This is going to be a little short for a handful of reasons.

1) My sister (I seem to always mention at least one of them don’t I? Hmm), anyway uhkti is waiting downstairs for me to sit with her while we um basically surround ourselves with each others company. We feed off each other's presence - ooh sounds Carnivorous.

2) I feel like I need to do something important and need time to think about what it is.

3) I want to pray Isha early-ish.

4) I’m a little ZzZed out from work.

Anywayyy!

When I was younger, my sister called me into the kitchen and held a small purple tin in her hands. I think I could read, or maybe it was just that I recognised the sign. Cadbury’s. No that just sounded good. I could definitely read. I've always been a reader.

She smiled at me lovingly and asked if I wanted to smell something. I was pretty indifferent to be honest and probably shrugged or something, she took that as a yes and lifted off the lid.

As she did, I caught a quick whiff but she prompts me to smell the fine dark brown power inside, properly. Cocoa Powder. The smell rushed to my nose, it seeped through the air instantly and alerted my senses.

Im pretty sure thats a shoe he's holding, and have you seen the planes?

Aaah..finally, the stickman converted.

The title is a little misleading if I’m perfectly honest. But we’ll (by that I use myself in third person) discuss it anyway.

Have you ever felt the need to say something over and over because you can’t get over it? I have (all the time really). So today during a little texting conversation that I have going, I mentioned something that, on the one hand I wanted to but on the other I wanted to keep it hidden. Now this thing that I said was actually something of my own. It was my secret (if you could call it that). I think that the people who shared this ‘secret’ or rather ‘thing’ with me all understood it to different levels.

Quantifying faith.

I'm going to come back to this myself, but what do you think when you see this term if anything at all?

So the sky is blue and the grass is green. Ok I feel like that’s a beginning of a poem but poetry is something that I write for myself (well at the moment anyway). Topic = Writing.

At home people think that I spend a lot of time on the Lappy when in reality I actually only come on here, well in the evenings – around this time to, well, write. I never had an outlet before, ever. It was always me you know there, doing whatever with no outlet – like a headless chicken (buk, buk – that is the right sound isn’t it?). Although I did/do write (paper or Word usually) when I’m upset – a lot. It eases the pain if you get me, kinda like writing this blog except writing on paper or Word isn’t announcing it to the world like I’m sort of doing here.