27 January 2013
Hola, it's Sunday again here in the not-so-sunny North of England. And the rest of England, for that matter. And lots of places besides England. Gee. IT'S SUNDAY.
So, my mother approached me today and asked what sort of champagne I wanted for my birthday on Saturday. I felt absolutely suave when I replied 'Actually, Mother, I have an inkling for moscato!' I actually said it like that, too... I am so pro. I astound even myself sometimes. I just thought I'd tell you that, because I thought it was a nice, light conversation starter. Although this is a blog. Not a conversation. I seem to have verbal diarrhoea today. My apologies.
Moving on... I'm a hypochondriac. For anyone who doesn't know what that means: whenever I have the slightest illness or bump or unaccounted-for scratch, I panic and think I have some wacky disease. It's not nice. I didn't realise how bad it actually was until I thought I had cancer the other day and got majorly het up about it. My mum had to calm me down and everything. It's weird. It's not terrible - I mean, I can have a proper good laugh about it (and frequently do) but I just thought I'd chat on for a bit about it. Sorry, if this has absolutely bored anyone to death. Just stop reading, seriously. I'm also a medically-diagnosed rambler. Symptoms? - Verbal diarrhoea/word vomit.
- Evidence or subtle hints of craziness.
- Attempts at witty humor with inevitable failure. At every turn.
Seriously, no one finds me funny.
As my birthday approaches, I'm actually getting kind of scared. I don't know... Turning eighteen means I'm legally an adult. Yes, cue everyone's 'oh, but you're still a child at heart!' And 'oh you don't have to act any different!'s. But seriously? It is different. I can make my own decisions and be my own person and take a charge of my life - paha, what life?! It's just big, y'know? Really big. And my mother keeps going on about 'OH I REMEMBER WHEN MY BABY GIRL WAS JUST A TODDLER'! Okay, Mum, get a grip. Here's to the future.
Je t'aime! Feef. xxxxx
Moscato, Being A Hypochondriac & Growing Up. • Opuss № I