Quick Blog - Qlog? Before I leave My Manchester

Hey, the end of the first semester, and I've spent the whole time settling in. I still haven't exhausted how nice and friendly people can be or how indifferent...

What I've loved most of all, is most obviously is the freedom. To be up until 5 am watching TV, or reading, or essay writing. The freedom to listen to Nina Simone whenever I please. To eat what I want and be able to appreciate food all over again...

Of course there's also the freedom to fall into the dark hole of depression and no one could know where you had gone. I had to pull myself out of many shit scenarios, missing a ton of tutorials in the process, and although I've been working to catch up I haven't completely so I still got lots to study over the holidays...and my hair is a mess, I'm still single for some reason and it makes feel all undesirable and rough like a potato sack. I think I'm packed now, although I've managed to lose a whole handbag! which had my headphones, and now I'm stuck for FOUR hours without music. But I've got a friend and lots of books...

And I'm going to be home for christmas! Where there's no real chance I can go clubbing, in horrid old Feltham, with a broken oven and christmas dinner to prepare! (It's at our house this year...) and my sulky brother and expensive and slow bus travel...can't wait :)

xxx

It's Been One of Those Nights

(I'm afraid this will be messy and badly organised until Monday. Read it anyway!)

Tonight has been very, very eventful.

At first I was to be going on a date with a new-found murakami fan. There's me getting carried away again. I'm still looking for a girlfriend, after all. But msn and the internet conspired against me and i ended up going out all bootylicious by myself. Then, I bumped into one of my friends and her sister at the bar, but ended up getting separated because I was on the guestlist which I had to verify downstairs. Now, I was going to see Miss Amy Winehouse at uni to review her stuff for Fuse FM. I made him email them twice - and I still was somehow not on the list. I was hoping not to seem to poncey although it was pretty cool that I was doing all this journalist stuff. Should definitely do this more often! But then of course I wasn;t on the list.

I was saved by this lovely skinny black girl called Temika who reminded me of my baby cousin Sophie, but is like 23 has two degrees, learning to be a teacher and speaks four languages including portugeese (I cant spell it :o) She got the tickets by blagging her way onto the guestlist from the opening act, Bobby Kray. He was lovely, a cutie - looked like Justin Timberlake, but more European (tanned i thinks) and had a better voice. He was to be this sort of soulful pop reggae thing, and was surrounded by the real deal with two rasta guitarists who might have well been my uncles, and the two backing singers were two big black beautiful ladies in white. We even went backstage and drank wine! So surreal, considering I only met her like 30 minutes ago. So we all chatted, and they smoked pot (wasn;t at all interested really.) and Temika was very charming and compelling, being all crazy and making everyone laugh. I did my fair bit too. And we danced as well with the band as we watched Miss Amy do her thing. She was very cool. I love her voice, but when all you're talking is about love, which of course is a many splendoured thing that affects everything in our lives, but really can just as easily roll into one long long song. The set was picked up by the saxophonist and trumpeter in pyjamas and the two gorgeous black male back up singers who Temika loved dearly. They had a really cute smile :). The highlights for me was defintely stronger than me, rehab and this song that I just can't remember. One of the other problems with the gig is that I couldn't understand what she was saying. Maybe her voice is just incomprehensibly sexy, or just plain incomprehensible. She did look gorgeous, even if she have a "pickee-head" (any caribbean peeps will understand lol.) And she didn't look anorexic either, just a bit travel weary which can always affect weight.

Being with Temika and the band backstage just reminded me how uncool and well, Vanilla I am. I mean sure I understood what the rastas were saying most of the time, but I had trouble getting into a conversation with them because I was speaking Queens english compared to them and it was really weird. And evetyone knew everyone all the old djs and market ppl in Hackney or Sheperds Bush. I missed home. I wish I could have joined in but most of my friends were white becaus ein High school we were in this intellectual chasm and I was just too different from them to get on, or want to get on with them. And they bullied me quite a bit (well like one of them but she was the ringleader). Anyways, my Dad was a super hot dj and knew lots of rastas but I;m so bad with names it would have been pointless hmm ^o) At least I got to hug everybody. They thought I was adorable and could tell I wasn't a faker, which I liked. I even saw Amy Winehouse up close! She pinched Temika's bum and walked off (I think it was jokey lol) and went to Po Na Na's (I know.) as recommended by some freak out fans who would probably be sick at the thought of me somehow blagging my way backstage with everybody. Of course, eventually packed off. One guy said I was adorable and never wanted to stop hugging me lol! He reminded me of the general super cool dude I tend to hang out with at my rock festivals during the summer so I got him str8 away.

And then they went to London...leaving with having swapped numbers (with Temika. She gets what she wants hahaha) and then promptly met some of her close friends by complete surprise. We were all gonna get driven down when suddenly, the guys car wasn't there. It had been stolen. It was scary like that, how your things can just disappear. You don't really assume your car can be stolen. So we took a taxi. And then I fried some turkey in soy sauce, honey, black pepper which was delicious with cheese on toast. And here I am. What a weird night.

Oh, and Megan called. I hadn't spoke with her since before August so I had no idea how she was doing. I wonder what she think that I ended up as part of the cool crowd, even though frankly I just don't belong there. I used to be in love with her a long time ago, then I hated her, now I miss her, then I didn't. Hmm. Don't know what to do with her!!

Moving Ever Forwards

Well, I was going to go to bed, but then a film featuring transsexuals has come on Channel 4 and opened with Anthony and the Johnsons (Not work safe!), some of my favourite vocalists of all time. His haunting voice can turn you into a bad bad person :)

I'm glad that tonight of all nights I have managed to keep my sanity in check, and keep smiling. A year ago, 365 days, I tried to kill myself. At about this time...I was either crying all over on RYL or being violently sick and weak in my bedroom, I can't really remember. All my thoughts just seemed to pass through time into meaningless musings. And I'm glad of that, because I don't really think anymore, and this would confuse me!

I'm also happy because I'm going to be visiting my best mate soulmate, Ria (read her blog she is such a fabulous writer), in wholey Hull because I just happen to love her that much. And we seem to be getting on this wavelength where we can understand each other and when we have hurt each other, and especially when we need each other. It's just going to be a weekend of drinking, duvets and DVDs but I can't wait.

And I'm kinda happy because the other day I threw away my razors. I was going through this hard timw where everything was coming back. Those Salesmen (this post too), have pretty disappeared. They just upped and left. They seem to have forgotten all about me. It feels kinda lonely. I feel as if they have grown tired of me fighting them, that I never fully gave in to them (even on the night of my overdose as I called an ambulance the next morning) And so I felt like giving in, maybe it was irony. I had brought with me a bag of all my razors and placed them in front of me. I played depressing music. I thought of all of my missed chances. I was trying to push myself to fall off that cliff I had spent so long climbing, just to see if I could do it again. If it wasn't for Ria, my walking stick, I doubt I would have made it. But with her and her unconditional love pulsing through our laptops (haha) I managed to throw them all out of the window. They were gone and they weren't coming back. I still mourn them, since I've forgotten the feeling of them pressing against my skin and beyond and how everything just floats when I cut myself. Recovery is tough.

I also had a tough time with finances. Overdraft has been killing me, and it makes me sick to talk to some of my tutorial peeps who just go shopping all the time, have no job, talk about how hard the work is without barely even trying, and tell me that they're £800 pounds overdraft as if they actually managed to tap into some free money scheme I've missed because I'm still (barely) surviving on £30 a week searching for jobs, going on library hunts and having consistent anxiety attacks and plain old tiredness.

In the same tutor, I began to partly feel this clash of the two Me's. There's one that's a bit of a fuckup and lets her mental issues and her lazyness breed her into something she disdains. And then theres the old me that loves library hunts, actually, and is actually near the top of the class and talks very eloquently...because when she talks everyone just looks at her and think oh gosh I could never do that, I could never make it look so easy I could never work that hard, all without having to work so hard...it happened today and I loved the feeling of being intelligent, and that today of all days, I feel kinda good about myself. Yay me!

I had all sorts of plans (new bank account, job hunting, writing, reading those piles of books from my last library hunt) but I got completely fatigued. I literally couldn't move and felt as helpless as an old book in the back of the shelf that never gets used and isn't able to call attention to itself (poor book). That's my tiredness. My flatmate said it sounded like glandular fever and I have been hanging out a lot with my new friend who has glandular fever (and no, we haven't been kissing cos she's straight and I don't see her that way...she didn't get it through kissing either. Makes me wonder why it's called the kissing disease.) So right now I'm praying it isn't!

And lastly, I would like to formally express my glee at being on the sub banner on Lioness' shiny new pink blog. Yay!!!
Goodbye and bless!!
(icelandic for goodbye. How sweet is that??)

I Have So Much to Do!!

Being an adult sucks. You never have enough time for anything and then during a really important point in your government tutorial you almost throw up in some adverse affect from starving yourself and your prozac. I've just had a small bowl of cornflakes and I don't feel like I'm going to keel over now, which is always a good feeling.

Got letters to send, money to make, bank accounts to switch and an essay to write. And then I've signed up for Nablowrimo I guess to instill some concentration and I guess to make sure I do SOMETHING with my days. And hopefully once blogger (now blogger beta - do you like what I've done with the place?) will stop fucking up I'll be able to post pictures again which I thought was really nice. Thing is I haven't taken a picture in ages, mainly because Ria has my camera which is too bad because I've been seeing great pictures everywhere. And of course I want to document my discovery of a whole new city.

But yes, so much to do!! I promise to write something more interesting tonight or tomorrow! And all my readers (you and ... you.) delurk! I need encouragement that I'm not just posting to myself these days. xxx

To keep myself distracted....

I'm going to do Nanowrimo AND Nablowrimo. I don't ever figure I'll actually finish a novella but I hope to write something every day to amount to a day decent sum of words and kick out my inner editor which just happens to KILL everything.

AND, I will also write a post every day. I hope they will keep up my sterling standard of blog writing, to be used in later history as evidence for how crazy bitches lived! Will elaborate later! It is wayy too late for me to be doing anything apart from sleeping. xx

My Crazy is Acting Up Again!!

Ok, well, my crazy was acting up before. But that's because I was forgetting to take my meds. And I got to see how crazy I am from some strange neutral perspective my prozac puts me in.

"My Crazy" includes:

Not being able to concentrate in tutorials because I was scared of my fingernails and had a strong urge to snap them off

Spending hours applying for jobs, getting a panic attack just before I am to leave for any interviews I ever get, making me wonder if I'm ever gonna get a regular job at last!

Procrasinating reading ANYTHING scholarly

Freaking out after eating a burger and chips and making myself throw up in the library toilets (it's a big four floor type of library)

Throwing up twice in one evening in indian restaurant (after the starter and the main course :S)

Staying in the "arghness" position (when I'm feeling really really anxious - on all fours in a ball - kinda like those stress positions I saw in those SAS torture programmes) for 30 minutes.

Yeah....

I'm fucking nuts! Hahaha.
Anyways, working on my music collection has definitely helped. I've made a "What's This?" section for general listening, so for morning noon and night (v. difficult) and mostly upbeat with lots of 60s 70s music cos I'm in love with "Good Vibrations" and The Who in general. And I got a studying playlist, and a Falling Apart playlist for downbeat tracks and upbeat (but not too smiley or I resent them) and somehow when listening to it the music slowly emphasizes with me but then slowly, very slowly, fixes me again and then I'm listening to something upbeat and inspirational and I'm OK again.

I have a feeling if you crack open my soul (I think I believe in dualism because I think we have souls, but studying philosophy seems wants me to squash that so badly.) That you'll find a song by Pearl Jam or Regina Spektor. I'm in love with Pearl Jam's Elderly Woman Behind a Counter or something and its so beautiful, and reminds of me what I'm afraid of if I ever stand still, and what may happen if I never stop running.

On a happier note, I have managed to make friends with nice eccentric people who like baking and love dancing as much as I do and watch French films and talk about sex and their lives don't revolve around alcohol. And I'm sorting out my money issues. And that unspeakable secret that I just couldn't say? I've written it all down, as a scribe to my own issues. Also, in two weeks I'm going to have an outpatient assessment with The Priory. Yep, thats the UK equivalent of the Betty Ford clinic or something isn't it? Where lots of fucked up celebrities go for their fuck ups and so on - Kate Moss, Ronnie Wood and Peter Doherty too I believe. I don't care about any of that, but it's all grand looking and sometimes I'm scared that I go in there and never come out. Or worse, they don't think anything is wrong with me and I'm just alone all over again. We'll see. Sorry I took so long to update. Manchester has been keeping me very busy to make any little blogs.

Yeah, manchester. Four hours' drive from London, not so far from Wales and the Peak District. Rainiest place in Britain and the home of so many of my favourite bands (Joy Division, Oasis) and where I hope to grow up and find people.

Mother Mother

When you sent me off into the world,

Were you scared that I might get burned?

Would I try a little...tobacco?

Would I still be lifting up my skirt?

(Tracey Bonham)

I was going to write about what my mother did to me, but I couldn't. It's too damn truthful. I can't talk to Nik (not for a while. Is that bit over?) Can't afford to talk to Ria. Dad is not calling. I'm spending too much time trying to not get angsty/fall apart. I can't now, because I'm four hours from home and London and if I alienate myself here and don't find someone to cling to SOON I might not last the year. Where did all the potential best friends go? I have to get up and buy washing powder and organise my life, send out letters. At the moment, because I can't get a job and I have no money, I am whoring my fuck-ups in psychological experiments for money. For example, next Friday I'm going to talk to a practicing psych for an hour for 10 pounds. Now I'm applying for another experiment for anxiety sufferers for another £25. How long till I feel like a complete freak show? How long until my anxiety and my OCD gets the better of me? (Believe me it's trying). Am I doing the wrong thing by whoring out the fuck-ups? I need some advice here...

I'm Feeling Quite Heavenly

I love whacking flies and killing spiders because they simply do not belong in my world. Never. Ever. I'm reading my 6th Murakami novel, quite untalked about too: South of The Border, West of the Sun - at the moment, a very young feeling novel all about growing pains and the devastation of beauty and all that.

University is lovely. Honestly. It's confusing and I've been hit with wave after wave of bureaucracy and thoughtlessness and stressfulness and no moneys (have got £20 pounds to last me into October.) There's a Pirate themed pub crawl I would love to go to, and my first ever university lecture, on Mind and Language, starts tomorrow morning. I haven't really broke down yet. The tiredness has come from low level anxiety, my meds only give me a little nausea, I still haven't cut or purged and I'm eating healthily, like meats and noodles and grilled aubergines. Actually for the perfect sandwich, you must have grilled aubergine with cinnamon and brown sugar, grilled bacon and grilled cheese on toast as a sandwich. It is frankly divine. I would also add some chilli pepper but that depends on what you want...

Anyway, I was only posting about this quiz result because it makes me feel a bit more special in this new scary city where dinner is "tea" and everyone says "t'internet":

Hurricane You scored 60% mad, 55% wild, and 5% wannabe!

You are clever. And you are crazy. You have awesome ideas, a powerful wit, and no inhibitions to stop you. You will not be soon forgotten. You're a HURRICANE! You have tremendous power, and you do exactly what you want, whenever you want. Some people worship you, others hate you. But one thing is for certain: wherever you go, nothing will ever be the same again.

The Fundamental Weirdness Testhttp://www.okcupid.com/tests/take?testid=6946191923838044535

The LDN Waltz

(Here I am! Yep, bright orange hair. I'm half oirish and barbadian *gigglesnort*)




I'm leaving tomorrow.

It's been the maddest few weeks in a while. I got slaughtered by the brick wall of bureaucracy - by that I mean money worries (having none), bank issues, forms and new computer systems that never make anything as convenient as they promise to be. I had a massive anxiety attack and couldn't leave the house or do anything at all for four days. I just slept all day or spent my energy getting to the sofa. And when it came to every single deadline of all the letters and appointments to make were about to squish me into student pate, I found myself too terrified to leave the house. Didn't cut, but I drank a lot. Didn't make myself throw up, but I'm still eating at night sometimes, and I can't sleep and I'm hating my body enormously.

A lot of it is because of my worsening anxiety and OCD issues (I have to switch the light switch on/off at least three times before I enter into any darkened enclosed space. It's to warn spiders of my arrival :) and what's also making my anxiety worse are the Fluoxetine pills I've been taking (Prozac to everyone else). Whoever called it "Happy Pills" deserves a slap! I've been getting sweats, I have sudden bouts of tiredness in the middle of the day which has so far left me helpless for up to SIX HOURS. If I skip a couple of days I get the worst nausea and I feel like I'm being punished. I can't have an orgasm. It's embarrassing and personal, but that's the case. I've tried everything that doesn't require money! It's just not happening and now that I'm leaving I wonder if this'll fuck any relationships before they start, considering I'm still a virgin at 18 years (all of my friends aren't...and they call me the "sassy" one??? Ok, maybe that's just me - but it's true!)

All I can say about whether these things will dissipate, work itself out by itself or by more/less pills is up to the next six months. I'm working through it. I really am. I am so fucking determined to get myself "happy" - be able to stay happy and functional. Cos let's be honest. Maybe it's just me, but there is no such thing as a happy Superwoman. No way. No way. Even the day before I tried to take my life last November the thing I was most concerned about was not my health, but the three essays I had due and making sure my family never realised how fragile my sanity was. That's Superwoman; all she does is hide and succeed. When are you allowed - not forced, allowed by yourself - to pig out on the sofa, watch some Oprah, watch some crappy Soap opera and gorge on stuffed crust pizza? On prozac I'll probably be on them for a year and eventually get ahold of myself, but I can't function as well... I've had a metre-long string of blonde moments, included losing something that was actually in my hand, holding up supermarket queues like those type of women/old people everyone hates who don't know how to shop, and so on. Without it I had quite a few moments of brilliance, lots of confusion which led to lots of thinking. By thinking things through is how I've kept myself afloat the last 6 years of my depression, gotten countless A's and high scores, earned the teacher's praise, knew this self and who I was at that time. And I was able to function, and dictate, and do things very, very well.

I am no longer Superwoman, and I may no longer be the gifted writer I once was. But I'm laughing easier, I can understand why I'm crying, I know what I'm suffering from and how to battle it, at long long long last.

And like, you know what? I may be severely lacking the sanity to deal with bank changes and the brain melting arena of student finance (as unfair it is to single parents grr) and forms, I am doing really good.

So I leave tomorrow, for the city of Manchester, to study Philosophy and Politics. Any Mancunians wanting to say hi? I'm going to miss London so much. I've been through the first crisis of book packing - at first it was the giant suitcase completely filled with novels. Now it's one plastic box. Then its my clothes. It's different cos I'll be living there more than I live in London, which feels nuts because London is my lifeblood. I love this city. I love the polluted air, and the restrained tuts and outspoken have a go heroes, the crazy ass mini cabs and taxis, listening to five languages on the same bus journey, the Somalis, the Polish (?) the rudeness, the tube, the London buses that are all the same price to use even if at extortionate prices. I'm going to miss charismatic homeless men carrying the clean train of a newlywed bride on Westminster Bridge (I'm serious it really happened!).

I'll miss the glittering, romantic, filthy Thames, I'll miss Westminster Bridge in the morning when you can listen to Pearl Jam in peace. I'll miss Twickehham Rugby Stadium, Richmond College, Ealing, Feltham, Hanworth Park and the gorgeous Tudor graveyard. I'll miss BBC London News, Xfm and LBC Radio. I'll miss being in the centre of what I believe is the universe. I'll miss Southern accents and the arrogance, god the arrogance. I'll miss the London Eye and the Gherkin and Congestion Charge and Mayor Ken Livingstone and the random bookshops and little clothes shops. I'll miss Foyles a lot. I'll miss the museums, the art galleries the parks, the familiarity, the neighbours, my bedroom, my family, my wonderful friends who made mecry tonight at the feeling of missing them and their lives, because you know it's just not the same again.

All of you, all these things that I dearly love and will dearly miss, take a bow and hear this praise whilst the London air is the only chemical powering through my veins and before the capital of the north, Manchester barges through. Will it have my Lush? Will it have a Borders with a 300-year old staircase and a cafe at the top with squashy chairs and happy career women? Will there be anything to rival Soho? Will I find my quiet haven outside this place I live in? How long will I stay sane up there, and how long until I fall in love again? How long till I feel looked after, if ever? How long until I succeed? How long until I screw up? And how long until I won't miss my bed, my giant Sycamore trees, or Mr Bob, toughest goldfish in town?

I don't care too much because at this moment I feel as if I'm doing the right thing. I can worry about my Dad being left without his little girl, and my big bro without his little sister, but I've learnt that I should NEVER be afraid of doing what I know is good, and what is right for me. How long it take for you to learn that lesson? Must dash, must pack!

Something may have happened to me. Something bad.

Be afraid of the lame;

They'll inherit your legs

Be afraid of the old;

They'll inherit your soul

Be afraid of the cold;

They'll inherit your blood

Apres moi, le deluge

(After me comes the flood)

- Regina Spektor, Apres Moi

This is How I Feel, or at least Felt at Three in the Morning Last Night

I have something to tell you
It's all in here, believe me,
But for the first time ever,
Unprecedented in my sordid history
I have to end this poem
Disappointingly,
With frailty I hope you'll view positively
The loaded neut - cum words - No Comment.

It's not for lack of want for telling
It's not information withheld at gunpoint
It's not cowardice, or money, or contentment ha!
It's something, my dears, my foes, all together more fearful -
Almost sinister.

Believe me the jaw is working, the tongue flicks out
Compressed air - expels it angrily, yes it does
And the night holds my words in quicksand
Sunken by the weight of impending sleep,
Suckled away
For another day "in dazed"
Wanting to sleep, where the truth can hurt me
But it can force me to remember,
The helplessness, the lies, the madness
High browed, finely moulded
I can't stand it.
I can't stand any of it.

And I am trapped in all the words...

And all, all I can bear to say is...

A -
Compressed wary cry for help
A -
bout a growing person who
can-
cannot let go
AND
Scream, reveal a note!

Let's Appear Like I Never Went Away

It's been forever. I'm submerged under crap British TV and incessant busyness. I have a job now, well actually two and a bit, but I haven't started any of them so I'm still super-broke, but very busy. After next week I'll be abundant in time and peace of mind. I'm also dead excited about university, but I find myself wanting to get everything in, doing everything having multiple picnics and parties (STILL haven't been out clubbing yet! I'm feeling very uncool), meeting and kissing new people and makng memories with my old people because I want to have something I can pinpoint and say "Yes, this is my turning point, this is where everything was gorgeous and the future stretched out incomprehensibly like the deep blue Pacific, in this hot British summer where I turned 18 and started the last phase of My Plans".

By Plans I mean the Plans I made when I was a kid and imagined that my life stretched out like a giant blue lake that didn't have any meaning after I finished uni. Everyone told me I was going to Uni. Even then as a kid I could sniff out the imperceptible "Or else!" I would do something amazing, probably write the Great Black-British Novel even my Dad could read and then support my family for the rest of my life, all the while finding my Prince, someone who would love me and let me look after them without questioning me or my integrity in this amazing Central London flat near some place with an Alfresco diner or those cute places I saw in American TV.

As a child I still wanted to get away. My Dad recalls a day when I was about six years old, and Dad came to pick me up from school and found that I wasn't there. Panicking he began driving around, until he saw me at the bus stop looking at bus times. I think I was trying to run away to this super gorgeous flat where I could read books all day long and doodle on the walls. I remember as a slimmish (ha!) seven year old, spending the afternoon placing my dear possessions into a cardboard box, addressing the box to "Hollywood, USA", dressing up into my swimming costume and climbing into the box, hoping that my brother would take me to the post office who would realise their mistake and send me to a rich lady. It never happened. I still dream of those days, when I was so innocent that I didn't realise I was innocent.

And now My Plans are about to be realised. After university I won't have a clue. I really won't. I'll come out of my graduation ceremony (my brother had his on Tuesday! I would be even more exceptionally happy for him, except it looks like he's going to stick to shop work for the rest of his life...) looking library dazed and terrified. I don't care that everyone still thinks I'm going to amazing things, stop! I don't know what these amazing things are going to be! What are supposedly amazing things! All I can do is write and argue for myself. And love people. This maddening, innate ability to love.

Right now I'm missing my friend bloggers - DM, Lioness (darling, my darling who's having a shitty time), Unfurled who I know reads it from time to time - how are you???, Gorgeous LJ girl who reads White Horses - I want to hear from you! I want to hear from you all, because it's really lonely on the internet and thats why I'm hardly here...

Now, I'm off to amend my profile, which I'm sure will release more introspection. And I'll tell you more about the picnics, I shall :)

Summer is Here

Hi...I know I haven't posted, but I have nothing much to say. Days pass by and I'm getting by quite well. I'm starting to learn Icelandic again. I'm starting a new journalism project. I'm on prozac and have no appetite which has made me ecstatic, but now I'm eating more than usual, which is just cruel really. Do depressed people ever lose weight? I don't know if the happy pills are working or if its me, but I'm feeling good, I really am, honestly. I hope to write a funnier post soon and saying hello to everyone. Anyways, this a post from myspace (I said I'd never join...I was coerced, honestly! :) detailing the 1st weekend in July, super heatwave (30-32 degrees C) and super festival. Enjoy!

Heyo,

Had the MOST fantastic time! On friday I was battling headaches and quickly making plans. And on Saturday morning I was packing my rucksack as quick as ever (I'm notoriously bad: I'm sure it's a Jamaican thing lol - this time, I only packed two books) and I'm jumping onto the 90 bus to get to Ria's place to meet with her and her boyf, Darren to make our way to Hyde Park and and HPC. I was surprised it didn't sell as much as it should or was talked about as much as it should be.

Anyhoo, we made it in scorching heat and we were sweating already lol. Anyhoo, Darren made it off to the big screen for the ill-fated England match against Portugal. Me and Ria danced about to our pleasure. First person on was poor Chris Difford (from Squeeze) who was the pre-pre warm up for the match, but he was fun and pleasant, as well as Breaks-Co op who I can't remember (sorry!). Then on came Starsailor who were fantastic - the lead singers voice is just as brilliant live as it is on record and played my favourites - Alcoholic, Good Souls...it was very blissful, esp. being with Ria cos she's mad(der) as me.

Then, Texas came on with the orgasmic Sharleen Spiteri who kicked off with "I Don't Want a Lover" - I know some people think Texas are crap but they are fantastic live and fill you with zing. She then played one of my favourite songs of all time "Halo" and then "Getaway" - it was this point people were starting to turn away as the England match was going on and no one had scored yet, or Rooney had been sent off, we weren't sure - just kept texts from Sarah (Ri's sister) going "NOOOOOO" hahaha.

Poor Sharleen - at one point she just went "Oh, am I distracting ya?" And since things were getting tense (penalties had started) she played a piano song. She has a fantastic voice, but I don't even remember the name of the song cos everyone was so tense - classic. And then we lost, wooooo hooo. Peace...everyone else was down though.

Then the main attraction came - thankfully we were surrounded by really nice people including this 13 year old boy who was subjected to Darren's "meat on a stick" jokes to Ria. Such a lovely perv, haha. Anyhoo, Roger Waters came on who was, oh, wonderful. I even enjoyed his new songs (Bush-bashing)! I had never heard the whole of The Dark Side of the Moon so I really enjoyed it - so psychadelic, and so many people were off their heads on whatever, having giant spliffs etc - funny to watch. My highlight was definitely "Great Gig in the Sky", the singer was amazing to be able to that LIVE and she was crying and it was so beautiful...oh! Ria loved it too.
Second day: I think it was started brillaintly by the Rosehill Drive people who were rockin'. Problem was it a total scorcher - must have been plus 32 degrees and we were sweaty and gross. We stayed at Darrens and his mum who is v.v.v.v.v. cool and hilarious, played 20 questions. We also went around in his red Mayfair Mini, one of the coolest cars ever. It was so small and had no suspension and made you appreciate modern cars. But it made you feel young. It was also hilarious to have my boobs moving about in the car (can't believe I just said that!) singing along to that christmas song Fairytale of New (You maggot, you cheap lousy, thank god its christmas I hope its our last) on a hot summers day in a mini :)

Ocean Colour Scene were fun and rousing (not as fun as watching die-hard fans have their own stationary orgasms). Then the Zutons came on who are always fabulous live, my song was Valerie but they didn't play Pressure Point! At this point people started throwing bottles, god knows what cos we were quite near the stage. By the time Razorlight finished I was covered in everything - wine lager...they were amazing. I saw them in Live 8 and was glad to have more of them.They played new and old songs, included "Don't go back to Dalston!" which made me think of Richard, and Stumble and Fall which had me mosh/dancing, and their new stuff too was very gorgeous. I have to see them again and make sure they play Leave me Alone and Up All Night....
The Who came on eventually after the cameramen were pelted with bottles after giving the crowd the finger (more bottles of god knows), but they came and rocked immediately, playing my favourite - The Seeker pretty quickly, then it was Behind Blue Eyes, some new stuff, Teenage Wasteland!, My Generation, Won't Get Fooled Again...they rocked out for what seemed like hours, I thought I'd never stop dancing.

The crowd was packed, and our "territory" (blanket) was destroyed, but me and Ria did end up shimmying with this old guy....good times, good times. We went to a pub after it ended with some of Darren's parents friends, who got pretty heated when the bar staff tried to kick us out- closing time. Ie: "I'm not being rude of nuffink, but do yourself a favour and fuck off" sort of talk and telling them call the police - for a second I thought we would have had to leg it! But we got out in the end.

Darren was a darling and drove me home. I think we're goodie friends now. It was about 1am and I was exhausted and felt very rock and roll - my (new colour) hair and clothes were covered in wine, beer/lager, water, spit, spliff and cigarette smoke, fart, hay and god knows what else - but I felt fantastic, and will definitely be going to more fests in future for sure! It's late, so I'd best be off to bed. Am exhausted...

Yawwnnn.....

(everyones been scared away...)

Oh, I've just had the most wonderful dream.

It was the end of the world.

But... because I've been reading up Murakami's version of the end of the world it was a town instead, but in my world the town was a mixture between Richmond and central Oxford. Of course I wanted to go into the library at the end of the world, and I kept meeting these wonderful people who were so interesting, but I really wanted to see Ria because it was the end of the world and of course there just wasnt much time. Ria kept saying she was busy (an extension from the real world, I think), and I ended up bumping into Alice instead, who I always knew ad the potential of becoming a best friend but we never really made it (long time ex-girlf, now just good friend)...anyhoo we were chatting away, talking about girls and how depressingly stale ours (well, really mine) love lives were. When we reached the library at the end of the world after winding through all the ye olde corridors (it was like one of those giant imposing university library types) we had to wait outside, but I still got to choose a book. I think it was on astronomy...

Anyways, we were talking and I was helping her with her french for an exam or something! Anyways, I ended up kissing her and she kissed me back, and it turned into the most amazing kiss ever: tongues teasing across the seam of my lips, a gentle, erotic ravishing, hands in my hair and her hair and everywhere else. At the steps to the main library at the end of the world...fantastic haha. Our phones didn't start ringing thank god, and even in the dream I felt her tongue was becoming too heavy handed. And then, at that point of course the rubbish truck sprung into action and my dream ended!! I started another dream about me and Al in a lesbian bar somehow getting off with each other but it wasn't the same and ended even faster, darn!

So, unfortunately I am now up and awake, my tongue feels dry as if.....? And now I'm realising I have my last exam today, and then I'll be free until September, and god right now life beyond September doesn't bear thinking because I'm not entirely sure I want my life to change. I'm quite happy I remember the dream actually....anyways, wish me good luck!

(I also apologise for photoblogger being blown to fuck...don't know why its not working)

The Night is Mine :-)

Tonight we say goodbye to my blue and black hair. I've loved it. It's scared old ladies, started conversations, kickstarted a trend and has required me to have a little more pizazz in my daily life. I shall miss it, but my next colour is more outrageous. I won't tell you yet, on the 30th when it comes on, I shall.

I've had a couple of eventful days. Its the middle of exam season and I've had my first two exams - history and english lang/lit part 1. I've written a total of 19 pages so far which is a nice tally. I'm thinking of my other friends who are just constantly self-sabotaging by not reading their notes, or getting drunk. Rich says it a white thing (him, not me.) He's a self depreciative English guy who's applied his underlying melancholy to politics. Hes told me he doesn't believe in love and that monagamy is unnatural. I think it was because of his mum dying and he found his crux in Marxism (I think I found my crux through biro) and he's managed to manipulate into Richism, as do all political theorists. He's smart so you might be reading his stuff one day. I'd like that, once he stops saying stupid things like that.

Mentally the last two exams have been tough for me. I've become increasingly compulsive. I'm finding myself relieve my anxiety and fear by scratching things. There's no mathematical simplicity to it, I just scratch until I feel better. Like now, I'm scratching the laptop keyboard. I really want to scratch into the grooves in between it like anything, but I know that wouldn't be smart. Doesn't stop me thinking about it, though.

For my history I was genuinely nervous. And my chair was squeaky, and I was up against the bare untreated brick wall, and the desk was wooden and scratchy. I just wanted to take everythinng apart, scratch it, smooth it down with my fingers, and put it back together again. I had to satisfy myself by scratching the paper instead and the pen nib. I got through the exam alright, panicking, panicking.

Maybe it's just one of those things...you know, things that make you feeler better, more human. For some people its jogging, or sitting on the roof, stroking their cat, insulting their spouse. For me its partly cooking. I'm chopping onions, stir frying them with some sort of soy sauce/honey concoction. Hearing the sizzle, stirring them to perfection like no one else in my house, I feel wonderful, a -- ...........sssssssssss................ -- like the air coming out of my tires.

My psych also recommends this breathing exercise, but I get so bored and distracted. I'd rather read Dr Norrell anyday - I'm absolutely determined to finish it before I go to university. (For anyone unknowing, its a charming, ingenius tale of 2nd wave magic in the early 19th century. Its written in a darling 18th century mannerisms, almost like an essay with the footnotes and the stories within the 800 + page novel. Buy it and be obsessed like me!)

Apart from the incessant anxiousness, I've been feeling quite giddy for excitement when my exams are over and I'm almost completely booked up for the next month. I'm hoping Lioness has downloaded some KT Tunstall (DM loves her too :) We must talk.) and I shall comment when my internet is back online. It does this every 1am. I think Dad placed it there, shrewd as he is...he's told me we're going to empty the loft of our old house (we're renting it out again and it needs rewiring) apparently there are a wealth of treasures there, including my fairytale tapes I used to go to sleep with as a child, all my childhood books (including the intimidable 'Whats the Time Mr Wolf?'). Apparently my favourite was "the one with the golden thread", or Rumpelstielkskin (OMG I can spell it. I was always jealous of people who could.) I don't know why, and I can't even remember the story...memories abound this summer: both to be created and refreshed from yesteryear, and that should be great when I get my mind in gear.

Before I Become an Octogenerian...

This is my last day as a 17 year old. Last year, on this Sunday, would have been my first day as a 17 year old. How far we've come. Or not - maybe you're a new reader (comment! I command you!) The important point is that I've encountered some perfect things during this year.

The perfect teenage/emo picnic: On a hot day in Walpole park, listening to heavy metal drinking cider and Strongbow, flirting and wrestling and kissing girls, only to be propositioned by an old man on the bus home who tells you where you're staying! Of course, I wasn't a prostitute then or now just drunker and slimmer...

I encountered the perfect set of short stories in the world of Murakami. You know I love him, and I'll show you reasons why: The Second Bakery Attack & The 100% Perfect Girl are perfect examples of his perfect short stories. I read amazing books in him such as Kafka on the Shore (ignore the bubble head, its a great book - it has taboos, Hegel and talking cats!) which has made my life a little easier, more bearable now.

I'm in such a great mood because I think I managed to find the perfect piece of music before my 18th birthday (this may return to bite me on the arse). Why am I putting my arse on the line? This song put me in such a state youthful, musical spiritual ecstacy I shrieked with pleasure! I always imagined myself screaming with mirth or sadness or back breaking sorrow or horror, but never in musical delight. It's a 20 minute's worth of multiple orgasms. I've never experienced anything like it - it was as if I was being possessed by some joyous African tribe with drums and magic and sticks instead of piano and claps and Nina Simone's "Oh yeah." Oh yeah.... Do you know the song yet? It's Sinnerman. The full version, that lasts 10 minutes. So Good. You can tell I've just discovered it, haven't you?

And in Sunday Morning as well! Only the most romantic time of the week. It's like my favourite part of the week. Its the only part that really is all mine. My time. And it might be because of that, but the sunrises are the most striking this time, the sunlight more bright, the day shorter as I love them so much, the sunsets more poignant. I danced and shrieked to Sinnerman and when it ended I coughed with the force of vomiting because I'm ill, darn. But I'm 18 tomorrow. In the UK this means I'm a fully fledged adult. I can vote, join the army, get a mortgage, gamble, get drunk (its not as fun when its legal, is it?), start a business. In 3 years I'll be able to run for Parliament, and thats when everything will go terribly wrong, won't it? Hahaha.

Another perfect moment came from my worst act of self destruction (my overdose, for any who don't read this often). In hospital my real relationship with my brother began - the one I would be taking advantage of for the rest of my life, and my Mum and I talked and laughed and I got looked after with tenderness I haven't had since I had water poisoning when I was 7. And then to top it off I confessed to my Dad, which has made things so much more convienient and so much harder since.

Right now I'm choosing my university accomodation and not cutting over the stress of it! Yay! Oh, and I haven't cut in a month! Double yay! I think I'm going to get my mind back. I think I'm going to get my life back. I think I'll my mind will have such clarity I can make witty observations on the world of politics and culture soon and try and do journalism again. I might be able to control my Pure O of OCD. I might even be OK in univerrity, in MANCHESTER, make a go of it, and try to be happy.

In Incubus terms:

"I haven't felt the way, I feel today, in so long it's hard for me to specify." (Nice to Know You, from album Morning View)

Gosh :)

What Your Soul Sings: The 243rd Chapter of My Life (okay, blog)

At this moment, everything hurts. Some skin came off my ankle yesterday and it smarts when I touch it, which is all the time because feet get a lot of use, I'm tired because I'm not sleeping and I'm depressed but at least I'm rebelling by not taking that damn Prozac - none of it - it fucked me up more than most things that have actually happened to me.(I should mention I have this now too. The label list gets longer. My status declines.) Also, my throat is feels blocked and raw because I've made myself throw up for the last 6 days (Saturday could be excluded...this post will expose the truth later. OOH.) after most of my meals. Even Dad is starting to move past the inexplicable veil of Denial:

"Betty, why are you throwing up everyday? You never eat that much either."
"What do you mean Dad? I didn't throw up yesterday. Or the day before that - the only day I threw up last week was from the party, remember?"
"Oh yes...of course. How silly of me. I must be getting old."
"Well, you are 47."
"I'm 21 actually!" (We laugh. It's an old routine, whether we're talking about Syphilis, family deaths, films or eating disorders.)

This is how it works. We talk about something obvious, like me avoiding meals, or the sound of me retching, or stuff I forget to clean up etc. Dad asks what's going on and I point blank lie, I say there is no problem - I say that I am fine, "perfect", even. Dad takes it in, however slyly, or snarky as he wants to I don't care because then we have a joke and there's no tension and I don't have to talk about icky things like shoving sick down the sink and choking on bits of spaghetti and spewing out cold water and ice cream and talk about how much easier its getting and how much harder it is to keep things down and not have a panic attack about it, or how I have a new fear of blocking up the sink and the bath and the toilet and the shower and not just getting caught with a plunger but not being able to get rid of the food either. Things I don't want anyone to care about because they'll get hurt, if not grossed out.

At the moment I'm submerged in some other strange kind of sorrow. I feel a shivery kind of numb, then I feel so warm, all over except for some invisible place inside which stays so cold. My right ear is numb, hehe. And its miseries with pleasantries, on a trip to that bloody Motel where I end up every year. This year I see to be taking an exeedingly long amount of time. But I wouldn't mind staying in the real world for the next couple of months just so I can remember something properly in the month of June. One of those gorgeous snapshot memories - you remember the weather, the wet sand between your toes, smell the sea and the fruit and the cocktails. You remember the layout of the hotel you were staying in. And most of all you remember why you remember it so well - it was the last time you went swimming, were in Jamaica, you were happy. You remember who told you to remember it and your Aunty's life flashes past your eyes...

Isn't that how autobiographies are made, what each blog is - a skilled chapter of ones' life? For it is true that everyone has a novel inside of them, even if it is a 12 page dictation of their own life, as even if it is a dull life - and most are - and it turns out you didn't actually believe in anything at all contrary to popular belief and it was really just sanity, survival and sanctity (where you're told what to believe and you never really discover it for yourself) because autobiographies are so important. In the only memorable, palpable form of expression and recycled examples of life imitated onto art, our stories may be the only thing we have.

Where did this thought come from? Rich sent me a text asking how I was, and when I realised how grim things were, I almost didn't text him. Might be why I'm slow to be emailing Nik. I just want them to do justice to my friends and be happy...

I give up. I'm going to bed.

My Second Blog Birthday

Thankfully, my head has become a little clearer. I'm talking to people again. I'm making jokes again. I'm flirting again (I've found this total Indian Curvy Cutie - no idea if shes straight or taken though :S ) Things in my crazy life, are starting to become quite normal again. For this I'm glad.

Anyway, this is only a mini post. I'm just wishing a happy day for myself and any others in the same sticky, tough, molten spot as I am....And hoping for Blog-a-versary comments! Hint, Hint, Hint! Honestly, I can't be any more shameless if I spread my legs open or something...

Or second thoughts, lets burn that moment. Ok? Gone? Good! Now comment!!

I'm Not Dead

At the moment I'm going through a rough patch. I'm having trouble coping with this rough patch because I can't find anybody to really help me out apart from KT Tunstall who seems to interpret my feeling perfectly at this moment, for which I'm grateful. My feelings have been shoved into a jam jar and I don't feel, well, safe enough to let them all out. Hence, I feel as hollow as those giant great dead Redwood logs, making lots of noise as they go down, down down.

Anyway! Events:

• I'm now on Prozac. This gross liquid stuff thats full of sugar and is turning my life upside down. I'm stuck in this strange place between extreme hunger and extreme nausea and I can't seem to find a balance between the two so I've almost stopped eating altogether. This feels good, but it means I can't concentrate on my studies and my grades are beginning to slip. And then I slip altogether and eat like everything in sight. I'm going to become so fat, so gluttonous, so disgusting, so foul. I know it will happen, and the inevitability of it all makes me want to drive off a cliff.
• Part of the Prozac effects mean that I'm becoming quite an insomniac. I just don't feel like sleeping. I didn't sleep at all for one night, just staring at the computer screen, crying, thinking about hurting myself, crying, crying, crying. I slept for 2 hours and felt like shit for the rest of the week.
• I'm starting to give up relating to people. I'd rather just hide in my room, drink beer and whisky and read books all day. I would happily waste away like this.
• The thing is, I still want to succeed, but I'm doubting everything about me. Really, everything. If I will get a girlfriend, if I'm as clever as I used to be, if I can get through this, if I'm a good writer (I got snubbed at this years College Creative Writing Competition)

I'm not great, am I? I would love to just stay in bed and not get out, and I thought the Prozac was supposed to help with that. I got it 11 days ago. I feel like exploding. I feel like hurting myself, dying. I feel like I'm going mad. Understandably, I can't work. I have my first exam in like 4 weeks. Haven't revised, haven't devised any sort of plan. I can't coast this year. I'm on the borderline A grade for my two major subjects and I need to put the hours in. Its probably too late to try and get exam sympathy (I'm working on the nerve to talk to my cantankerous well-meaning tutor for the last time). Hmph. I feel like I'm falling.

Because I'm only on half strength of the Prozac I'll only be taking it every other day. I finish college this week. My 18th birthday is in exactly 2 weeks. My friends birthday party and my Granddad's 80th (my Grandparents Silver anniversary) are on this Saturday. I will never forget this week. I'm only able to write this all now because I was going quite crazy, and anxious, having near panic-attacks, scratching, seeing things - seeing voices, spiders, snakes, laughing bitches...

No, I'm not dead, but this isn't living either. I need help, and not the professional kind.

The Kinky Art of Convention

(Copyright of Betty B. Cite website address and name if you want to use my photos :)
"Vast vistas of dreams and possibility will seem as real as the chair you're sitting on."

This was my horoscope for today, my Dad's birthday. He doesn't know I'm writing a blog so there's no picture of him. He loved my present (Spanish learning pack), and we hugged and I was late for history again, but that doesn't matter so...

No, I was wondering about conventions, about what you're supposed and not supposed to do. Who told you that? Because it's almost always a "they", and who is "they"? The way I see it, sometimes I can't get up in the mornings or talk to people or enthuse myself into studying (or not). Yet I know I'm doing it all wrong. I just wouldn't mind understanding why. Where did these conventions come from? Who started it all? I can only wonder.

Today I returned from my gay youth club sabbatical to find old friends there. Woo-hoo. It made me burst with happiness that they just let me be. I needed that. Sometimes I swear I forget I'm a lesbian and I feel completely out of place all over again. I talk to some of my gay friends and they've done the whole rock n roll, sex, death and drugs thing, and are quite blase and jaded before they've reached 18. How am I supposed to be excited where all the excitement has all gone? Whenever I tell them I've been single like, forever they see it as a terrible, terrible thing. And yeah, it would nice to have somebody to kiss and sleep in with and covet, but right now I'm just not looking of that because I'm just not that bothered. Should I be because I'm a teenager?

And bloody uni. We're told to expect everything to be magical, and we know that we will be told to follow such abstracts objects such as our hearts and know what we want right now is what we may want for the rest of our life, despite such a very very difficult decision this is for us right. Oh! They know, all right. I mean, does everyone know what they're supposed to do? Do you know that when you say hi to someone you say hi back, or that you don't have hash brown and bacon sandwiches, or that if you dress different the other kids will always laugh at you (I've perfected my "fuck you" stare. Fuck 'em. I don't even look that different). When did I get told this? Why? I mean, I guess is what normal is and so nobody knows, really.

I mean I've made my university and I'm more scared than I've been for a while. Because when you leave your friends, even it is for a week, then you don't recognise them and they don't recognise you. And whats a born and bred London girl to do up North? (Manchester uni I've chosen, yep.) Even if I stalk my friends via MSN messenger, will they be completely different people when I come back? Can you ever really keep in touch with people you don't see for a while? It's happened to me before. I've had really good, budding friendships before I go on holiday for a week, and when I come back they've become friends with someone else and I never get a look-in ever afterwards. For the first time in years I've made some real friends who I want to know and share my life with for a good while, and I don't want to lose that because I need my best friend. So I'm equally scared and liberated, and truly, those are two most challenging states someone can encounter.

A Weekend of Domestic Pleasures

A photo from about a month ago in Aldwych. Doesn't London have such charming lampposts? I'm really getting into the photography thing. On Thursday I found a stray pair of number plates and I've been taking lots and lots of pictures with them. At the moment its part of the furniture and my family have been duly contacted and concerned. Dad thinks I'm pregnant. Never mind that I'm a lesbian, whenever I eat weird things like peanut butter and banana sandwiches its his natural reaction...

I've spent quite a bit of time with him this week, with my doctors' appointment and the last two days. On Friday I saw my wonderful friend Anna and made her my nut-nutella cake which got lapped up. I got a bit drunk and was home by midnight which I think is pretty sensible for someone about 6 weeks away from her 18th. (How scary is that? Me, a walking and talking real-life, responsible adult.) As my title said, it was dedicated to home life. I tidied my room, made stir fries, got my own freeview box (a sort of satellite-lite), two pairs of trainers. Dad got his plant pot and his freeview box and scart plugs and some more bulbs.

This weekend of domestic pleasures has given a lot to think about, not to mention my Dad. He's turning 47 on Wednesday (any ideas for a present?) and then off to America for a job he hates. He realises that frankly, he's hated all of his jobs since he was 16 and needed to help pay Grandma's mortgage. The weekend has always been too short, the rewards never substantial, the free time fragile and almost imaginary. Dad tells me that now this is the first time he has real free time, where he is not simply pressing for survival among other, smaller domestic pleasures. I mean, domestic pleasures make everything that little bit easier, and frankly its more manageble than any of that true love and friendship stuff. So I'm thinking up hobbies and drawing up a booklist to have him read for pleasure (this conflict had started with my late Aunt Jenny). Shall he read books or learn landscaping? Would languages or photography show him what he's been missing? Dad has no idea. He's at a new chapter, and I'm certainly watching that space.

For me, this weekend of domestic pleasures. Now that I can see it so clearly it feels foolish to descrie my time before its realisation, so foolish...

It's easy to say that time runs away from me. It is traumatised, terrified of me, wary of I, pitiful and confused. That must be why time moves so fast - why the afternoon only last a few given moments, how weeks meld into a few golden shite moments. And I panic because the faster it moves the less I can keep up. How can I compete with time and ill mental health? If you're fat, or a slow walker you'll understand how damning and isolating it is when you can't keep up with the pace of the people you're walking with at their pace. How you can't engage in real conversation because you're all breathless, and you can't take photographs of your walk and sometimes they don't even realise how fast they're walking. When you try to piece back moments they're all blended and you can't remember; theres nothing to take from it. And that is my life. A fat girl who can't keep up and ends up missing out on everything as life and golden moments and snapshots and events blunder by on a rolling stone. And there is nothing I can do with that gem, although I see more clearly than I've ever done before. It's time to accept this fat girl and take life at her own pace, methinks. I think this poem I wrote a couple of weeks ago helpa. You can skip this bit, but I can write.

I’m not myself and I don’t know how to be;
I’ve locked myself in, I don’t want to be free -
Please -
Let me live and love myself
Intermittently, randomly, unproductive yet vibrantly
I’m not entirely sure how I got this way
But I found myself lost in a sea of faces
In the blank tornado of time, and I’m on the brink
Precariously, constantly backtracking to the mess
Behind me
Wondering when my life is real or when it’s
Just a dream
As I recline back on a chair or whatever else,
Lazily philosophising on my own...
No, I’ve not grown at all.

There, that wasn't so bad was it? My life has been otherwise eventless. My thoughts otherwise blurred and ergo pointless, but the music has improved. I'm now listening to Led Zepplin, Lily Allen, The Kooks and Wolfmother along with the eternally delectable Regina Spektor. I've also bagged my birthday treat of Hyde Park Calling (Razorlight, Roger Waters, Texas, The Zutons - should be a good couple of days.)

And now, we have a new feature. Favourite All-Time Snaps of the Day (FATS). Just to show off my *erm* photography prowess. FATS 1 -

Gorgeous 16th century church and graveyard. Black and white digital filter. Good weather. What more can you ask for?

I really like this one because its blurred at the edges, which makes a little mystical and these gates look ancient. They're always open, waiting for someone to come in.

And finally, our Unassuming Bus Passenger. (Great subjects for a rookie like me. Unassuming, casual and fun.)

I'm a little annoyed it didn't focus properly but I think it has an emotional value to it. And here ends thy blog. I hope you liked the photos, poem, etc. Let me know - I am a comments whore!! Hahahaha

Back to Blogland Part 1

Miss me?

I doubt it. Maybe. Maybe you did miss me. Checked my page every other day hoping for new news, new developments in this busy old life of mine. Probably not.

Do you like this photo? It's me! Betty in action after a couple of Caprihinas (yum!) in Wembely - not my hometown in Northwest London, but a British bar in Southern Italy! Most of my hiatus has been spent in the Bay of Naples as part of my college's Classics and Italian class trip. Overall I've had a really good time even though I've lost my mobile (I've a temporary one, although the whole effect has been liberating and isolating as a whole) and had chocolate melt in my bag and needs to be washed. From Monday 3 April until Saturday the 8th was spent with good old Ric who fixed up my camera so I could take more pictures, looked after me (although I smoked - twice!) and carried my bags when I let him. The trip would have been unbearable without him. We went to Rome were we visited the forum and the Colesseum. Heres the first picture I took of the trip:

Thats how Italy looked for most of the time: pure blue and rustic, and very Italian. The Italians weren't very friendly, unfortunately. Most of the street people stared at my boobs, but it may have been because I was one of the 4 black people I saw on the trip, and the darkest of those. I don't think the Italians are racist (Rics opinions differ...) just pervy! Most of the time it was "Sex, no beach, ah?" whenever I ordered Sex on the Beach. Where did we go? Pompeii, Paestum, some other Vesuvius town (that still has original glass!!!) with Hercules in the title. Ric, being Wonder Boy was my lecturer for the trip, with his extensive knowledge on Etruscans and Roman architecture and what was real and what was not and periods...Took tons of pictures, but I'm setting up a flickr account for the pictures without my full face in it that all can revel in my skilllz. And, during the day I satisfied the inner classical student, at night me and Ric went out with the other students in our year (only 4 of us) and went out drinking, having a laugh, negotiating dangerous roads because the Italians really are crazy-ass drivers - they drive out of nowhere and it takes a special sort of pedestrian to sort it out.

I loved going on walks (well...my group were always faster than me) up the streets looking for supermarkets that were small and smelt of sweet fruit. It just seemed more natural that way. And we were by the sea so in the morning you could smell it and it was wonderful even though you could never find your way down there...Some more pictures:

When I got back home, I was physically and mentally exhausted. Physically because I climbed a mountain, although dying on the way it was one of the best things I've done. Mentally because I was cutting a lot and couldn't figure out why. And because I was with Ric a lot and wanted to get deeper with him I wrote him a letter, telling him how long I've been doing it and why. I'm never so good at letters and so writing him a letter about my cutting when I feeling more vulnerable than usual was very scary. But I gave it to him. At the airport when we reached the departures hall he stalked off and left the A2s and me, confused. After buying our chocolate (and briefly losing my passport. My bad luck had been rife during this trip!) When we found him he looked more tired and distressed than usual and he was rubbing his eyes and hair. When we got a quick private moment he told me he'd read the whole thing. Should I make the connection? I don't know. All I remember of the letter is the first line - This is not a happy letter...

People flooded onto the plane and we on the opposite ends so I couldn't say anything else which was driving me mad. I ended up spilling hot tea on myself and because I couldn't clean myself up as I was stuck at the end almost sent me into shock. (no major burns, though - don't worry!) Took more pictures on the plane... But when we finally flew into England, with all the small lights and the nighttime coast, flying over Clapham and Twickenham stadium, not only did I feel at home, but my head was about to burst because I had a cold and the pressure was bloody immense. Ric cheered me up with paper aeroplanes (which hit others hilariously) and on the bus to the terminal after the wind whipped my skirt up. He had no questions - had nothing else to say really but we were good. We were better than good. When I finally found a payphone and talked to Dad after a week I almost cried, but the waterworks really sprang up when me and Ric parted ways - he was taking the train, I had a Dad to pick me up. He didn't see me cry, thank God, but I was lost and tired I really did feel lost without him helping me out. What had he done to me, the miserable sod?! (His girl wasn't talking to him - for no reason, crazy bitch)

Sigh...I was home now. Dad was, and is quite ill with the flu. He didn't go to the doctors and now he got this racking 'smokers' cough for the next few months apparently. He was coughing up blood and everything, but refused to get help because the house was messy, which I believe reflects parents the world over, right? Aaargh! It was only because the woman of the house - me - was off ignoring Italian men all week. My brother proved himself worthy against rude bus drivers and eating Whoppers and powder mash fries in front of Match of the Day (it was snowing in April!!) I felt right at home, exceptionally tired. And my bed? Just right. Globetrotting is tough shit! :)

The Bee

So, part 2 of my bumper edition blog post today is about Saturday, April Fools 2006. I'm afraid everything I'm about to tell you is true because I don't have to time right now because I haven't long to plan everything before I jet off to Italy for next week. I mean some people celebrate the end of big assignments with a cool pint; some go clubbing for all hours and some just sleep it off, yet I decide to try and plan/salvage my life - again. I have at least one or two of these days each year since...11 and I wouldn't have it any other way because I'm a closet control freak.

So, my day started at 8 am which was quite painful on a Saturday morning. But I was up and forsook breakfast packing essentials for a long day out: cash and cashcard, books for the train and a notebook and pen for whatever would happen for the rest of the day.

There's this new 'project' my friend has set up to start our own history magazine - I can't give you the name or address because then my cover would be completely blown which is a shame because I'd love people to check it out. Me my friend and these two other guys I barely know (one I know as Supreme Regina Spektor Fan so we're friends for life, and the other guy I know now is as geeky as me and lives outside of Zone 3) and went into Starbucks and had our first meeting as the "team", I guess. It involved a lorra laughs and hot chocolate and history gossip about Roman emperors and Monarchy and Hobbes and we were all on the same wavelength which made our ideas much easier and I was very reluctant to leave in the end but along with this new project I had to plan my career. Lol. I know. I 'm 17 I shouldn't have to plan this stuff but society forces us to make all these wrong choices when we don't even know who we are or what we "plan" to eat next week.



So anyway - journalist internships, heading features, big-ass media conferences, editing, working with art galleries, public speaking - its all coming up over the summer! So, on the 341 bus patting myself on the back for doing everything I needed to do when I got a text from my faghag Max and we went to the cinema in Kingston (only 30 minutes from Waterloo) and saw Failure To Launch which wasn't as tragic as I thought it would be and it was funny, but I wanted a lot more from SJP's roommate who was toxic but cool. (If I ever produced a movie it would be dark, funny and evil. Though maybe not as dark as Requiem For A Dream which fucked me up for the night).

I arrived an hour before the film and we just talked and cackled but we were both exhausted. I felt for him - he cried at this bit in the film where the Mom was talking about her husband which I understood because his Mum died last year in November (he went to school the next day. I hadn't seen him cry before then, it's just the guy he is, and he's in the year below me). Anyway on the bus we had 40 minutes to rest before we got to his house and he slept for most of it - I have a habit of chattering away too much when I'm tired and it was nice to mother him and let him sleep on my shoulder because I was always at a loss for what I could do for him. We got to his house and it was very nice, very white with fake white petals in a bowl and doilies even though its just him, his brother, sister and the gay straight-acting male ballet dancer that lives with them now. All the time I spent with him a lot of it was him trying to get me to stay over - I just don't know how deep the friendship runs so I kept saying no...it was just be us the whole night and that can get boring. I felt bad leaving because he was all alone in the house and he had no one to see you could tell he felt unloved. But I left, and got home at 11pm after planning to get home at 3pm so I could do some shopping and all of my homework. Fat chance now, I have to do it tonight, gahness. So I have to go pronto and if I don't a chance to post I'll see y'all April 9th.

Comment and stay beautiful!

My Photos: A Tiny Bit of the City

See! See! I did this! Like months ago not too far from Piccadilly, and Foyles and Tottenham Court Road next to this gorgeous shop that sold walking sticks and bowler hats and cigars in these strange place that set me straight me back in the Victorian city without the piss and the crinolines. It turned out a lot better than I thought it did.

Seems like the perfect place to get drunk and racy with Stephen Fry don't you think?

This is in-between Richmond and Kingston (South of the Thames) on the 65 bus. It's not bad and I only had one shot because my damn camera only 6 MB reserve memory and this was my last space. It's not bad...

This is the Chinese garden in Kew Gardens - its a bit expensive to visit if you're broke like me but its very lovely garden. It was taken with Ric*, Alex* and Anna* (*names have been changed) on New Years' Eve just after we went ice skating and my butt was freezing because I had fallen over on the ice. They had just tried out my chocolate-nut-and-nutmeg cake with nutella frosting (pretty divine if I say so myself) and Ric was off pretending to be a squirrel. It was one of the best days of 2005. This photo is terrible and doesn't really do it justice but hey! it's a glimpse now its time for you to find more; discover London.

I got a couple of other photos too blurry to show, but there you are: 6 MB of camera, a tiny slice of London and a mini-blog exhibition. I hope you like them. x

Sussex is not as gay as I thought

Guess where I went on Wednesday?

I've got lots to tell you. I have left the misty, opaque smoke of coursework and major deadlines have passed once and for all and I am very happy at this moment. But first, Sussex.

They have campus tours each week and I finally managed to stop the panic procrasination and actually call them and arrange things and tell my Dad about it and make food (cereal bars) for the journey. I even organised a meeting with the Head of the History department and made sure we got on the right motorways - we didn't get lost, we were early and the tour answered all of my questions. It's a campus place with everything like laundrettes and 7 bars and the most amazing library I've ever seen (apart from the British Library. I've never been but if I did I'm sure I'd never come out.) Anyway this was FOUR STOREYS of library - all those books...yum! And a cinema! And a nightclub, but I suspect thats shitty because who wants to hang in the same place all the time?

Meeting the historian was cool because she told that because I'm taking single honours I can take on other courses like Politics and English and American studies which was birdsong to my ears. Afterwards me and Dad went to the pebble beach (with 100 Billion pebbles, some sad-ass counted) and had a good old bonding session throwing (not skipping) pebbles, watching surfers and guitarists with rainbow straps and photographers, thinking: it's so blue and so calm. You know, the wind changed as we got nearer - I haven't been to the sea in months and its good to look at something so never-ending and peaceful as if the future wasn't too bad...the future...I don't like the future. Especially the short term future - this whole university thing - people keep asking if I've chosen yet and I can't because I won't be able to satisfy anybody...not even myself.

It was probably at this point I realised Brighton wasn't as gay as I thought it was before. I saw a giant rainbow flag on the beachfront but that was it, and I liked that because being isn't my whole life even though I would like a girlfriend to have evening cuddles and do stupid cute indie things with...



And then today I finished my coursework in the morning. The moment it all printed, title page, appendixes, bibliographies and everything I knew it was all over and I was bloody ecstatic. I even picked a wild daffodil on the way to college. It was a good decision because I had cool conversations like:

"Hey Betty, can I borrow some water?"
"Sure- could you hold my daffodil for a moment?"
"No problem."

Or -

"Oh yes, you cutie daffodil-dilly you, with your yellow rays of petals and your trumpet-head, my aren't you scrumptious...*glares* what? I don't care if it's in the library, its my daffodil and it needs attention its wilting!" (Ok that was made up)

Most people were miserable especially my teacher because a couple of students never stop moaning about having to work and never understands a damn thing...she's lovely but annoying! And the day was so beautiful. Oh my god I could never tell you how beautiful I'd have to be silly and cliched: the sun was tangoing with the clouds on the first day of the year that actually looked like spring and the sun light moved in sheets not waves and moved across this spread of green grass and fields, moving and shifting so fast it was like an upbeat rock music video it was so beautiful.

So now, I'm back to business, making plans and giving in CVs (no one has replied. With this much abuse how can you expect worker satisfaction?) trying to get my Prozac (Flouxatine?) trying to work with my Dad, trying trying trying to fix this whole life of time while I've still got time and I'm not in anyway defined....as yet.

Jungle Skyscrapers

Today was a short exercise on the futility of fate. I applied for what to "hopefully" be my next job working in a jolly old supermarket (I shall call it The Super) - I'm thinking of taking a temporary job in a Deli because The Super doesn't open until June and Dad's still refusing to give me money, which means that to him I've now come of age, or he's poor, or he just sees me as really, really lazy. Even so, I haven't been this broke since I was a child, which wasn't so bad because kids never spent money, all I wanted was sweets, not bras or books and trips to Central London (I haven't been out to C. London since February - sooner than later I'm going to break out into industrialized hives caught from the concrete jungle.)

During all of this madness I have no time to be depressed during the day, and so I can function fairly well when the sun is up, and laugh and skip and ignore all the weird stares I keep getting - I can't tell if it's lust or disgust for the girl with blue hair (which I need to redo soon).

Today, one of the archetypal modern nights happened to me as I boarded the bus, in my hurry to drop off my Super application. I ran my hands through my pockets for my mobile but they weren't there, and with each pocket, and each bit of space I went through my stomach would drop a few more inches. It was horrible. The scene on the bus became more apparent as I began to detail the prams and the old people being so quiet and stoic. The bus was quiet and sedate even though people were chattering away. I surprised myself by not crying, making the 40 minute journey to the community centre to hand in my application and turning back to Twickenham where I spent an hour searching the streets for my mobile. It was on silent so I couldn't call it. What would I have done if it was lost forever? I couldn't stop thinking of some annoying stranger looking through my texts and my pictures with some kind of grim satisfaction if it would warrant a half-assed short story...

It turns out I left it in careers back at college (the only place in college where sanity runs riot), undamaged and comfy in my pocket. What was also strange was that my journey was exactly the same - I waited for the bus for the same amount of time...even the prams were exactly the same, with no babies in them, just shopping and the same yellow bib thingy. It was as if I was being allowed to relive the journey - a second chance for me to take note of something. This made me feel like both control and fate was some illusion, although I should never endeavour to force its hand. Who knows, maybe I was overthinking it. But I did feel so lost and alone without my phone, like a Q without an U (note The Simpsons reference).

Antidote

Lemon Jelly plays Space Walk (Beautiful!) and I try to comprehend myself. My college life has become a nice blob of organized chaos. All I can remember is studying and chatting, trying to make myself make horrid decisions, namely universities. Up North or 'dahn' South? Politics or History? How can I possibly choose? And so accidently on purpose I've been avoiding making appointments to visit the places, which I WILL get to, I will.

I've been very tired, I must say. I tried to get some work done over the weekend and I just fell asleep, leaving me burning the midnight oil (and beyond) each day of this week which just makes Betty more tired. I saw my dear Ria on Monday for what was to be a DVD toss up and a Trivial Pursuit showdown, but we ended up just doing the showdown (and won! Three times!) I got to check out my old high school which really hadn't changed at all. Even the kids were the same, but it was nice to see Charlotte, Darren and Em (who reads this blog! :S) and my old teachers who seemed happy to see me. It was...nice in the purest sense of the word.

Big news pending, I am to be prescribed anti-depressants. It would be a more scared post about it being five years in the making if it wasn't for Dad speaking up about hormones because my periods for the last two, three years have been more or less non-existent. I'm seeing an endocri-summat-gist first to affirm I haven't got some hormone freakery. It's annoying because it pushes an extra two months from me getting these drugs. Unfortunately I couldn't start shouting at my Dad in front of psych so I have to go along with it. Grr.

Ric has been amazing. He is more than a little nuts (only last week I was used as a ranting box about Oxbridge because his gorgeous intelligent girlfriend is going there and he's a complete Marxist). I told I felt like I was boxing underwater (quickest thing I could say on text) and he said that without me being responsible his life would look like Kosovo, which was sweet. He also wrote me a mini-script in Icelandic to help me learn and says I could use his name and birthday to enter for this script-writing competition (£15,000 first place! And I do have an idea for a play, but I can't tell you yet!)

Ooh, I won my debating thing - I managed to prove that religion is not inherently evil! And it is evil at the core, but the direction people have taken it, fundamentalism, evangelism, arrogance and disharmony has made religion rotten. It can be fixed, but I can't elaborate on this at the moment because I'm near to collapse. Keep on trucking. Happy Birthday DM!

Check-in, Check-out

Hey there. Long time, no see.

I've been battling those depression demons - they like to swoop upon me at this time of the year through books and TVs and the net and music. They foul my mood and pepper everything with optical and audio illusions. Frankly, these last couple of weeks, I just haven't been up for living. Functioning. Eating. Honesty. Those basics of life.

At this time of the year I'm usually very reclusive, although you wouldn't know it if you were talking to me, but I'm not really there talking to you. I'm very distant, I don't where I go. All I know is that between now and just after my birthday is the time I cry the most. How very dramatic, and how spectacular the timing! I've finished my big fat Chinese Cultural Revolution assignment exam (4,148 words in four hours! W00t!) and now tomorrow I'm to be set my big fat Russian Coursework essay. Thats scary because I have a novel's worth of notes and I have no idea what to do - burn them all for warmth or create an origami city? I've no idea.



Last week had me worse than usual. Everytime I got out of bed was such a colossal achievement that by the time I got to college I was already exhausted. Bad luck with buses seemed to follow me everywhere -I wasn't on time ONCE last week. I had no motivation, no energy - just thoroughly depressed really. I wasn't eating much - no more than 800 calories a day and I more or less kept it up which made me feel quite proud and I exercised more, threw myself into work and avoided looking people in the eye. When I cut on Saturday it was such a relief. It sucks because I'm going to Italy in under a month and I wanted to be relatively scar free when I went, but I haven't been able to keep it up. But since I've been able to take a step back and breathe, and get some perspective. It's as if I knew when was the right time for me. Strange.

With my energy back and alcohol free (it's hell) I embarked on an organize life stat! weekend. My room is now a swathe of carpet, my books are in the right place and I have assorted another plastic bag of magazines I plan to read when I get the chance. I've also organized open days in Manchester and Sussex - a London gal out of water, for sure. So thats a blog post coming near you, folks.

Being organized meant finding the most fascinating things, like old articles I've written, university letters, notes written during my time in the National Portrait Gallery, photos where I'm slim *sigh*. You can't help thinking of the future when you see those. Actually it reminds me of Postsecret from last week where this girl wrote in about cutting and hiding her scars. She said she wanted to scream at her family "I'm not myself and I don't know how to be", which I thought was disturbingly perfect. I mean, I'm sure everyone gets into that situation once in a while, and isn't it fucking scary? Isn't it terrifying, the thought that you may never know yourself, or be yourself for the rest of your life - and never feel comfortable or happy in your own skin? Or even that you were yourself once but you threw it away for some reason and you can't turn back because life is never like that. It just isn't...

What else? Well, I've started writing erotica *blushes*. I was in a writey mood and my mind hit on this idea of this art freak becoming obsessed with this young beautiful fuck-up and having lots of sexual adventures from the view of this rich, luxurious 30 something. So I started writing it and it's all right. It's not stupid or sleazy or implausible and frankly, I like it. It's called "Beauty" and if there's demand for it I'll post it on Blogger but you have to ask first - if anyone still reads this, that is.

And I found this graveyard not far from my house. It's so beautiful. I was having one of my other-worldly, crazy depressed moments and I walked through the graveyard. The priest for the church is more church-obsessed than God-mad which is disheartening. It is a gorgeous building - build around the Tudors (1600s) and some of the gravestones still had engravings from the 1763. Some stones were really poignant. Like, this one had a man die in 1933 in his 30s and the wife is buried with him, who dies at the age of 92 in 1998. I mean, its amazing, strange, beautiful that someone could wait 60 years to join their loved one in heaven. It made me wonder if she ever dared to fall for someone else. If makes me wonder if I could love so fatalistically. I don't know. It feels good to blog again. I've missed it and I'm glad I'm back.

Communication Skillz

Before I slip back into the murky world of studying, exams and stupid coursework projects, I’ll tell you about my last couple of days.

The day before I must have talked to everyone. This included creepy bus drivers “You look exhausted…like you could with a massage.” Funny in the morning when you’re barely awake but strange otherwise. I also talked to a teenage evangelist who cornered me on the way to church (library). When she asked why I didn’t believe in God I had completely forgotten and I couldn’t think of any reasons, which nonplussed me and made her think she had a chance at seduction of God. And this other guy got sucked into it as well. He was a cutie and I think he was interested, but there was nothing I could do about that…when did I become attractive to the OPPOSITE sex? Where are all the ladies? And so I worked and worked and worked. I’ve become a Cultural Revolution bore; it’s all I think about. It is really interesting after all how a few people managed to manufacture a revolution and try to pull a wronski feint on their own party, and using the youth to do so by making them in charge and giving them basic, vague instructions to allow them to run riot without responsibility being firmly in their hands. The whole exam basically writing out your assignment notes next Wednesday in four hours and I’ve got a mixture of panic and eagerness spurring me on. I’ve almost completed my practice essay draft thing, which is good. But now just exhausted. I was typing straight for 90 minutes yesterday after my Politics exam where I wrote 14 sides of A4 in two and a half hours. And then today I wrote another 750 words in 40 minutes, had 5 hours sleep and I still got DJ practice today – if I don’t go know I’ll be missing it for the next two weeks and I’d be way behind.

I’m also doing some stuff for my gay youth club’s new website – I’ve got an art review, my coming out story and some poems. As I was writing my Coming Out story I found that far from being a “higher experience” it’s actually pretty boring on paper. I guess it’s because since I came out I’ve missed three Pride events in a row and I still haven’t been out clubbing yet, making me a proper baby dyke, but that’s to change this summer. I’ve asserted that I will get a job – it’ll be like once, twice a week and if I arrange some journalist experience then I can always take some time off. It’s just that since I’m practically emotionally independent from Dad I still rely on him financially and I want that to change. This whole university thing is stressing me out too. Before it was completely overwhelming and I just wanted to end it all; I’ve started to gain some perspective, which is making things easier for me and that is always a good thing frankly. I’ve been very hungry at times and very thirsty too which worries me because Ria’s boyfriend has been diagnosed with diabetes and is in hospital with a majorly high sugar count (65 when he entered, now down to 22. It’s supposed to be 5.) So I’m just a little more aware. The obscene amounts of chocolate can’t have helped either.

It’s also been a different week because of all the death. The mudslide in the Philippines, for one thing. And then I’ve heard about the Hurricane Katrina tour bus. I don’t care how they justify it – they only give 10% of profit to the victims! And so many of them are stranded in caravans and so many of the people there have left there forever. The Bush Administration might as well leave the wreckage be. Keep making money out of misery; you’re so good at it. You can call it the Permanent Disaster and make it snazzy. Maybe other natural disasters can join in too.
And on sea level where I am, there’s been some deaths as well. My Mum came down last week and we watched some DVDs, then to remark about how her Dad died a few years ago. I’m not I ever met him. I must have, but I can’t remember his face…it just shocked for a few seconds that’s all. And then on the phone to an ailing Ric (sceptic knee and life in general; but he can’t walk now) he told me his ex-girlfriend’s close friend died suddenly. I bumped into her in the library the next day. She looked distraught. It turns out he had some heart condition, and at this party they were at his right ventricle collapsed and he just fell and died. She was ok because had this amazing night with him when they just talked all night about everything for hours. He had his organs donated to medicine and his faulty heart donated to science. She’s still very distraught. She and his classmates went out for a night of drinking and ended up on Richmond high street crying on a bench. A homeless guy offered her food. It makes you wonder how bad things are these days, how “grieveful” you can be. I think I’m getting the hang of consoling people with their death, even though I’ve been so lucky so far. I mean, my Dad could have a heart attack in his sleep at 8 in the morning just before he’s supposed to go to work (happened to Ria’s friend…it’s always a friend of a friend.). I guess the truth is that I’m starting to get worried now about whose next to die, or fall apart around me. But there’s nothing I can do about that, is there? Except practice.

Now I am home at last after my last DJ lesson for 6 weeksL because my teacher is going off to some assignment in Suburbia. So now it’s time for me to look into buying my own tunes, take up practicing once a week and rock out, basically. Thing is, I have to find my favourite type of music – I’m into motown, and vocal stuff that builds up, has drums and bass…so that’s what I’ll be looking for. Hmm. Anyone recommend any ‘choons?