Rules Of The Roald

RULE 4: WHEN IN DOUBT, RHYME.

There is no better way to move your life’s story forward than to break into verse. A simple A/B/A/B structure will do, and if you run out of words to rhyme with, just make one up. It’s incredibly liberating. You live in a world of snozzberries, after all. Should a small army of miniature orange people rock up around the time things are getting rhythmic, be warned: You’ll need to use some zeal/Because shit is about to get real.

Daniel Evans.

Thank you very, very much indeed.

Why not make it up?

x.

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“Wait For Me”

This morning I woke up and instead of going about usual weekday routine, I chose to make myself a truly lovely cup of English Breakfast tea, curl up on the couch and remove myself from everything.

As it was Saturday morning, all the children that live in my street started to seep out their homes and enjoy the Sun’s last feeble attempts at providing warmth. It was when the youngest of the children cried “wait for me,” I realised it seems I have been left behind.

Everyone seems to be moving.

Quickly.

I always imagined my life would become ridiculously fast paced on completion of the HSC. For a while now I have worked on developing my ‘To-Do’ list but instead I’m currently ‘temporarily out-of-order.’ My progress is very slow – almost at a stand-still and it’s very depressing.

When the youngest of the children cried “wait for me,” all the other children rolled their eyes at her inability to keep up but nevertheless turned around and made sure that she was able to catch up to them. Made sure that she caught her breath before they continued to play. Made sure that she was traveling okay. Maybe they were just making sure that they wouldn’t get in trouble from their parents quietly keeping a watchful eye on them. I don’t know?

But I want to scream “wait for me!”

I’ve learnt it’s not always that simple.

x.

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These Are The Days

After a horrible weekend spent trying and miserably failing to bully my brain to focus on my frighteningly large pile of work, I gave up, made myself a lovely mug of hot chocolate and got a much needed good nights rest.

Today, I avoided the bitter cold weather and once again attempted to make my assignments worth the paper they were to be written on.

After far too many hours looking at a computer screen, burying myself in ridiculously large books, my dads cheese toasties and countless cups of tea, I have finally finished the first half of my work. As for the second half, I have been unable to access the silly Online Learning Student Login but thankfully it has been recovered as of sometime this afternoon so it looks like the next few days will be spent munching my way through the uploaded tasks.

I thought about how I would celebrate my little feat but considering the weather outside I decided to remain indoors like every good hermit and begin to properly introduce you to my little universe!

Hope you are having a lovely week,

x.

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The Language of Flowers

“Allie knew the language of flowers – the idea that every bloom stands for some quality of human nature. Bouquets sent from the shop for the arrival of a baby were stuffed with daises, for innocence, and moss, for maternal love. Valentine’s arrangements had roses, of course, but also lilies for purity, heliotrope for devotion, and forget-me-nots for true love. To Cam, she often sent designs that were full of messages she knew he could not understand. She eyed her latest work critically, nodding over the tulips which made up the bulk of the piece. In Persia, a man would give his betrothed to show that as red as the flower was, he was on fire with love; as black as its center, his heart was smoldering like a coal.

She filled out the vase with Michaelmas daises, China asters, and fire thorn. And then, as she always did for Cam’s arrangements, she added as many sprigs of purple clover as she could without making the lines of the flowers seem overblown. Clover, which simply meant, Think of me.”

Mercy

Jodi Picoult.

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