G is back. Yay for sex and cuddles and being brought tea in bed.
I have my first exam in exactly a week. I'm worrying just enough to want to go hide under the duvet and not come out.
I'm on the heel on the second sock. So self-impressed.
Mouse infestation: day whatever, but my landlord is an arse, so I'm moving. After I find a housemate.
I've had a haircut. It's been termed the "post-cancer kylie" look. My hair is now officially brown, so I might have to dye it again.
Showing posts with label little things. Show all posts
Showing posts with label little things. Show all posts
like a woodpecker, except not.
My tattoos are as much a part of my body as well, my hair, or my eyes, or the veins in my wrists or the freckles on my... never mind. Yes, I put them there, they're not genetic and they're artificial, but they're me. I could have a nose job and a boob job and so much plastic surgery to change the way I look, and I don't think people would react in so much horror than they do to me putting a little ink into my skin. I've hardly got "cunt" tattooed on my forehead, have I?
They mean something to me; a period in my life I want to remember, and perhaps more importantly, marking my body as mine, accepting the way I look and becoming comfortable in my skin and myself. My legs, my arse, my face. So I'm not some generically "hot" girl; I'm not a blonde middle-class princess (well, I am blonde, and I am middle-class, but I can stand on my own two feet thank you very much) and I like who I am. Getting a tattoo is my way of saying "I love myself", marking myself as my own individual.
So don't tell me "it's not so bad", that at least I've not got sleeves or a chest-piece or something visible. You wouldn't tell me I was fat on the second date, would you?
Oh no, you did.
They mean something to me; a period in my life I want to remember, and perhaps more importantly, marking my body as mine, accepting the way I look and becoming comfortable in my skin and myself. My legs, my arse, my face. So I'm not some generically "hot" girl; I'm not a blonde middle-class princess (well, I am blonde, and I am middle-class, but I can stand on my own two feet thank you very much) and I like who I am. Getting a tattoo is my way of saying "I love myself", marking myself as my own individual.
So don't tell me "it's not so bad", that at least I've not got sleeves or a chest-piece or something visible. You wouldn't tell me I was fat on the second date, would you?
Oh no, you did.
it's half-empty!
The mothership and I went to ikea today, after dropping off BoyWonder's cricket and hockey bags at one of those storage companies. I love ikea, but hate it too. It's full of the most wonderful, useless stuff - ok, some of it is dreadfully useful, but that's the stuff I don't need. The useless stuff is what I want. I ended up buying another dog bed for Indigo - this wonderful soft donut shape, covered in fun fur with legs and a tail - because I'm trying to persuade him to sleep more on the floor.
But, pleasantly - and surprisingly enough - the store was quiet. There were blissfully few people, few screaming babies (except for a few delightful preschoolers who needed putting on a lead). I know ikea is a family friendly shop - they're proud of it. And I do like kids (well, most of the time... except for the screamy ones, and preferably if I know them) but sometimes it's just so lovely to not have to dodge prams and toddlers.
Other thoughts... I've become addicted to wardrobe_remix on flickr. I love looking at the pictures; they're far more inspiring than the skeletal identikit models in the magazines, and show a gorgeous range of styles and ideas than you see just walking along the street. It's driving me to be more creative about what I wear, but also reminding me why I don't read women's magazines regularly.
But, pleasantly - and surprisingly enough - the store was quiet. There were blissfully few people, few screaming babies (except for a few delightful preschoolers who needed putting on a lead). I know ikea is a family friendly shop - they're proud of it. And I do like kids (well, most of the time... except for the screamy ones, and preferably if I know them) but sometimes it's just so lovely to not have to dodge prams and toddlers.
Other thoughts... I've become addicted to wardrobe_remix on flickr. I love looking at the pictures; they're far more inspiring than the skeletal identikit models in the magazines, and show a gorgeous range of styles and ideas than you see just walking along the street. It's driving me to be more creative about what I wear, but also reminding me why I don't read women's magazines regularly.
*shock*
| You Are 98% Feminist |
 You are a total feminist. This doesn't mean you're a man hater (in fact, you may be a man). You just think that men and women should be treated equally. It's a simple idea but somehow complicated for the world to put into action. |
It makes a change from doodling in the margins...
Sometimes, if I cry
It's not from pain
Not from hurt or even anger
But from frustration
Exhaustion
Or joy.
Sometimes, if I laugh
It's not from pleasure
Not from happiness
But from anger
Pain
Or delight.
And if, sometimes,
I say nothing
It's not because I have nothing to say
But because I don't have the words
To tell you of my pain
Frustration
Or happiness.
...
To the boy who made me cry
Told me I was ugly
And no-one would kiss me but him.
Who ignored me when it suited him
And only came to me when he wished to.
To the boy who hurt me deepest
Goodbye, memory.
To the boy who told me stories
Until I fell asleep
And then stole my duvet
Complained of my cold hands
And left me though he loved me
Goodbye, old love,
Remember me, dearest friend.
To the boy who made me laugh
When I was crying
Who made me smile
At the simplest of things
Whose voice made me
Makes me
Weak at the knees
And weak in the head
When all he said was my name
And who drives me mad
When he doesn't pick up the phone.
Even though I have nothing to say.
To the boy who told me stories
Called just to say goodnight
Asked the most ridiculous questions
Makes me cackle like a pantomime witch.
Who makes me nervous
And drives me to distraction.
... unfinished
It's not from pain
Not from hurt or even anger
But from frustration
Exhaustion
Or joy.
Sometimes, if I laugh
It's not from pleasure
Not from happiness
But from anger
Pain
Or delight.
And if, sometimes,
I say nothing
It's not because I have nothing to say
But because I don't have the words
To tell you of my pain
Frustration
Or happiness.
...
To the boy who made me cry
Told me I was ugly
And no-one would kiss me but him.
Who ignored me when it suited him
And only came to me when he wished to.
To the boy who hurt me deepest
Goodbye, memory.
To the boy who told me stories
Until I fell asleep
And then stole my duvet
Complained of my cold hands
And left me though he loved me
Goodbye, old love,
Remember me, dearest friend.
To the boy who made me laugh
When I was crying
Who made me smile
At the simplest of things
Whose voice made me
Makes me
Weak at the knees
And weak in the head
When all he said was my name
And who drives me mad
When he doesn't pick up the phone.
Even though I have nothing to say.
To the boy who told me stories
Called just to say goodnight
Asked the most ridiculous questions
Makes me cackle like a pantomime witch.
Who makes me nervous
And drives me to distraction.
... unfinished
Why I Shouldn't Watch Romantic Movies
I end up wishing, hoping, for that mysterious guy on a horse to pitch up, throw me up behind him and ride off with me into the sunset. Possibly having trained the buns and hound to run along behind us (I can see it now: "wanted: one prince charming. Must have gsoh, be housetrained, literate, well-read and love animals"). Heh. Maybe I've spent too long watching the bunny honeymoon - although, to be fair, I don't long for someone to jump on my head and dry-hump it, which is what Pete keeps doing to Doris. No, I want snuggles.
Anyway.
I'm scared of what will happen. Nervous of what he'll think, whether I'll say something stupid, have an outbreak of spots. Getting my heart broken, battered or just plain bruised. Actually, scratch that. The risk is half the fun, no?
Anyway.
I'm scared of what will happen. Nervous of what he'll think, whether I'll say something stupid, have an outbreak of spots. Getting my heart broken, battered or just plain bruised. Actually, scratch that. The risk is half the fun, no?
In Embryology (incomplete)
Sitting here
Bored
Out of my skull
Listening to a strange little man
Talking about something called Potter's Syndrome
Over a background of students
Chattering in the corridor outside
Free.
A girl struggles with her presentation
Stutters
Continues
I wish I were anywhere but here
In the sunshine
In the rain
In the pollution that turns my lungs black
As fast as your cigarettes do yours.
I wonder if it's raining where you are
If you're awake to notice or if you're stuck in work
Speaking to a stranger
Instead of me.
Bored
Out of my skull
Listening to a strange little man
Talking about something called Potter's Syndrome
Over a background of students
Chattering in the corridor outside
Free.
A girl struggles with her presentation
Stutters
Continues
I wish I were anywhere but here
In the sunshine
In the rain
In the pollution that turns my lungs black
As fast as your cigarettes do yours.
I wonder if it's raining where you are
If you're awake to notice or if you're stuck in work
Speaking to a stranger
Instead of me.
Thoughts
I want...
to wake up next to someone
to be picked up
and not fall over backwards
to be giddy drunk on red wine
and talking silly
because I want to make you laugh
and because I'm drunk.
I want my dog
And to be able to name him.
I want someone to cook for
Because cooking is more fun when someone else eats it too
I want my Eddings books back
As my shelves are lacking in my favourite books
And I haven't read them in over a year
Is it possible to have withdrawal symptoms from not reading your favourite author?
I want my bunny back
To hear her flop over the stairs
Tell her off for jumping on my bed
Or the back of the sofa.
To lie nose-to-nose on the floor
Talking while she licks my head
Tell her she's everything to me, the thing that keeps me sane
And that my hair is not edible
Stroke her ears again.
I want toe-curlingly good sex
The sort that makes me laugh because I ache
And cry because I'm deliriously exhausted
And afterwards, I want to fall asleep
In a tangle of limbs and hands and bodies
And steal the duvet
Or wake up because he has.
I want breakfast in bed.
Or even just a good cup of tea.
I want to pass this year
Without a hitch
Or a breakdown
And yet not let go of my friends now I can't sit next to them anymore
I want to stay awake in lectures
Or at least not snore my way through proteins
I want to understand
See the point of it all
And get the answers first time instead of the eighth and not be laughed at for not understanding
I want the willpower to actually read all the pages I'm supposed to
Instead of falling asleep on the sofa
Clutching Heyer instead of Alberts.
I want a day without a headache
Without stress
Without wondering if the damn prozac makes a difference
Or wondering if I'd flip without it
Or if I'm going slightly mad.
I want someone who'll accept
That I'm depressed
It's a part of who I am
I want to accept that myself.
But I want someone who won't care.
Or will.
And who'll let me cry for no reason other than a sad song
Without trying to cheer me up.
I don't know what I want.
to wake up next to someone
to be picked up
and not fall over backwards
to be giddy drunk on red wine
and talking silly
because I want to make you laugh
and because I'm drunk.
I want my dog
And to be able to name him.
I want someone to cook for
Because cooking is more fun when someone else eats it too
I want my Eddings books back
As my shelves are lacking in my favourite books
And I haven't read them in over a year
Is it possible to have withdrawal symptoms from not reading your favourite author?
I want my bunny back
To hear her flop over the stairs
Tell her off for jumping on my bed
Or the back of the sofa.
To lie nose-to-nose on the floor
Talking while she licks my head
Tell her she's everything to me, the thing that keeps me sane
And that my hair is not edible
Stroke her ears again.
I want toe-curlingly good sex
The sort that makes me laugh because I ache
And cry because I'm deliriously exhausted
And afterwards, I want to fall asleep
In a tangle of limbs and hands and bodies
And steal the duvet
Or wake up because he has.
I want breakfast in bed.
Or even just a good cup of tea.
I want to pass this year
Without a hitch
Or a breakdown
And yet not let go of my friends now I can't sit next to them anymore
I want to stay awake in lectures
Or at least not snore my way through proteins
I want to understand
See the point of it all
And get the answers first time instead of the eighth and not be laughed at for not understanding
I want the willpower to actually read all the pages I'm supposed to
Instead of falling asleep on the sofa
Clutching Heyer instead of Alberts.
I want a day without a headache
Without stress
Without wondering if the damn prozac makes a difference
Or wondering if I'd flip without it
Or if I'm going slightly mad.
I want someone who'll accept
That I'm depressed
It's a part of who I am
I want to accept that myself.
But I want someone who won't care.
Or will.
And who'll let me cry for no reason other than a sad song
Without trying to cheer me up.
I don't know what I want.
The wonders of the internets
My university has recently joined the bandwagon and registered with Facebook. I've been nosying around on it for most of the past two days; finding friends from uni and manically trying to get as many friends as possible. Oddly enough, I was talking about this with an old friend of mine - who I haven't seen for years, but myspace is a beautiful thing for that - and we were discussing Facebook. It turns out that my old school has also registered - and so I've been trying to see who is on and who is doing what. Unfortunately for my inner bitch, I can't see their pages unless they're my friends. Ah well, back to myspace for that one. And bebo.... my internet toys are multiplying but I only have myself to blame.
I've also signed myself and a friend up to do a craft show in London at some point; neither of us can really afford, or want, a table to ourselves, but half each seems fair. I'm not sure when, or indeed where, it is, but hopefully I'll get some details soon. I'm looking forward to this. I might even be able to justify getting a proper website.
I've also signed myself and a friend up to do a craft show in London at some point; neither of us can really afford, or want, a table to ourselves, but half each seems fair. I'm not sure when, or indeed where, it is, but hopefully I'll get some details soon. I'm looking forward to this. I might even be able to justify getting a proper website.
*insert mad-scientist laughter here*
I've cracked it! Finally! After all these years of experimenting I have finally discovered....How to make the perfect iced tea. Sometimes I amaze myself.
Take... one earl grey teabag. A teaspoon of loose english breakfast... fill your teapot. Stir in six teaspoons of sugar. Stand for five-ten minutes. Take a two litre bottle, and pour in around ten teaspoons of sugar. Add a cup or so of lemon juice (enough to get a few fingers' depth in the bottom of the bottle). Shake. Fill about half-full with water. Shake.
Once your tea is done brewing, pour it into the bottle (strain out any leaves). Leave to cool, then put in the fridge.
Consume. Blissfully.
Take... one earl grey teabag. A teaspoon of loose english breakfast... fill your teapot. Stir in six teaspoons of sugar. Stand for five-ten minutes. Take a two litre bottle, and pour in around ten teaspoons of sugar. Add a cup or so of lemon juice (enough to get a few fingers' depth in the bottom of the bottle). Shake. Fill about half-full with water. Shake.
Once your tea is done brewing, pour it into the bottle (strain out any leaves). Leave to cool, then put in the fridge.
Consume. Blissfully.
You want to hear about parallels, how about the forty-ninth?
I have a terrible addiction to making mixtapes... ok, they're not really mixtapes. They're iTunes playlists. I still like to call them mixtapes though. Here are two:
I.
Smoosh - Rad
Art Brut - Formed A Band
The Rakes - 22 Grand Job
Clor - Love & Pain
The Automatic - Monster
Panic! At The Disco - I Write Sins, Not Tragedies
Controller.Controller - Disco Blackout
The Cure - Love Will Tear Us Apart
Brakes - All Night Disco Party
The Bravery - Public Service Announcement
The Chalets - Love Punch
Brendan Benson - Sittin' Pretty
The Pipettes - Pull Shapes
The Feeling - Fill My Little World
Old Mol - Sobriety Friend
Hanson - Get Up & Go
Hepburn - Deep Deep Down
The Cure - Friday I'm In Love
II.
Buddy Holly - Heart Beat
The Bishops - I Don't Really Know What To Say
Lily Allen - Oh My God (Kaiser Chiefs Cover)
Guillemots - Made Up Love Song *43
Ben Lee - We're All In This Together
Mark Schwaber - Watergun
Paolo Nutini - These Streets
Bright Eyes - Haligh, Haligh, A Lie, Haligh
Emmy The Great - Secret Circuis
Jewel - Pieces of You
Denison Whitmer & The River Bends - Are You Lonely?
The Feeling - Sewn
The Innocence Mission - Wonderful World
Daphne Loves Derby - Simply Starving To Be Safe
Joni Mitchell - A Case of You
Jens Lekman - At The Department of Forgotten Songs
Nina Gordon - Straight Out of Compton
Rilo Kiley - With Arms Outstretched
Tegan And Sara - I Know I Know I Know
Bruce Springsteen - Waitin' On A Sunny Day
I.
Smoosh - Rad
Art Brut - Formed A Band
The Rakes - 22 Grand Job
Clor - Love & Pain
The Automatic - Monster
Panic! At The Disco - I Write Sins, Not Tragedies
Controller.Controller - Disco Blackout
The Cure - Love Will Tear Us Apart
Brakes - All Night Disco Party
The Bravery - Public Service Announcement
The Chalets - Love Punch
Brendan Benson - Sittin' Pretty
The Pipettes - Pull Shapes
The Feeling - Fill My Little World
Old Mol - Sobriety Friend
Hanson - Get Up & Go
Hepburn - Deep Deep Down
The Cure - Friday I'm In Love
II.
Buddy Holly - Heart Beat
The Bishops - I Don't Really Know What To Say
Lily Allen - Oh My God (Kaiser Chiefs Cover)
Guillemots - Made Up Love Song *43
Ben Lee - We're All In This Together
Mark Schwaber - Watergun
Paolo Nutini - These Streets
Bright Eyes - Haligh, Haligh, A Lie, Haligh
Emmy The Great - Secret Circuis
Jewel - Pieces of You
Denison Whitmer & The River Bends - Are You Lonely?
The Feeling - Sewn
The Innocence Mission - Wonderful World
Daphne Loves Derby - Simply Starving To Be Safe
Joni Mitchell - A Case of You
Jens Lekman - At The Department of Forgotten Songs
Nina Gordon - Straight Out of Compton
Rilo Kiley - With Arms Outstretched
Tegan And Sara - I Know I Know I Know
Bruce Springsteen - Waitin' On A Sunny Day
Hoarding
In a few weeks' time, I will be moving house. Today, I'm going to go through some boxes which I haven't seen since September - I packed the contents away just before I left Libya. I will divide my possessions into three piles - that I want, now. That I want to keep, but I don't need just now. And that which I don't want at all. I have enourmous amounts of stuff, but I'm sentimental. I've got christmas cards from when I was six, programmes from school plays I was in, a photo of my best friend and me, aged five. I found the last birthday card I recieved that was signed "Mum & Dad". There are some things you can't throw away.
But some of it will go into storage. I don't have space for it right now, and even when I move into my flat I doubt there'll be room. Some of it, mostly books, will come with me when I move, and be reread because I haven't touched them for more than a year. I might have to buy some shelves for them, though.
I'm loving Smoosh right now.
But some of it will go into storage. I don't have space for it right now, and even when I move into my flat I doubt there'll be room. Some of it, mostly books, will come with me when I move, and be reread because I haven't touched them for more than a year. I might have to buy some shelves for them, though.
I'm loving Smoosh right now.
Photos
I've loaded more photos into my flickr account - click on the button over *there*. I love flickr
.
.
The Archers
It's far too hot today. Odd, considering I've lived in hotter countries that the UK, but the stiff muggyness here is getting to me. It's not helped by the building I live in having a silly, silly rule whereby the window barely opens, and despite the sun shining in almost all day - airflow is massively restricted. As a consequence, I feel like I've been sitting in a sauna all day.
On the other hand, this gives me a perfect opportunity to get to grips with this whole blogging malarkey. I've been listening to the delights of Radio Four today - despite missing I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue I left it on. I'm just about to catch up with The Archers, followed by possibly the most irritating programme ever, Go For It!, one of those over-enthusiastic, hyperactive programmes made for children by adults who desperately wish they had a Peter Pan complex, but instead are compensating with that teeth-jarring jollity that probably irritates the children as much as it does me. And besides, somebody show me the child who voluntarily listens to Radio Four.
I shall put on the Dresden Dolls' Yes, Virginia... instead. I don't know why it's taken me so long to discover them, but they're fantastic - they sound perfect, tongue firmly in cheek but a knowing glint in thier eyes. Perfect.
On the other hand, this gives me a perfect opportunity to get to grips with this whole blogging malarkey. I've been listening to the delights of Radio Four today - despite missing I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue I left it on. I'm just about to catch up with The Archers, followed by possibly the most irritating programme ever, Go For It!, one of those over-enthusiastic, hyperactive programmes made for children by adults who desperately wish they had a Peter Pan complex, but instead are compensating with that teeth-jarring jollity that probably irritates the children as much as it does me. And besides, somebody show me the child who voluntarily listens to Radio Four.
I shall put on the Dresden Dolls' Yes, Virginia... instead. I don't know why it's taken me so long to discover them, but they're fantastic - they sound perfect, tongue firmly in cheek but a knowing glint in thier eyes. Perfect.
Ooh, Shiny!
Hello
Goodness, yet another blog. What fun! Ok...details details. I'm a student, based (mostly) in London. I make earrings which I'm intending to subject the wider world to at some point in the recent future, mostly in an attempt to justify my addiction to shiny things.
I'll write more when I have something to say.
Goodness, yet another blog. What fun! Ok...details details. I'm a student, based (mostly) in London. I make earrings which I'm intending to subject the wider world to at some point in the recent future, mostly in an attempt to justify my addiction to shiny things.
I'll write more when I have something to say.
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