Mushrooms

Alas. The dreaded First Post, which, once survived, is thought of only to be forgotten. I have nothing meaningful to say.

On the other hand, I do have something meaningless to say. This morning I stepped massively out of character.

I've reached the conclusion that everyone has a kind of self-image that at first they are, and then they just act within the bounds of. Someone may dislike mushrooms. They may think: I dislike mushrooms. I am a person who dislikes mushrooms. Eventually, however, they might smell a meal that contains mushrooms and have their appetite peaked, but may not order the dish because they are a person who dislikes mushrooms. Metaphorically speaking, I have been disliking mushrooms my entire life. The 'I Am A Tomboy' mantra prevented me from wearing make-up until I was sixteen. Yet this morning, I ate a mushroom.

This particular mushroom is rather hard to describe. It is very definately a masculine mushroom. It grew beyond the line labelled 'ACCEPTABLE.' I have to say that it bears a strong resemblance to Daniel Radcliffe.

I had agonised over what to do for my eighteenth birthday party. There seemed such a polarity between the 'tame' and the 'wild,' a.k.a. the civilised and boring and the fun and the debauched. Too demure, and half would not want to come, and too wild, and the other half would absent themselves. With no obvious options for an 'in between,' I assumed I would do demure. I Am A Demure Person, I told myself, quite firmly. Demurely, I thought of the theatre. Demurely, I went online and searched the London theatre websites for what was on. Demurely, I considered Phantom of the Opera. Less demurely, I bought tickets to Equus.

The results have thus far been amusing. My dad, when asked about it, did not react. I don't think he has made any connection between the word 'Equus' and the newspaper articles muttering about naked Daniel Radcliffe. I did not help him make that connection. Jennifer's parents forbade her to go, and now most likely think that I'm a Bad Influence. I have been accused of being 'perverted.'

What can I say? The Author In The Sky's characterisation is way off.

GAIL: What a pointless post. I'm at a loss as to what you meant to convey by that. And why aren't you writing me?
ME: I can't be forever writing you.
GAIL: I've been waiting for three years, you know.

Apologies for general bitty-ness, but I felt like sharing my surprise at myself with the world.