The Butterflies Are Passive Aggressive

I think that the things I dream about are funny, and don’t really mean anything. 
At the same time, though, I find it interesting to think about which of the things that my subconscious has managed to drag up into technicolour. (I think you’re supposed to dream in black and white, but I’m sure that I don’t).

I mean, I always have the dreams about big things. Like, the first day of school, of uni, of work, of a meeting, of travelling, &tc, &tc. They’re partly the reason for my (purported) perpetual punctuality. It’s just that dreaming about less (openly) significant things often leads to more exciting tangents.

Last night I dreamt about being in a cafe with someone.
Apart from the fact that I was quietly delighted to be dreaming about him, it wasn’t that weird. I just found that the cafe that we were sitting in to be odd since I couldn’t immediately place it.

You never really completely develop your own scenery in dreams, I think, and if you contemplate it for just a moment, you’ll realise what reality you’ve created for yourself. Where you are is infinitely more interesting than who you are with, half the time.

Once I was sitting in choir daydreaming, and the conductor was talking about washing up (Lord knows why), and I imagined him in this kitchen as he did the dishes. His boyfriend dried. It was pretty instantaneous, and the only thing that I knew about him outside of choir was that my Mum gave him a black eye with a hockey ball as he reffed her game. Then I realised that I was picturing the kitchen from my old Girl Guides hall.
I always thought that that was weird, since I’ve never pictured the hall as any kind of homely place.

Anyway, so I guess it’s not so fascinating for me to describe my adolescent day dreams, especially when they’re so mundane (not even a hint of sexual confusion).
I just am kind of still trying to work out which cafe that I was sitting in with him, and where I had bothered to pour my heart out (in an utterly abstract way, as is required of dreams) over coffee.
Really, it doesn’t matter, but I think that it’s interesting to trace where things come from. The best that I can conclude is that it’s the amalgamation of the window seat I like at Well Connected (as long as I’m not eating, since those tables are tiny, and food is more than likely to flip on top of me), and a fifties diner that was in a movie I saw a few weeks ago. Furthermore, I think that the reason I imagined the diner from Ghost World was because it had Scarlett Johansson in it, and then I saw that other movie that just came out with her in it. Does that even make sense?
The links are completely arbitrary, and like with anything else, you can read forever in between the lines.

Though, that’s why I like them.

 I have this theory that thinking that things will work out pretty much invariably means that they do.
I like it, since so far it’s pretty true.

This week, I have been properly alone with my family overseas, and I have been living (and supposedly looking after the animals) on a new farm. One that I’m not completely accustomed to.
So many things have gone wrong, and for someone that considers herself pretty much a city kind of girl, I have had to touch a frickload of animals. Not the nice Labrador kinds, either.
Pipes broke, and fences snapped, and plants were torn up (just a little), but whatever. It’s all going to work out, right, if I say so?
Well, yeah. It did. Not that there was any reason for it to, but it did.
The fence got fixed, and so did the pipes, and the gate got shut before the horses hit the road, and before I’d even woken up.
More impressively, despite being somewhat allergic to the lovely pink and zebra lady gumboots, I found it necessary to wear them since the Hunter Valley got hit with an incredible nine inches of rain, and the ground got covered in an impressive few inches of mud. And the dermatitis went away.
So, since I kept wearing them, my feet got better. (This is definitely a bad thing to think, because it tempts me to try Keds, and Keds are close to being my arch nemesis).

Anyway, this is not the best part of my think positive story.

Firstly, I realise that the following anecdote is already so so embarrassing, and I was so so embarrassed at the time that I wanted to cry, and well, okay.
I left my house at 9.30am to go see a movie, which is weird enough, except that it was a Saturday, and it was a Valentines Day Saturday, and I was alone, but shut up! I have my reasons. I think.
I got back to my car at 12.00pm and oh dear God, my car wouldn’t start. Frick. And it was oh my God pouring. And my whole family is oh my God overseas. Who the frick do I call?
Well, so I ended up calling NRMA, but it was so fricking rainy and I knew that they would be crazy busy. Except that the nicest ever man was there within 30 minutes, and he fixed my car within about 35, and I was driving home in 36, and it was so incredibly embarrassing, but I didn’t even see anyone that I knew. Success!
Now, here is the power of positive thinking!
Except, I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking ‘How Does It Count As Working Out If You Let Your Silly Car Battery Go Silly Flat In A Silly Carpark And Had To Wait Around A Silly Half Hour?’ but then, oh my gosh, here’s the best part.
The whole reason I went to the cinema at 9.30am was because my Mum’s cleaner was coming at 10am, and I didn’t want to spend three hours talking to her about how she doesn’t like my brothers, or how she had to warn Jimbo not to deflower her sixteen year old daughter (apparently this was going to happen while she was cleaning the house, or something), or how Tom is so weird for sunbaking in the middle of winter (although, it’s true).
So I went to a movie, and stayed away. The movie I went to see only took 2 hours, and the drive home took 30 minutes (ahhaha I live so far away from civilisation), and I know that you mathematicians are picking up on what I’m saying here.
The 36 minutes that I wasted by flattening my car battery in a rainy carpark actually meant that I succeeded in my initial task, and once again, the universe makes sense.

Brill.

The even better story that I have is about my cat, who ran away in November. I was pretty bummed, he was getting old, and much less mean.
We had this dog that ran away into the wilderness, and was never to be heard from again. Until a year later, when he reappeared, and immediately demanded that we love him again. I figured that cats are more direction savvy than dogs, though, so I thought that I’d give him a year before he came back.
No one believed me. Everyone thought that he ran away, and got eaten by foxes (but I knew this not to be true since foxes are lovely and adorable and wear darling little stockings and therefore wouldn’t eat my cat).

Today, however, once again, I was proved to be right. Success.
Even better, he came back when I was home, so that I could make sure that everyone knew I was right.
Even better than that, he is actually pretty well behaved for a cat that has been missing in the bush for three months. You’d expect him to be crazy, but he just seemed lonely, and is happy to sleep on the floor under my Mum’s bed.
Anyway, success.
Think Positively, Bitches.

Sometimes I think I’m going crazy, because things maybe shouldn’t work out like this.
I know that I think about things too much, but I like to picture the way that things will unfold, and okay, sometimes maybe I can be a little obsessive about it.
The thing is, though, that so far, it’s turning out to be pretty much following the rough path that I’d expect it to. Which is silly, because why should life work out like it’s been planned? I know I’m probably not right, but sometimes it’s comforting to know that things are going to work out.

It’s like Stupid Bella Swan in Twilight, who becomes a Vampire, and shocks everyone by immediately being perfect. Stupid Bella Swan who doesn’t go blood crazy, or anything crazy, and is just stupid living her (and every other insane devotee’s) dream.

If Stephenie Meyer has taught me anything (apart from the fact that changing the spelling of my name to Elezebeth would make me look like white trash), it is that if I ever want to become a Vampire, the power of positive thinking will mean that I become a perfect one. To me, however, this means that I wouldn’t follow the stupid Vampire lore that she chose to recreate to the point where it actually has little to no point.

Anyway, since this has largely turned into an essay, I’ll leave whoever actually finishes this with a secret.
Ummm.. I have webbed toes. I’m a freak.

Also, I’m sorry if I sound like the Secret. I just realised, and it kind of freaks me out a little bit more every time.

You Would Cry Too If It Happened To You

George Michael, man up already! Please? I’d like to see you make out with your cousin on the BIG SCREEN.
You’re breaking my heart.

Sometimes I’m almost sure that I know how things are going to turn out, although that’s not always a good thing.
There are a few things that I’d lay some sort of claim to, even if I’m not quite sure why.
It’s something to do with the idea that things tend to work out if you just think positively, maybe. I just think that things tend to work themselves out, because I don’t see that there’s a reason for them not to.

Sometimes I’m almost sure that I know how things are going to turn out, and it scares me because when I feel like there’s a storm brewing it makes me feel miserable without a tangible reason.
I was travelling around and contemplating life and I thought about some time that I remember making me stress out because I just knew that something was going to go wrong.
And it did, I was right, and it was terrible.
The thing is, though, that when I remember it, I do so fondly. And not because I think that I’m somewhat psychic, because I know that I’m not. Picking up on the little things that people expose about themselves unwittingly isn’t exactly a phenomenal process. It’s just human nature. I just wish it didn’t make me panic.
I think about it fondly because even thought I knew that something terrible was happening, and even though it made me feel terrible, and even though I couldn’t see an end to it, it all worked out. Why shouldn’t it have?

I suppose that I’m overly concerned with this because I feel like something’s wrong, and something’s going to go wrong. I’m not sure that it really can all work itself out, but then I remember that this isn’t the first time, and it’s not the last time. It’s probably going to all work out.

It’s just like waking up on an arbitrary day at an arbitrary time knowing that you’re going to have a terrible day, with little to no impetus. You know you’re going to burst into tears, and that you’re going to think about everything that scares you until you can’t breathe. It’s just that at the same time you know it’s going to end soon.

You wake up the next morning, and you know it’s okay again.

I just hope that it’s like that this time, again.
It’s like hoping that the sun comes back, almost.

Nothing Happening, It’s All Illusion

I can’t afford a Kikki K diary, and so I decided to make a password post.
Although I am paranoid that somehow it’s actually completely accessible all of a sudden.

I just needed to vent. I like writing letters.
I remember feeling exactly like this in June.

Tomorrow is going to be a better day.

No One Sees Her Lift A Finger

Summer is hot and lazy and sticky and sweet, and the beach tastes salty and warm, and the parks are busy and sunny and waiting.

I don’t really have much to do, which isn’t as nice as I would have imagined.
I don’t really feel fabulously lazy, just bored maybe.

It’s silly, though, because even if I feel like I have way too much time on my hands, I don’t think I could really take any less of it. I like to sit without the pressure of someone else’s mind whirring next to me.

There’s one good thing about living between two cities, and that’s being able to avoid people that don’t ever seem to be able to pin you down properly. I’m always in the wrong one for the wrong people.

It did mean that I’ve been anxious to stay away from public areas that could find me thrust into the path of this one in particular guy. It’s not that I don’t want to have lunch with him, I think, but the out of town lie slipped from my lips before I’d really considered the invitation.

I don’t dislike seeing him, or anything. He’s always had some sort of idea of me that I can’t believe would ever actually describing anything accurately. It’s kind of nice to be in the presence of someone who likes you like that. Just not today. Or for a while.

Last time I saw him ended up awkwardly entangled in ways that I still can’t really fathom. I wasn’t that drunk, I think, but I was clearly unaware of implications.

In short, I am an avoider. I avoid people.
It’s only bad because I can’t explain half the time why I’d want to.

It’s going to get worse. He’s moving to Sydney soon.
It’s not really bad, but why can’t I think of anything good that could come of it?

He calls me Liz, does that say enough?

Your Smile Is Fake And I Like Your Face

Today I was sitting in the park, chilling with my iced Campos coffee and Louise.
It was nice except the ibis decided we were its god, and watched us for ten minutes without blinking. Which is why I hate birds.

So apart from the ibis (and mostly because there was no evil goose) it was nice.

“Hey, you two girls,” made us look around and then a car pulled up across the pond at the lights, had stuck a megaphone outside their window said “Yeah, you two girls.”

It was creeeeepy.
“Come to the Annandale tonight. You’ll like it, we’ll like it, so we’ll see you there.”

It was creeeeeepy but also pretty funny. I felt like we were at the beach and the lifeguards were getting angry because we were swimming outside the flags.

I also got some spectacles today and I need someone to see them and tell me I don’t look horrible. They probably aren’t so bad. I wish my mum was in Sydney to choose them with me. Sometimes you need your mum.

I ruined my favourite ever shirt, and it’s been giving me bad dreams. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.

I want to buy a Bodom ice tea jug, but I don’t really have forty dollars + and that’s kind of sad. Maybe mum would like one for her birthday.

After searching for Fat Rabbit, a band that I was sure to like because they were that folky kind of indie that I enjoy, but which Abby does not. I did not enjoy the music on the Myspace of the only Fat Rabbit I found, and worried about what Abby thought about me and the music that I listen to. I have since discovered that it was called Frightened Rabbit, and consequently have discovered that I do indeed like their folky indie pop. Since I listened to them a whole bunch on Last.Fm I was recommended to listen to Pete & the Pirates, and Noah & the Whale.
I decided that I was only going to follow Last.Fm recommendations if they were about albums that have come out in 2008 (or later), and all three of these bands have recent albums. They’re pretty nice. Pitchfork liked them. Plus they all have cute names.

Sometimes I wonder why I don’t like more girl bands. I assume it’s just because there’s less about the band for me to crush on (and I don’t really crush on girls, whether or not they play bass endearingly).

Contrary to (my own) popular belief, I don’t think that I’m posting here more often because I’m bored. I don’t think that I’m that bored, even. I just have more to say, and less reason to want to live inside my own head ALL of the time.

It Was Dirty, A Dream Come True

I feel kind of bad.
I was kind of mean to Steve last time I saw him. I don’t even know why, I just got completely sick of him.
It was probably because after being really exhausted he ended up sleeping on my floor. Waking up alone is something that I think I need in order to prepare myself for being in the presence of people again.
I like to spend time waking up, looking around, and getting ready to begin again again.

It doesn’t matter, but poor little Steve. It was okay, we went to the UTS Open Day (he wants to transfer), and he got a free ice cream, and a free coke, and then found that he didn’t have any questions for the information booths.
We went to Bread Box because someone told him that it was really good, and I said “but Chinatown is just across there  a little, and it’s infinitely greater for fun bread-type foods,” but he didn’t seem too phased, especially since Bread Box was right in front of us.

Sometimes I get sick of people who need to eat all the time when we’re out somewhere. I am not going to say that I don’t eat, because I clearly do, but I generally do it in the absence of something else to do. (Possibly not the best habit).
I’m not saying that I’d rather not be doing something with people who occasionally need cookies, but it can get to a point where people complain about food so much, and it drives me mad.

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Yesterday afternoon I got a free ticket to go see the Kooks, and even though it was at the Hordern Pavillion, and even though I don’t really like Konk, and even though it was all ages, and even though the lead singer was OH SO INCREDIBLY drunk (he started playing the wrong chords, and just gave up halfway through Jackie Big Tits), it was really a jolly good show.

I got home, though, to find that my flatmates, and the boys from across the floor had just finished (successfully finished, even) a game of Centurian. You can imagine, right, that they weren’t in a better state than the Kooks, right?

I’m not surprised to find them drunk on our couches on a random summer night, but as I stood in the doorway talking to them (although I’m not sure that I understood half of what was actually being said) one of the English boys told me that I was interesting.
I’m not surprised that someone finds things that I could possibly say worth listening to, really, but it’s just that I never talk when he’s there. Except, when he is there and Ready Steady Cook is on television and his accent makes me wish that Ainsley Harriott was hosting even more. I promised that I’d go out with him some night, too. I won’t, however, play Centurian.
That’s mostly to save face. 30 rounds and I’ve already passed out.

I don’t know if I’ve ever said, but I appreciate the kind of people that sit with me through terrible television when I need it. Even if I don’t want to talk about the real reason that they’re there.

I watched the Graduate, and even if it was without Simon and Garfunkel funkling it up, it would still be pretty good. It can go on a list somewhere.

I really want to make some kind of play list right now, but I’m not sure where to start. I’m not even sure what to name it. I need a noun, or something, but a meaty one.
I just know that it’s going to start with Always Where I Need To Be because although I don’t love Konk, I do love that song, and I think we’ll always end up together eventually.

Sometimes I look at each of these paragraphs and see the pronoun with which almost each and every one of them begins, and feel some kind of shame. Oops.

Have I Fallen In Love With Someone I Shouldn’t Have Fallen In Love With?

So this is the new year?

Well it is, and I’ve made no resolutions, because resolutions are ultimately silly. Why should you change your habits based on a date rather than a proper inclination? If there’s something you should do better, you should do it better now, and not later.

Also, New Years celebrations seem silly because an arbitrary measure of time says that the date has changed. I do sound kind of like a Scrooge, though, or whatever the New Year counterpart of him is.

I spent this time last year in some kind of naive haze, although it was short lived. I think that I grew up some, but that’s hardly remarkable, because isn’t it what is supposed to happen? I regret the emptiness that I’m sure consumed me, and I’m glad that I can at least appear to be more interesting, to seem like I consist of actual substance or something.

An entire year made me realise that I want to be lost inside my own head for most of the time, and an entire year also made me think that maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Except probably that’s a dangerous thought.

I say things that I regret, and I know that I’m not even nearly alone in that, but I really don’t always take the time to apologise. So, maybe I should rethink some thoughts, and when I eventually run into some people in some time, or something, I’ll have something to say maybe.

I’m going to say sorry, kind of, but it’s probably not to the people that you expect, because there are some things that I actually don’t regret.

Oh Nine is going to be a different year, but not really. By the end I’m sure that inside my head I’ll completely change my mind about myself again, and I’m not so sure how many people will believe me.

I’m sick of people not believing me. It makes me feel so empty and unappreciated, like I’m just there to fill in space. Probably I am, though, since I’m wearing a shirt to match the wallpaper.

Truth be told, it’s the big things that I’m consumed with now that are going to turn out to be smaller when I look back on them (some big things will become actually smaller, even). Thinking ahead, though, freaks me out, and I think that sitting in my own thoughts for a while will blissfully stop things rushing forward into the unknown.

I was home in Black Hill for a while (it actually needs it’s own particular definition).
I miss my old house, and my cat, and I wish that I had an actual bedroom to stay in, but it wasn’t all bad. I had the most interesting dreams and I like trying to decipher my own subconscious (or the undecipherable).

I get hushed everytime I mention Sydney because my Newcastle friends hate to hear me talk down a place in which I used to live. How could anyone be surprised that I’d find bad things about Newcastle to harp on? Apparently my existence is some white noise that was lost in the background of high school. I’ve wanted to leave Newcastle since I was 16.

I feel melancholy, but I suppose you get that. This time of year makes me kind of overly pensive, because there’s nothing happening to distract me from the urge to dwell on things that don’t matter.

I’m not sure what I want, but I don’t doubt that it’s going to get better over time. Things just tend to work out.

I want to talk about stuff and stuff, and I miss being able to say anything and everything to someone. Maybe I just need more friends.

All I Have To Do Is Dream

I think that one of my favourite things is sleeping when somebody else is in the room.
I don’t know why, and considering that waking up with someone else in the room (someone that is asleep, and therefore someone that I can’t really disturb) is one of my least favourites.
I don’t think that it even matters whether or not they are paying attention to me, and who would know anyway when you’re submerged in REM.
Maybe it’s also why I like sharing my bed with my butterball of a Labrador, even though she takes up ridiculous amounts of space, and somehow finds the most ridiculous shapes to occupy.

In general, I think that I sleep alot. Maybe too much. Probably too much.
I usually sleep alone, but sometimes I just want to feel like someone is there, even if I’m not in a position to even care who it is.

Hahah, I sound cool. It’s true, though, I am cool.

Baby, I Love Your Way

Today I made a pretty good salad. Mmm salad.

I am a C student because I look like a C student, not because I deserve to be one.
Advice: Join the drama society. WTF?