Category: Meh.

Self-deprecation is wank.

today I hate the fact I have consumed 1 1/2 400g bars of Dairy Milk in a WEEK, BY MYSELF, I can feel that I’ve put on weight and because I have no self-control I cannot let the chocolate just lie there. It is on my desk, next to the Pink Cards.

The Pink Cards are the birthday cards I got from my family. All of them are pink. Not hot pink. Not nearly-purple-pink. Actual Barbie, congratulations-on-your-new-baby-girl Pink. The people who have had a full 20 years to realise I hate pink and will not wear it unless a) paid large amounts or b) for charity (more on that in a later post, I feel…) got me pink cards. I am 20, not 2. Unfortunately.

I also laughed at the card from my parents which told me I had “my own style”… yep, the style you tried to stop me having throughout my late teens. I.e., black and pretty much not giving a fuck what other people thought.

My brother told me how my mum confided in him that she was worried about me not showing interest in having a boyfriend and how she thinks I should get one because it would be good for me, or something like that. This both cements My Resolution further AND makes me wonder WHY she wants me to get myself an awkward appendage. From an astonishingly large part of passive experience, I have found that Friends that become Boyfriends also become insufferable in the process.

What do I do with all these cards?

Proper post and that

Never underestimate my sugar cravings: there were fourteen Viscounts, now there are 0 -5 Gingernuts, + 1 mug of sweet strong tea. Dear hormonal craziness, LEAVE. NOW.

Other things I hate include Emma Thompson, certain people’s ex-girlfriends, the EXTREME TIREDNESS that comes with first days of periods, the EXTREME TIREDNESS that comes with bad colds, and the shop round the corner closing at 1pm on Saturdays. It’s like the olden days innit?

So it begins again.

“You’re not wearing THAT to town, are you?”

When I grow up I will live on my own and never speak to anybody and wear all of my clothes on top of each other.

Nail filing.

For about two or three years, I’ve had periods of “blankness” where I feel a complete lack of motivation or energy, and when I try to visualise my brain at work, just to check I’m still rational and connected, it’s almost as if my head is filled with television snow. It’s at the stage now where I am in this blank state more often then not, punctuated with moments of happiness or excitement, before I fall back into my apathy. I should be planning my two essays for the last week of term, but I can’t bring myself to look again at the books or articles I need. I need, NEED to throw icy water over my hibernating brain and work for two firsts.

I was cursed with a practical family and a practical upbringing: life is working, earning money to pay for practical things such as children and food, occasionally holidaying somewhere for a few days a year, and outrunning depression, alcoholism, heart disease or total insanity in order to get to the grave riding on old age. Getting “beyond yourself” isn’t possible, apparently, and trying to get that far isn’t admirable, unless it’ll make you a millionaire. Consequently drama, music and anything that won’t result in a safe amount in the bank was and is discouraged. It’s fine to go to the theatre, but not to strive to be on stage. It’s perfectly all right to listen to music, just as long as you turn it down and work at the same time. When I see this I cheer up a little bit: after my practical degree, I could go and audition there. But then something reminds me that acting is a fine line to try and tread, and I resolve myself to ending up in a school surrounded by children who do not understand the difference between “their”, “they’re” and “there”.

In a Disney film this lament would trigger a set of events that would make me a queen.


I’m in a weird situation at the moment and I have decided to fuck off out of it, so there we go. Just thought I’d…y’know, say and stuff.

Also yesterday I watched Schindler’s List for the first time and I loved it. Even though Ralph Fiennes sounds exactly like Sacha Baron Cohen’s Bruno.

Stasis, an Emo Post.

My mother used to use the tactic “You’re too young” whenever I wanted to dye my hair/wear weird things/whatever. Now she uses the tactic, “You’re too old.” Sometimes plain straight, “You don’t want that.”

I feel like I spend most of my time on Facebook or struggling to give a fuck about my work. I’ve lost nearly all concentration and interest not just in my degree but in everything. I don’t even care about NaNoWriMo. This hurts. Creative writing used to be my favourite thing in the world.

People joke about being apathetic but that’s how I feel. Entirely and utterly apathetic.