Heaven's rejection.

So the girl across from me is stunning. It's the usual sort, impossibly delicate, looks of such royalty and grace you expect her to come with a battalion to protect her. She even has a gold tiara-like hairband, as if to prove me right, and to the world, no less. She is a delicate flower, though the use of such an overused phrase is somewhat blasphemous. Even if I had come up with it, a flower just isn't delicate enough. Think more along the lines of an exotic butterflies wings, with which even the merest of touches, would be forever condemned to flightlessness. She reminds me of a girl I used to work with; I worked in the warehouse, and rebecca smedley worked in the restaurant. She was radiance incarnate. Buying those infamous meatballs could amount to the best minutes of my life at the time, amounting to my biggest regrets (if I favoured endeavouring in such folly). She had an ice-cool subtlety to her, like the melted residue barely comprehensible on the tip of an iceberg. Don't worry, you may see it as stupidity or false hope that I have utilised her name as the tags for this blog, but with facebook, linkedin, and rebecca sharing her name with some professional dancer, there is no way even you could find this blog through the use of her name. Nice try, though.
Everyone is falling asleep around me. It would seem that it is possible to sleep-stand. I'm having issues with conversation due to my insatiable hunger for a, the dream infront of me, and b, the mcdonalds breakfast i've not been able to convince myself away from. A double sausage and egg mcmuffin meal, a sausage an egg mcmuffin, an extra hash brown, life will be good.
If I could pluck up the ridiculous extents of courage only seen in books to ask this wonder I currently behold what her name was, the rejection would be worth it, for the pride in having spoken to her. Shame her mate resembles play-doh.
I sent a message to a person whom had placed an add on gumtree for a 21" old school style (crt) tv this morning, just before I got this train - no viewings when I looked, so i'm very hopeful. Still, this hints at a fun fact of the week; I own a limited edition blue pikachu n64, and this is what the tv is for, to be played in my room. Games are one of a few hobbies I have, and I suppose you'll find out more as this blog progresses.
Certainly this has been a tired blog, a partial test in writing extravagance, but I plan to improve with the next one. You may even say "this is bollocks, mark", and if you get the tv program reference, i would then applaud you.
Ciao kids, until next time.

Day one.

The idea behind this blog is quite simple, I, the hapless writer, will divulge a variety of topics that pop up in my mind over my 42 minute (est. time) 7am journey on the train home from work. Being that I am more likely to sway towards creating a word based Dali-esque piece of literature when sleepy from a mere couple of hours of rest, and with my brain taking a daydream-like conscious train for the general criteria of my thoughts in the first place, This I am hopeful, will bring about a blog of some mild interest.
Today is the first time I have ever taken this journey, and as I type into my touch screen I am boxing out the obesity sat next to me from splurging over onto the arm rest and essentially into my space. Don't get me wrong I'm all for human rights, but I fear that his overzealous approach to eating will end with an arm more resembling a cushion invading my personal space, whereas the other way round, my arm doesn't even breach his bulky perimeter. I believe this is a fair and just approach for all parties involved, particularly myself.
Unfortunately while I approach this blog I have been included in a socio-nasal experiment, in which I am sat across a table from two beautiful young females, boxed in my space by a pie machine and the appeal to be sat down on a busy train (which may backfire given my stop is but one before the one that the majority of standing aisle intruders will depart at), and I am sniffing back the premature ejaculate of a currently dormant nose bleed volcano.
Now, this initial geezer gush will eventually explode half of my face of and look like the aftermath of a baby push (muse reference much?) but for now it is tame, even if it does have the social equivalent of the devestation yellowstone park's majestic volcanic beast will create geographically when its 80km square miles of land is projectile vomitted into the air(or so I am lead to believe; national geographic inundates my brain with currently useless geographic knowledge)
Luckily, I say in jest of the likelihood of the event happening, I generally have a nasal cavity likened once again to a magma chamber, in that the time frame is impossible to detect as to when I'll be shouting 'tharrr she blowsss', I can merely suggest due to the relevant tendancy (discarding anomalies which I'll come back to) that I expect it to be a couple of days until I erupt.
Anomalies; a word used in this context to describe risque early bursts and anti-climaxes; one way of course more favourable than the other. Anomalies of the lesser preference can occur for a number of reasons, most of which lead back to me being hit in the face, accidentally or on purpose. I have also just realised that this year I've come across the irritation that is hayfever, and that this sneeze tickling my nose may make the pretty girls across from me - wistfully dosing as they are -  look like Josh Hartnett in 30 days of night post-chopping-a-small-child's-head-off.
Today is going to be full of surprises, but here is my stop, so I shall bid you adieu!