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 :)
Friday, July 28, 2006
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
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...
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...
Thursday, June 29, 2006
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)
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 :)
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
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.
"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.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
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!!
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