[10 Oct 2009|02:18pm] [ mood | restless ] HELLO, LIVEJOURNAL. My life recently: I gave up on my degree. I've got a postgraduate diploma now, if I can just work out how the fuck to officially quit Uni. I prefer the word Diploma to Masters anyway. Diploma reminds me of Bologna sausage, & although I'm a vegetarian, I still find that word strangely comforting. I'm no longer friends with Emma. One weekend up in Leeds with Lucy was enough to ruin two years of obsessively close platonic love. She started hitting me in the face & calling Lucy common. It wasn't nice. We were kicked out on the streets at 2am & stayed in a hotel where a random stranger kindly told us that The Shining was filmed. It wasn't, & even if it was, Jack Nicholson is fit. I've resigned myself to this horrible, trapped, panicky feeling which I'm filled with most days. It's called being a grown-up, I hear. Some days, when I have money to buy cigarettes, or some boy indicates that he may one day consider wanting to hold my hand in a dark room, I am happier than a child with a Kinder Egg. Coming home to steal my mother's food & internet just now was all going very well, until I found my father's scrawl on one of my payslips that still get sent here, saying "Give Liam gift of 100k to buy a house with Becky". My parents have decided that next year, they're quitting their jobs & selling the house. They're moving in to their caravan. I'm very impressed/supportive of their plan to be full-time Ray Mears-types, but not so chuffed with my piddly little Council paycheque being used to once more rub in the fact that I am a fuck-up & my brother is sorted. I'm stealing their milk, that'll teach them. I'm ridiculously broody at the moment. I think my need to settle for just about anyone who would willingly ejaculate in me after 20 seconds of awkwardness is solely based on my desire to have a child that I can knit little socks for. I hate biology & the senseless despair that leads you to do stupid things. I also hate the cat I live with, I liked her for a while, but she's started attacking my ankles in the morning & that just won't do. I need my ankles for walking. I love cleansing, toning & moisturising. It makes me feel that I'm doing something good with my time. I still love books, but not my ever-increasing library fines that I'm too scared to do anything about, so will just ignore for another few weeks. Ta-da! I feel better for writing that down, but now I need a wee. I'd forgotten how boring the internet is. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

[04 Aug 2009|08:42pm] [ mood | excited ] We are going to be living in the most beautiful flat in the world from the 15th of August. It's so beautiful, that it will be like living in the hotel in Lost In Translation, but better (as it's not a studio). No joke. I want to have sex with my new home. I want to cuddle it to sleep & tell it that everything else I do in the world is inconsequential, because all I want to do is be inside it, & with it, & how I think about it non-stop when we're apart...& how I like that it's legally bound to be mine for 12 months, no take-backs. I like everything about my life at the moment. I miss London like fuck & will always love it so very much that it pains me a bit, but I like my life in this city again. I'm having fun, I know nice people, I've got an amazingly beautiful place to live with my new partner in crime, & although there's a lot more to lose here, I think it's worth the risk. I also still really like the fact that I get paid to help the elderly & recycle stuff. I get warm-squishy-insides 30 times a day & it still hasn't got old. Oh, & rice crispies, I like them because they're noisy. They don't make me happy, but they do entertain. That's my tea, I'm just looking at things in the room now & saying I like them. I've turned in to Brick Tamland. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

[20 Jul 2009|08:57am] I am fed up of talking about men. I am fed up of thinking about men, too. My life is an incessant string of crushes on undesirables & misfits. I remember when I was younger, I was interested in art, literature, feminism, music, good deeds & veterinary skills. Now I'm all about the cock. Well, all about those moments when you brush up against the person you really like & you get butterflies, which basically boils down to: 'the cock'. NO MORE! I am getting back in to my old interests, I am going to start reading about astrology, writing my dissertation, obsessing over charitable deeds instead of boy smells & walks. Loneliness is no excuse to be such a...girl. Emma & I were discussing it yesterday, & we think that lesbianism could be a serious option. Neither of us are opposed to the idea, & we think it would solve a lot of problems. We already love each other & I've seen her drink a bottle & a half of wine, eat half a cheese board & then throw up out of the window. Intimacy is a wonderful thing. I am going to get out of bed, tidy up my box room/study & write some of my dissertation. I will then research everything there is to know about a topic that I haven't picked yet. Maybe Robins, I've seen about ten of them this past week, & I had it on good authority that they're birds specifically made for Father Christmas o'clock. I will also start knitting a winter scarf, since I'm over this piddly excuse for a summer already. Bring on snow & bed socks. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

Be careful of the curse that falls on your lovers, it starts so soft & sweet & turns them to hunters [07 Jul 2009|08:25am] [ mood | tired ] [ music | Floooo' ] I'm going to put this all behind an lj cut, & I'd also like to apologise to feeble_slumber & truntles for the fact that everyone's talking about something that you really wanted to come to & was spoiled for you by stupid airports. I'm really sorry, & it seriously would have been 100 times better if you were both there. Next year, you MUST come! Plus, if it helps, I pulled the muscles in my legs trying to squat down at the side of the earth drop because all of the portaloos were basically overflowing with poo. ( Pimms, Pimms, I like Pimms...but I love cheese ) For the past two mornings my liver has actually hurt. I don't think that's a good thing, but it's like I got my money's worth. I have to get ready to go & get my hair cut now. I hate haircuts far more than normal people hate going to the dentist. I'm so scared that I may vom a bit beforehand. Girls actually enjoy this?! Mental. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

[15 Jun 2009|09:41am] I have the skin of a 13 year-old Amy Winehouse impersonator, who also happens to be a crack addict. I can't deal with this skin, I haven't had spots for years! I was home alone for a week, wombular angst crept up & I may have gone a bit mental with the lack of healthy living, but I didn't deserve this! It had better clear up by the time I go to work on Wednesday, as this is just ridiculous. Currently drinking as much water as my body can handle without throwing up, & will be spending the day avoiding uni work & peeing. Heavenly. My updates are few & far between because my life really is mainly just either being asleep for 4 hours a night, or feeling guilty about not doing any uni work. I'm okay with this, because cups of tea still exist in the world, & I found out that some kind soul has put all of the Australian episodes of home&away up youtube. This was really good yesterday, but now I've caught up with Australia & am fucked for the next few weeks at 6pm. I've rekindled my addiction to eBay, & am currently bidding on 8 items that I don't even really want that much, but I'll be damned if I let any other little shit take the thrill of winning them away from me! Grapefruit, cup of tea & then I suppose I should at least sit at my desk & look like I'm being studious. Ugh, life!

[24 May 2009|03:36pm] [ mood | happy ] Jenni found this stuck in the bus stop around the corner from my house. I don't know why that person's head has been cut out, but that's a loooong time to hold a grudge. I love the 'fro on the guy in the back. I would like to be friends with him so I could touch it all day. I started a new job, & I frigging love it (the money, mainly). I love the people, & I love how everyone goes out on the Friday & gets absolutely slaughtered. All of this new-found sociability & getting something which resembles a life has meant that I'm really behind on doing my dissertation, & am no way going to get it finished before the deadline in October. I don't really care, I quite like Wales again. I'm not sure if I even want to live in London anymore. I'm going to sit in the garden & try to get this research log written, & drink my body weight in tea (that's a lot of tea). What a lovely weekend. I'm annoying myself being this bloody chirpy. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

There's a chip on your shoulder girl, & by god it'll make you fall [03 May 2009|11:37am] [ mood | aggravated ] My womb fucking hates me. That year when I didn't have a period was amazing, in retrospect. I thought I'd pickled it up good & proper in my hazy youth, but now it's back with a vengeance. This weekend I've been home alone. I don't know how Macaulay Culkin found so much to do, & made it look so dangerous & exciting. I've literally been sat around, wondering if 7pm is too early to go to bed for the night, lying on the floor & imagining what it would be like if we all lived on the ceiling (upturned lampshades would make artsy coffee tables, I've decided). I've been making mental bargains with my brain, "If you read a book until 3pm, I'll let you watch that Shipwrecked you've taped...then you're on your own again". I would like everyone to come back home & entertain me, please. So fucking bored. I got so bored & lonely at one point that I turned on the radio. There was a film review on which was so unbelievably sexist & chauvinistic that it prompted me to e-mail them. It is only a local station, & some may deem this as the first sign that I'm doomed for a life of angry spinsterhood, but it quelled the hormonal rage I'm feeling for a few minutes. ( Suck My Left One ) Even if it was full of lies, I think I made my point. I am going to see the Wolverine film next weekend. Jenni et al are coming down to visit for the weekend. I miss her. Start my new job on Tuesday. Crapping myself. I do like the fact that my new boss puts kisses at the end of her e-mails, though. That's the kind of frivolous disregard for acceptable business behaviour that I can get on board with! I need a hot water bottle, a punching bag, or a bit of a cry. The weather is beautiful today actually, so I'm going to sit outside with my book & drink lemonade to cheer myself up. Little daisies have sprung up in my garden. Even if this is due to bird poo, I like them! ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

Reasons not to be an idiot [30 Apr 2009|07:26pm] [ mood | calm ] London was same ol' same ol', & by that I mean fucking beautiful, homely & fun. The only down point was Friday, but luckily I was far too drunk to remember anything. It's not clever. Not eating anything all day & then drinking so much in such a short space of time may also have played its part. I woke up & thought my feet were covered in mud, but no. It just rhymed with it. MASSACRE. I don't even know how it happened, I was wearing my new open-toe sandals, & therefore I must have walked in to something...with both feet. It's all very bizarre, I'm going to blame silent elves sneaking in to Emma's room in the middle of the night & stabbing my feet, & not the fact that I'm too old to be drinking like I'm still 18, & was wearing open-toed shoes.( Picture of the gore ) I am aware that my toes look like fingers that have been super-glued on to the end of a foot. I walked in to a step again this morning & can barely walk now, but I deserve it for acting like a cretin. The rest of the week was a lot less tacky, & involved seeing everyone, a trip to Weybridge for a BBQ & comedy DVD night with Tim&Louise (that's them, there, grilling & whatnot). Today we learnt about the student protests in France, 1968. Lauren & I felt all inspired & wrote a bitchy letter to a lecturer, telling her that her lack of communication & terrible timetable (giving us lectures two weeks after all the work had been handed in) was a bit shoddy. Maybe I should have burnt stuff in her office, too. Or at least written a death threat. I missed Neighbours due to her terrible organisational skills. SOMEONE MUST PAY! I sometimes wish that I'd been born in to an age where revolutions were on every street corner, & people had secret handshakes. Swine flu will have to do for now, I suppose. I'm fighting the urge to stock-pile chick peas. I love a good panic. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

Facebook [24 Apr 2009|09:00am] I had a dream last night about Facebook. Not even a good, exciting dream, just me, clicking through Facebook. I woke up & realised that something must be done. I hate Facebook, I really do, but I probably end up on there for about half of the time I spend in front of my laptop, when really I should be working on my MA. I don't even like half of the people I'm friends with on there. It's like being stuck in a really bad high school reunion that you can't escape from, & which constantly makes you feel bad about your achievements (or lack thereof). I'm not a lawyer, I don't have a baby, I'm not in a relationship (or worse, married) & I don't get to carry a briefcase to work every day...because I work in my pyjamas. I think that Facebook is unhealthy for someone as obsessive as myself, so I woke up today & deactivated my account. I'm now waiting to go to London, where I will start my Facebook rehabilitation. I needed to make an entry about it because, like with every addiction, the more people the know about it the harder it will be to relapse. I will not be reactivating it until after my dissertation's been handed in, & hopefully by then the Facebook monkey will be off my back & I won't even want to. I'm waiting for the shakes & hallucinations to kick in. I'm going to hang out at Twitter instead from now on, with my real friends; Bill Bailey, Mark Hoppus, Philip Schofield, Stephen Fry & Steve Buscemi. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

Carlsberg don't do dog sticks... [23 Apr 2009|10:10am] [ mood | chipper ] I've turned in to one of those people you meet who are absolutely obsessed with their pets. I could only love her more had I carried her wriggling, furry body in my womb & given birth to her myself. I say things like "Did you hear that?! She just yawned & sounded like she said 'merci'. I bet she's French, look at her eyes, French!". Except, nobody else really understands why I'm so obsessed with my dog. Even my other family members think it's a bit unhealthy. Yeah, they love her, but they don't want to carry her around in a papoose & they don't hide upstairs for five minutes just so they can get a happy greeting from her again. I like the fact that she's ridiculously ugly & her face gets even more mangled when she's happy. This morning I went downstairs & threw myself at her, & sometimes she looks at me like she really pities me for being a poor, affection-starved human with cabin fever. Judging eyes from a dog are never a good thing. I think it might be important to leave the house more. Tomorrow I'm off to London, & will be able to shake off the mental impact of spending all my days in this tiny room, trying to train my brain to be a human thesaurus & failing. Instead, I generally just sit here waiting for the man with Down's Syndrome who lives across the road to get dropped off in his bus. I know that sounds horrible, but I'm fascinated by him, he's in his 40s & his name is Martin. He just looks so happy all the time! ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

I get along [12 Apr 2009|11:13am] [ mood | itchy ] I probably haven't been updating enough. I'm in limbo, but it's okay. Coping mechanisms are what life's about! I went to bed last night thinking that I might finally have caught chicken pox, after all of these years. I was a little bit excited about it, I'd thought up all these pox-related puns that I could phone my friends & say to them today. Turns out it's just the most extreme stress rash I've ever had. When did my skin decide that it hated me? I treat it very well these days! I don't take drugs, I don't smoke, I moisturise twice a day with an award-winning £1.50 Aldi moisturiser & I drink so much water that approximately 70% of my day is spent peeing. Still, it spurns me. My skin - "Little bit stressed are you, Keely?" Me - "I don't feel that stressed, no, not really, thanks!" My skin - "Well, you're wrong...*BAMPOWWHAP* Here, have a massive, disfiguring rash all over your neck, torso, legs & let's just throw in the arms too, for good measure" Me - "Fuck you, skin! One day I will get my revenge by injecting botox in to you & eventually YOU WILL ROT" I have no friends around here, I do just sit around wondering what conversations with my own organs would be like, could they speak. They're disgruntled fuckers, especially my liver, that's just waiting to get revenge. I came back from Ireland a few days ago (with real friends, not just my organs), it was amazing. Everyone spoke like they were in Boyzone, & even though Dublin actually raped my purse in a way I'd never experienced before, I fell in love with the place. I had a 16-hour wait in Bristol airport before I managed to leave, wrote a load of letters & turned in to Snow White (in that birds came to me, I still can't sing & although I'm trying, aren't nearly as optimistic as that chirpy bitch) I like things in places they shouldn't be, & I like the way the duct tape on the floor looked like a twig. I also spent about 5 minutes imagining that the bird had to catch a plane, too. "Fuck this migration shit, have you seen the prices at bmibaby?!". I'd better write this essay & scratch myself for a few hours then, I suppose. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

23 x 3 = 69 [21 Mar 2009|09:15pm] [ mood | relaxed ] I have never seen Notting Hill, until right this second. I wish I'd seen it sooner because I'd have appreciated the fact that we lived around the corner from it for 6 months a lot more had I seen Fitty Hugh Grant wandering our streets. Julia Roberts revealing her midriff is a bit disturbing, though. Tonight I've tidied the house, scrubbed all the dishes, washed my bedding, showered & now I'm in bed with a cup of tea, watching television. I was actually excited by the prospect of clean linen & waking up to a tidy bedroom. Highlight of my day: getting an Angela Carter book on audiotape so I can listen to it in the morning (too lazy to re-read, & I like stories in my head). I sicken myself. I think the old spinster lady next door has more of a rock 'n' roll lifestyle than I do. At least she has handymen come to see her throughout the week, a chance of a seedy porn-type scenario must brighten the day up somewhat. Maybe I should break the dishwasher & call a plumber, one with a moustache & a tool belt. What happened to the Saturday nights when we'd start the madness at 3pm & get home at 11am the next day? Stupid Emma being in hospital, I should be in London now! I've actually had quite a nice day, pottering around & cleaning everything. I'm officially past it. I've also got to the age where, if I'm watching a sad film, I have to sit & cry with my hands stretching my forehead out because I'm worried about giving myself wrinkles of woe. Tomorrow I'm going to bake a cake for Mother's Day. Racking up lines of flour, hardcore. I'm going to live on the edge & have another cup of tea now. At 9:30pm, REBEL REBEL YOUR FACE IS A MESS! ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

I've run out of coffee & am bored [10 Feb 2009|06:43pm] [ mood | tired ] I need to dye my hair again, the light roots are coming through & it makes me look as though I'm balding in contrast to the rest of it. It's how I imagine my reflection will look in 40 years when I'm 63 & my hair's thinning. I'm too lazy to dye it at the moment, plus this rain doesn't seem to be stopping & I won't be able to leave the house without looking like my scalp's bleeding. The perils of being a woman, bald or bleeding, take your pick. Family crisis at the moment, a much younger member of my family has got herself knocked up, all hell has broken loose. Apparently she's quite happy about it, & if I was a bit closer to her I'd try to do the supportive thing. It seems a bit impersonal to send her a message on facebook to say "Heard you're sprogged up. E-mail me if you need to talk", but that's what I basically did. Since I'm generally regarded as the black sheep of the family (by that side, anyway) she may not want to speak to me, but at least she'll probably come to me if she decides not to keep it. Today I've mostly sat around, reading Oryx & Crake & getting frustrated with the amount of typos in Margaret Atwood's work. I noticed plenty in The Edible Woman when I read it last week, & thought maybe it was just a fluke, but no, there are about 30 in this one as well. I still like it, so far it's a good read, but surely there's no excuse for THAT many when you're a famous author who can pay good money for proof-readers? I can't wait until Emma gets here on Friday. I think she needs to get hammered & talk crap in dingy old pubs after the past few weeks, & I'm always happy to oblige with that! ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

[12 Jan 2009|03:03pm] [ mood | chipper ] I rescued a deer this morning. It was a talking deer, who was kind enough to say "Keely, it's time to wake up & write an essay now". GRATTITUDE. It was a dream deer, but I have been feeling resentment towards that little fucker since I woke up at 6am, after sleeping for only 3 hours. Last night I trudged back from London with tired eyes & an exhausted mind. I was sat, happily printing out my two completed essays, congratulating myself on finally being mature enough to ensure that work was completed before a deadline, when I got a text message off a girl on my course. Said girl wanted to inform me that the deadlines we'd both been sticking to were completely wrong, & therefore I was missing a 3000 word essay on another essay. Yes, at MA level they think that it's just fucking HILARIOUS to make you write a detailed essay on how you wrote another essay. I don't particularly see how this is going to broaden my mind, but whatever. I panicked, sobbed a bit, cursed my desire to do this stupid bastard degree & then started throwing clothes in a bag to head back to London or up to see Jenni, I wasn't sure. I told my parents I'd made a mistake, shouldn't have left London, hated the degree & that I thought my lecturers were all sadistic bastards (actual sadism, whipping, masturbation, incest & the rest of it). Unfortunately, crying & moaning wasn't going to write the essay, so I stayed up until 3am, got a 3 hour nap after I'd started hallucinating due to lack of sleep (I probably got about 8 hours the whole time I was in London). I handed in 3 essays today & now I am spent. I still haven't slept, but now I'm quite enjoying the weird high you get from a lack of sleep. I need to apologise to a lot of my friends for being very shit lately. Now that I'm not as entirely consumed by University work, I can go back to being quite a mediocre, flighty friend. Success! ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

Weep little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start. [02 Dec 2008|10:29am] [ music | mumford & sons - roll away your stone ] I'm writing an essay, & words are falling out at a shockingly slow rate. I know it's in me, but there's this urge to procrastinate that is too strong to fight. I thought that I'd have structured ideas & would actually read theories completely, but no, I'm still writing essays in the same way I did as an undergraduate. How did people write essays before google? I admire their gumption, but I don't have it. I've woken up at 7am to go cycling the past few days. Listening to jingly folk music & cycling through deserted, icy streets is my new favourite thing to do. Everything is silent, there's nobody around, all you can hear is the whirring of your wheels & whatever music's in your ears. I even love the light on my bike, the freedom is amazing. I should have started sooner. I'm going to have to do it every day, it wakes me up & then I feel as though the day is an open chasm that's mine for the taking, or filling, or something a little less sexual. I feel awake. It's a nice feeling. I bought Blissfields tickets yesterday. I have to remind myself that, once this degree's over, I will have done what I wanted to do, & then there'll be no pressure. If I want to be a switchboard operator again, then I can. If I want to sit about in fields with friends, drinking cider & talking about crap all day for the rest of my life, then I can! My friend saw someone jump in front of a tube train on Saturday night, & I didn't answer her phone call because I was with Jen & Dave. I feel so guilty about it, I just worked up the courage to listen to the answerphone message, & she was crying & saying that she'd just puked on herself & that the woman next to her was covered in the dead person's blood. Lovely. That poor girl has had enough shit for ten people in her 25 years of life. She's okay now, I've spoken to her since, but I should have answered the phone. ESSAY. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

Apparently I don't update this enough with the mundane details of my life. [23 Sep 2008|09:49am] Last week I went back to London. Well, Weybridge at first, which is basically London. I stayed with Louise, we sat about, knitting, went on trips to the sweetest little museum ever, watched a LOT of Jeremy Kyle (for the life lessons) & experimented with ethanol & mould. It was lovely to see her, I miss her already. On Friday I left the safe little cocoon of Louise's & headed central, Acton-stylee. I met up with Trevor & another guy from work, & then met up with Emma. She turned up at the station with a £50 bottle of champagne that she'd blagged off a random man, & two champagne flutes. She's just the most bizarre person I've ever met. We decided that we should phone Tyrone & see if he'd drop us to the Reddy. I don't know why going there ever seems like a good idea, & I felt thoroughly shocking the next day. However, there was a bed to be built, so Emma decided that we needed to drink more wine. We ended up sitting on a duvet, watching films & eating far too much cheese. I think I have a cheese addiction & it's really not helping my efforts to lose weight & stop looking like a giant. Seven hours later, we had something that resembled a bed, & all three of us were pretty hammered. The next day we decided to be productive, so we went to Shepherd's Bush & watched some crazy Irish football match. I didn't understand it at all, it seemed like a cross between football & rugby, & since my grasp on both of those games individually is sparse (to say the least) I spent the whole match chatting to old random drunkards. Irish drunkards are so much better thant he normal kind! I'm not drinking until I go back to London for Halloween. The weekend after that Jenni is FINALLY back & I'm heading up to Manchester. I can't even think about how nice it's going to be to have her back, it's been a whole year & now it's a little over a month until I get her back. I spoke to her on the phone on Sunday & I just miss her so fucking much. University starts next Monday, I'm absolutely crapping myself. Hurrah. What I'm not going to talk about is how much I miss London & what a huge mistake I think I've made, my friends & family are tired of hearing about it, but this is the worst break-up I've ever experienced. BANG!

[12 Aug 2008|06:57pm] [ mood | contemplative ] Having spent the day reading the website of Jeanette Winterson, I've changed my mind about her. I still think her fiction's wonderful, but she comes across as too knowing. As a writer (her, not me), I don't think that a self-righteous streak can always serve to educate people. Perhaps my contempt for authority makes me kick against people telling me what to do, but I just think that people need to be left to make their own mistakes, & leading by example has always angered me. Then again, fiction is completely different from columns & blogs. I dunno, I wanted to love her as a person, but I just kept thinking that she seems so similar to some of the stupid knobs I've met in the past year. "Look at me, I'm a hippy, I'm better than you because I say so. Officially; I'm a good/caring/open person, but that's only applicable if you believe everything I do, don't comment on anything & don't do anything which is questionable by my own standards. PLUS, I'm right, so you're wrong! So there! Pass me the fucking crystal ball!!". Humour goes a long way in life, does that not matter anymore? Condemning someone because of their lifestyle choices just seems a little odd, & it works both ways. ARGHHHHH. I broke up with him last night, & it was fucking horrible, & it had to be done. I felt this huge rush of relief once it was all out in the open. OH, life! I'll quite happily read books & not fall in love again for the rest of my days, escapism isn't escapism if you're actually escaping, innit? Yes. You watch these films when you're little, & read the accompanying pamphlets, but what do you do when 'The One' fucks you over & then you can't trust him again? I don't care what anyone says, it just isn't worth losing respect for yourself in the hope that a man will change & won't cheat on you again. Only you can make yourself happy, everything else is just a plus. SOAP BOX. OFF. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

Cross your fingers, hold your toes [10 Aug 2008|07:22pm] Today I've sat around crying at 'P.S. I Love You' & reading the new Pat Barker novel. Oh, Pat Barker. She does escapism like no other. Well, a few others, but I do love her special brand a bit more than most. In three weeks this will all be over & I'll be back in Swansea, & tomorrow I need to break up with him. I need to break up with him in order to save my sanity, & to avoid history repeating itself. I can't take the world seriously, but I keep finding myself in these situations of my own creation that I can't handle! I got a text from Jenni, telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself. She's very right, I must stop feeling sorry for myself. I'm going to watch 'You've got Mail' & be thankful that I don't have to kiss Tom Hanks. The world could be a lot worse, & now I have new music, a new phone, & when I get back to Wales I fully intend to buy two goldfish/mice & will hug them to sleep. Might be a bit harder with the fish, but maybe I can start sleeping in the bath. I read The Stone Gods by Jeanette Winterson last week. It's perfect & I am very glad that people like her & Pat Barker are still alive to verbalise their thoughts so I don't have to, as I'm quite blatantly shit at it. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

[01 Jul 2008|02:38pm] [ mood | sore ] I have toothache! Pain! It feels as though my jaw is going to cave in. I can't afford to get it fixed until October, unfortunately, so I'm going to ignore this pain & continue doing household chores. I've turned in to a housewife for the 4 boys, it seems. I don't mind living with all men, as I still think women are crazy, but it would be nice if occasionally we shared the burden of cleaning. Mostly I enjoy it, I find it cathartic & whatnot, but at the same time I feel as though the feminist inside is dying. Marleena's moving away at the end of the summer, she told me yesterday, it made me sad but also really happy, because (although I'm going to miss her) I think it's probably the best thing for her. London's a funny little place, you get stuck in ruts so easily & it takes a jolt to shake you out of it. I'm sad about leaving, but at the same time excited about studying again. I'm going to miss all of the friends I've made here so much, they've become my family. Emma & I were discussing it, & I'm going to move in with her & Sinead for the last few weeks of my London life so that we can bring in da funk, bring in da noize (or something similar). This Saturday we're going to the gay pride march with my new friend, a very camp, lovely young man. He's taken me on as his fag hag, I feel as though I'm living in Will & Grace most days. When I think about the people in my life who matter the most to me, 90% of them didn't even exist to me until January this year, & I think that's quite wonderful. I was so disgustingly unhappy being back in Cardiff, & now things are bloody brilliant. Nap time now. I've recently started watching Hollyoaks religiously & napping again, I'm gearing up for Studentville. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

[07 Jun 2008|11:34am] [ mood | giddy ] I don't really know what to write in here anymore, I don't have the internet at home & don't want to update in work. It gets past the point where you can write, too much has happened & my life changes so frequently that I can barely keep up. I'm very happy, though. I'm so glad that I came back to London, & I'm not even going to think about having to go back to Wales at the moment. 3 months left of this, & sometimes I'm so happy that I can't breathe. Reuben have called it a day, that made me cry for about an hour, mainly because it's just one more thing that Jenni & I had that's now over, end of an era. She'll be back soon, which makes me feel a lot less scared about leaving this little bubble I've created for myself here. She's pretty much the only one I can tell about what's going on, I need to sit with her for about 8 hours, cup after cup of tea & word-vomit up my mind. Oh well, this will have to do for now, I have no attention span anymore! I can't read, or watch television, or do anything. It's gone. Now for a walk in the park, & then I'll meet up with MC. ROCK, PAPER...BANG!

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