Pathetic Fallacy (unofficial definition): in which the physical atmosphere reflects a person's or group of peoples' mental state. Muttered frequently by moody types during rainstorms.

I trudged my way through a degree in English Lit and I still can't find a proper definition for pathetic fallacy. (Charlotte Bronte was very good at it. Perhaps she can help me. Charlotte?)

It's raining in Thornhillland tonight. Drizzling in fact. A dull, steady beat that produces the same effect as a thunderstorm but lasts much longer and does not provide the catharsis of lightning.

Imagine hot rain. Here, in this part of the world. When I need to cry, I do it in the shower. These days it seems like I don't even need to try anymore; just being under the hot water sets it off.

Stats: the red fork should be kept more-or-less professional as far as my craft goes, so this will be the standard-issue outpouring of emotions and thoughts blog. I won't be calling attention to this one, though. If you found it, I must like you. Or trust you. Or I at least think you're clever. Or you spelled something right in Google. Maybe you're not so special after all. Then again, neither am I.

What's your age? 21.

Are you a good liar? No.

Do you fall in love easily? Love, no. Like, yes.

How about out of love? No.

Dreamer or critic? Not mutually exclusive, so I'm both. But I'd rather be just a dreamer.

Would you rather be fair or correct? Fair. Absolutely.

If you like someone, do you usually ask them out? Or sleep with them, yes.

Would you ever go on a nude beach? I'm no prude and I dig the naked thing on principle. But lately at the gym, I've been having issues with the abundance of naked people who strike up conversations with me. It's like being asked about the weather during your pelvic, and you just end up saying, "don't talk to me like everything's normal right now!" And then they get offended and think you're all uptight when really it's not normal to talk about politics with a strange 80-year-old naked lady. Guess that means no beach. I'd take my top off at a regular beach in Europe though. That's cool.

Do you have many acquaintances: people who you hang out with but wouldn't call friends? Let's put it this way: I hang out with them when they're already there, but I don't go out of my way to hang out with them.

Do you like talking to strangers? I used to love it. Now I hate it. I think strangers must think I'm a bitch.

Do you feel strongly about music? Who authored such a vague question? Yes! I also feel strongly about food, and dolphins, and unicorns, and buses!

Do you listen to headphones or sing when no one's around? Yes. Yes I do.

Do you get nervous when you're lost? Only if I'm high. Or bleeding.

If someone offered you a chance at the thing you wanted most in the world, but at the same time you couldn't tell anyone about it, would you take it? If it's food, no. If it's that other thing, yes. Hell yes.

When you make a mistake, do you move on or dwell? Both. On principle I try to move on, but lately I just dwell.

What would you like to have named after you? A Fjord. Or a famous dessert.

Do you remember things? Stupid question. Memories, yes. Bad things, yes. Important things, sometimes. Essential things, no.

What's the best story you ever heard? Next entry I'll tell it.

Do you want babies? Ask me when I'm ovulating.

What's your favourite colour? Red!

Do you smoke. Don't give me that tone. I hate to say no, but no. It's been almost 5 months. Right now I'd kill little baby ducks for a cigarette.

What would be the best vehicle? For getting around. Thanks for clarifying. The Oscar Meyer Weiner Car. Or many of the cars from Richard Scarry's Busy Busy World. (Milk car and pickle car were pretty cool too.)

Do you want to be remembered? For what?

At this point I'm fed up with the quiz. Next post I'll try to tell a good story. This one I'm just sleepy.