Sensible
When you're young, sense is easier to come by. A lot more things make sense, like hanging off the bed upside-down, blood rushing to your head, and imagining that your chair is welded to the ceiling, and what fun it would be to scramble over the roofbeams. Or, doing somersaults off your bed and onto the floor. Or, tracing the spindly raindrops across the condensation on the window when you're speeding down the shadowy highway on the way to a birthday party. OK, I'm lying, I do all those things today too, and I am 19. I would make a great fortress on my bed with all my pillows and hide inside it for hours at a time, but being a university student, I have all of two pillows. Conclusion: contrary to what people generally think, university does in fact conspire to deprive me of a substantial amount of fun.
But, the party, I'm telling you about the birthday party.
I always seem to be wearing suede boots in the rain, and when you don't know where you're going, it's easy to get lost. This is why I like not knowing where I'm going, because then it's impossible to be lost. It doesn't help that you have to walk all the way up to the door to see what number house it is, but when you squelch up the driveway and peer at the little metal numbers and it reads 45 and you're looking for 164, it rapidly becomes apparent that a) you got off at the wrong stop, and b) you are stupid. And by this time it feels like I'm walking in a self-contained little swamp.
Eventually, of course, the house is the one with the balloons on the door. Durrr.
Balancing a plate of food on your knees while sitting in a beanbag is not hard. What's hard is when the beanbag is beside a stack of (empty, empty) plastic cups and a fishbowl containing the most innocuous fruit punch ever. I mean, there are large circular slices of apples with star-shaped holes in the center floating blissfully in £10 of crushed strawberries and raspberries. Dear god. Whatever else is in there is in fact irrelevant.
(Except that it's not, because there is also about a full bottle of rum in there).
Not so very long after that, I'm telling people about bullfrog mucous, reconstructed oranges and how spiders don't actually need eight legs, because I do fine with two, thankyouverymuch, and did you know that 'Oakley' rhymes with 'poke me' and 'Hugo' rhymes with 'you go', and omg I should just, like, publish my head.
And a little later after that, I'm watching the ceiling fan spin round and round, except that there is no ceiling fan, and it's actually just the ceiling. Round and round. Oblong and rhombus, and then, just quite fuzzy.
Yeah. When you're young, sense is easy to come by, because you don't deliberately go out of your way to ingest things that make you lose it. Makes sense, durrr.
Happy birthday Oakley! :)