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the story of a girl...
who cried a river and drowned the whole world


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How I'm Feeling: dorky dorky

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And so I make my triumphant return to livejournal. Huzzah and all that jazz. Never one to wallow or ponder too long upon my reasoning for such an act, I shall dive right in to the good stuff, and what better way to summarise what has been a whopping fifty-three weeks of relative silence on my part that my very own version of the Mayfly Project - a website which encourages brevity in summarising (and by extension, working through) the events of the past year.

Think of the past year, and express that year in 24 words (symbolising the 24 hour life cycle of the Mayfly). It sounds simple, but when you think of it, the less words you have to play with the more each word has to make a point, and so the more you are forced to really think about what you want to say; what you feel you need to express. In one simple exercise you highlight the pivotal points and experiences in your life, and the words you struggle to condense are clearly those which represent the events which you have the most feelings about. When you can, without any real trouble, condense your life into 24 words and no more, I believe you are thinking clearly enough to disect those pivotal events and deal with them if necessary.

Thinking it through, I can see the benefit of some Mayfly-esque verbal economy in some other areas of my discombobulated mind. For example, how might I summarise myself? How might I describe my most recent experiences? What I want for the near future?

The Year in Words: Eat. Maybe sleep. Falling. Missed tutorials and library fines. Distraction. Past relived. Distance. Recovery. Rehab. Rash decisions. Feeling lost and hopeless. Falling. Catch me.

Personality: Quixotic. Capricious. Unfortunately naive, with just a peppering of the arcane. Posesses the propensity, nay the predilection to that which appears unobtainable. Loves weakly.

Recent Events: High and mighty. Total 180. Confusion. Innapropriate lust. Feeling letdown, abandoned and undervalued. Drugged and frightened. Ashamed. Weightloss. Weightgain. Money troubles. Citraloplam. Getting better.

The Plan: Make the decision. Do the time. Head down, suck it up. Self-worth means something. Make this count. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. You will be clean.

Aah, sweet clarity.



Go on - hit me up with some Mayfly Clarity of your own - I'd simply adore to read them! Plus, I miss you guys (if you are still out there after so long, which I truly hope you are) and it would be an awesome way to catch up. Yes, I think you simply must.

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How I'm Feeling: awake awake
Current Music: Elliot Smith - Through the Bars

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You fight your superficiality, your shallowness, so as to try to come at people without unreal expectations, without an overload of bias or hope or arrogance, as untanklike as you can be, sans cannon and machine guns and steel plating half a foot thick; you come at them unmenacingly on your own ten toes instead of tearing up the turf with your caterpillar treads, take them on with an open mind, as equals, man-to-man as it were, and yet you never fail to get them wrong. You might as well have the brain of a tank.

You get them wrong before you meet them, while you're anticipating meeting them; you get them wrong while you're with them; and then you go home to tell somebody else about the meeting and you get them all wrong again. Since the same generally goes for them with you, the whole thing is really a dazzling illusion empty of all perception, an astonishing farce of misperception.

And yet what are we to do about this terribly significant business of other people, which gets bled of the significance we think it has and takes on instead a significance that is so ludicrous, so ill-equipped are we all to envision one another's interior workings and invisible aims?

The fact remains that getting people right is not what living is about anyway. It's getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That's how we know we're alive; we're wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget about being right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride. But if you can do that - well, lucky you.





Yes, I am a sucker for a good Roth novel. My hero.
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Long time no post.

Life is strange.

My flat is a zoo. I live with loveable savages, most of which do not pay rent nor is this their noted place of residence.

University is a plodding sort of affair. Easy, almost painfully easy. My mind is being restricted as opposed to enlightened by the drivel they make me learn and regurgitate at steady intervals. I feel a bit like a penguin somedays, spewing up my leftovers for a screaming, squawking, miserably unappreciative yet pompous lecturer brood.

The joy in my life is dripping through some sort of ceiling crack - every so often it hits me square on and I feel it, but mostly, it just seems to accumulate above me, just out of reach, then because it has become so laiden and heavy with anticipation, it runs down the grubby wall instead, escaping down the drain and in my head at least, being raped of all its potential beauty by the total cunts who live downstairs and play their shit music too loud and too late.

As for the boy, I don't have a dicking clue.

Is this a little on the over dramatic side?

I thought so.
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I just finished reading a compilation of short stories by the wonderful Dan Rhodes called ' Don't Tell Me The Truth About Love...', and can tell you that I was spellbound from start to finish.

However great the temptation must be for anyone who sets out writing a book about love to present a sanitised, love triumphs over all, farytale ending type effort, Rhodes hands over to his reader a breath of rancidly fresh air -his writing is comperable to (the great) Angela Carter as far as I am concerned, and I love it!

'Dont Tell Me The Truth About Love...' contains seven short stories, and really will have you in rapturous awe. From the rejected romeo who turns himself to wood, to the beautiful girl who loves rubbish more that men, this book is a true wonder to behold. I really cannot reccomend it highly enough.

You have no idea how frustrating it is to have read something so amazingly rave-able about and not have anyone else to discuss it with. Someone else read it please, and then we can rave about it together!

'Dont Tell Me The Truth About Love...' is availiable from Cannongate Books and costs about £5.99 UK.

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How I'm Feeling: cheerful cheerful

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I hate these 'meme' things, as a general rule, but I am running low on inspiration, or rather, I have something to write but am not ready to write it yet, and this one is a fairly interesting time filler (or at least has the potential to be, depending on what you lot answer with). I got it from melsmarsh.

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me".
2. I will respond by asking you five questions.
3. You will update your LJ with the answers to the questions.


Questions I've Been Asked...Collapse )

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How I'm Feeling: geeky geeky

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Fucking Neopets just Fucking Froze my account for no Fucking Reason. It said I swore on the message boards. It has a FUCKING CHAT FILTER - you can't even say sniggers - SNIGGERS!!!!!

I wasn't on for over an hour, came back, and it said I was frozen. Money grabbing pricks. Fuck them. Corporate Dick Face Cunt Fuck Bitch yo moma FUCK HEADS.

I assume you can feel the hatred and venom seething through my fingertips as I type.

'Nuf Said.



Oh, and I am not meeting my deadlines again. Perhaps, on reflection, this is truly where afore-mentioned venom and hatred should sit -

Perhaps I loathe myself. Perhaps.

It is a possibility.

Perhaps.



The breakfast club is on. Fuck it.

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How I'm Feeling: frustrated fucked off

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I have been on hiatus, as it were. I have been busy and well, busy. I have not read anything about any of you in weeks. I will set this right in about two weeks when I finally stop pulling essays out of my ass and get down to doing something I actually enjoy.

Today I was very industrious, and to keep this up I decided to drag my sorry behind onto Live Journal and check-in with you all, or at least pretend that any of you actually missed me :D

I made Carrot and Corriander Soup, Chocolate Brownies, Chicken Noodle Stir-Fry and Kievs all from scratch and all without a cook book, and they all turned out fabulously. I also tidied my house from top to bottom and rearranged my furniture in the front room, scrubbed my kitched, did laundry, read a few chapters on feminist Anthroplology in Melanesia, and wrote about 600 words on Gender Theory. Spiffing.

Now I am updating a neopets petpage for my guild - yes I am leader of a neopets guild - I wonder at myself sometimes, I really do.

Anyway, my photography has taken a major backseat but I did buy a new case, so who knows...

More Wine. Adieu.

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How I'm Feeling: hyper industrious

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For a few weeks I have been trying to find a way to broach the subject of how I deal with important meetings, and how I manage to do the exact opposite of what I should be doing. Then I found this...



Anyone else find this uncomfortably close to their own reality?

Terrapins and HindusCollapse )

Oh - and a little something for you all. This is freaking hillarious. The Top 10 Sci-Fi Movies that never existed - Go read it!

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How I'm Feeling: dorky dorky

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I come to you all fresh from having consumed two bottles of pink fizzy stuff, (Cava Rose, to be specific about the affair).

I watched Pride and Prejudice again, and then I watched the scene where Mr Darcy walks across the moor in all his delicious splendour over and over and.... well, yes. I do rather like that scene. Isn't he simply edible? *sighs*



Other than that, I have yet to purchase anything for Valentines day, which technically is already upon me. Tomorrow I will have to be up and out to my lectures, hangover allowing, before my darling Colin even gets to sleep properly. He is out with friends again and all sources say he it will be a debocherous evening, set to end some time in the early twenty-second century. Thus, I shall have plenty of time to beg, steal or borrow a suitable token of my affections before he has tim eto notice that breakfast in bed was not forthcoming and that I am not, infact, parading around in provocative lingere anad doing the tango.

I do so hate Valentines Day, but I do so love my Colin. What a Dilema. Also, I must remember to buy printer paper for my photo studio - His card is specially photographed and set up, but I ran out of darned photo-quality paper this evening. All is almost lost, but so long as he arrives back home at the expected point of sufficient inebriation, the day may yet be saved.

That is all.

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How I'm Feeling: thirsty smashed

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