've recently admitted to myself, and him, that i fancy someone. That's great! you say. Problem is, he kind of lives in America, which is a little bit ridiculous. Makes things difficult.
Doesn't help that my parents are really accepting of the idea that i could go and visit him for Christmas this year. How am i supposed to focus on this assignment?!
"Remove all your distractions" I have. I logged out of most of them. Besides, I can hardly remove my brain... you wouldn't think it, but i kind of need that one.

It's been a while

Sorry about that

Not going into details about the breakup. Can't be bothered. I'm 100% fine and dandy and over it now, anyway! :)

So i finished my Doctor Who scarf, and i've started a Griffindor one, then i need to knit a Slytherin one pronto and mail it to Mike in America for his birthday which was last month :/

and THEN i have to start another Doctor Who scarf for Stef's birthday in July!

SO MUCH KNITTING OH GOD

apart from knitting i have been doing Uni work aaaaand stalking a boy at my Uni. 

Ummmmm yes.

So every year, on Mother’s Day, we have a family lunch thing at the winery of a family friend. My parents have been going to these since before i was born, and i’ve been going since i was born. Every year, one day. At every one, the family friends’ nieces and nephew are there, about my age, i used to play with them when i was little. I used to scoff down my dinner and then run off and explore the vineyards, according to my father, the first year i did this was to escape the little boy that kept chasing me. The last 4 or 5 years, i’ve pretty much just sat inside, staring at this nephew of his, as he is rather cute. This year, we were sat on our respective tables, almost facing each other. Quite a lot of shy staring and quickly looking away went on. That kept me occupied. After he left, i was trying to ask Dad whether he knew the last name of his mother or what the kids were called. My Father being the awesome guy that he is, pulls aside the uncle and says i’m interested in knowing who’s married to who, and he steers the conversation towards knowing about his nieces and nephew. Managed to get a name. Looked him up on facebook. I feel like a stalker, but i inboxed him, didn’t add him, just inboxed him, and just casually mentioned that technically we’ve known each other for years, in a matter of speaking, depending on how you look at it.
Then, next day, Monday, i'm walking through the library, and guess who i see? The TARDIS!! No, i see this boy, right? i gripped onto my friend's arm and was like "It's him... " 'it's who!? you're hurting me!' "right. we need to talk. i have a story to tell you" I then followed him through the library. he saw me, don't even care.
Several days later i see him at uni AGAIN. Seriously. It's great.

So that's all i've really been doing!
Knitting and stalking!