What iCan't do on my iPhone.

Don't worry this isn't some sort of techno babble about how my most recent of purchases has made my life so much easier, and how everyone should join club iPhone and walk around with a smug grin on their face because of the wealth of information at their fingertips. The only reason I have chosen this title is that whilst chatting on good old Facebook i realized that all those little things that make you smile during the day, or lead to some exciting venture, are the things that you couldn't make an app for, that you can't simulate. They are the things that are human. Like finding an awesome book for 50p in a thrift store, or when an elderly relative is racist or swears at a family gathering. I mean i may be able to buy that book for £0.49p from iThrift or download Grandma Sheila's iRememberwhen app. But its just not the same.

Today has been a very philosophical day. And i guess what I'm starting to see in my writing is the emergence of a pattern. Whatever i am feeling throughout the day is directly reflected here. That wasn't ever my intention, as i have said, i never really had an intention. But I've never been good at sticking to the lines, i get distracted. I end up blurring the lines, then rubbing them out, then forgetting where they were and trying to draw them back on. Problem is I'm a terrible drawer. And i wasn't probably paying attention to where the lines were anyway, 'cause as you can see by this paragraph, i just let my brain go where it wants. I find it more fun that way.

YES. thats where i was. Today was Philosophical. I have spent my day reading articles on existentialism after freaking out about my own existence and purpose, as I once again trawled through the papers and internet pages looking for the next place to beg for employment. And so i guess tonight i am writing about the things that i learned to look for. The things iForget make it all worthwhile, and that iShould learn to embrace a little more.

When i look back at my existence thus far it can be charted by a flow chart of moments. Of which there are two types. The first is an experience of great positivity. I did something awesome, went to a festival, found a bargain, bumped into a lost friend in literally the weirdest coincidence of my life. The second type are the moments that come up countless times when amongst friends. The opposite. The moments when you're stripped back, when your brain stops being a complex series of electrical impulses and you are reduced to being, well, basically, a buffoon. And it is these moments that iChart among the best bits of my life. They all involve some subject, usually me, being taken down a peg or ten, from either smugness or contentedness, to . . . . did i seriously just do, and or, say that, and almost always, when regaled, start with, do you remember when, and end in, holy shit I did didn't I*. But its true, these moments where you are laid bare, as the idiot you are, are brilliant. It's what keeps you grounded. It's what essentially iLive for.

I guess my point is that right now i could pick up my iPhone and do pretty much anything. And to be honest that feels great. . . . . for like 30 seconds. But when you're sitting there, all day, able to find out anything, you can get lost. I got lost today. And although it was a web page that saved me, what was said on this page was utterly human. It laid out in plain english all the things that we, as people need. And helpfully pointed out the things that we attach so much to, which we do not. Yesterday I felt better because, being able to embrace this massive world gave me an outlet. But today i feel better because i remembered to focus on the small things that get you through, and the people you shared those moments with.

Take it easy.

*(Some popular content to that sentence involve, you almost burned down the club, we got chased by that vicar, you got hit in the genitals for charity, you ate 10 burgers, we passed out in a grave, you accidentally told a Frenchman you were going to kill your wife, you took a piss with me on your back, you licked mustard off a lollipop for kicks etc.)

Blimey I'm a Blogger?! Catharsis is underrated and unnecessarily long offstage intro . . . . .

I am writing this blog in the full knowledge that this will only be read by a handful of my closest friends. And of them maybe on average one will read the whole of each post. And on average maybe 0.2 of them will continue to read after my first couple of posts. But for some reason i still feel the need to start like this

Hello, <-----------------------------------------------------------

It's late, my tablets have kicked in and I've had one of those days where time goes much quicker than your body can comprehend. How it got to be 3 o'clock in the morning only my clock can tell me. And I lie here rolling through the playlists of BBC iPlayer and staring at my ceiling in the usual fashion. However something is different. Tonight I have the urge to write about it (and yes I now know the difference between write and right).

Tonight, having started this blog earlier today, yesterday . . . . whatever. I have an outlet. Tonight I post a blog with intent, purpose and direction. All the things I thought this blog would lack. How I got to this point of having a purpose for my babbling, and why it emerged came in a moment of stark realization. Unless I posted another blog, I was not a blogger. If I post one blog, I have blogged, but without the repeat offense it sits there as electronic evidence of my lack of focus and drive. To prove to myself I still care, and can follow things through I HAVE to post again and make this a habit.

So Here it is. A post, with intent to post again, with the purpose of making this bit of my day easier and a direction of thataway.

Usually at this point I am watching a program that is blowing my mind and succeeding in making me feel as insignificant as I feel whilst watching Alexander Guttenplan roll off a string of startlingly obscure correct answers on university challenge. But tonight seems different. I'm not quite sure if its the fact that my nasal passages are so swollen that my brain is incapable of engaging its more intelligent of sections, whether achieving success in a virtual sporting environment has created endorphins to counteract my usual feelings on my existence or whether I have had some sort of sub conscious epiphany. But tonight my bed doesn't seem so big, my room doesn't feel so cold and the world doesn't feel so vast.

Tonight I can blog away that awkward bit of the night that quickly moves from, 'just one more article', through 'wow i have watched a whole series on string theory' to 'shit, i can hear birds'.

The process of blogging feels to me like a safety net. A safety net for my sanity. And i like it. As many a night i seem to lose it. I have never been a fan of the diary. The diary does nothing for me except stare back at me and mock me. It mocks me with its unedited, raw truth. When i read something about me I don't want it telling me what I am. I know what I am. A fool. I don't want to see my un-edited flaws. I want to see white lies. I basically want it to act like a primary school teacher and say 'Good work' and have a smudged green smiley face stamped at the bottom.

For me, with my several hours of blogging experience, I can categorically say that blogs achieve this. They are a diary with an edit tool. And for me thats comforting. When I read this back I don't hate myself. I feel like I have just put on my favorite hoodie and been given a cup of tea. Comfortable exactly where I am. And at the moment that is a novel feeling.

And so there it was. The dodgy sequel. Who knew that it would descend into something deeper than I set it out to be. i guess thats its charm.

Take it easy.

So lets jump on the bandwagon . . . . .

(Oh and before I start, all of you who did English, my grammar will be poor, my spelling worse, and my lack of being able to create a formulated and coherent sentence, or argument, infuriating)

Hey there (Is that appropriate? I'm new to this),

All of my friends are writing blogs with a purpose. So i thought I'd check what all the fuss is about and right one with no purpose at all. I guess i'll put the world to rights, undo all it's evils and maybe discuss things I've done or seen. Or more likely just drone on about all the nothingness that goes on around me nowadays.

Guess I should start by introducing myself. I'm a 22 year old graduate of Theatre Design & Production. That basically means I can do a lot of cool shit, but no one wants to pay me to do it. I live in the arsehole of the United Kingdom, although its shit, I do have a lot of great friends around here that make it worthwhile. Having lived in my own place I have had to move back in at home having being ill and lost my job. However i cannot complain about not doing my own cooking. And I guess thats the general overview done.

Is it brutally depressing that when it comes down to it I can condense my life into one short, shitty, paragraph that makes me sound like I have no personality or drive? . . . . Ponder.

More importantly I have this overbearing problem at the moment. Hanging over me like the suffering of others hangs on the consciousness of aide workers, or how the state of the UK economy weighs on Alistair Darling and his dyed eyebrows. And I hate to say this, BUT, only men will understand this. Women just don't. I hate to make sweeping, sexist comments, but its true. You have natural defenses that can deal with the emotional and physical turmoil of this problem. YES. I HAVE A COLD. (Just got interrupted by a police officer trying to clean up the neighborhood. How inconsiderate.)

To reiterate after that rude interjection by the Babylon's. I HAVE A COLD. And it's awful. I know I'm not dying, and in the grand schemes of how ill i have been before it is nothing. But it is AWFUL. Its the annoyance factor. The only thing that pisses me off more than a cold is when you eat the last pistachio in a packet of pistachio's and it tastes like earth. It just ruins the whole experience. You work your arse off peelings those shells, cracking the ones with no slit to get your nail between, breaking your nail, getting salt in the sore bit. You get to the last hard earned nut . . . . . and it tastes like shit. That is what a cold is like . . . . almost. You wake up thinking, hello day, what can I do with you, God knows I have infinite time, so the world is my oyster. You breath in and . . . . . . . nothing except a squeaking sound only comparable to treading on a dogs favorite old toy. Slowly. And the day is ruined.

Nothing to do now but to sit in your comfiest pair of trousers, watch sky sports news, eat cold pizza and wait for the mechanic, that should of been here 2 hours ago to turn up.

Take it easy.