I Can’t Get To Sleep

I worry about the implications.

I have a bruise on my chin.
It looks more like a smudge of dirt, but despite dedicated rubbing it doesn’t vamoose, and so it is undeniably a bruise.

1. Who gets chin bruises without noticing?
2. Where did I get a chin bruise from?

Argh.
I wish it would go away.
People are going to think that I have things on my face, and that I don’t shower properly.

It’s like when you draw all over your arms at school, and don’t scrub hard enough the next morning, and people think you’re a slob because you’re still covered in pen. Or like, that you have a learning disability because you’re not paying attention in class, and that you’ve managed to get covered in pen again.
Not that that’s happened to me, or anything.

My overall point is, however, that yuck, I have a facial contusion, and I look like I’ve got a smudgy face, but really I’m nice, and I don’t know how it even happened. It’s such a sad sad story.

(Maybe I hit my face on the bed head..? Pfft).

Last Night She Said “Oh, Baby, I Feel So Down”

Actually, last night was pretty awesome.

I’d say, though, that much was based on timing.
I really think that some things just work out, without sounding like I’m spouting the supposed genius of Oprah’s ’secret’.

It can’t be a coincidence if it’s largely planned, but it’s still nice to run right into the person you were just about to message for directions. I didn’t really know where I was, but apparently I was in exactly the right place.

There’s something that’s still exciting about walking through Darling Harbour at night. Sometimes I still feel like I’m just on a holiday, and I’ve escaped the clutches of my family, pretending so hard not to be a tourist.
Although, to be honest, I usually am paranoid enough to consciously make an effort not to appear to be one anyway.
Which is ridiculous, no?
It’s just that that sometimes I still feel so lucky to actually live here. Like, not in Newcastle, which is the best bit, I think.

We went to the special Dendy in the Opera Quay, and walked there through streets, and parks, and a lack of buses. Really, it was kind of pretty. I like the city at night, always.
They played Belle & Sebastian in the lobby, and it was like, a sign.
It’s gotta be fate that’s doing it, I think.

My Blueberry Nights was pretty much perfect for that exact moment. Norah Jones was nice, and it was trippy and messy and made me really crave some blueberry pies.
Also, for someone to lick it off my face.
Gross, because yuck, face licking, but it looked pretty nice.

Home again, and the lifts were scarily broken. They were sitting below the floor level, and I still think that they’re going to suddenly close on me again, only to be stuck there forever.
It’s happened before, almost.

So, yeah, last night was nice. This morning was sunny.
What more can you want?

She’s Got An Out-Tray Full Of Guys

Sometimes you can unintentionally distract people by playing “Oregon Girl”, which can be nice.
Also, when you keep asking what the song is, and they keep not telling you, you can safely assume that they think you’re joking, and so you can work out what it probably is in the end. Also, they will think you are funny. Sometimes I’m funny, maybe.

Just now, it is 8.50am and I am waiting to buy some Mystery Jets tickets (mostly because they’re Half In Love with me). Afterwards I think I will go right back to sleep, because it’s the HOLIDAYS and I really don’t even have to be awake until tomorrow. I like sleep, but like two nights ago someone kind of stopped me sleeping, and the one before that I just couldn’t sleep, and it’s sad, because like I said, I like sleep.

On Friday it’s going to be a Campfire Chicken and Tea Pot kind of night, and I think that’s kind of exciting. Mmm. Also, my friendly neighbourhood llama will stop avoiding me. He moved away and it’s still so sad.

When you imagine someone in a house, doing housely things, where do you imagine them? It’s not very likely that you’re going to render a completely new design by accident, and I think it’s kind of weird when you work out the places that you are imagining other people to live.
I’m only saying this because some guy from my old school just died (I didn’t even know him, he was the principal’s son), and I heard that his dad found him dead in his bed. Which is sad, yeah.
The weird thing was that when I imagined it, I realised that it was in my Dad’s ex-girlfriend’s house. Weird.

Although, it’s funny, because I think I tend to imagine people there alot.
Rarely would I imagine people in my actual house (although, it’s on a real estate website at the moment, and from those pictures I can barely imagine US living in it).
I also used to imagine my Choir teacher and his boyfriend in the kitchen on my old Girl Guide hall. I think that’s really weird.

Maybe it’s the houses (or even just buildings) that have an unacknowledged impact on you? Maybe it’s all random, and inexplicable, and maybe it doesn’t even matter. I just think it’s kind of interesting.

There are two minutes to go, and I don’t understand why the Metro ticketing system won’t just let me on.

I also realised that this is the last concert that I can go to at the Metro until the 15th of January, which is sad, because I’m house sitting.
That’s not so sad, even if my entire family abandoned me, and went overseas.
It’s just…like I told Abby, if I don’t stay, my dog is going to die. Hahah.

You should come visit me and stuff, I’m assuming that I’ll have a monster kitchen. Mmm.
x

At The Final Moment I Cried, I Always Cry At Endings

Ooh, somebody get me away from here, I’m dying.

Srsly.

I have exactly one thousand, four hundred and thirteen words before I finish this half of the semester.
The only thing is that I keep getting distracted by -isms. -Isms are bad!

The inevitable procrastination has been a good a reason as any to discover the wonders of Genius, the latest release of the so-called Apple genius.
It’s okay, it makes okay playlists. I’m not sure how great a feat this is when you consider that the reason it has the music in my library to choose from is because I like the music in my library already.

I don’t know how far I’d trust it, because it just told me that the top rated Belle & Sebastian album was ‘Storytelling’.
I almost actually even saw that movie one 3am, but am mostly sure that it was no great success.

I actually HAVE some ridiculous gossip, although am reluctant to share it with all the little nooks and crannies of the internet.
I have some deep seeded fears about the permanence of my complaints about employers, and such. I’m also kind of worried that I’ll just make my entire work experience worse should my boss actually come across my fears (although, who am I kidding? I don’t think he knows how to Google himself properly).

In short, I have to go into work tomorrow at 11am for a ‘chat’.
On my days off I generally choose to stay as far away as I can from my job (although, this really isn’t very far at all). Oh no.

None of this is my fault!

So, I Have A Boyfriend Now

Actually, I don’t, but I may or may not have said that I wouldn’t write anything here until I had a new one to complain about, and I didn’t want anyone to call me a liar, or anything.

Who writes a blog without some kind of impetus? Mine’s always been the self-deluded tragedies of the downward spiral that is my life, but the oscillations aren’t so severe now, or at least my perceptions of them aren’t.
In short, I have little to complain about, really, and haven’t found the motivation to type out my random thoughts otherwise.
Maybe I’m just not interesting when I’m content.
I don’t really think that I’m more boring (am I?). I think that I’m just left without words to express anything. That’s such a sad statement, I know! I love words!
It’s just that you can’t have self-righteous arguments by typing into a void, and ever so slowly, they’re becoming my favourite things.
My other favourite things include the Simon & Garfunkel record we found in the goth shop, the erasable pen that I bought from Officeworks, not failing at school (and therefore life), and sunshine on my window (my window sucks, and so it’s rare). It makes me happy.

I suppose this is largely irrelevant. Want to hear about my day?

I have an assignment due on Monday at 9am, and so I have decided to devote this entire weekend to piecing it together. Obviously, instead of actually doing it, I have been procrastinating just a little.
I have maybe written my television news transcript, but until it gets into a word processor, I don’t think I’ve achieved anything.

Mostly, procrastination involves sleep (ahh, the delights of being a uni student).
I am very tired, because although I think that I fell asleep in an awkward place for most of last night, until I was finally banished from it at 2.13am, I don’t think that it was very good sleep.
Also, I’m not entirely sure that I wasn’t involved in a conversation during my sporadic naps, and can’t be convinced that we weren’t, for a time, talking about apples. Green ones I think, Granny Smith.

I watched the final episodes of Six Feet Under.
It’s been heralded as one of the best American shows for a while, but it has taken me until now to finally get around to seeing them. Mostly this was due to the fact that I was suddenly in possession of the entire five seasons on DVD, and, as always, a lovely reason to procrastinate.

It was terrible. I did like the show, but for the last four episodes, I was basically consumed in tears.
I haven’t cried so much since I watched the Wedding Singer in January, although I’m going to venture a guess, and say that that was for completely different reasons.
I guess it gives away much of the story to say exactly why it was so horrible, except that the final montage was basically a step by step of every death of the main characters.
Horrible, though, isn’t necessarily even the word. It was just so sad.
I guess that the reason that I felt so compelled to cry, though, was because I liked the show. It got to a point where I had to consciously tell myself that it didn’t actually affect me, and that I wasn’t going to remember it tomorrow.
This surprised me, though, because I was constantly reminded that I didn’t really like any of the characters at all, at least, not by the end.
I guess that everyone is flawed, and it’s a good thing to examine them to the point where you realise that you should hate everyone for everything when it really comes down to it, or more obviously, that you can’t hate everyone, and should learn to forgive minor faults.
It’s just that it’s something that I’ve come across alot lately. There are just some things that I can’t forgive in book characters. I think, though, that you have to want to forgive a character to be encouraged to follow them.
This is why I hate Mansfield Park (although I love Jane Austen). Why on earth would I want to see what happens to Fanny when I can’t stand anything about her. If she died at the end, I would be a much more satisfied reader, the pious little wench.

I noticed it as well when I read the Watchmen.
I didn’t really find myself able to attach myself to any of the characters easily, when in reality that was what made it so good.
The fact that it tried to make the super heroes markedly less super by making them unlikeable was the reason that it’s such an interesting thing to read, but I found it hard to pick reasons to like it when I couldn’t tell you who I actually liked in it.
I wonder what the movie will be like, whether or not character development will be more favourable.

Speaking of Watchmen, though, it’s all a little bit creepy when i walk home now.
The walls that are covered in bill posters are also sporting a new kind of enigma. There’s a smiley face appearing here, there, and everywhere.
It’s all a little bit odd. It’s like the Comedian is coming for us all. Maybe, though, that’s not the scariest thing ever.

While that kind of observation probably just isn’t that exciting, I have had a delightful experience with signs lately.
Walking down King Street for a much craved burger (wrap, whatever), it seems that there was a huge sign on a shop door declaring a FIRE SALE.

They’re having a FIRE…..sale.
Brill.

I am done, now. I think that I’ll be indulging in a bowl of hot water. Maybe with a smack of ham.
Brill.

Lucky, Lucky, You’re So Lucky!

I love your friends…they’re all so arty. Oh yeah.

Anyway, so I’m almost on my way to class. Not quite.
First I have a few random thoughts.

A darling friend asked me to go to BAMF (greatest acronym for a festival ever, perhaps?) and it’s on January 6 or 7 or 8 or something, and I really am inclined to agree, the line up isn’t at all appalling.
Unfortunately, I can’t go! Honey! I’m sorry!
My whole family (minus me) will be overseas for eight days (without me) and so I must house sit from the 6th until the 15th, and could not possibly be in Byron Bay because poor Daisy and Banana Smoothie will surely starve. Sorry. It would be nice, yes.
I want to see Franz Ferdinand anyway. Those are a few lovely boys.

I would also like to add that I think fish and chips and potato scallops (cakes) are nice, and sitting in front of the water is nice, and cold weather is nice, and rain is nice, and night walking is nice.
These are all nice things, and make for interesting combinations. When attempted together they created a very nice evening, although it was quite damp, to say the least.

Breakfast is the perfect meal…when someone else cooks it.
They cook it nicely when you pay them to do it though, and so I must profess that I am a fan of the cooked, paid for cafe breakfasts that Glebe tends to offer.
I do not pay too much attention to sizing my food up, and do not at all eat in an amusing way.
I mean, I didn’t even spill my food all over the ground, my lap, etc.
Still, a very nice, if odd, suggestion.
Brill.

I don’t know why I continue to ramble, I think I’m actually late.x

Except, hooray it is spring time!
Bring on the twitterpation, please. <3