The other day, I was in the town of Dartmouth in the south coast of England, on a routine family meet up. I was of course distracted as usual, I find myself easily distracted by things - from crabs to hallicunations to other symbols of my probable insanity but still, this isn't the point. On a large hill above the town is the Royal Naval College, a magnificant building and my possible home when I decide to finally enlist. And as I was there, a thought passed through my mind. Why even bother with a third year? I could easily just wonder to the recruitment station and start the whole process.
Of course I'm not that naive. I have massive doubts about being accepted and I feel if I were to balance everything on this one almost - impossible career dream of mine then if I don't get it I haven't got anywhere to go - apart from retail. A fate worse than death. I'd rather be prepared for every possible outcome then be surprised as surprises annoy me.
Maybe I won't get into the Royal Navy, or any of the careers I want to do - maybe my...flaws will prevent me. But in utter contrast to my general demeanor, I'd rather try then just give up there and then. If there's anything I've learnt, it's that one should never give up, especially not before the game has even started. Life is short and dull so why not take risks. Spread your arms and jump off the edge rather than sitting awkwardly at the cliff. And yeah that's a metaphor. If you're going to jump off of a cliff wear a parachute or something. Unless you fancy being a human omelette. I like omelettes.
For now I will do my third year of college and study until my brain implodes from the workload. I'm fairly sure I had more to write for this blog but I cannot remember what it was so instead I shall write a stupidly long sentence with no breaks and force your mind to burn at its sheer length and the horror of statements without commas which believe me hurts because sometimes a sentence is so long that one actually runs out of ideas of what to put in the sentence and ends up ironically describing that one cannot think of anything more and this is ironic because it actually adds to the sentence and thus increases its length which creates a much longer sentence which is much harder to read.
That actually hurt to write.
Anyway, Blair is an idiot.
