Desmond and "Christmas is Here".

-photo by Garibaldi McFlurry

School is finally out, and with its exit comes the beautiful month of December! A month devoted to blogging, Irish-photo-surfing and Christmas-fanboying.

Ahhh. Truly 'tis be the festive season!

Desmond and the UnCourage and UnEsteem.

I realised that today is the last day of November and in a last ditch attempt to round me up some monthly figures, I'm blogging on the eve of my exam. One might wonder at the nerve I must have to even dare attempt this, but really, 'Courage' and 'Esteem' have little to do with it.

Instead, I will borrow loosely from the Industrial Revolution and call my seeming disregard for my papers a 'Steam Issue' -- specifically, a "Loss of Steam". My mind's burnt out from days of studying, and it seeks the curious comfort of adding to November 09's numbers.

Plus, writing is the poorer cousin of Ben and Jerry.

(He thinks it's nice if you were incensed at his lack of concern for his studies. This Individual must clarify though: he is not as reckless as he puts himself to be. He has studied and was actually in the midst of an audio lecture when he started this entry. Besides, Blogging is an uncontrollable need to win.)

Desmond and The Uncanny Wind.

Today was uncannily windy. I wonder why it was. Perhaps a butterfly was flapping its wings somewhere in Wisconsin. Or maybe brown bears ate wild honey and that sent the bees swarming south. I couldn't tell either way. I wasn't there.

Today was uncannily windy. And I was here. I had to be. I wasn't there you see. The pages of my book were flipping, and for breakfast I had tea. Then it was pancakes for lunch. I would have had my milk in a saucer, but I wasn't a cat. I was here.

And Here was uncannily windy today.

Desmond and Winter Songs.

You know Christmas is coming when these winter-ish albums start hitting the stores. It gets me all excited! Also? It's Ronan Keating! It's like a wonderful festive mix of my favourite things: Christmas, Keating and Ireland. The Christmas cheer is surely here!

(This Individual thinks Keating sounds more seasoned than ever. The worn, raspy voice works well in a holiday time when people sit by fireplaces and ponder a closing year. A grab-the-hot-chocolate-contemplative.

This individual really needs a fireplace.)

Desmond and the Million-and-One-Things.

-photo by Cormac Phelan.

"It's been a long two weeks, and I've really missed my blogger-baby. Don't leave me ever, n'kay? Hugs and kisses repeatedly(.blogspot.com)."

Or maybe something that sounds less teen-sy and affectionate. But with the same sentiments.

After a two week break from Blogosphere, there are a million and one things I'm dying to say. I am finally done with my major assignments for the semester and all that's left for the school-year is a mini assignment and, well, the exams themselves -- The ugly-headed, test-my-moral, grade-my-performance exams.

But really, I'm just glad to be blogging again. Hee!

(The million-and-one-things will have to wait for another day. He says he's "dying to say" them, but really, it's just a figure of speech. If this Individual actually attempted to discuss them all, he could die. He'll leave you this though: The Gallagher brothers are at it again. They're really entertaining. Click here for the drama mama.)

Desmond and the Walker Reading.

It's all in the delivery. Therein lies the power of the spoken word.
And Christopher Walker.

(And if I may push it over all limits, literature!)

Desmond and the Relaxi-mood.

I'm now in relaxi-mood, with my essay finally over and done with. My beloved Irish lecturer has it, and I'm pretty certain that if he had a blog, somewhere in the vastness of cyberspace... he wouldn't be making a big deal of it, as I have.

But I think I'm allowed my neurotic little rants and google searches. Heck, even a little Irish photosurfing is fine! One must consider the proverbial oil that I've burnt in completing my essay. Oh! the body-clocks I have messed up. (Well, actually just the one. But one is bad enough, I assure you.)

So I will indulge myself, with shows and photos, and stupid little articles. I will sleep and refuel, and I will nap and rewind. Clock gears wound to Greenwich precision, fuel tanks filled with green-earth oil (it's not even real petrol!).

And then I'm ready for the next essay.

Bring it on, baby.