Shut Up & Smile.

You know what? I think I just had a little epiphany. I don't know what an epiphany feels like, but I have a sneaking suspicion I did just have one.

People, rejoice. And hear this: Be your own person, love yourself and make yourself happy. Don't rely on anyone else in the world to give you a reason to smile, because they wont. Not all the time. Don't let someone else be responsible for whether you're happy or down. Ever. Be independant, be your own happiness. Because what if you rely on them and they never do? What if you're waiting and they never come?

Be happy because of you. Be your own reason to smile.

I really want one of these for my birthday. Don't ask me why. Geography has always fascinated me..

Today, I decided it was time for a change. I dyed my hair red, and I'm going to trim my fringe. I bought a smoothie from the juice bar I never normally go to, and just to top it off, I gave my dear little blog a make-over too.

I normally say I hate change. But some change is nice.

We're Invincible.

When I was little, nothing was better than recess at school. All my friends would run out of their classrooms when the bell sounded, and we'd meet up by the play equipment. The best was the tunnels. The tunnels were these two large concrete cylinders, lying side by side on the bark chip ground, like binoculars.

I dont know why they were there, and I dont know why they were so much fun, but oh they where!

Some genius, God knows when, invented a game called 'Tunnel Tiggy'. It was like tag, but on top of the tunnels. Some poor sucker would be 'it' and the rest of us would be up on top of the tunnnels, while they tried to tag us. They couldn't climb onto the tunnels, but we were welcome to climb off (not that you'd be silly enough to do so). I remember how the person who was 'it' would hide in tunnels and burst out of one of the ends spontaneously, and surprise us all. Often, someone would be tagged at that moment.

I remember, one lunchtime, I played the entire time without being tagged. It was the best feeling ever, for my eight-year-old self. Everyone else got tagged at one stage or the other, but I did not. When the end of lunchtime came, and the last bell sounded, I was still not tagged. I ran around yelling "I am invincible!" until someone told me to be quiet.

Almost ten years on, and I still feel the same. And not just me. Watch and see, every teenager is the same.

We run fast, fast and aimlessly, unstable and unaware. We're impulsive, all of us, to say the least. We know no boundaries, and we have no limits. The sky is the limit, and so we challenge even that.

We live like nothing could ever hurt us. Nothing could ever damage us, break us or wound us. We run fast, with and without meaning. Are we running to get away, or running to get somewhere? Or are we running simply because we can?

We're making decisions, choices, promises and mistakes. We never learn, but we always grow and that's how it will forever be. Our regrets are many, but we thrive from them. We like to know there was something we did, something we said that maybe we shouldn't have. We like to break the rules.

We live like we can never die. Like we are indestructible. And we are, because we believe ourselves to be.

One of the most amazing quotes I've ever heard comes from a novel called Looking For Alaska (to be quite honest, the book is filled with amazing quotes). This one reads: 'When adults say "Teenagers think they are invincible," with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they dont know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are.'

Isn't that wonderful? We need ever be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. That, right there, is all we need to know.

Because we are. We're invincible.

Where is my sunshine?

Bloggers, it's been a little too long, has it not? It's okay, I know. And I'm sorry. But I seem to be lacking something. Something nice, sparkly, bright and encompassing. Something happy. I'm lacking sunshine.

Not literally. I mean, today was sunny enough. I mean I need something wonderful to make me happy and inspire me. I dont have that, hence my absence from blogging. You can't write when there's nothing to say, can you? Although that sort of contradicts this entry, seeing as I'm writing about my lack of inspiration to write.

I want to get away. Away from home, this street, this city. I want to drive and drive and drive until I'm almost out of petrol. Then I'll stop in a small town to fill up. The people will be few, but they will be lovely and welcoming. They'll show me new things, and I'll explore. Then I'll keep driving. I'll drive to a beach. A lonely beach. I'll take off my clothes and run nude, because no one will see me. I'll swim. I'll swim until I feel my naturally buoyancy being challenged, and then I'll swim back to shore. I'll put my clothes back on and keep driving. I'll drive to another town, and dine in at a small pub, where the food will be cheap and greasy and satisfying. Maybe I'll have a few drinks with the good folk there, who come- like me- to seek a kind of happiness. We'll drink and sing and drink some more. The world will spin, and I'll be happy to get spun. Then I'll stumble clumsily to my car and sleep a peaceful, undisturbed, re-energising sleep. I'll wake up when the sun streams through the window and warms my eyelids. Not when my alarm goes off.

Then maybe I'll leave my car and walk. I'll walk around, through the town. I'll meet some people. They'll invite me out. They'll take me to parties and shops and festivals. It will be wild and exciting and spontaneous. New people and new things. I'll meet a boy. A breathtaking, amazing, wonderful, sweet, kind, handsome boy who steals my heart and gives life to my soul. We'll do what we want, and go where we want and see everything the world has to offer. We'll sail across the ocean, and hike over mountains. We'll travel the world and when we return, I'll set off alone again, because true love is too fake to be interesting. Maybe one day I'll find him and marry him.

And then I will drive again. I'll drive all the way back. I'll drive fast through empty roads, and sing loudly at the traffic lights. And when I return, magically, amazingly, finally I will be happy.

Oh how the heart yearns for what the mind deems unreasonable. How wonderful it is to dream.

Somone's Been Bitten By The Jealousy Bug..

Oh woe is me.

Here I am, on a Sunday morning, tucked away in bed with a heavy warm blanket and my Mac, while my throat swells, my limbs ache and my nose gets snifflier by the second. There's really not a lot I can do, especially from my bedroom with the kitchen being a good eight steps away. I might google some cold and flu remedies a little later. Honey and lemon tea, anyone? Or just pop some pills? That could work too.

But instead of trying to make myself well again, I lie here, sick and possibly contagious, and dig myself a grave, more or less. I dont know why I do it. I know it's only going to make me jealous and envious, and angry- especially now that I'm ill. But it has this magnetic pull and I just have to.

I'm viewing someone's blog. Her name is Chiara Ferragni, and she has quite possibly the most perfect life any being on this Earth could ever have to call their own.

First of all, she lives in Italy- Milan to be exact. She's twenty-three, she's a student and a popular fashion blogger. I'm also assuming she's a model, although nowhere on her blog does it say so.

She is tall with a slender and slim body. She has sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. And she's got freckles. I've always wanted freckles!

Also, she has an Italian boyfriend- who, by the looks of it, is also a photographer.

And to make the pain just that little bit more unbearable, this girl has the most amazing clothes I have seen in my life.

I dont know where she gets them from. Maybe because she's a fashion blogger she get's them free or something. Maybe she has connections. Maybe she models them. Or, maybe she's just a fucking millionaire and I can just add that onto the long list of reasons I have to hate this woman.

Okay, I dont really hate her. I just want to be her. And lying in my bed with an angry cold and a blocked nose doesn't make being me anymore enticing.

But seriously, take a look at some of her pictures and then tell me honestly you dont feel the same..

www.theblondesalad.com until I manage to get some photos up for you folks..