Returns.

My visit to the GC to see my family went well.

Little sister Lenal had a huge box of clothes for me to sort through

and I managed to grab quite a lot of new (old) clothes.

In the box, was the blanket I spent 4 months making for her.

I wasn't supposed to see it. 

I wasn't concerned that she didn't want it;

she didn't like the colours, 
a granny square blanket isn't exactly modern and cool.

I took it back, because it felt sad to send it to charity

but it really emphasises the fact that craft

(unless it's wearable or useful), is entirely pointless).

I think the only thing that's worth doing is handmade greeting cards.

Even they don't get kept long term, but at least they serve a purpose.

Me, my mum and my little sister.

My mum and dad took me to the airport last night, 

for some reason I thought a 19.40 flight meant that I had to go in at 19.40, 

we were sitting outside, chatting.

when I went in, I realised my mistake and RAN!
GC airport is tiny anyway.

Luckily I wasn't the last person on the plane,

I was second last.

I mumbled "sorry, sorry"..

as I walked down the aisle to row number 16..

needless to say we were taxiing at 19.40 on the dot.

So I didn't make them late.

We were so busy talking, I talked a lot this weekend.

I told my mum and my sister that I needed to learn how to 

talk and have conversations, because I've been told that I don't talk enough.

I'm quiet and I talk when it's interesting or important.

My older sister is the complete opposite,

somehow she remembers every single word people say to her,

and when she's telling us a story, 

she relays the entire conversation.

It's too much.

What she should do is accents for the second person.
My entire family agreed I should have become an actress
because I was playing puppets with 5 year old Riley and making funny accents.
"You should have become an actress, 
you do that so well, 
you don't come out of character the entire time".

Missed opportunities..

Anyway I do want to be able to talk, 

and I do, it's just when I can be bothered, 

or if I want to.

At the airport, my dad told me about the time

he took me along with him to vote at the nearby primary school 
(not my primary school)

when I was about 10;

he said "When we walked out, you burst into tears, because 

you wished that you'd gone to that school instead, 
you thought it looked more exciting."

I love having parents to tell me stories about what I was like when I was young.