Okay.
This is more of a confession than an update I’m afraid.
But firstly, a belated Happy New Year to everyone! I’m genuinely excited that it’s 2008 because it’ll say ‘08’ on my school leaving hoodie! They're two of my favourite numbers as neither of them actually end. Ouroboros is what I’m talking about, y’all.
And secondly, despite the fact that it’s been over 2 months, I haven’t actually started my village calendar yet. My few recent shots haven’t been great, so I’ll be sure to update my scraps.

Anyway.
I heard something recently which really made me think, and I mean REALLY.
“Contentment is the enemy of invention”.
Does this mean that if anyone attained a state of infinite happiness, that they would then cease to better themselves? Or, like, try?
I don’t know about anyone else, but this is definitely true of me. During the school holidays I get SO unbelievably little done, yet when given less than a week to write up my entire English coursework I manage it and I’m happy with it. When I have the time to do things I don’t, and when I don’t have the time I do. It’s like I need the pressure. I need the stress. I need the harsh deadlines, the lack of sleep, the monitor head-aches. It’s good. It’s all good. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no masochist, but I’m starting to see the flip-side.

On one of the last days of 2007 I was on a train travelling home when this struck me.
Now I like to think that I’m in the middle of the emotional spectrum, but I’m probably a notch or two (or three) closer to ‘sensitive’ rather than ‘indifferent’.
Usually I like to think I’ve got the world on side, but on this day it didn’t feel like he was. I felt bad. Really bad. But without actual cause; there wasn’t one thing making me unhappy, not alone anyway. It was as if every minor irritation in my life, no matter how insignificant, were all conspiring together.
I wasn’t too bothered about the pubic hair on the station toilet and didn’t let the presence of that better looking curly guy gnaw at my self-confidence. I didn’t mind too much when the rude man asked me to stand because he’d booked my seat either (which wasn’t actually possible as it was a public section). I wasn’t even too concerned when the old man opposite me managed to knock his coffee over, sending hot sugary stickiness soaking into the depths of my crotch.
None of these things or anything else got to me independently, but almost everything collectively. It was then that, surprised at how pathetic I was being, I had to really focus on not bursting into tears.
This sudden surge of intense melancholy almost seemed to make me consolidate and like, resolve myself. It really gave me the urge to be more productive.
So in a sense, discontentment isn’t all that bad. It breeds invention, or at least, the renewed intention of invention.
Yet if this proverb is indeed so, then procrastination is truly the brother of contentment and the sworn enemy of invention.

Procrastination, thy name is Panda!