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I forgot what I wanted to write about

Honestly, I had a great blog post in mind on Monday night. I was thinking myself to sleep and about what to write. Woke up. Completely forgot.
I am also a day late in my attempt to write at least one thing per week.
And I am stuck on my essay on 'Porphyria's Lover'. Its a poem about how a man strangles a woman with her hair when he realised she loved him so that their moment would never end. So far I have written about how pathetic fallacy is used to set the scene for an emotional feel, repetition emphasises the importance of the words....
The difficult thing is, when I write an essay, it always sounds pretentious and I don't buy half the things I say. The more difficult thing is, those essays receive really good marks.
I write about how the author uses techniques to convey this and that. But I think we read too much into things. So, the room was silent.
The room was silent.
But we have to read into that phrase as: the room held unspoken secrets .... etc..
That's how we could interpret it. However, did the author really mean it?
In English we read stuff, and make our own assumptions on it. That's fine. But I don't want to say that's how the author used these words or techniques. And I don't think being able to create meanings from words means you are good at English.
There's a saying, about how beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
I guess that is the case with this. A story is as story. But you can interpret it so differently to everyone else.
Dissecting and thinking about the meaning we receive from words, takes away the whole point of reading. When you read a book, your mind should automatically interpret those words into messages and signals for your brain. If you need to look at each sentence at a time, and think deeply about what it 'could' mean, where is the fun of reading?
If I were to write a story, or a poem of some kind. I wouldn't want the readership to analyse every utmost detail. What's the point? The likelihood is they will never get to the exact ideas I had when I wrote those words. The ideas they form for themselves are perfectly acceptable, that's the beauty of words, everyone can see the same words, but read it differently.
A piece of writing should not be dissected. Takes the romance out of it.

Frustratingly, I need to go against everything I said, and try and finish the outline of my essay. Full of pretentious  analysations, and meaningless assumptions.

There's my rant about my homework. I should get back to it. Be 'productive'.

Goodbye

Dedicated to a special birthday girl...

Like I promised, a blog post dedicated to my friend.

• She once went into a huge mood with me when I said she was unfit. So I nearly gave her brussels sprout for her birthday.
• She made us wait outside a clock shop once, so she could buy a watch strap for her mother.
• She THINKS she's royal. Always going on about how she's related to Kate Middleton. And referring her as 'cousin Kate'. It drives all of us insane (apart from the more gullible ones)
• We used to plan about becoming assassins, with cloaks, and blades in our boots and all.

Love Corinne

My old school

I went to see my old primary school today.
Well I see it almost every day, but I went to take a proper look at it today.
And I took some depressing photos:

 It used to be a lovely little school. Little kids running around (including me) on those tiny weird bike stuff. I never went on them.
But now they've built a new school to replace this one, and this building has been made pretty much redundant for the last 3 years or so.

Inside doesn't look a lot better.
But I admit I'm a big fan of this photo.
I can't tell what the door is for, it looks like it says 'Starget'....?

And here are three steps. Leading to nowhere. There used to be a cabin there. But they took it away, and left the steps.
How thoughtful.

The gates to the school. It looks like a gateway to an extremely run-down prison.