It’s 3.03pm, and I’m unemployed. Again.

So, I get to writing tid bits when I get bored. I want to make something from the following, but I have absolutely no idea where I’m going with it. So here, my WordPress friends, please give me some ideas!!!

they spoke with their own colloquialisms, as

though in a language of their own. though their

inside jokes were not seen as insult to outsider

company, they seemed to occupy a world unto

themselves.
how quickly they were to laugh at each other. each

gesture, a wink or a nudge meaning something

entirely intimate to the naked eye.
theirs was the like the joy found in solitude, their minds and hearts intertwined, like a tree branch swaying in the breeze, their connection simply, though intricately, made them one.
theirs was a joy separate entirely from love, as

though they had found their own paradise in their

proverbial backyard.

There you go. Help me out folks. Ignore the bad grammar, I was in a brainstorming frenzy.

I’ll blog again if you give me some ideas about all this?

Love you all xxx

It’s 8.36pm, and I really can’t be fucked.

We’re a world obsessed with image.

Appearance, persona, gossip…

Where do we stand?

Where do I stand?

I’m getting to that point again where I just don’t have the confidence to write. I don’t want people to judge my words the way I’m judged in person every other day.

It’s killing me that I’ve lost one of my best friends right now. He came by this weekend and completely ignored my existence. It absolutely broke me.

And the second I allowed my boyfriend to read one of my blogs, I subconsciously stopped writing altogether.

I went out Wednesday night and every girl I passed looked like they would break in half if I so much as touched them.

I don’t know how that is attractive. I don’t know how anyone can be that small, and maintain it.

But it made me feel like I looked horrible, just when I’d gotten to a point where I thought I was happy with my appearance.

I hate going out.

I don’t know how I feel about the way I’ve affected my partner’s relationships with his friends. I don’t know how I could do that to someone.

I feel bad.

I have a great job now, which I love. I love having a reason to get out of bed and do something each day. I just don’t know how I feel about how substantial my part in this small world is.

It’s getting to me that I don’t know where I’m going or what I want to do or where I want to be in five years time.

Everyone’s lives are advancing too quickly right in front of my eyes.

Kids are having kids. Kids are getting married. Kids are trying on adult shoes and all of a sudden, that’s just a better fit for them.

I’m still a kid.

Adult shoes may never fit me.

I don’t have the mindset to know anything for certain right now.

After all, what can certainty really mean these days anyway?

Those curveballs keep being thrown our way… Plans are for the irresponsible, the ones who attempt to control their destiny.

I believe in fate.

And I believe my fate is fucked.

 

It’s 11.25pm, and the old gray mare, she ain’t what she used to be.

“What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us.”

Today has been a day of regret.

I grew up with a lot of issues.

Daddy issues, anxiety issues, depression issues.

And a lot, I mean a whole lot, of anger management issues.

I like to think that I’m not an angry person anymore. In fact, the whole ‘confrontation’ thing, just terrifies me these days. I’m more likely to break down and cry than I am to scream until I’m blue in the face.

I would black out, completely lose my shit, and ten minutes later, I wouldn’t even be able to remember what I had said or done.

Today, I saw a little bit of that person in myself again, and it scared me a lot.

I like to think that I’m a much happier person now, I prefer to laugh things off than get frustrated. I have a lot less hurt in my heart, and it makes me proud to see how far I’ve come.

I’ve seen a lot of people today, asking themselves why they can’t change their past.

And more than anything, it has made me ask in return, why would you?

Every part of your past has made you who you are.

Every infinitesimal moment, every decision, every kiss, every smile, every frown, every person, every birth, death, marriage, break-up… how could you ask to let those moments go?

To change them would be a lie.

“For to try and be, is not to be, and yet, to live a liar’s life.” (< I wrote that, yeah, me. Go, me!)

We were created to deal with change. To deal with tragedy, and pain, and heartache.

But more than that, we were made to deal with love, and happiness.

Appreciate life, in all its’ glory, while you still have the chance. Don’t take life for granted. Don’t take mistakes for granted, because mistakes are our opportunity to grow.

Growth instills hope.

And as long as you are still here, there is hope.

“Take a look at what you have, think of all you did to get it. And remember: it only takes one second to lose.”

Peace <3

It’s 6.40pm, and I like cheese.

“There, there, baby, it’s just textbook stuff. It’s in the ABC of growing up. Now, now, darling, oh don’t lose your head.” ~ Imogen Heap

Beqa, Gouda, Camembert, Dutch Smoked, Fruit, Parmesan, Tasty, Plastic Slices: I love it all.

Christmas day had its’ downfalls though.

Ate too much of the beautiful dairy-filled cheesy wonderfulness of pre-feast snack platters, and spent an abundance of the afternoon replaying WW2 with the toilet bowl.

Goddamn intolerances.

Sometimes life throws you curveballs.

For example, no matter how many times you return to the shiny depths of the fridge, it will not magically birth food it has not previously harboured.

Sometimes you don’t get the marks you need to get into your first university preference.

Sometimes you don’t have the money to pay for the unexpectedly massive phone bill that has been thrown your way.

Sometimes your first day on the job will be plagued by a debilitating, once-off migraine.

Sometimes everyday occurrences lead to life altering circumstances.

Clichés are easy to throw around; everyone wants to believe that everything happens for a reason.

Clichés are easy to listen to, hard to understand at the time, but retrospectively, acceptance leads to repetition… quotation, if you must.

I quote to get through.

Seriously, these sorts of things:

“Believe life if worth living, and the belief will help the fact.”

“It’s not about what you do in life that matters, it’s who you are.”

“Live, love, laugh.”

Those are the sorts of things that I’ve been writing on my door since I was thirteen years old:

Sometimes, I find a way to remember the right thing to say at the right time.

Sometimes, it takes me a little bit longer.

So, let me just say, and yes, this IS for YOU!!!

“Anyone who thinks this is more than you can handle, is less than the kind of person you want in your life.”

“Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.”

“Wisdom is knowing what to do with the knowledge you have.”

Nobody ever said life would be easy.

They just said it would be worth it.

It’s 8.27pm, and it’s just another manic monday

Mondays are becoming consistent.

Wake up in boyfriend’s bed.

Ignore noisy brother, ignore noisy animals, wipe drool from face, attempt to maintain comfort/body temperature, go back to sleep.

Curse the cruelty of boyfriend’s alarm, groan repeatedly, curse the cruelty of the snooze button.

Make out a lot (ignoring morning halitosis), attempt to wake up, wholeheartedly attempt to convince boyfriend that he is sick and therefore unable to attend work, begrudgingly accept that I am not wealthy enough for this to be a valid argument.

Roll out of bed.

Make coffee, make bed, banish morning halitosis, banish body odour, get dressed.

Send boyfriend to work, walk to bus.

Macca’s breakfast (bacon and egg McMuffin, hashbrown, no coffee), attempt to read local rag.

Reluctantly catch bus to next town over, ignore smell of bus inhabitants, thank outer worldly forces that they do the same for me.

Walk home whilst attempting small talk with mother over violently intelligent Words With Friends game.

Get home, make more coffee, drink more coffee, sing loudly in the shower, get dressed, do hair and makeup.

Drink more coffee, attempt to learn more guitar, surf interwebs, play C-grade games.

Continue with scheduled nothingness between meals and toilet breaks.

I lead suuuuuch an exciting life.

Hey, there I go, whingeing about being a jobless, good-for-nothing, layabout again!

Well, guess what?!

Today was a little more exciting, and as a result, you may no longer have to listen to my complaints!

I might even have to set back my blogging schedules within the next couple of days, because as of tomorrow, my dear friends, I may be employed!!

Finally, my devastatingly money-grabbing Diploma of Entertainment Business Management may have actually OVERqualified me for something! Yay!!

So, now, I may just get to spend a few days a week completing useful nothingness outside the comfort of my bedroom, selling CD’s, DVD’s and games to other good-for-nothing layabouts from my town! Hoorah!

I knew that my nerdiness would reveal it’s purpose someday!

So, rather than a philosophical point, or an unaccounted rant, today you get a little piece of ME, a little bit of JOY, a little piece of HOPE, and a ray of SUNSHINE in an otherwise overcast life (in regards to employment only, of course).

Came at a good time, too… my phone was disconnected today, so if I’m a little quieter than usual, it’s because my bank account no longer allows me to peruse the comfortable familiarity of the interwebs 24/7.

And fear not, dear readers, small time, part-time employment is not all I have to look forward to: Money = Car + License + Distance Study + Tattooing Equipment.

Yeah, that’s the latest greatness to come out of my quiet mind. I might just get my sketch on and teach myself another great art (thank-you Breaking Bad!).

Things are definitely looking up.

“It takes darkness to make the light seem brighter.”

Peace <3

 

It’s 8.01pm, and let’s face it, I’ll never be that person you’re looking for.

“I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother
I’m a sinner, I’m a saint, I do not feel ashamed
I’m your hell, I’m your dream, I’m nothing in between
You know you wouldn’t want it any other way
So take me as I am” ~ Alanis Morissette

 

If you want someone who is going to write with flawless structure…

If you want someone who is going to stick with her promise to write five times a week…

If you want someone whose humour will always be understandable…

If you want someone whose intentions are clear…

If you want someone who you can talk about celebrities, marriage or children with…

If you want someone who will listen to you when you’ve disregarded their advice, or

Someone who will sacrifice her weekends dancing to music she hates in an attempt to make you feel better about yourself…

 

You won’t find it here.

Seriously, stop reading.

Go back to WhoWhatWear, or Redtube, or Wikipedia, or whatever the hell it is that takes your fancy; because I am not, nor will I ever be, what you are looking for.

 

I’m a horrendous. self-admitted hypocrite.

I’m a cynic, and I can be a foul-mouthed, bad tempered, downright pain in the arse, on a daily basis.

I don’t like making decisions.

I’ll never be your typical ‘girl’s girl,’ it’s just not me.

 

Today’s blog is short, but well inspired.

Let’s K.I.S.S:

 

What I can promise, is that I am loyal.

I will always write from the heart.

That doesn’t mean that I’ll be skipping out on apostrophes or commas, or misspelling words, because I wouldn’t read something that wasn’t written with intelligence, nor would I expect anyone else to.

I’ll try and make you laugh, because I have a newly founded passion for finding the silver linings surrounding everyone and everything.

I’ll try and make you think, because we all need to wrack our brains every now and then.

I’ll be honest.

And I will be me.

 

And I’ll probably never live up to anyone’s expectations of me.

I don’t expect much from anyone, because I don’t like being let down.

 

Case in point: Don’t expect too much of me, because I’m hoping to surprise you, and make you smile, and make you prouder than you ever thought I could.

 

<3

 

End Note:

I’ll probably be spending a good part of the next 72 writhing around, naked in bed, so I won’t be getting around to another blog until Monday.

The response to BourneBlogger’s creation in the past week has been insanely overwhelming, and I cannot begin to thank my follower’s enough for your support!

It’s 12.26am, and don’t even pretend you haven’t done this.

It’s been over eighteen months since I was last employed.

Over such a great (unit of measurement, by no means any relation to ‘great’ as an adjective, please do not misunderstand) time frame, one finds many ways to counteract boredom.

There are the exercise junkies (I walk, because I have no license, and therefore no choice. That, and I can no longer afford a gym membership), the smokers (that was me, a month and three days ago, *yay for quitting*), the gamers (I want an X-Box, if you buy me one, I will love you forever)… and amongst all those stereotypically unemployed, there are those like me, who are perpetually (that’s my word for the day, look it up) affixed to their computer screen.

So, amongst failed attempts at learning to play guitar, drinking a metric fuckton of coffee, and playing copious amounts of “The Binding of Isaac” (don’t start; it’s addictive, and it’s unwinnable *SHUDDUP ANDREW*); I somehow manage to spend irretrievable hours surfing the almighty realms of IMDB.

Which leads me to today’s (belated, sorry, blame “Isaac”) post.

Rather than spending another few hours perusing this monumental wonder of a website, let me put a long story short: I went from “American Horror Story” and (inexplicably) made my way over to the puppy dog eyes of Penn Badgley, and ended up downloading “Easy A (check it out if you haven’t watched it, it’s decent enough).”

Between wiping Badgley-induced drool from the corners of my mouth, I happened to fall in love with one particular aspect of this cutesy, comedy flick; the whole ‘doing my gay mate a favour and pretending to have sex with him in order to get people off my back’ really hit the proverbial penis on the head… of my mind, if you get my drift (it’s late, if that truly makes no sense, I am sorry; can you just fake a laugh for me instead?).

Let me paint you a picture:

There was a boy, once, a long time ago. Back before the days of the blonde haired, blue eyed gorgeousness I currently thank his parents for having sex 21 years ago, every day, for (that’s my boyfriend, again, it’s late). This boy was another beautiful victim of the ‘emo’ era.

With his devastatingly well-applied eyeliner, and his tighter-than-mine black skinny legs’, how could I help but fall desperately in crush/love with him?

I actually met him once. I actually spoke to him, AND was acknowledged in return.

We were at a music gig. A music gig. Music taste > looks/personality/bedroom ability. (<That’s a proven formula. Then again, I got all three in my boyfriend, and he’s perfect, so good luck finding anything even remotely close to that.)

And there he was, just casually sitting the way he sat, next to a lovely (downright-gay-but-would-never-admit-it) friend of mine from church (boy, should that have jogged something in my brain). And when my friend got up to give me a hug, he introduced me to emoboy. Can you imagine the way my knees shook and my forehead sweated as I managed to squeak out a “Hi.”?

[SIDE NOTE: I was like that in high school. Boys didn't like me, although I liked many boys. And the particular attractive ones often made me lose control of all bodily functions. My best friend (who, by the way, had a confidence I have never quite managed to reach, and was renowned for being able to talk to any guy I liked) was taken home from school one day by a mate; he came to let me know that he was taking her, and I barely managed to maintain consciousness. That is not a word of a lie. Or even a slight exaggeration. ]

My crush/love was to be short lived, however, thanks to that fateful day in Home Economics, when I was gazing, star-struck, out the window as I flimsily, and slowly, washed my dishes.

The object of my crush/love was in the courtyard at the time, flicking through his i-pod like the sun didn’t shine out of his arse (I was about to find out that there was probably something quite difference shining out of his arse), and of course, I was oblivious to the attention my window shopping had attracted from my teacher.

Let’s keep the ugly, torrential, bawling descriptions to a minimum here, but suffice to say that, when she so kindly (this teacher was like my mother) put her arm around my shoulder and pointed out subtly that my crush/love liked smoking pole… I cried.

I actually cried.

It’s amazing, the catastrophic letdowns that sexual preference are capable of imposing upon individuals.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for the homosexuality. You love who you love, and you don’t have a choice. I’m a supporter of gay rights. You go, girlfriend’s girlfriend. Wife that man, boyfriend. I’d seriously march in their favour, if my hole of a hometown did anything half that exciting.

I’m just saying that it takes a lot of great people off the market.

There was a poster in the English classrooms of my high school, which read: “Some boys like girls. Some boys like boys. Some girls like boys, and some girls like girls. No matter what you like, we love and accept you.” Or it said some sort of trashily worded bullshit like that, anyway.

And that’s cool. Seriously. However, chances are that it’s probably gonna make someone cry.

The greatest example of this that I can offer is Neil Patrick Harris.

Better known as ‘Barney,’ from the lovable sit-com, “How I Met Your Mother,” Barney’s philandering, womanising ways are perhaps one of the best examples of what (coughunabletogetlaidcough) men from my generation, look up to.

I alerted my ex-brother-in-law to Harris’ sexuality some time ago now.

After the initial blubbering, and the five stages of grief, it just came to a point where, whenever I mentioned Harris’ love of penis, he would simply put his fingers in his ears and sing loudly (and horribly) “LALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALA!!!!!!!!”

Case in point:

Love what you love.

Love who you love.

Do what you love.

And do who you love.

I couldn’t care less what you love. You probably don’t love my incoherent ramblings at this hour of the morning, but I have loved writing them for you.

So, regardless of my blatantly unproportionate blog, I hope I made you laugh at some point.

And I hope I’m not the only one out there who has fallen in love with a boy.

…Who was in love with a boy.

It’s 3.14pm, and this is just a tribute.

Rainy days are the best sort of days.

Overcast, cloudy, windy, nothing-better-to-do-than-sit-on-your-arse-and-read-a-good-book, days which most people regard as miserable.

Yeah, those days. They’re my favourite sort of days.

Don’t get me wrong, I also love a bit of sunshine (my surfacing wog side, albeit having taken twenty years, has finally allowed me to successfully tan), but there is something divinely reminiscent about rainy days.

Today is a particularly reminiscent one.

Yes, today marks the twenty first birthday of one of my best friends from high school. One of those sorts of friends who, ok, I may have lost contact with after she dropped out, but who used to come over to my house to escape the darkness. She used to call my mother ‘Mum,’ and  she used to understand what I meant when I talked about how terrible life was.

This is the third year she hasn’t been around to celebrate her birthday with us.

It was a stupid mistake, a starry, alcohol-soaked night, perhaps laced with other substances. And it took a beautiful girl out of this world, away from her daughter, her friends, and her family.

I’m not going to make light of this topic, so today’s blog may be a little less than laughable, but I’m taking the advice given to me by my best friend, and not re-writing, because that would be dishonest.

It’s a little ironic that I used to share my depression with this beautiful young woman; we were both avid participants in the ‘emo’ culture. We wore black clothes, far too much eyeliner, and listened to the pathetically whiny genres of music I now only replay on my worst of bad days.

We both moved on from there.

But while I got book smart, and graduated from punk to metal, she ditched school, got pregnant, and listened to dance music; then, before any of us had time to count (and be grateful for) the toes on our feet, she was gone…

It seems like just yesterday that she was lying on a mattress beside my bed, talking to me about how she wanted more from life.

We all want more from life.

This week, just three days ago, a young girl from my hometown, committed suicide.

The ultimate tragedy of this life being taken so early, was that they say she just couldn’t deal with being bullied anymore.

I didn’t know this girl, but when I think of how my friend and I used to feel about some of the people from our high school, I thank any higher forces out there, that we didn’t succumb to the same demise.

No-one deserves to be treated poorly. We should all be appreciated for our differences. We were designed to be individuals. We wake up everyday to continue our lives the best way we know how. We live, not for anyone other than ourselves.

People are unforgiving though. Unforgiving, and cruel, and relentless. They don’t like what they don’t understand (or better yet, what they never go to the effort to try and understand).

I’m regarded as a bit of a hippy by most who know me. I’m one of those free-running, ‘all for one, one for all,’ ‘make love, not war,’ peace-sign tattoo toting downright dorks, who doesn’t understand the necessity of judgement. Ironically enough, some of the only people you will ever hear me use the word ‘hate’ to describe, are the kinds of uselessly judgmental pricks, whose words and actions bring others down.

It’s not always easy to survive. We are all victims of the world in one way or another. Be it a victim of addiction, bullying, unforgiveness… somehow, we just have to, though. We have to choose to survive.

I was watching American Horror Story today (I don’t have much else to do, and I get excited when I come across new series’), and I thought I’d get all philosophical on you, and take one of their quotes to make a point: “It’s a filthy world we live. It’s a filthy, goddam helpless world… The world is a filthy place, it’s a filthy, goddam, whore-show. There’s so much pain, y’know. There’s so much.”

It’s true.

The world is a dark,  hopelessly treacherous place, with traps at every turn.

Somehow, there is beauty in this world, though.

It just takes a glance at the sky, a sniff of a flower, the sinking of your feet into the sand, or a kiss with the person you love… To make everything feel worth it. Even if it’s just for a moment.

And I sing along to Fall Out Boy everyday, “We are the kids who feel like dead ends.” Because I know that life is supposed to be like that sometimes.

We’re all dead ends.

We’re all gonna die someday.

We just have to make sure that we don’t take anything for granted until then; every second of every day is worth your love and appreciation, and your smile.

We have to do it, for all those who don’t get to anymore.

<3 RIP Lucinda & Maddi, forever in our hearts. Taken too young <3

 

It’s 6.06pm, and I just choked on a peach.

Yeah, I may or may not (I just am, really, it’s undeniable) be one of those girls who suffers from a dire case of being accident prone.

So, shoot me.

Seriously, it would probably save me the indecency of unwittingly killing myself by tripping on thin air and slamming my head into an inconveniently well placed slab of concrete (it hasn’t killed me yet, but I’m waiting for the day).

Actually, don’t. The aforementioned predicament would probably give my friends and family something to laugh at during my funeral (i.e. “We are gathered here today to celebrate Alycia dying the same way in which she came into this world, that is, completely by accident”).

The offspring of my klutziness became all the more clear to me today, upon venturing into the depths of my bounteous wardrobe, whereupon I stumbled across several unfortunate items of clothing bearing food stains, pen leaks, tears and other such undesirable marks.

This intimidating endeavour of mine took an appalling (though, not so surprising) six hours out of my day, and alerted me to the fact that I was harbouring enough shitty, second-rate clothing to befit a smallish, third world country.

And, it just made me wonder, you know, about why we hang onto things. Stained mementos from the very core of our past…

I’m not so much talking about the jeans I tore whilst attempting to sprint haphazardly in the great Scavenger Hunt of 2011; no, I’m talking about the signed shirt from my last day of year twelve, and the multitudes of stuffed tigers from my ex-boyfriend, and the feelings of hatred and disbelief I often regard my associations with.

You would think that keeping your year twelve shirt would be a no-brainer. But honestly, my school days are seriously marred by a lack of alcohol, an overdose of studying, an unmentionable phase of Christianity, a laughable phase of emo-ism, and a downright lack of ‘cool-ness.’ My valedictory will remain etched in my brain forever as both one of the best, and worst, nights of my life. Getting rid of that shirt should have been as simple as telling my English teacher to go fuck herself for not being able to spell ‘definite’ properly.

But it’s not.

So, I kept that.

The tigers aren’t so much about who bought them for me, as they are for the fact that I have an unhealthy obsession with these majestic beauties. Undoubtedly, most people would not believe that explanation though.

They remain in hiding until such a time as it is acceptable to forget who purchased them.

As for the feelings of hatred and disbelief, though?

They’re still there. They’re still hanging in the forefront of my proverbial wardrobe, waiting for the day I can put them on, rub them in some bitches’ faces, and then burn them in hellfire.

It’s not healthy.

But hey, neither is being a dairy intolerant MnM addict (see my Twitter for some funnies about that).

So, I guess I’ve just come to the conclusion that it isn’t easy to let go of things which have meant something to you at some point in your life. It’s not easy, and I don’t think it’s always entirely necessary.

My mother (she’s like, my twin, except older, and better at cooking and stuff that requires muscles, than me) spurted out some wise words the other day, “You’re not completely over someone (or something, for the sake of my argument) until you can look at them and feel nothing. Nothing at all.”

I’m not ready to feel nothing yet when I look at these things… I want to hold onto the fact that they’ve impacted me at certain times of my life when I needed them.

But one day, goddammit, one day…

I will feel nothing.

And it will be good.

It’s 3.38pm, and no, I won’t shut up.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words… will leave me in the fetal position, banging my head against a brick wall, unable to see through my tears.

Some things I can handle.

Like being called a dirty slut by my ex best friend (who, by the way, seems to have forgotten that it takes one to know one); that one just made me laugh (seriously, I wet myself).

Or my sister calling me a bitch because I want my laptop back (fair enough, I cracked it first because I have no real life outside the wide world of interwebs); she’s family, we do that.

Or my best mate calling me a disappointment, because, well let’s face facts, I’m a twenty year old ex-genius without a job, qualification or license who is back living at home because I’m flat broke (that one actually stung a little, but it was the kick in the teeth that I needed).

Or my boyfriend calling me a midget. That one doesn’t take much handling when you barely hit the measuring tape at five foot (my wall mark will forever read: age- 12, there’s no going up from here). I’m not even sure if that counts as an insult anymore.

If you want to know what I really cannot handle though, then here it is:                  .

That’s right.

What really send shivers up my spine and grates my teeth like listening to a chorus of nails being sharpened on a blackboard, is silence.

Knowing people are saying things behind my back (slap me in the face next time, that I wouldn’t mind half as much).

Knowing people are encompassing unspoken ill feelings towards me (the paranoia is inevitable, and unbearable).

Knowing that my words are undeserving of response (timeliness is imperative, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to say how I feel anyway).

Or that my feelings are invalid.

Or that you don’t have the guts to be honest with me.

Silence is, perhaps, the loudest and most unholy, unforgiving of human tendencies which really grinds my gears.

So, how about it?

Today I linked this blog with just about every social networking site in existence.

Please, do me the courtesy of regarding my lack of ability to deal with silence, and either comment, follow, peruse, laugh, cry or ultimately share!

https://twitter.com/ABourneBlogger

http://bourneblogger.tumblr.com/

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Bourne-Blogger/218199168264438