i have a travel journal, whose purpose it is primarily to record it is what i have adventured. it appears, sometimes, as more of a chore, which is a sad thing: i am two weeks behind, must rely on my not-very-reliable memory.
i am in wales, in cardiff. it is very nice, and there are people around with welsh accents, which are very lovely and reeking of great britain. there is a great national pride (although apparently they arent really a nation); very different from australian patriotism. ours involvs far more swear words, and less kilts. it is chilly, but snow is not falling
im going for my driving license soon. im scared. i must try to be less scared of more things. fear can be conquered, and should be. i feel like a little little girly sometimes. (and maybe i am, inside?) you meet all these kids, who are my age, living out of home, with friends, supporting themselves, like the adults that they are. i feel so content living at home; is testament to my youth? moving out is so definite, i love living around my family and dog. growing up is scary to do
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