It really is something and nothing

                

    As most fairy tales should, I shall start this one with once upon a time and so, if you're all sitting comfortably, I'll begin. There once was little lady named Lizzie, who had a dream of being a writer/journalist, and on the 24^th of June 2011 a lady came to her school, and the realisation of how hard it was to get into it hit her like freight train on speed and so she started a blog, a blog about something and nothing, whether this fairy tale ends like a modern day disney, or a two brothers grim story is unknown, but as any self respecting cheesy sit coms would say, only time will tell.

    So what is something, the Wiki dictionary sets forth that it is “ a thing that is unspecified or unknown”, however I prefer to think of it as life, all components of life are something, heck even death is something, love is something (apparently a pretty big something) and happiness is something, but what makes one something more than another something...who knows? Right now, this very minuet, writing this blog is my biggest something, along with trying to multi task (I’m a woman after all) and watch Andy Murray beat the cat out of the racket, because apparently hitting a ball at 130 miles per hour is not punishment enough. But that’s my point, everyone’s ‘something’s’ are different, but also nothings, Murray winning Wimbledon won’t change world poverty and my worries that I have put the word something way to many times in the entry are nothing compared to that of Mr Papandreou’s.

    This leads me to my next point, nearly as swiftly as a Beyonce costume change, what’s a worry, at the moment (besides the something problem) by top worries are that I will fail my GCSE in French, a subject I am destined to find as useful as a chocolate teapot and face certain death by the Medusa like stair my father conjures up on the very worst of occasions, the boy I have liked for the past 6 months will think I am a complete weirdo/social recluse after in a fit of nerves I told him sharks sleep best upside down without an explanation, greeting or even a particularly coherent sentence and that my friend will almost certainly get hit by a car as she refuses to listen to the talking hedge hogs! But, apparently, these are not “real worries”, because i do not yet have a mortgage, husband, small brat or job and they are therefore insignificant, and in some ways they are, if the boy thinks Im a bit odd, then nothings changed, if my friend continues to wonder into the road I can and will subtly stick florescent stickers (excuse the oxymoron) to her coats and in the eventuality I do fail my French, I’m confident I will make a lovely statue.

     Thanks for reading.