(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)
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Yawwnnn.....
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
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 :)
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 :)
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