A tag is easily fixed

I’ve been fixing up my blog behind the scenes lately. Because when I was a little, sweet inexperienced blogger I tagged my posts. I tagged them messy and weird and not informative at all. So now I’m fixing them ^^ And that takes a lot of time because apparently I can’t write proper titles either. I have to actually OPEN every post I’ve written in the last what 2 years? I tend to ramble a lot, I found out. My posts are unstructured and as my English teacher would point out; informal. They are full of inside jokes, of bad written sentences, spelling mistakes and wrong punctuation. But you know what? I still like it. I may post only post now and then and most of my posts do not even make sense. It’s like I try to scrabble down the weird curls and crooks of my mind, but I almost never manage to make it look healthy. I actually think, breathe and love these words. I must admit that I find it fun to see how I constructed my first posts and how many silly ‘’smiley’s’’ I used. Damn, now I limit myself to one or two per posts. I consider that strength, because we teens nowadays are kind of used to being all; :), :(, ;), xD, :D, :P, :S; LOL and OMG!. So yeah, I actually have to, and this is sad, have to control my use of them. :P

 

Tiffany took a deep breath. This was about words, and she knew about words. ‘Here is a story to believe’, she said. ‘Once we were blobs in the sea, and then fishes, and then lizards and rats and then monkeys, and hundreds of things in between. This hand was once a fin, this hand once had claws! In my human mouth I have the pointy teeth of a wolf and the chisel teeth of a rabbit and the grinding teeth of a cow! Our blood is as salty as the sea we used to live in! When we’re frightened the hair on our skins stands up, just like it did when we had fur. We are history! Everything we have ever been on the way to becoming us, we still are. Would you like the rest of the story?’

Tell us, said the hiver.

‘I’m made up of the memories of my parents and grandparents, all my ancestors. They’re in the way I look, in the colour of my hair. And I’m made up of everyone I’ve ever met who’s changed the way I think. So who is ‘’me’’?’

A hat full of sky – Terry Pratchett