The weather is turning me agrophobic. My house is like a warren and I want to huddle, preferably with a boy in aran knits and a Muji-oh-eight dogtooth blanket but instead this mug of white tea and a warm laptop will do. I have been out the house for a mere 40 minutes in two days. I don't mind and actually quite like this. I don't want to go to choir. I don't want to sing with a bunch of folk nerds that I have nothing to say to because they are all weird and folky. I don't want to sit nodding off whilst the out of tune alto grates my ears and I wait for my turn and I'm thinking about tea with a capital T as she calls it like it's the most exciting thing on earth. Instead I want to sit here with twenty one of yesterdays birthday candles and look up philosophers and write an application to The School of Life.
I will most likely go. I have enjoyed working out that I don't like going. I have proved by example that I don't like the company, the style, the atmosphere and the structure. It comforts me that I disagree with something, something that I put in my own way as a choice, and my expectations were different to the outcome. It proves I can't predict everything an that I must try things out before I decide. I am glad I applied. It made me want to apply for more stuff, however flaky it feels. Don't ask and you won't get. Something is better than nothing. I have eaten too much cheese based dessert and I must get ready to leave now right now if I'm going...
postscript - 7th December
I ran to the bus stop because I wanted to run really badly, choir was excellent, we managed to talk about fondue sets for around five minutes, then I walked past a good few bus stops eating falafel. Sometimes you don't realise what you're wanting.