Sunday, July 24
Current Mood:
PleasedCurrent Music: Glory Box - Portishead
So, Em, with her fetish for Jude Law, is all up in arms and at the same time, in complete denial about his completely fuckwittage. Me on the other hand...
Me: Meh. I completely expected it...I mean, look at SIENNA!
Ames: Who's side are you on?
Me: Sadie Frost. She was so hot in Francis Ford Coppola's Bram Stoker's Dracula.
Mary: OMG. Is that the one with Keanu?
Me: Yeah.
Mary: OMG. HOT.
Me: OMG. CAN'T ACT.
Ames: OMG. ORLANDO.
Me: WHAT? Who's side are you on?
~
So. I've decided that if I want to be serious about writing, I have to be serious about it. None of this pansy, fan fiction writing for my friends only. I have to buckle down and get started, no matter how crap it is.
Yesterday I sat down and wrote the first few pages of WB Angels. And well, it is shitty. My characterisation is random and actually has no direction. There are no signs of a plot, only a singular foreshadowed romance and my scenery, involving lots of clouds and marble buildings is...for lack of a better word, cliche.
Yes, yes, I know. I'm being critical as hell. But I gotta be. I don't my book to be classified as a drudgery romance or a un-understandable, even by its author. And I certainly don't want it to be thrown on the $5 or less pile. My hard work must count for more than that. Sure, I'm never going to hit JK Rowling or Cassie Claire territory, but who knows, from some of the rubbish I've read, it could happen.
And then maybe...*eyes shimmer*...it could be made into a movie. And hellyeah, you know how much the rights to books have been bought for? Peter Suskind's Poison cost a fricking $12.5 million. OMG. HUZZAH. RICH.
~
Glancing through recent (2001?) Marketing exams. The questions don't seem too hard, even if I don't understand any of the concepts. Give me a break, I just started this stupid topic.
Q6. Define product positioning? Outline the basic positioning strategies that markets can follow. Explain how you would use one or more of these strategies to create a competitive advantage on a brand of shampoo.
See? Seems kinda fun actually. Yeah, yeah, I know A'mes. Probably isn't.
~
Mmm. I want to earn more money. I'm looking at all the IPOD stuff I want to buy. Its soo much fun instead of writing up LIS notes. Fun!
<Tuesday, July 12
Current Mood:
PleasedCurrent Music: Hide and Seek - Imogen Heap
Well. Guess what bubbies?
John Berryman once said "Most of life is wasted time.". I expend a great deal of my time over this blog and although it is read by a very small audience, I still feel that it serves not only as sometimes light entertainment for my peers but also as a relief of my everday troubles and in a way, as a history of my being. I enjoy re-reading over what I did and what I thought and it helps me to understand better, if only a little, myself and all my very muddled ways. So once again, I am happy I'm here and I'm happy that there is one thing in my life I am being consistent about.
Now only to tackle my work...
~
As a homage to the love hater and PostSecret, I'm going to instead of thanking people confess those things that I don't really want anyone to know because I know, that here, in the complexing maze of blogs and webspace, I can never be found. And I can scream these things to the moon without fear of reprisal.1. When I say 'Hi. How are you today?' I don't actually care how you are. I never do.
2. And I don't care for it when you use my name. I have a name badge, but I really don't care for customers to be on a first name basis with me.
3. Or for them to wink inappropriately at me.
4. I really believe that I am going to be somebody. Somebody big. Somebody other people will want to be. Somebody other people will adore.
5. How that is possible, given I can't act, sing, dance or write or do something that is certainly seen as extraordinary or even get people to like me in the first place, is to be seen.
6. At home, or late at night, when no one's around, I sing really loudly and dance in front of my bed to really bad pop music.
7. I actually think I'm not that bad a dancer.
8. I daydream constantly, everyday, on the bus, at the register, on my bed before I go to sleep, in my dreams, while I'm eating, when I'm completely home alone and also while I'm in the shower.
9. Daydreaming is my passion and my hobby. No wonder I love writing.
10. I am horribly ashamed of this but when I can't stand the fact that none of those horribly ashaming, self-absorbed dreams don't come true, I get up from my bed and commit them all to word as if my writing them down, they will come true.
11. Of course they don't.
12. Some people die in my daydreams.
13. I have an addiction to English men although I complain that most of them are arse-ugly.
14. My addiction has nothing whatsoever to do with their accents.
15. I am completely neurotic about hair. About my own and about others. Hair must be clean, which is why I wash mine daily, it must be nice-smelling and look good. When I see someone walk past me or work with me or even one of my friends with dreadful hair, I flinch slightly and have to mentally stop myself remarking on it or even touching it.
16. When I have good hair, I get a self-esteem boost.
17. I've found that wearing heels does the same thing. Except after it starts hurting.
18. I need to wash my face every half of the day because I have terrible sebaceous glands. As soon as I get enough money, I'm going back on the hormone pill.
19. I have a really bad hormonal problem. Because of that problem, it makes it really hard for me to loose weight or have children or not have acne. I sometimes cry over that.
20. It has taken me three years, but I have finally finished the plotline to my trilogy of original fiction which I plan to write into a book.
21. Most of the plot development has come from daydreaming about having the power to put any of my favourite actors into a storyline and doing what I will with them.
22. Nonetheless, I think it is an excellent plotline. I think.
23. I would love to be write a book, release it under a pseudonym and then get my friends to read it and find out what they really think and then tell them that it was me all along.
24. I really like shocking people. It thrills me when they don't know something but I do. Plus I love the reaction, watching it slowly unfold on their faces. Call me a sadist, whatever, we all have our quirks.
25. Maybe that's why I lie so much about myself. Agreeing with opinions because I don't really believe in mine. Feeling overshadowed by those who are more opinionated. I can't glean what I know off others and come into my own.
26. I hate that about myself.
27. I am not a good person. But I would like to be.
28. Unfortunately this world does not allow very many good people. And those who are, are unusually gifted and are allowed to be without much hardship.
29. I used to believe that some people I know were good people, high morals etc. And I believed in them. I don't anymore.
30. I don't believe in anyone anymore.
31. I think I hate my father. And I don't think I will ever forgive him.
32. I want to send something into PostSecret but I'm too scared too. Plus, I'm not creative enough to make a flashy postcard.
33. I love looking at fashion photography and most of all, I love iconning high-resolution pictures. But at the same time, I hate myself for not looking like them. And I hurt myself for not being as beautiful or as happy or as perfect as them.
34. I hate that I don't fit in anywhere because of my colour and my culture and my voice.
35. Some part of me still loves Tom. But now, I know that all along, I really loved Harry. And as selfish as it would have been, and pointless too, I should have said yes. If only to feel loved for a short while.
36. I'm glad I did dance with him when I first said no. I can still remember his arms around me. And how I did shiver. And how, even thought he was going out with Kathryn, I knew he still liked me.
37. I will never forgive Tom for what he did.
38. I will never forgive myself for phoning him.
39. I hated coming back to Australia. I still hate it now. And in the briefest, darkest respites, I blame my friends for dragging me into this pit of dark black monochrome of boredom and drama-less life.
40. I was going through my sister's drawers a few weeks ago, looking for the necklace I loaned her (she ended up taking it on hols with her) and I found her um...vibrator.
41. I ran back to my bed and hid under the covers. I realised how much of a child I still am, despite the potty talk.
42. I wish my friends would phone me once in a while.
43. I wish my friends would listen to me more.
44. I wish I could trust them with everything.
45. I wish I could rely on them more. I hate being terribly alone.
46. I'm really scared.
47. I wish my friends and I would fight again. It seems only in those times that the true person is exposed and our friendships develop.
48. The quiet stagnation of nothing between us depresses me even more than if I ever split from them.
49. Sometimes, right before I walk into a room and see my friends, I spy on them and watch them talking together, so excitedly and happily and it makes me happy to know that I am part of that. And I smile. And I experience those brief moments of pure bliss where you ignore all other things and just be.
50. But right before I walk in, I think about walking away, turning around and walking out the door and never speaking to any of them again. And I consider it. And then I walk in. Why? Not beacause I believe in the everlasting power of friendship and sisterhood, but because I will have no one if I walk away now.
51. I am so predictable. So I go out of my way to be interesting and cool and unpredictable. How predictable of me.
52. Sometimes I believe my life is just one big pretend.
53. I am yet to meet someone I can be totally me with.
54. Sometimes I don't even know if I know this 'me' anymore because I've been pretending for so long.
55. I'm actually kinda good at pool.
56. I once wished on those dandelion things that blow around MLC that my friends would respect me for once.
57. I used to write stories for my England classmates before I wrote stories for my friends here. One time, I was so angry that I shredded all of them and now they are all lost.
58. They were terrible. Worse than Sailor Moon stories.
59. I am a terrible writer. And I know it.
60. This list is too long and I have a really long workday tommorow, so I must be off to bed.
61. My heart is a little lighter. Thank you for listening.
*echoes*
~
I do want to thank a few people although they know who they are. Thank you A'mes, Mary and Em for being there for me in the dark listless space of space with your comforting words that express more to me than anything whispered to me soothingly in RL. I hope I haven't shocked you horribly as this is only a snippet of all that lies beneath the dark lies and terrible complex and spotty skin of my many phantoms. I love you guys. Very much. Although you know it. Its pointless even to say it.
- Lily Tomlin
That was for you, Em. *schnugs*
~ M.M.W ~
Friday, July 8
Current Mood:
WishfulCurrent Music: Jealous Guy - Roxy Music feat Bryan Ferry
So the London Thing. Or as its soon be to be called 07/07/05.
Mm, I suppose I should be worried. Or at least a bit tearful or something. I'm not though. I'm sad. I'm a little angry (but mostly at Mum). Mostly I'm self-absorbed. Although I hope everyone's okay. Karen spent last night e-mailing people well into 3 a.m. Either she knows lots of people or she's just weird. Anyway, I hope everyone is well. And to direct anyone who happens onto my blog to a livejournal community to check up on those who are alive or confirmed dead and the status of the situation. Check it out: london_070705
~
Em: God, that's so bad!
Me: Yeah I know.
Ames: My mums in London right now.
Em: OMG Really?
Ames: Yeah. But Mum called us as soon as she found out, which was way earlier than when we did. She's fine. Wasn't anywhere near any of the blasts.
Me: Okay. But that's still seriously fucking scary.
Ames: You're telling me, babe.
~
Got work in an hour and fifteen. Yay. Five hours of monotonous scanning and packing. Packing scares me though. Its so mind numbing. I hate packing eggs. They fit nowhere. They're just a tad too heavy to go on the top and they're too breakable to go anywhere near the bottom so I'm screwed, unless there are some meat products. They're usually good to go. Okay, enough about work. Even I'm sick of talking about it. Five hours today. Five hours tommorow. In essence, $111 for two days. Not too shabby, bitcah. (Actually $116.50 about but it doesn't count since you have to minus the fucking tax. BITCH!)
~
And now for some linkies:
Tori Amos' Cover of Like A Prayer
Roxy Music feat Bryan Ferry - Jealous Guy
~
Enough from me. I gotta get to work. Cya at 7.
~ M.M.W ~
