Jeez. I've started writing this particular post, then deleted it, about five times in the past hour and I'm getting increasingly annoyed each time I do so. It's because I'm rubbish at talking about things that actually matter, rather than the meaningless trivialities that make up my own life. The truth is, important things fucking terrify me. If I can't make some lame joke about it, I don't want to think about it.

But, at the risk of sounding like the cliched moral at the end of some crappy TV programme, sometimes something happens that forces you to think about the really important things. And consequently you realise that what you may have thought was important, (eg bad test results, missing out on seeing your boyfriend, whether that boy will finally gets round to asking that girl out, etc,) REALLY ISN'T. I know that this is pretty standard knowledge, but I sometimes get so bloody self-involved that I forget this simple fact and end up stressing about nothing. And I'm so, so sorry for doing that, because I know that compared to so many million billion other people, my problems don't even begin to register. I'm not saying that I'll stop worrying too much, because that would be a foolish, unkeepable promise due to my fallible human nature, but I'll at least try my hardest to keep things in perspective.

Well, that was embarrassingly earnest. Sorry. But I felt it should be said. I don't really want to write about what's been going on the past two weeks of my life now, nor do I want to write about what made me be so embarrassingly earnest to start with. Instead, I'll suggest that you go find someone you love, be it friend or family member or partner, and give them a hug so big they'll think you'll never let go. Because you should never, ever have to.