Hi, I'm Tom and I enjoy life.
People say that they enjoy my company, and that my ideas and insights are welcomed and informative. I have the Smart Persona, the aura of a smart person - I don't believe this for obviously modest reasons.
I know many people, all of whom say some slightly differing accounts about me - though there are some definites that they might all agree on:
1. Appearance: I haven't weighed less than 20-stone in almost 7 years.
2. Age: I have definitely been told that I was born in the wrong century, and that I would be more at home in a quaint English countryside as a farmer in the 17th-18th Centuries.
3. Laughter: My laughs vary, though I have been told that my are one of my most memorable traits.
More about me:
I'm tall. I don't drive. I can eat. I don't have to eat. I'm single. I 'moo' when I sleep. I have written a poem while fast asleep (this was recently). I've broken my leg and walked home on it (this was not recently). I can cook good food. I never do. I speak the Queen's English and no other Language (well a little French, but that was a long time ago). I have a fear of the dark (namely outside in the dark). I have been mugged (this explains the dark thing). I'm writing this for the sake of writing this (so stop reading if you get bored). I have a deviantArt account (http://ajaxthegreatest.deviantart.com/). I want to become a successful writer. I don't think this will be possible (but we'll see). I've just finished the 2nd Year of a Creative Writing Degree in Carmarthen (I hope I've done well).
More interesting matters:
Okay, so let's talk about the 'writing a poem while fast asleep' bit. It was last week, either Thursday or Friday morning, and I wake up. My notebook, which had been sat on my desk, was now flat open on my bedside table. With pen lid on floor and scriblings on the page. I had subconsciously written, what appears to be a love poem. This poem details a certain fancy for a certain someone - let's call her Chaplin (well my flatmates tell me that the poem seems to edge on for the liking of Chaplin, at least). So it would appear I like Chaplin, whether I knew it or not. Chaplin being this girl who came down from North Wales to stay with us in Carmarthen for a few days (that's right, just a few days). So she came, she went, and I thought that was the end of it.
She being the good friend of my flatmate - let's call her Bells. Who is going out with Tag (okay I'm carrying on with the whole anonymous thing), who might just be reading this right now - Hi Tag - if you know who you are. So they, and my other two flatmates, Wodge and Pill, have been trying to set me up with just about anyone - or so I've been told, and it has been strongly hinted at. Especially with one of my other flatmates, HB Sauce.
Anyway, so she came, she saw, and she apparently conquered. And now I think I quite like her - well my subconscious seems to be hinting towards as much. And I've been writing more of the same poems - not in my sleep - but on the recommendation of my American friend, Clockwork (this being the sort of self-therapy I apparently needed). So I've embraced the dreams, and now, as of June 1st, I have stopped having them. I miss the vivid dreams - I think I miss dreams in general.
But that's me, until next time bloggers...
