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Past Entries

October 1st, a Monday

Today has been quiet, which means there has been time to think. That's not something I usually get these days. I think that's part of the reason why for so very long I was so very uninspired. The common perception is that inspiration is born of activity, of hustle and bustle, of sights and sounds, of love and loss. I don't think that's wholly true. Sure without those things there would be nothing to write about, but when too much is going on there's no time to digest things, to filter through all the crap and find that pure, soothing, glistening precipitate: a poem, a picture, a song.

You need space for that. You need utter nothingness. You need summer reruns on TV, you need no one home, you need a pack of cigarettes (optional) and a book that's boring you silly.

Otherwise things just fritter away and all the things that could have been brilliant are lost in a mildly enjoyable episode of the Practice. Or something.

Uh-oh. Gettin' them homocidal urges toward the cleaning lady again. I wish she'd get her God damn vaccuum cleaner out of our house. Actually she can leave the vaccuum cleaner because it's ours. But there's no reason for her to stay. I'd rather choke on dust-balls.

Can you believe we have three cleaning ladies? My mother doesn't have the heart to fire any of them even though they're all completely useless in different ways. I said she could have some of my heart if she wanted - it's nice and hard and perfectly suited to cruel rejection of all kinds (ok, I may be exaggerating hugely there).

I must not forget to do something wonderful before the week is up. I must ask someone reliable to remind me.

I'm going out for drinks (yes, the embarassingly habitual ones) with Nik in a couple of hours. That will be my time out of this wretched house. It's absolutely sacred. I won't be getting so much of it this week though, what with no uni and no flamenco...

Flamenco is cancelled this week - we have an intensive every-nighter next week to make up for it. It's really very annoying because the lessons are at such an awkward time - right around when I might be wanting to go out. I miss the good old ballet days when we had half a day for training and the other half for pretending to study.

But I don't miss the hell-bitches that came along with. And I don't really miss eating bean-sprouts for lunch.

Not that the bean-sprouts were all bad.

It's funny, I weighed myself this morning for the first time in ages (quite a change from the good old every single fucking day routine) and I've lost tonnes of weight. Without even really trying. I think I have Lovan Fluexetine to thank for that. I never believed the pills would work, so I never bothered to take them regularly, but here I am, proved gloriously wrong.

Goodbye depression, hello freedom and god bless Prozac.

October 4th, a Thursday

Brendan copied 'Boxing Hefner' for me. It's wonderful. Seriously enough to make me as happy as anyone might want me to be. One song in particular 'The Hymn for the Coffee' is faint-inducingly good.

Sometimes I wonder at the fact that I can be so cold, so detached, so far away from everything and then all it takes is one moment of weakness and I care so much all of a sudden. It's ghastly. Out of nowhere I need things - I mean my life is a misery without them - and I need them constantly.

those filthy little angels, tugging at my heart

I'm not sure there's anything worse than being emotionally needy.

Words give me a very serious high. I get so excited about them its embarassing. It's particularly bad when I start getting all lyrical in public places - last night I was reading out my poems to Nik and quoting Hefner songs at the conti. I don't know if anyone noticed my absurd fervour - I was too engrossed.

The new Buffy ep has come out over in America, but I haven't been able to find the script on the net yet - I can't believe it's not up! The ep aired on tuesday night for heaven's sake! I'm dying here... have to find out what happens. But I don't just want some lame-o telling me in his or her own words. It's shooting script or nothing.

I was looking at pictures of myself this morning - there are a hell of a lot from my early days. Little me. I was very cute and pretty much a show off. My favourite pictures are the ones of me in my little white tutu that my parents bought me for my 5th birthday or something. I'm running around posing like a... well like a poser. I love the photos because they bring back the faintest haze of memory; they are food for nostalgia. One day - if I ever figure out how to work my scanner - I might put some of those pics up here.

I don't think I'm going to be able to do anything wonderful before the end of this study-break, but I've already made a firm decision: at the end of year, I'm going to do something mad, sparkling and huge. What, you ask? You'll see. And so will I.

All I know is I'm gonna give things a good shake up.

This entry isn't working. My heart is too tight for me to express anything real. I write so much about pain, but not when I'm feeling it. When I'm feeling it I...

October 6th, a Saturday

My mother just forced me to put a mask on my face. You know, one of those clay-y sticky unpleasant ones that you're supposed to have with cucumber. All I can say is, thank God it's off.

I'm going to Steve's 21st tonight. It's has a theme, and normally I utterly despise and loathe themed parties, but I don't mind the idea of everyone looking like a 30's gangster.

I was going to go as Bonnie (of Clyde fame). You know, really go all out - the beret, the gun in the suspenders (although I'm not sure she ever wore those... call it a personal touch), the rabbit called Sunny-boy. But I don't have enough time to get it all together. That always seems to happen to me - I get all these grandiose ideas for costumes and daydream for hours and then I end up trying to convince people that my make-up is a mask (re Claire/Erin/Lindsay's).

I don't know what I'll wear now. I could wear some of mum's fur... that's all gangster's mollish right? But then I'd get lynched.

Also, if I can't be Faye Dunaway who cares.

Not that I could ever have been her. I don't look like her in the least, unfortunately.

I've been told I look like so many people - some flattering, some really not-so... Shall I make a list? The highs, the lows, the praise, the blows?

Katie Holmes, Reese Witherspoon, Geri Halliwell, Claire Danes, Christina Ricci, Laryssa Olenjik, Romy Schneider, Valerie Bertinelli, Maureen McCormick, Alicia Silverstone

The thing I don't get is how can I look like all of these people? It's not possible - they're all so different. I don't really see any of the resemblences all that much.

Berr I hate today. It's absolutely despicable. I had a big fight with my mother this morning. That's always unpleasant. Sometimes I actually think she's kind of... nuts. And whether she is or she isn't one thing's for sure - our family dynamic is so totally fucked up. Well maybe I shouldn't call it a "family", seeing as these days there's only the two of us. That's right, just two of us in a house with 4 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms.

My brother moved out a while ago - it must be coming up to a year. Now he was really nuts. I mean crackers. I say 'was' but I still see him from time to time. He highjacked my drinks with Nik the other night for example. I suppose he was nice enough, but it just drives me up the wall how he sits there and talks to Nik like I don't even exist. And he doesn't get the hint about when to leave. Or else he gets it but he just doesn't care. Yeah, I'll go with that last option.

Still he has provided comic relief from time to time. Nadia still says that quite possibly the funniest thing she has ever seen was my brother, pissed out of his mind at Steve's (not a friend's place, a public bar), dancing to 'Can't touch this' by MC Hammer, his pants falling down. He falls down too, but he hopped up and started again. Sadly, I was quite drunk myself that night (apparently there were 7 cocktail glasses in front of me by the time we left) so I don't remember that priceless little gem.

I want a new friend. Someone to unwrap like a Christmas present. Not that I can afford one at the moment. Too damn much to do. So busy. It shows doesn't it? I mean, I must be busy if I'm wasting my days typing up complete bollocks onto this page.

I hope the sarcasm was duly noted.

And I think I should probably stop.

October 9th, a Tuesday

Steve's turned out to be quite fun. I enjoyed getting all dressed up - ok, so I wasn't Bonnie, but I did get to wear satin and fur. Shall I describe my outfit?

I had on a dark red sleaveless satin dress, which was quite simple and came down to about mid-calf. I bought the dress in Paris about 2 years ago, but there never seemed to be an occasion to wear it before now.

Underneath my dress were suspenders. No, no one could see them, but I felt cool. There was a bunch of girls running around in skirts that could pass as belts, proudly showing off their novelty hosiery and for a minute I thought 'cool' and then I though "Hang on a minute. This isn't the 30's! This is Goth-whore central!'

Over my dress I wore a white fur stole. Fake fur actually. My mother has a whole lot of great glitzy vintage real fur coats and such that she inherited from her socialite mother, but neither of us ever wears them, for fear we'd be lynched by animal rights activists. Plus a lot of my friends would give me evil looks. Alas. They just sit in the cupboard being threatened by greedy moths. Poor little pelts.

Lots of dark lipstick and my dancing shoes - which look un-ninetiesish, if not thirtiesish - finished it off. It was very much a last minute effort, but I felt fancy and that's the main thing. Always. Right?

Erin had on one of those groovy little hats with the black lace veil. I was so envious. Except she had a lot of trouble with the drinking/eating/smoking side of things.

Oh and I met a delightful German girl called Kirsten - pronounced in what I think is the American way - you know, keersten (American, German), rather than kerrsten (Australian). She said she's help me out with my uni stuffs. See I have to do this horrible big 5000 word essay IN GERMAN on KAFKA and HESSE. Can you believe it? Don't they understand that I'm only a little girl?

Yesterday was back-to-uni. I didn't see too many people though - I guess people are taking this opportunity to be slack. Or maybe it's that they were all actually in their classes for once. Who knows or dares to dream... I chatted to Brendan for a while. Not that his company was terribly lively - from what I gathered he'd had Old Man and the Sea style lack of sleep over the weekend. Those dastardly essays. They'll be the death of us all.

I've been listening to the Cocteau Twins all day. But that's for the Soundtrack and the Soundtrack is for later.

Argh Blargh... time for more "La Religieuse". It's a book we're studying in french. The title translates as "The Nun" and man it is one of the freakiest books I've ever read. I mean, who would have thought that in the 18th century, people would have been writing lesbian sex scenes that take place in convents.... Hrm. I suppose it's what I should have expected - all of the books from the course I'm doing were banned in their day.

What I wish: I lived in America in college. That would be so quaint. Oh oh and frat parties. Heh... yeah, it'll always be the dream.

October 14th, a Sunday

This entry is going to have to be a short one because I have an absolutely obscene amount of study to do. Exams will be upon us in a matter of weeks and I still have all my term work to do. Alas. No time for journalling, poetry-writing and such.

Except on the bus. The bus is a great excuse for day-dreaming - I can't be expected to read notes or anything, because I get horribly car-sick. So i just day-dream quietly and sometimes, if I'm lucky, my discman happens to not be out of batteries (once in a blue moon). The other day, between Nedlands and Swanbourne I rapidly conceived of 3 short, short, short stories which will form the basis for a new section on this site in due course. First I have to write the stories down. At the moment, I just have a bunch of paragraphs and a general plot floating around in my head.

I added a whole bunch of wallpapers today. I seem to have developped an obsession for plug-ins - my favourites at the moment are glitterato and melancholytron.

I also seem to be obsessed with the actresses from Roswell (except for Shiri Appleby who kind of annoys me), and especially with Majandra Delfino. It's funny because I don't like the show at all - I consider it to be an extremely poor imitation of Buffy and The X-Files. Plus they have Christmas episodes. With miracles. And Carols. On the other hand, the girls are really pretty and multi-talented. Emilie de Ravin studied ballet (which immediately puts her in my good books of course) and Majandra Delfino is a singer who actually has a *beautiful* voice.

So I watch the show and snigger at it and make wallpapers obsessively.

Sigh. What good can come of this?

I wish I could mess around with pretty pictures for a living. If anything comes up, email me. Ho, ho, ho.

I must go - time for drinks with Dam and such. If he calls back that is. He's absolutely impossible to get in touch with on the phone because he only has one line and he's always connected to the internet. So I have to email him and tell him to call me. Which is annoying because it means he can just pretend he never got the email. Grr. Makes it hard to force people to hang out with you, you know?