Mondegreens, Volume I

Why surfing the net is dangerous. Sort of.

Oh dear. The internet has done it to me again.

I was looking forward to some good old random internet searching tonight, as it’s been a while since I’ve perused my favourite sites. I had visions of craft inspirations and laughter-inducing pictures of cats doing weird things dancing in my head as I snuggled up in front of the computer and typed in the usual addresses.

But here I am, 20 minutes later, feeling crap about myself and thoroughly discouraged from ever doing anything, ever again.

The internet has shown me the light. I am clearly a failure who will never be able to apply flawless liquid eyeliner, or clean my house in the correct way, or have perfect hair every day. My life is no longer worth living, as I have not yet succeeded in painting a piece of funky second-hand furniture with an awesomely bright paint. For god’s sakes, I don’t even have an oven to bake my Mario-themed cupcakes in! You’d think that this would leave me more time to stick to that very simple exercise plan that floats around in a fluoro meme, involving 20 repetitions of 20 push-ups, sit-ups, burpees, star jumps, squats and lunges, but I can’t even get motivated enough for that!

That’s it. I’m just gonna lie here and think about how I’m wasting my life. Go ahead, step over my immobile body. Maybe you could lie some hand-made origami flowers upon it, and say some nice things about how I once had the best intentions to be arty and crafty and organised and fit and clean?

“She was hopeless,” they will say. “But she always had the best intentions.”

Rest in peace, my talents and ambitions. I shall miss you.

Blank canvas *shudder*

Ok, hold on to your socks kiddies, I’m coming clean:

I have trouble starting things.

And by that, I mean that blank canvases freak me out. Seriously. All clean and perfect and unharmed by my intervention?

Terrifying.