So this is blogging? I've on and off kept a diary for most of my life, so I guess this is simply a more public and technological upgrade from a book with a rubbish lock. So, introductions!
I'm Anna. I study at Swansea University, and have come back from a stupidly hetic weekend in Bristol. I go there a lot because my partner lives there, and we saw lots of friends, which was great, even though most of them seem to be moving/travelling/breaking up/making a whole load of tramatic changes (delete as appropriate, friends!) and went to the benefit gig for the hunt sabs. It finished pretty late; I had dragged my poor flatmate Penny over to go shopping and to the gig and we were all exhausted by the time we got home. We drove back to Wales today; the weekend was way too short.
I also wanted to try to explain the title here - it is, sadly enough, from a song by Feeder. It is a phrase stuck on my wall, and last year, feeling the spring fever (I think; anyway, I was fed up with winter) I realised that I'm doing ok. I'm where I want to be, and I have the opportunity to attempt to do the stuff I'd like to do. But not all dreams are good ones. In all honesty, my dreams are usually just plain wierd. But it's the thought which counts.
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