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Two Left Feet

Discussing stumbling around the blogosphere in such stressful times like a drunk "industry" reject.

Life has been particularly unforgiving in recent years, but lately it's been leaving a coppery taste in my mouth - probably the guilt as it dawns on me in the most embarrassing sense that its been this shit for a lot of people for a long, long time. I just didn't realise. Or maybe I did but didn't care to care.

Whatever potent soporific blend of ignorance and self-involvement I'd been roofied my entire childhood has now worn off completely, and I'm both grateful for the cognizance and in desperate need of another hit, if not for sanity and brief re-acquaintance with the term "peace of mind", then for old time's sake.

With an increasing number of people feeling intense dis-belonging in the places they had either adopted as their home or planned to for however long, those of whom I know now struggling to get on with life as they know it whilst awaiting news of the fate of their residential status in the UK as EU nationals, writing ballads about my new shoes or waxing lyrical about my favourite songs at the moment seems tone deaf [*slow claps build into thundering appl-- no? OK*].

And yet, as I lie here on the icy lino of my living room floor, attempting to clear my head to focus on school work which has now dwindled to the very bottom of the list of things I can be bothered with, a young Ewan McGregor is stepping into the spotlight from the scotoma of my mind's eye, hand outstretched, singing The Show Must Goes On.

And indeed, it must. Now, I've made [too] many [very conflicting] declarations on here that I know where my blog is going to make another but our current situ is kind of growing on me: I tell you about my pretty friends, lust over the creative dexterity of others and whine about my credit problems, and in turn you apparently subscribe to my inactive Facebook page (I still don't know why this is happening but hello, welcome, pull up a chair, make yourself at home).

I can't really remember where we were before this. I try not to keep tabs on what I post or how "well" they do, it's more cathartic this way. I reset with each press of the 'Publish' button - you know how much I like a fresh start. This Christmas Bish? I don't know her. She's gorgeous, of course, but really has no business sharing her shameful affairs with her camera so openly just yet.

Neither does Today's Bish, let's be real, but nevertheless she is quite content being that kid on the 'netz giving you major blogger throwback vibes with playlists rife with the mainstream (when did this happen?), grainy photos (the higher the ISO the better the noise), shoddy collages ("has she even heard of Photoshop?"), zero knowledge of typography (repeat after me, Comic Sans is life*) and absolutely no consistency whatsoever; things my "peers" have left behind with good reason. But it's OK, we'll tell people it's a reflection of the tumultuous times we live in.

My blog just turned into an art project #gwan. Cue the soundtrack.

*Yeah, putting the finishing touches on that joke was so not worth the $49+ fee.

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