i'm finishing up damned feature article & i want all one thousand five hundred words done before my head hits the pillow tonight & starts dreaming of business ventures & diet plans.
too bad i'm using my words on a blog & not on the artikol. (i figured eight hundred & sixty words was an alright place to pause.)
anyway, halloween party tomorrow & i might rock up as christmas. green dress, red shoes, tinsel, nay?
oh my lord. ten forty four p.m. & work starts at six thirty a.m. tomorrow. i neeeed to finish this article NOW.
nanowrimo also starts tomorrow & am envious of alex day who seems to have concrete for ideas while i have vapour or, if we're feeling poetic, smoke from a slow-burning cigar. i've got my very loose story idea & my four characters, but other than that, they are one dimensional & the plot is as sparse as my natural poise. shit. i also have large, obnoxious assessments which take precendence over said story. I'M SO SORRY NANOWRIMO, PLEASE LOVE ME STILL.
a picture is worth a thousand words, & i'm in grave need of six hundred & forty. in exchange, i leave six hundred & forty words worth one of my finer moments:
i had a nap today, & it was fifty kinds of surreal. my most vivid (& possibly last) recollection of my naps is from back in the fifth grade, for three consecutive afternoons after i lost a gold bracelet with elephant charms from my grandmother.
i suppose that even then, i decisively took my reality diluted with doses of wonderland.
i can't get myself to write this damn feature article. have been struggling for days now. i am, however, consoling myself with the fact that i only have three assessments left to submit, & a little over a week of class left. halle-freaking-berry! (you see what i did there? you totally didn't expect "berry" in lieu of "llujah", don't even pretend!)
let me reiterate this: ONE WEEK OF UNI LEFT FOR THE ENTIRE YEAR. & BOY, AM I EXCITED. think of all the havoc i could wreak with that elusively pesky thing called free-time!
speaking of university, two years down my degree, mother says that maybe communications wasn't for me. maybe psychology would've been more appropriate for me since i apparently have a knack for this advice bizness. i lovingly remind her that back in 2006 when considering a course to undertake, i said i wanted to try my hand at psychology. her peanut of wisdom then went something like this:
"psychology? but you're crazy enough to go to a shrink yourself!" haw haw haw. i'd like to think that my empathy for/with the insane isn't such a terrible thing to have.
anyway, here are two pictures which should give some insight into the extent of my wholesomeness. watch for how lovingly i stare at the queenster!
eventful weekend, to say the least, & dark undereyes like alaskan winter nights & blotchy skin will attest to this. exhaustion surpasses desire for stringing words & thoughts together. this means no coherence tonight. (not like there usually is).
favourite:
plenty more where this came from so you'll just have to deal if i want to show off my friends' faces. ha.
p.s. absolute girlcrush on ruby rose. hothothothot, want.
personal space is a myth on peak-hour-trains. we find elbows in the ears & blonde hair in the mouths. in the carriage, there are four with eyes crouched over books; three of these are unexpected. three are young. palming neil gaiman's fragile things, i do not think of the essays i have to write or the dinner i may have to make. the man with the briefcase & tired eyes is not thinking of falling interest rates. the boy with the nice jawline is reading to kill a mockingbird & is not thinking of kicking his friend in the shins. the boy with the book i wasn't sneaky enough to catch the title of, is not thinking of the train's low hum.
this boy with the book with the unknown title, he doesn't have as nice a jawline, but somehow, his face is more appealing.
i decide that the fourth time he looks my way, i will smile. the thing about the stories worth telling though, is that they're usually full of irony. & in this case, i sat the rest of the way home with lips pursed to the sky.
i've decided that i'm going to keep my new year's resolutions this coming year. i have the convictions of a droopy-eyed fence-sitter & i don't take kindly to change, which is why i'm giving myself these two months to accept them like an accidental newborn.
resolutions: * write my young adult novel * write my adult literary novel * complete a writing exercise every week (i'm very open to writing prompts, guys) * start gigging, & in effect, get my stage presence up * actually run the city2surf (i've done the 14km fun run two years in a row now. my endurance is like stale bread so i don't run the entire thing.) * do chin ups without assistance * have nice hamstrings, triceps & deltoids (screw the glutes & adductors, i want those babies!) * be more patient / tolerant * stop caring about the people who don't matter * (EDIT) collab with wirrow - i thought you'd never ask (:
everyone & everything will let you down eventually. the only way to stay sane is to not let yourself down.
p.s. made a video the other day. it was shithouse like cable tv's decision to axe oldschool nickelodeon. never seeing the light of day just like the little boy in my closet.
p.p.s. i am terribly disappointed at my inability to justify spending greater than eighty dollars worth on three books. times is hard, yo. * no one belongs here more than you: miranda july * love in the time of cholera: gabriel garcia marquez * unaccustomed earth: jhumpa lahiri
happy twentieth birthday to my favourite hughberry, the lad with the best bowel movements in town! you are no longer young & supple. do include prunes in your daily diet if you want to retain your title.
first to leave his little shindig because i'm a slave to the not-so-corporate cause & must wake up in a few hours time for my six thirty shift.
today, i thought minnicus died / was being held hostage without my consent but possibly with her consent. we made plans to meet after my delectably boring class at one. one o clock came & went, as did one thirty. still, there was no minnicus. after nine calls & two txts that remained unanswered & about thirty seven perves at passersby, treff* & i decided to trudge away to chinatown. i wondered several times aloud about the kind of condition i'd find my minnicus in. at five, i get a phonecall from an apologetic minnicus, saying she left her phone at home & had the library clock to go by. thing is, daylight savings happened & the library is like a wrinkling woman with a cane - just not quick to get with the times, literally. so min waited around at her version of one o clock, which is more handsomely known as two o clock. but regardless, I LOVE YOU. EVEN FATE CANNOT KEEP US APART.
*treff & i totally looked like twins today, in jeans & tops as white as my conscience. feasting over eastern baked goods & the psychoanalysis of mankind, i wish i could've gotten a picture. but ah, as it turns out, the stars don't play in my favour & i have no pictures of us looking like (accidental) twins. instead, here is an old one that might be almost as charming:
goodnight everyone. sorry about being so cryptic as of late; let's just say that some things are better left unsaid.
Hello, I'm an internet-predator. When I'm not preying on unsuspecting characters, I'm fulfilling my role as a struggling artist. What kind of artist, you may ask? Well, therein lies the struggle. Music, writing, photography and film are all competing for priority in my aspirational hierarchy. Naturally though, none of the above are any fierce competition for my constant pursuit for things to eat. I'm just reckless like that. Occasionally, I find sweeping therapeutic.
