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Here is a fact about me that I feel compelled to share (for no apparant reason): up until the age of eleven, I had never heard of The Beatles.

Shocking, no?

I remember it clearly - I was in music class in my first year of secondary school, and Mr. McCurragh, the music teacher, mentioned them as we were being told to do a project on our favourite band. He said something about The Beatles being dead famous and everyone around seemed to accept it without question so I didn't pipe up and admit I'd never heard of them. It shocked me when I looked into them and saw how massive they were - I had played piano since I was five and played in a brass band (which I hated with a passion) but music was rarely played at home. My mother never had it on in the house - well, she did have the radio on every morning but never CDs or similar - and my exposure to current music was mostly limited to a Queen tape my dad had made for my sister and I (A Kind of Magic) which I adored, and some pop music my sister was getting into. New Kids on the Block, mwhahaha! Mother always said (when I asked her about this later on) that in the 60s, people either liked The Stones or The Beatles, never both, and she was a Stones person. She still never had any of their albums.

There is no point to this. I was just thinking today of how I've never got over thinking how bizarre that is, that I'd never heard of The Beatles until I was eleven. And as it happens, I like them and the Stones. Maybe you only had to choose if you were there at the time of the hysteria or something.

Speaking of today, I hated it. It has been one of those days where I woke up tired and stayed tired and everything niggled and Evie was grouchy for no apparant reason this morning which drove me nuts. And because I still haven't been paid, I had to go to the bank and juggle money around so I could pay my rent and I went to the gym without water, despite there being three bottles in the car...that sort of thing; stupid stuff that has just had me cranky all day. But! I had no class as I did the exam everyone else was sitting last week so at least I wasn't rushing around to do errands and I could spend longer in the gym.

In other awesome news, I get an extra £200 this month because since the hotel has been taken over, I have been paid for all my holidays. Means I don't actually get the holiday days of course, but I can live with that. Also means that I can pay my bills without stress this month and go and see Jen without worrying about the exorbitant price of petrol and actually go and do a massive food shop without adding up the price of everything as I go along to make sure I have enough to pay for it. This is good. I do actually need to be given this money of course (now six days late) but I have been assured that if it's not in my account tomorrow, I can go and get cash from New!boss...who is the same as my old boss, just that she now runs the place, not just manages it. So! All good.

To make things better, there is a Man. Utd match on TV which kicks off in five minutes. This is always the best way to end a day. And then I am going to get an early night, damnit! I've been telling myself to get one for the last week and haven't managed it yet. Almost did last night but Evie managed to puke her entire bottle of milk (7oz) all over me at 00:30 this morning, meaning I had to change both our clothes and then feed her again, seeing as her stomach was then completely devoid of milk. Joy. She seemed quite amused by it though, which was funny.

Anyway! Football! Must stop rambling! *shoos*

Most people don't consider Living a miracle unless you do it after you've been dead for a few days.

Just nicked this after reading it on another journal. I wonder if it means literally what it says, in the Christian theology way. It's only a miracle if you do what Jesus did.

I dunno. There are many ways to be dead I think. Look at someone who has been unable to love for years, and they suddenly meet someone who lets them feel it again. Thats a rebirth, of sorts. Or maybe someone has been carrying around a lot of hate, or anger, or confusion, or pain - and then something happens so they can let it go. Maybe they will always have been living - but now they'll be living without burden. And thats got to be better, right?

I may be wrong. Part of me likes burdens. If everything was easy, life would be boring as all hell. Got to feel pain to appreciate the good stuff, right?