Today's the day. Right now I'm absolutely knackered. I've slept about twenty hours in the last four days because I just can't get to sleep and I've been on the bus for three hours to get my GCSE certificates. At half five I have to get off to Leicester square for an exhibition thing, with celebrities (apparently. I'm not holding my breath!) Unfortunately I'll be going alone, cos both of my friends have cancelled on me so my esteem is not exactly on a all-time high. I still have to go. Hey, maybe I'll meet someone there.
Ooh, news. I have a crush! There's this gorgeous black punk girl with dreads, a stripey scarf and drainpipe jeans who's on my bus every morning. She has a beautiful smile, hazel eyes. She's goes to my college but she walks too fast for me to catch up. Sounds ridiculous but she does. We've been making eyes at other but I don't know where I stand yet.
On Wednesday I was feeling so dangerously low I had to bunk off college. I felt as if no one wanted to talk to me but I had nowhere to go. I decided to for 6 stops and get off the bus. I ended up on this Green bit. There were lots of chestnut trees and Victorian period houses. Right by the busstop a black mercedes hearse was loading up a coffin, the family watching. They looked very somber, and there were SUVs everywhere. It was very old fashioned: they had the funeral man in a black tailcoat and a top hat walk down the road as the hearse rolls to the church, which was strange as there were on each corner here. I stood and nodded at them as the hearse rolled away. In my oatmeal coloured woolly mammoth hoody I found a church garden. I sat on the bench and promptly started crying. It was just a way to relieve the pressure: as simple as a peaceful, private place to cry. I felt as if I could sense of things again and build a real identity for myself (how the hell do you do THAT?)
Afterwards I walked onto the green, surrounded by buses and collected falling conkers from the chestnut trees. I love conkers. When you find a good one, they're really smooth and chocolate brown with wood grooves. Conkers always remind me of mum, I'm not sure why. Maybe because she loves nature and walks and that, but we've never collected conkers together, but when I collect conkers I feel closer to my mum, and I feel like a kid again. I also start collecting conkers when I feel sad and desperate and insomniac.
After that, things have been easier: I've finally got my certificates from high school, and I saw some of my friends who I haven't spoken to for over 18 months. I've been reading Murakami a lot, so thats always good. And today, entering the Oxbridge rat race, we were shown a previous History aptitude test (we have to do a special test. (Yay!) and it doesn't look too bad. Actually, it looks kinda fun! Its more about the nature of history and general questions about how important the individual is, or about revolutions. It'll be interesting to read up on all that. Apparently its designed to make you panic, but it's not that bad, really. But now I gotta go and get changed and tidy the house a little and be charming, and then write a bloody review and try to push it! I'm nuts!
But....its time for change. The person who I am is fake, its not me. I'm naturally happy. I'm restricted by my fakeness and it needs to go. I've been pretending for so long, I want to stop. So, its time to time start over again. I'm still Betty - I love the name and its too much hassle. But its time to stop noting down everything I do wrong and time to start Unfurling (taken from a brilliant ex-blog) and Be...
So, say hello to the Successful F*ck Up!
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Sunday, September 25, 2005
This Desirable Feeling
Ria is now home from hospital, and sounds weak on the phone, but she's going back to college tomorrow. I have this strange feeling in my body, like the bursting out of the skin from sheer boredom. I want something, hot, sweet and crunchy. Crispy duck pancake. That I want to fly to New York, live like a caffiene ridden writer and buy all of Gior's fashionhouse clothes. That sort of feeling.
Yesterday I had one my memorable journeys into London. The South-West train to Waterloo wasn't too incidental, though I laugh at loud reading my fourth Murakami book, The Great Sheep Chase. It's hil-ar-rious. You must surely buy it. Yeah, so when I got to the Northern Line section, I was just by the platform when a policeman came and started to evacuate the platform. Something about a "suspect package". I grabbed a peek and saw an arab man shouting and raving at a few policeman. I can't help it, I felt a little anxious, but then I also was annoyed because I was going to be late for a thing again. When I got out of King's Cross and waited at the bus stop, I could see the legs of this homeless guy protruding from a doorstop, which didn't twitch, and I started to worry if he was dead or something. He proved his liveliness by getting up, pulling down his trousers, and peeing right in front of me. Oh Lordy, all I could was turn around, it was so embarrassing. Then at the meeting of CE one of the adult members, Sharon was leaving to become a high school teacher, and refused to change her mind so we held a surprise party for her and gave her THREE bouquets of gorgeous flowers.
In the evening me and Dad went to our old neighbours for a dinner party. Sort of. They're a really sweet couple: Ed, who's Portuguese but not speaking to his mother at the moment, and Sophie who's French, but has lived in Pakistan, Egypt and somewhere else in Africa. She also makes the best lasagne in the world. It had mushrooms and olives which I usually hate, but they were absolutely perfect. Then we had cake and ice cream and I couldn't move. Did I mention that they have the cutest, most perfect baby in the world? Her name's Natasha, she's 4 and a half months old and she's so content, with this gorgeous smile, and she's almost big enough to actually walk in her walker. She loves to gurgle and her hair sticks up at the back, so Sophie calls her Tintin. She hardly ever cries, or has a tantrum and is really friendly. She's in love with my Dad, they have long conversations about transport (Natasha's dad is a bus driver.) But oh, would it shame me if I said I've never held a baby before? I get too nervous, in case I hold them wrong, or they start crying, or I drop them and ruin their lives before they get a chance! Natasha is all gorgeous, all the same. All in all a lovely evening.
Today was another idyllic Sunday. It should have been all bitter and cold, but from inside the car with warming on, its a perfect summer day. The sunshine rays were strong, the sky a booming blue. Two boys were setting up cricket stumps under an oak tree. It was that perfect. And now, here I am, wishing I was baby, or having lots of hot loving on my black leather sofa as Led Zepplin plays. This is my 187th post. How far have I come? How much have I changed? I shall deliberate.
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well you might find
You get what you need
(Rolling Stones, You Can't Always Get What You Want)
Yesterday I had one my memorable journeys into London. The South-West train to Waterloo wasn't too incidental, though I laugh at loud reading my fourth Murakami book, The Great Sheep Chase. It's hil-ar-rious. You must surely buy it. Yeah, so when I got to the Northern Line section, I was just by the platform when a policeman came and started to evacuate the platform. Something about a "suspect package". I grabbed a peek and saw an arab man shouting and raving at a few policeman. I can't help it, I felt a little anxious, but then I also was annoyed because I was going to be late for a thing again. When I got out of King's Cross and waited at the bus stop, I could see the legs of this homeless guy protruding from a doorstop, which didn't twitch, and I started to worry if he was dead or something. He proved his liveliness by getting up, pulling down his trousers, and peeing right in front of me. Oh Lordy, all I could was turn around, it was so embarrassing. Then at the meeting of CE one of the adult members, Sharon was leaving to become a high school teacher, and refused to change her mind so we held a surprise party for her and gave her THREE bouquets of gorgeous flowers.
In the evening me and Dad went to our old neighbours for a dinner party. Sort of. They're a really sweet couple: Ed, who's Portuguese but not speaking to his mother at the moment, and Sophie who's French, but has lived in Pakistan, Egypt and somewhere else in Africa. She also makes the best lasagne in the world. It had mushrooms and olives which I usually hate, but they were absolutely perfect. Then we had cake and ice cream and I couldn't move. Did I mention that they have the cutest, most perfect baby in the world? Her name's Natasha, she's 4 and a half months old and she's so content, with this gorgeous smile, and she's almost big enough to actually walk in her walker. She loves to gurgle and her hair sticks up at the back, so Sophie calls her Tintin. She hardly ever cries, or has a tantrum and is really friendly. She's in love with my Dad, they have long conversations about transport (Natasha's dad is a bus driver.) But oh, would it shame me if I said I've never held a baby before? I get too nervous, in case I hold them wrong, or they start crying, or I drop them and ruin their lives before they get a chance! Natasha is all gorgeous, all the same. All in all a lovely evening.
Today was another idyllic Sunday. It should have been all bitter and cold, but from inside the car with warming on, its a perfect summer day. The sunshine rays were strong, the sky a booming blue. Two boys were setting up cricket stumps under an oak tree. It was that perfect. And now, here I am, wishing I was baby, or having lots of hot loving on my black leather sofa as Led Zepplin plays. This is my 187th post. How far have I come? How much have I changed? I shall deliberate.
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well you might find
You get what you need
(Rolling Stones, You Can't Always Get What You Want)
Friday, September 23, 2005
Name Change Soon!
So strange, this watching the six o clock news, knowing that in six hours over in America there are normal people sitting in their shacks, or their houses, or their flats with their pets, with their loved ones, or on their own watching their old houses or stuck in the middle of the madness - waiting, just waiting. I hope everyone in in Texas and the people of Hurricane Rita will be ok.
It's been a terrible year for weather. We've had tsunamis in SE Asia, tornados in Birmingham, three Hurricanes in America and the WestIndies and floods and heatwaves just about everywhere else. A global problem that had been perpetuated globally and that we have to fix or my generation and my baby cousin's generation has little chance of survival, or plain happy times. My generation is already fated to live fast, die young. Maybe even a revolution. That'll be cool.
Good thing that we its so much easier now to reach out beyond walls and touch someone in New Zealand. I love it. Ok, ok, my life has been boring. My supposed journalist mentor has dropped out but I can still go on to get an internship at Sky which has a base in Isleworth. Ha! How random. So yes, boring life. And...I will changing my diary name to Successful F*ck Up at around 28th of September. Time for a change, long gone.
To stop myself feeling guilty for not cooking all week I decided to make chicken and home made chips for my Dad and bro. It soon became beefburger and chicken steaks with year-old frozen curry because it turned out there was hardly any food in the house! Then the grill exploded again and my brother took it upon himself to watch me cook and note down everything I did wrong. Grr. But now its all fixed and I'm stuffed, but I don't like being watched doing exercise and I'm sore all over. It's been a fat week. On Weds, at double history we had cake and tea day and I had three slices of homemade american style cheesecake and chocolate brownies. I've only had breakfast once this week too. I'm going to be so fat!
Also, I offer my best mate soulmate, Ria, proverbial grapes as she's in hospital at the mo, the poor thing. Get Well Soon!
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Sunday
Don't you just love them?
I am now watching another Sunday movie, in this case, Legally Blonde. Everytime I watch that film I always end up feeling good about myself. She's a clever bimbo who will succeed but will also refuse to change in to fit in.
Yesterday I went on a study skills day with this asian lady. It didn't start off well. For one thing I was slightly hungover (as I am more often than not these days :S ) and twenty minutes before I was due to leave the house Dad went all draconian on me and we had a big fight, made me cry because I've been feeling bad lately, but I didn't give him the satisfaction, but I still got into the day half an hour late. It was really boring and wouldn't stop talking about her traumatic life: her alcoholic abusive Dad killed himself when she was 18, had a child when she was 21 when her manic-depressive mum died and then got divorced. But then become some sort of life coach to the stars, that sort of story. Even so, really boring. All I got was depressed. And she was telling us to be motivated etc, which was to stupid to us GG students. As a whole we're bloody clever, moreishly motivated high achieving, wide thinking perfectionists. And to be told to stop being lazy was self-defeating really and told us nothing new in general. Whats not helping me study is current mental state for the last five years, my inconsiderate family and not having a desk to study on. My persistent bad luck ain't helping either - since I moved I've hardly recieved any letters so getting library cards is my worst nightmare right now. And I really want to study China. I've only read a couple of books but Mao is so interesting. But I'm still not well versed on the actual story. Never mind.
Today I've had a perfect sunday. I woke up at half 11, listened to Oasis and Aretha and Led Zepplin, then had a healthy breakfast, and made my way to town where Tesco ruled supreme to get my Observer Music Monthly where I chatted to the person serving, and I realised that just doesn't happen in Wembley. I also got a kingsize Galaxy, got the bus really quickly and I've reading the same magazine all afternoon. It was great. Dad was polishing his car, Norah Jones' voice doodled lazily in the background, and I was with my magazine, without any homework. It was the like the American Dream.
And it carried on that way, with me and Dad making dinner. We do that sometimes when we're getting on and we've had a good Sunday. I spiced up the turkey (it's my job; I know which spices work) then I cooked it covered in foil for a while, then cooked it blind for half an hour with two lashings of honey of top on the spicy mix. It was crunchy. It was beautiful. I still couldn't help but feel the 50's style denial riding through dinner. But it might have been because I just had an extra large whisky/coke. I really gotta stop drinking. But then I watched Legally Blonde. I'm still not feeling much but I got laughing last night. Since Patty br4oke up with Ria I've been taking care of her like a best friend should. But of course I've been falling and not being very articulate about it. My natural instinct to put on a front for almost any situation leads to miscommunication, rendering counselling pointless.
I have suicidal, real suicidal days once in a while. Have you ever had them? They cripple you. You know that with the perfect opportunity you'll die with a sense of ease in your heart. And yet for some reason, even when you have lost all the will to live like I did, you just refuse to sink down to the razor. But then bouncing back is uncomfortable, difficult. I should make a manual for this kind of thing.
Well....
- Baths are brilliant. Or showers. As long as they're hot and wet and you use sunflower shower gel (maybe thats just me)
- If you're a normal woman who just can't be arsed normally, paint your nails. Bright beautiful colours on your person draws back out that vitality in you like salt.
- Dance! I cannot press this enough. When I feel the movement is for cutting, I try to press for happy movement songs (Libertines, Aretha, Baz Luhrmann, Texas) or singing to sigh away your horrid feelings.
- Make your room tidy. This leaves space for you to sit on the floor. If I have a really intense crying session, and end up sliding to the floor, I stay there for hours. And I manage to think some things through and from the bottom I'm just able to get up again.
- DO NOT DRINK. You won't get anywhere. It's only good fo if your girl/boyfriend dumped you, and only after midday.
- Read through friends' appraisals, like 10 things I love about you. Ria did one for me, and whenever I read I feel so loved I just stop feeling down.
I feel really intoxicated right now. I really wanted to continue my stuff and now it'll go away. Why do I drink? I'm in this state of mind where I don't care and I don't feel the urgency to overachieve. I'm sadder but calmer. It makes me feel as if my problems don't mean anything. Most nights, when I'm drinking because I need to drink not because I'm depressed, it helps me sleep without another three + scars on my arm.
So as you can see, bouncing back is hard with so many unsavoury vices. But it is possible with hearts you never knew could exalt so far. I know now that I have to take control of the vices/demons. But I don't know how. I really don't know how. Oh, and I've just seen two army helicopters touch ground, but I am right by an army base. I'm not used to it yet so I think its the coolest thing! Makes you wonder what they've been up to, since its like 11:30 pm over here right now. In fact one's even taking off...now. Who are they spying on???
Oh, I heard a clock ticking by the bus stop. It was really loud and the sound wouldn't leave my mind. Its my first auitory hallucination for ages. There's nothing I can do about it, so it doesn't blip in any way shape or form. And...I still can't feel anything, but thats what cutting is for, so I'm holding out for a miracle before I have to start again. Also to get away from as far as my suicidal feelings as possible.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Passion-less
I've seem to have lost the will to live.
I do not feel any more love for life, and neither does She.
I think I'm nearing the end. There's a panic in my heart that feels like I'm finally getting close to my ending. I'm so sad. On the phone I can't say a thing, to your face they'll be a big fat smile and all alone, disconnected on the Net I will cry and cry and have people ignore me because I'm worthless that way.
I have nothing to do. Idleness leads to thinking.Thinking leads to sorrow. This is usually where the love for life kicks in. The beauty of Autumn, five hour phone conservations. Cuddling. Mum's homemade flapjacks of which I haven't had for 11 years. I don't just seem to feel anything anymore. There's nothing there. And I'm a failure for this.
So, without my Will I play pinball on my laptop for hours, and continue collecting paracetemol. I buy new tools. For once, I am completely sober. Music doesn't move me as it once did. Why wash? I'll only have to do it again sooner or later.
Loneliness leads to despair. Despair, unheeded and unadulterated, leads to loss. I am a lost cause. To tell you the truth, it doesn't help that it's like 5 degrees Centigrade and there's no heating in the house. I'm typing to keep my fingers warm. My toes are a lost cause. I feel very poor and feel guilty for being the unemployed bum I am. Now I'm just being self-indulgent. But I don't feel anything. I'm just crying, and I have neither the strength or the Will to try to gain the botherness to stop them.
Empty shell. Is that dust?
I do not feel any more love for life, and neither does She.
I think I'm nearing the end. There's a panic in my heart that feels like I'm finally getting close to my ending. I'm so sad. On the phone I can't say a thing, to your face they'll be a big fat smile and all alone, disconnected on the Net I will cry and cry and have people ignore me because I'm worthless that way.
I have nothing to do. Idleness leads to thinking.Thinking leads to sorrow. This is usually where the love for life kicks in. The beauty of Autumn, five hour phone conservations. Cuddling. Mum's homemade flapjacks of which I haven't had for 11 years. I don't just seem to feel anything anymore. There's nothing there. And I'm a failure for this.
So, without my Will I play pinball on my laptop for hours, and continue collecting paracetemol. I buy new tools. For once, I am completely sober. Music doesn't move me as it once did. Why wash? I'll only have to do it again sooner or later.
Loneliness leads to despair. Despair, unheeded and unadulterated, leads to loss. I am a lost cause. To tell you the truth, it doesn't help that it's like 5 degrees Centigrade and there's no heating in the house. I'm typing to keep my fingers warm. My toes are a lost cause. I feel very poor and feel guilty for being the unemployed bum I am. Now I'm just being self-indulgent. But I don't feel anything. I'm just crying, and I have neither the strength or the Will to try to gain the botherness to stop them.
Empty shell. Is that dust?
Sunday, September 11, 2005
The Stars Are Never that Pretty
I'm watching a Beautiful Mind. You know, Schizophrenia, genius. I couldn't help myself. There's this bit where Russell Crowe is seducing with his "inzane" math skills and he draws an umbrella in the stars. But the stars he had at his disposal were from 300 years ago. Stars of a bygone era...
When I'm looking into the sky and at the dust, sometimes I'm looking into way back. Into crinolines and Suffragettes and jousting and old, old blood. Most of the time they're just the pretty bright squares of light they've always been, and sometimes I think I've been too naive and they're in fact atoms that are coming to take me away. I feel so many tingles on my body - on my arms, mainly, like I've just drunk a really beautiful glass of wine. I wish they would just go away! I end up scratching all over myself like a nutter, but maybe its just because I'm a cutter. I have been drinking a little, and I can't write fiction stuff well when I'm inebriated. The tingling won't stop. I think I want to cut tonight. It's only been two weeks, less probably but it feels like forever is laughing at me. I'll probably never get better, there's no point fighting the cutting anymore. And since my eating problems pretty much intwined with the cutting, there's no point attacking that either. But I've got lots of other stuff to do. No time for a gap year - yet. No time to really help myself - yet. To teel you the truth, that reality I've lost my grip on. If I do have schizophrenia (and even if I don't have schizophrenia, I know I'm some kind of crazy.) then its not this archetypal strange beings I can see. I hear everything. I see wisps of things. Black shapes, I mean. Falling things. Once, I almost got sucked into a hole in the sky. This can run and run, what's my point?
I guess, I'm saying I'm not normal even in the most un-normal of things, and therefore nothing in inexplicable to me. I guess this can make me kinda gullible. It makes me sound philosophical too. All there is left now is to get a little more drunk.
When I'm looking into the sky and at the dust, sometimes I'm looking into way back. Into crinolines and Suffragettes and jousting and old, old blood. Most of the time they're just the pretty bright squares of light they've always been, and sometimes I think I've been too naive and they're in fact atoms that are coming to take me away. I feel so many tingles on my body - on my arms, mainly, like I've just drunk a really beautiful glass of wine. I wish they would just go away! I end up scratching all over myself like a nutter, but maybe its just because I'm a cutter. I have been drinking a little, and I can't write fiction stuff well when I'm inebriated. The tingling won't stop. I think I want to cut tonight. It's only been two weeks, less probably but it feels like forever is laughing at me. I'll probably never get better, there's no point fighting the cutting anymore. And since my eating problems pretty much intwined with the cutting, there's no point attacking that either. But I've got lots of other stuff to do. No time for a gap year - yet. No time to really help myself - yet. To teel you the truth, that reality I've lost my grip on. If I do have schizophrenia (and even if I don't have schizophrenia, I know I'm some kind of crazy.) then its not this archetypal strange beings I can see. I hear everything. I see wisps of things. Black shapes, I mean. Falling things. Once, I almost got sucked into a hole in the sky. This can run and run, what's my point?
I guess, I'm saying I'm not normal even in the most un-normal of things, and therefore nothing in inexplicable to me. I guess this can make me kinda gullible. It makes me sound philosophical too. All there is left now is to get a little more drunk.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Ahh, argh! First day at college.
I was too complacent. After all, my first lesson was at 11am and I was of course much nearer now. Already I'm back to my bad eating ways. Case in point: I had grapes for breakfast. I just couldn't be bothered to grab a bowl, let alone pour things and use a spoon. Preposterous. So yeah, I left the house and I knew I was already before I missed the two buses and burst into my English class, 20 minutes late and sweaty.
It turned out that I was the only person in my class to get the Golden "A", so that perked me up. We got straight into our lessons, but it should a hoot because it's all to do with writing skills. If I don't get an A in that, I'll eat myself. Somehow, I'll figure it out. But we got homework in our first lesson and face it, thats just really unfair. Then again, its a fair revenge. Some of them have forgotten how to write. They just look at their pens and put on this confused face and I think "WHY WHY WHY are these my fellow English students?"
So then, I played gooseberry with my friend Clare and Ickarus (the beautiful couple) - it was ok, I shared her cheese baguette and had a substandard cornetto. History was a drag. Turns out I'm supposed to be reading boring old farts about the Chinese Cultural revolution - does anyone know anything! about it? I'd really appreciate it.
Today was my poetry workshop and it was pretty cool. I got compared to John Donne and now I have to read him to instill his "elegant diction" or something. Now Ria is on my bed, lying on her back and moaning. Not in the good way though! She's a big moaner, but only because she's in a lot of pain. She just had a hole in her shin, poor thing. I'll write more in the morning.
I was too complacent. After all, my first lesson was at 11am and I was of course much nearer now. Already I'm back to my bad eating ways. Case in point: I had grapes for breakfast. I just couldn't be bothered to grab a bowl, let alone pour things and use a spoon. Preposterous. So yeah, I left the house and I knew I was already before I missed the two buses and burst into my English class, 20 minutes late and sweaty.
It turned out that I was the only person in my class to get the Golden "A", so that perked me up. We got straight into our lessons, but it should a hoot because it's all to do with writing skills. If I don't get an A in that, I'll eat myself. Somehow, I'll figure it out. But we got homework in our first lesson and face it, thats just really unfair. Then again, its a fair revenge. Some of them have forgotten how to write. They just look at their pens and put on this confused face and I think "WHY WHY WHY are these my fellow English students?"
So then, I played gooseberry with my friend Clare and Ickarus (the beautiful couple) - it was ok, I shared her cheese baguette and had a substandard cornetto. History was a drag. Turns out I'm supposed to be reading boring old farts about the Chinese Cultural revolution - does anyone know anything! about it? I'd really appreciate it.
Today was my poetry workshop and it was pretty cool. I got compared to John Donne and now I have to read him to instill his "elegant diction" or something. Now Ria is on my bed, lying on her back and moaning. Not in the good way though! She's a big moaner, but only because she's in a lot of pain. She just had a hole in her shin, poor thing. I'll write more in the morning.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
These Things DO Come in Threes
It's the last day before college, A2s, and a lot of bloody hard work. Before I drift off into my last night of happy oblivion (hell, when I have had that before?), I want to tell you about my day. It was more or less a happy day.
Firstly, I was getting better at beating my anxiety. As you may know, sometimes I have problems with re-connecting, or just joining the outside world. I would just get a tightness in my chest and the twisting in my gut and I knew I'd be a complete wreck so I just stayed in my room. I also couldn't sleep and it was only making my anxiousness worse. But I had a good friend talk to me, and help me in his own, simpl way that helped me make sense of my flailing mind. I stuck my head outside the window and sniffed the cold air, then I wrote about it to him. And I could feeling the pulling melting away. I didn't feel like I would be lost anytime soon with someone talking some sense and some kindness into me. Even better, he shared with me our safe place. It's one secret I'm not telling anyone. Why? Cos it actually works, its actually safe - dodging past the mine of my mainly impenetreble cynicsm.
So, after I got a good night's sleep, I felt so much ... better. I can't explain it. I could move, I could dance, I could write, I could not give a fuck and not have the sky fall on me. So I started watering the plants. I love doing this in the morning after breakfast because a) You get to drown lots of spiders b) You appreciate the better-than-technicolour science of light - watching giant white droplets of water against the light and making your own rainbow c) The plants seemed happy, healthy. They went a deeper green you tend to only see at nighttime. d) It's water and I love water, being a waterbaby. It's a - thats how I was born sort of thing.
So yeah, and then I'd watch tennis, or the ASHES (W00T!) - I am into cricket. Always was. Its the Geek Chic game. I know what a maiden is (an over - which is 6 balls - that don't hit a wicket; getting the batter out)
And then, whatever else was supposed to happen. Yesterday I went to a black tie reception which I can't tell you much about because it would give me away (not that I'm famous). And today, I had a Good Day.
A Good Day, by which I was never bored, I was moving all day, I got two letters, I was cooking and the phone kept ringing.
The first good news I got was that my seminar on Study Skills was being pushed to next week, meaning I could go to my poetry workshop, finally get my work scrutinised by a real poet and also get to see Ria who I haven't seen for nearly a month, in one fell swoop. Then, I got a call telling me my application for a journalist mentorship was successful! It means I get to work with a lovely Observer journalist for a whole year who will help me with my writing and help me get published, and just to have someone for support (journalism and career related) for the next year, so thats going to be really special. I had already written it off. Dad was always telling me I was serious enough about my journalism because I've only had like 4 publications and I'm 17, but this will shut him and maybe even I'll get into the Observer (music monthly).
The third good news was that I got invited to this exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery. I'm going to call them tomorrow and beg for a second one so I can bring my friend along. Her mum won't allow her to sleep over, so it'll be pretty cool. And I also got my cycling map from tfl.gov.uk and it's decent. Despite my absolutely appalling absymbal take on British geography, I just can't feel lost with this map. And I chatted to Nik and Ria and Charlotte, and hell, all is well. I'm going to hold to this bright point of sanity for as long as I can.
Firstly, I was getting better at beating my anxiety. As you may know, sometimes I have problems with re-connecting, or just joining the outside world. I would just get a tightness in my chest and the twisting in my gut and I knew I'd be a complete wreck so I just stayed in my room. I also couldn't sleep and it was only making my anxiousness worse. But I had a good friend talk to me, and help me in his own, simpl way that helped me make sense of my flailing mind. I stuck my head outside the window and sniffed the cold air, then I wrote about it to him. And I could feeling the pulling melting away. I didn't feel like I would be lost anytime soon with someone talking some sense and some kindness into me. Even better, he shared with me our safe place. It's one secret I'm not telling anyone. Why? Cos it actually works, its actually safe - dodging past the mine of my mainly impenetreble cynicsm.
So, after I got a good night's sleep, I felt so much ... better. I can't explain it. I could move, I could dance, I could write, I could not give a fuck and not have the sky fall on me. So I started watering the plants. I love doing this in the morning after breakfast because a) You get to drown lots of spiders b) You appreciate the better-than-technicolour science of light - watching giant white droplets of water against the light and making your own rainbow c) The plants seemed happy, healthy. They went a deeper green you tend to only see at nighttime. d) It's water and I love water, being a waterbaby. It's a - thats how I was born sort of thing.
So yeah, and then I'd watch tennis, or the ASHES (W00T!) - I am into cricket. Always was. Its the Geek Chic game. I know what a maiden is (an over - which is 6 balls - that don't hit a wicket; getting the batter out)
And then, whatever else was supposed to happen. Yesterday I went to a black tie reception which I can't tell you much about because it would give me away (not that I'm famous). And today, I had a Good Day.
A Good Day, by which I was never bored, I was moving all day, I got two letters, I was cooking and the phone kept ringing.
The first good news I got was that my seminar on Study Skills was being pushed to next week, meaning I could go to my poetry workshop, finally get my work scrutinised by a real poet and also get to see Ria who I haven't seen for nearly a month, in one fell swoop. Then, I got a call telling me my application for a journalist mentorship was successful! It means I get to work with a lovely Observer journalist for a whole year who will help me with my writing and help me get published, and just to have someone for support (journalism and career related) for the next year, so thats going to be really special. I had already written it off. Dad was always telling me I was serious enough about my journalism because I've only had like 4 publications and I'm 17, but this will shut him and maybe even I'll get into the Observer (music monthly).
The third good news was that I got invited to this exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery. I'm going to call them tomorrow and beg for a second one so I can bring my friend along. Her mum won't allow her to sleep over, so it'll be pretty cool. And I also got my cycling map from tfl.gov.uk and it's decent. Despite my absolutely appalling absymbal take on British geography, I just can't feel lost with this map. And I chatted to Nik and Ria and Charlotte, and hell, all is well. I'm going to hold to this bright point of sanity for as long as I can.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
We've all been spoiled...because we're not paying enough DAMN attention!
New Orleans, a beautiful city, left to waste.
People left to die in the world's richest nation.
People dying of hunger next to the world's fattest country. (Texas)
The public, restrained by TV-surfing and that solid expectation that everything will always be alright.
People stealing fridges when they got no home! A Shoot to Kill Policy! Has everyone - everyone! lost their minds?
And then Iraq. It still strikes me numb that the mere mention of a suicide bomber can leave 700 people dead - more than they ever kill usually. They must have died laughing. They must have found it uplifting and hilarious, having that sort of power.
I've got loads more to say, but I want to introduce you to someone first - one of my favourite fanfic writers (and best),and and an army officer, giving a thorough piece of her mind. She wants this spread, and I want to help her. I am 17 after all, in London with no job and no chance of really saving lives. But I can help with some justice, if you'll help me.
Michelle, the army lady, sums up the whole situation - the world's situation, but mainly America right now: If you're not pissed off, you're not paying attention. Okay, so she chock-full of emotion but I want to show just the depth of anger here.
Well said.
People left to die in the world's richest nation.
People dying of hunger next to the world's fattest country. (Texas)
The public, restrained by TV-surfing and that solid expectation that everything will always be alright.
People stealing fridges when they got no home! A Shoot to Kill Policy! Has everyone - everyone! lost their minds?
And then Iraq. It still strikes me numb that the mere mention of a suicide bomber can leave 700 people dead - more than they ever kill usually. They must have died laughing. They must have found it uplifting and hilarious, having that sort of power.
I've got loads more to say, but I want to introduce you to someone first - one of my favourite fanfic writers (and best),and and an army officer, giving a thorough piece of her mind. She wants this spread, and I want to help her. I am 17 after all, in London with no job and no chance of really saving lives. But I can help with some justice, if you'll help me.
Michelle, the army lady, sums up the whole situation - the world's situation, but mainly America right now: If you're not pissed off, you're not paying attention. Okay, so she chock-full of emotion but I want to show just the depth of anger here.
Well said.
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