It's me, I'm alive.
I haven't entirely given up on my dreams of writing a blog so rich and fulfilling that you will all be tricked into thinking I lead an interesting life.
I've been busy freshering about for the past couple of months. It's been the hedonistic experience I'd hoped for, but it's not all hangovers, halloumi and hash (browns). Yes I said halloumi, it's the middle class student's staple food don't you know.
I occasionally do a bit of work. Occasionally. I'm currently the member of a million societies that I never go to. I'm the least flexible person the yoga society has ever seen. And yes Amnesty International, 'it's better to light a candle than to curse the darkness' but my room has electric lighting and netflix. My housemate will kill me for writing that. Don't worry, I'm sure I'm going to hell anyway.
I feel like I had my do-gooder activist phase at the age of about 14 and got it out of my system. Sure, I do my bit, I sign petitions, I write angry letters. Hell, I even watch the news. But I'm not even passionate enough to join Brand in his wordy dreams of revolution. When did I become so damn sensible? I'm old before my time.
In the wise words of Frank Turner,
'If the revolution doesn't want me, I don't give a shit.'
In all honesty, I genuinely feel like this semester I will turn my life around. I'll be the overactive visionary I've always dreamed of being. Déjà vu anyone?
