I managed to let us slip into the New Year before my promised regular postings. So here's hoping this is the first of those. Oh, and Happy New Year. :)
To tell the truth, so much has happened that I do not even know where to start. And not having written in months, every time I sit down to put pen to paper, it all seems too difficult and I quickly give up after one terrible sentence or so. A full sentence may even be giving myself too much credit, unfortunately...
Halfway through last year I began to actually write out my blog posts to later type up. It's just nicer seeing my thoughts in ink, before visible electronically. I'm one of those romantic, somewhat old fashioned people who long for the yesteryear and cleave to the idea that a letter is far better than an email, a book preferable to a PDF file or "e-book" in any form, a purchased CD far more enjoyable than download tracks, legally acquired or otherwise. Considering CDs as clinging to the old may seem laughable, but with MP3 players and the like, it's not really cutting edge technology anymore, and I was sadly not around for records. Although I'd love to buy an old gramophone and begin a collection. But that could not be more irrelevant.
I delight in old, heritage buildings and the smell of quiet, almost forgotten library rooms with book lined walls and wooden furniture. And I'm the kind of person who wants to remember everything. My room and cupboard are filled with so many different, useless objects that I have gained and kept over the years. I still have notes that my friends and I exchanged in primary school, and other prior mementos. I have kept a diary, rather sporadically at times, for a large portion of my life, and with the creation of a Live Journal account, moved onto that as a replacement. I later discovered Blogger, thanks to a friend, and I love it.
No, it's not as great as a personal journal, since there are some aspects of my life and those who are a part of it that I cannot reveal on this public forum. But while blogging requires the recording of my thoughts in a more structured form, the comments have been great; the friends I have made, and seeing the interest others have in my writing and even my thoughts have all been very encouraging and supportive. It's been good practice at writing and I don't plan on giving it up anytime soon. I'm hoping to begin writing creatively again on "Head in the Clouds".
Cinderella may have lost her shoe, but there is so much more to the story.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
A bit of repetition never hurt
Sunday, August 30, 2009
MLIG
Honestly, why haven't I been around?
Firstly, let me say that I've missed it, this whole blogging thing. The feel of community amongst those who have never met face to face or never would have if not for the blogosphere, that real friendship and all the laughs, all the stories. From those my age to those in their fifties and beyond, blogging has been an adventure. Now if it sounds as this is a retirement post, relax Max, it's nothing close.
I hadn't realise I could hurt like that, feel so broken, so shattered. Not for so long. But then, I'd never thought those friendships could dissolve, and so rapidly, without any logical reason or explanation, in my eyes. A lot has changed and I think that those of you have been reading all this time could agree that I am a much stronger and resilient, even happier, person. Although I ceased my self harm in early July, it is this year that I have come to value myself even more highly, and learnt even more about acceptance, of myself and in every way of life.
I slip, a lot. Mood swings have been rampant these past weeks. Possibly a by-product of sleep deprivation. But, you see, le Boyfriend's parents have been away in Europe since August the 4th. And what would two teenagers not quite in love and carrying on a relationship without their would-be-disapproving parents' knowledge, do with this opportunity of an unsupervised house? No, not that... They would obviously spend as much as time as possible together at said unsupervised house... with clothes...
The remainder of the time, I've been stressing about school and English teachers, not doing nearly enough work and discovering amusing sites such as MLIA, amazing sites such as MLIG and in particular, Gives Me Hope, which really does give me and a lot of other people hope. I've gotten my ears pierced, finally, been to a friend's formal, had le Boyfriend come to church with me, been drunk with le Boyfriend, and crossed a lot more items off on our make out list... I'll post it some time. I've banned myself from Facebook for a week, twice, and exploded Carbonara sauce in the microwave a couple more times than I'd like to admit. I've had the most dreadful arguments with the 'rents and missed friends like Raspberry Hatter and Elizabeth; wondered about Michael Rivera, hankered after reading a bit of Lilu, to name a few.
I've been missing people and been experiencing nostalgia for a past that I've never known, and my increasing "emotional chameleon" state is of likewise increasing intrigue to me. I've been out winning awards (well, only one, really) and buying books with the subsequent book voucher prizes, which I have then been too busy to read, or have misplaced somewhere in the house. I've been destroying phones and breaking stuff and getting down but somehow, never out. It's been bumpy, disheartening, but good. I am happy.
So why haven't I been blogging/reading/commenting? I'd like to say that I've been saving up blogging material for you all, but that would, unfortunately, be a lie. I've been lacking time and topics and the ability to write, as well as questioning whether I am truly cut out to create and sustain an entertaining blog, but I am going to say, with some trepidation, that I am back, and looing forward to this, you sexy sexy bloggers, you. And my posts shall NOT be as terrible as my previous few, I promise that.
But one more thing. I have another blog, which is pretty much exactly the same as this, but uncensored and without, well, at the moment, without anyone reading it, but without people-I-know reading it, therefore, a few extra posts you will never see here. I'd challenge you to find it but I'd love for it to have an audience asap, so drop me an email, yes, an email, and, I know, who the fuck uses email these days? Anyway, send me an email, and I'll let you know the password (or URL) to my cave of hidden wonders... /any sexual innuendo derived from that is totally a result of your own warped mind...
Oh and P.S.? (I know I said one more thing, and this makes two, but shush...)
I'm not in love, no, but I love Chip more than I can say (and trust me, you're going to be hearing rather a sickening lot about that in posts to come), and I can truly say that right now, he is the only one I want.
P.P.S. Just realised that I began this post with the line "Why haven't I been around?" Geez. Not to sound desperate to be slutty or anything, Toivoa. Besides, as I was telling Chip the other day, I'm too fucking good to be slutty, or a hooker, or a stripper. Problem? You be the judge.
Friday, May 8, 2009
I Think I'm Getting Dumber.
And you may think I'm secretly blonde once I have told you the story of why. My friend told me that I was dumber than Paris Hilton - I'm so ashamed. (There'll be a poll at the end, don't worry.)
And btw, my Google Reader is fucked at the moment, what with my following 207 blogs and all (yes, two hundred and freaking seven) so I'm desperately trying to catch up on everything and if I don't comment on some kick ass post, yeah sorry. I know you'll miss me. -_-
So today, I'm kind of disheartened because it seems like I'm turning into one of those people who break everything they touch to the point where it's just plain embarrassing rather than funny, and you kinda wonder whatthefuck their point on earth could possible be other than to make you feel like a person of more worth. Take, for instance, the character Frank of old BBC comedy "Some Mothers Do 'Ave Em", which my parents are currently watching on DVD.
Case in Point 1.
This morning, I was about to leave for school, when, with one last look in the mirror, I noticed a dark stain on my jumper. At first, I, somewhat confusedly, thought it was blood, possibly because at the same time I accidentally stabbed my finger on one of the open safety pins that were supposed to be holding the strap of my bag in place, although they do that barely. That broke again today, irrepairably. Or, you know, I came to that conclusion because I am quite simply, morbid as fuck. It was also a strange reversal of an incident that occurred many years ago when I was a child, when I cut my hand opening a tube of tennis balls (pulling off the foil covering under the lid) in the car in the dark and was bleeding all over the tennis balls but somehow thought it was ink or oil...
I soon realised it couldn't be, and was attempting to wash it off when I realised it was ink that must have leaked from a pen in the pocket of my jumper. In washing it out I left a huge wet mark on my jumper. I was already wearing my school bag and didn't want to waste time, so... I proceeded to try to iron the wet patch on my jumper... while still wearing it.
I always knew it was a stupid idea, although I guess I never really worked out why... I thought, it's my jumper, it's wet, so the heat won't penetrate to my skin. I AM INSANE.
Less than 5 seconds later, I yelped in pain. OHMYGOD. It was so hot.
Duh.
So I ended up ironing my jumper on the ironboard after removing it, leaving faint ink stains on the ironboard cover in the process.
As a friend pointed out to me, why the FUCK didn't I use the hairdryer on it?
It never even crossed my mind.
I fucking suck.
Case in Point 2.
Why is my school bag broken? Well, it all began when walking through the library doors, where they have the same sort of things on the side as at shops, to make sure no one just steals books. I caught my bag in one of these without realising, kept walking, and tore the strap off the bag at the bottom. I have been attempting to hold it together with a whole bunch of safety pins since the bag is plastic and I know that if I tried to sew it back, things would only worsen.
Safety pins really aren't doing it anymore.
Case in Point 3.
We had a Biology practical today which involved cutting up Agar into cubes. Agar is jelly-like, but firmer, and I amused myself by drawing on the leftovers with my pen that is not a ball-point and I can't work out what type it is. Said pen no longer works. At all.
It was new.
Case in Point 3.
Today we had Maths, since we don't have every lesson every weekday. I forgot my Maths workbook, textbook, and calculator. I'd say the only thing I had that was able to be used in that subject was my pen, but I had already destroyed that earlier, in Biology, and happened to have on hand a pen I have borrowed from somebody else, forgotten to return, and now cannot recall who owns it, and no one else seems to know.
I could go on for hours but it's becoming a little too depressing and I'm going out soon so time is not on my side, although thank God, in this situation.
I'm angry at myself, because in our Biology practical, we used razor blades to cut the cubes, and everyone laughed over the brand of these blades being "Happiness". The irony here is obvious, but the thing is, I contributed by saying something about Emos, etc. It's not hard to work out the gist of any of those comments. But the thing is, I have been there, I know certain other people in the same area have cut themselves and I was completely insensitive and cruel about it. Talk about contributing to the stereotype. Because it isn't funny, and even though some people do it for attention, a lot of the time that is because they need help but can't express it in a normal way. I've thought that since before I ever did it, but as to why I did, there are so many different reasons. And I could never have stopped without one particular person.
The first person I told besides the ex ex best friend, and who stuck around for my relapse and getting through trying to quit again. I can't remember if I ever told her how grateful I was and am to her, specifically, although there were many general thank-you's to all of my friends who helped in some way, and I hope so much that I did, because I don't think I could ever have stopped without her. And she was right there in the room and I wondered if the conversation reminded her of me - what a terrible thing to connect with me. I see her more often than the others, and its excruciating because I think of how this time would be spent if things hadn't gone the way they had. And even when sometimes I think, fuck it, I'm going to leave my arms and stomach in shreds and pouring with blood, it's for her I don't, although I don't even know if it matters to her anymore, and I half hope it does and half that it doesn't, because, really, which is worse? I don't know anymore. Better for her, better for me; is anything best for the both of us??
And why I am I speaking about her now when I have tried so hard and so long to block her out? That sounds terrible, but if I didn't I don't know what I would do. In some ways, that's the hardest to deal with, because we were the ones who talked. I'd tell them all the same stuff but just, it was different, with her. We talked in depth about freaking everything. And it's talking about the really serious shit and just typical teen matters that I miss. Just, the way that we talked. Kathleen is great, but. It's not the same.
Nothing with other people could ever be the same.
And finally, for the answer to my question, I actually let myself read her blog [and the other's] tonight and then, well, then I obviously couldn't block it anymore. Now I'm more confused than ever. And there's only four days to go and I don't want it to get here, because one was bad enough. And even though the day before I'd done the stupidest thing I could have, that was barely on my mind.
[And, well, I guess that maybe you're reading this [?] and I wonder what you'll be thinking, but I have nowhere left to go, and I decided a long time ago that this was where I would write what I was thinking. I don't fucking know, I hide in every other way, I don't want to leave here too.
So maybe I won't write that letter. Because half the time I'm writing to all of you on here anyway.
You know, this post began and I was determined not to think about you, to make it to you or about you, all of you, for once. But what you said is running through my head and I'm trying to make sure I understand.
I hope you'll never think he was more important. He was just the one who was around the most, and from all that time together, to nothing. Fuck. I still don't know, I still don't think it was that way. But I wonder. "What's it like to kiss someone with a beard?" I remembered her asking that the other day, when I'd told both of you about hooking up with the exbestfriend, and how you both laughed as we walked our separate ways to different classes. That made me laugh.
But you know what? I realised, months ago, that I can deal with not being his friend. I always knew we wouldn't be "best friends forever". But I truly thought that about you two, and I guess, I guess that we all thought that but, I dunno. Semester One exam week, last year, sitting at the shops; do you remember the old lady who had the hair like the scary woman from Spirited Away? And how after we laughed at her, we talked about how we had to still be friends when we were old and had grey hair?
It's things like that I wish I could forget.]
In other news, guys, I may be getting back with Jimit. We were talking about it, and I dunno. I do like him but a friend says it would be a bad idea for me to get into a relationship with anyone at the moment, and I know that's probably true, but I just disagree. I can't really think of a reason why not to, so enlighten me, as I'm sure I'm just too fucking blonde to realise.
Anyway, after the longest-ass and most rambly post I have written in fifty years, here is your poll. What is your opinion on my level of blondeness? Dumber than Paris Hilton, secretly blonde, dropped on my head as a child, my mother drank while pregnant with me, or what? All conclusions welcome ;)
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
My Blogging Pet Peeves
Well, I think if you read my blog at all, you can quite easily see that I complain, a lot. I am not afraid to be far too verbose about it. Do I use "verbose" in the right context? Gosh, I hope so. I don't know why I just said that. Gosh, I mean.
So right now, I'm going to stop, take inventory, and tell all of you just what the hell irritates me when it comes to bloggers. Yes, I am here to spread cheer and goodwill, just like Santa. That is, like Santa if every kid had been bad and was getting coal... and a beating. On that joyous note, gather round, younglings.
1. Those who put up "captchas" for anyone who wishes to comment. It's irritating, and really, consider that it is to prevent spam. How often are you spammed on your blog in the comments? Not often, I'd dare to assume.
2. Those who selectively allow comments by others. While I do moderate comments, it is only because I hate getting notifications sent via email, and use this instead, although it does make for confusion at times. I will post any and all comments. Of course, if a comment is truly hurtful, then you have every right to delete it. But if it is merely someone disagreeing with you, leave it up. What are you, three?
3. Those who do not adjust the time on their blog. It's really not that hard.
4. While some people expect replies to comments they leave on posts, I'm not so fussed. It's pretty much courtesy, but that is at the blogger's discretion, particularly if a comment merely saying "lol" has been left. Come on, what suitable reply to that can even be made? That being said, if you are going to reply to some comments on a post, you should reply to everyone who has commented so far. You can at least refer to a couple of comments in one reply.
5. People who read and read your blog and never comment. Unless you don't want it to be known that you are reading said blog, then... that would make sense. I am guilty of this at times, since I follow almost too many blogs to keep up with. Or sometimes I'm just antisocial. Still, it is bad. Everyone loves comments. Spread the love.
6. Those who follow your blog simply because you follow theirs, when they don't have the slightest intention of ever reading yours, and are not interested at all. I'm following your blog because I like the content, not because I want more followers of my own. That's pathetic, and I wouldn't stop reading your blog because you don't read mine. I just prefer a more accurate portrait of who is interested in my blog. On that note, does anyone know if, with the new Google Friend Connect, it is possible to make someone "unfollow" your blog just by clicking, as you could previously do?
7. Blogspot bloggers who have removed the "Followers" option. It is the easiest way for us to receive updates to your blog. I do not use Google Reader, and chances are, if I can't follow your blog, unless I really love your blog (like Your Beard Is Good ;P He's really funny), I will not remember to check it regularly. Of course, if you don't use Blogspot, like Chris over at Surviving Myself, this doesn't apply.
8. Yeah nah that's all the bitching I can come up with for now. What can I say? I love you guys in the Blogosphere, you make my day. It is true, I spend my days thinking about what to blog about. When I reach a computer, there is nothing but emptiness in my skull. It sucks, but know that I try, for you, and only for you. (That's a lie. It's not really for you. But let's pretend, it makes this easier for everyone.) Just gonna put it out there - you guys make me laugh, smile, cry, think deeply, realise and learn so many things, and cheer me up when I'm down. You're amazing and I'm so glad to be a part of this, even though my blog sucks. Because, again, how many of my followers actually read my blog? I know for a fact that there are several who Numero Sechs. Yes, That was Spanish, I think, and then German. Fine, fine. Nummer Sechs. That's #6 to those of you who do not have the superior German skills I have... [/sarcasm]
And bloggers, I'm curious. When you access the blogosphere, do you read others' posts first and comment, or write your own posts first and then check out everyone else's? I can't even remember what I do, but I think I actually start reading others', begin my post, keep reading others' in between, finish mine, read others', and wait for comments and for other people to post... Yes, I have no life.
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