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| I was bored, so I found this picture of a goat |
After I went to Barcelona I came home with a cold and wrote a Really Bad story about a mountain. I wish I had put a bear in the story because then it might have been less bad. I spent the whole day thinking about mountains and weather and what winter is like in the mountains and what birds sound like there (conclusion: they sound the same) and what kind of mountains they have in America - when I was supposed to be doing some Greek - or possibly Roman- related essay thing. Sigh. Boredom leads to a whole new world where mountains are Interesting and Important and bears are simply an afterthought. In the land of boredom, mountains have colours and contours and stretch up to the white sky. That's if they're in Ireland. If they're in America, I figure that they've got houses on them with blue gardens. In Peru they're like orange roads through the desert.
I like them. They're more boring than volcanoes. Volcanoes are always causing havoc and strife and exploding all over the place. Mountains are like, yeah, I've got magma. But I'm old and tired and bored of erupting. I want to stay here and watch Midsomer Murders and possibly have a biscuit and maybe another and then I'll just lie here and sleep for a while.
That's mountains for you.
But at least mountains aren't bored. Not while they have a purpose. And what purpose is that? The usual. Sleeping. Framing things. Photobombing. Being trampled on by the Fellowship of the Ring. As I said, the usual.
So mountains have a purpose. I read somewhere - long time ago, can't remember what the book was/whether it was a book at all and not just a copy of Vogue trying to be intellectual/whether it was in fact a dream (highly possible)/whether in fact it was 52 different books and not just the one - that the secret to life is having a purpose. Aha. So that's what I need.
Apparently, that's how people survive difficult things in their life, like long queues at the airport, or that movie The Interpreter, or a particularly pungent Roman history exam. Because it's their calling. They took it upon themselves to do it. When they take responsibility, they start understanding what it is to be alive.
Blah blah blah. Back to mountains. Did you know that the lowest mountain in the world is Mt Wycheproof in Victoria, Australia? It stands at just 43ft tall.
Anyway. My purpose? Pshaw. I'm so glad you asked. Because I don't know. I suppose I'll do a bit of an aul degree. Why not. Besides that, I suppose I'd like to discover a new kind of biscuit?
Now that's a purpose worth having a purpose for.
Bon Blog!
That's mountains for you.
So mountains have a purpose. I read somewhere - long time ago, can't remember what the book was/whether it was a book at all and not just a copy of Vogue trying to be intellectual/whether it was in fact a dream (highly possible)/whether in fact it was 52 different books and not just the one - that the secret to life is having a purpose. Aha. So that's what I need.
Apparently, that's how people survive difficult things in their life, like long queues at the airport, or that movie The Interpreter, or a particularly pungent Roman history exam. Because it's their calling. They took it upon themselves to do it. When they take responsibility, they start understanding what it is to be alive.
Blah blah blah. Back to mountains. Did you know that the lowest mountain in the world is Mt Wycheproof in Victoria, Australia? It stands at just 43ft tall.
Anyway. My purpose? Pshaw. I'm so glad you asked. Because I don't know. I suppose I'll do a bit of an aul degree. Why not. Besides that, I suppose I'd like to discover a new kind of biscuit?
Now that's a purpose worth having a purpose for.
Bon Blog!
Mountain? What Mountain?
