I feel like I've somehow changed planets to one with less gravity.

there goes 2010

I LOVED IT.

I hated chunks of it.



New Year's Eve last year, where was I? Wimborne... I hadn't thought I was going to do anything, and then someone demanded my presence in a random house belonging to strangers in Wimborne, so that's where I ended up. It was a good night, running along the road kissing Andy and holding hands with him and Jack. Very strange that that was the beginning of the year.

I didn't know Maya yet - hadn't been to her wonderful house in Cornwall with the scary puppy and the brandy and watching Xavier Rudd and Ben Howard, and then driving the boat around the harbour. And then cooking everyone dinner, drinking too much and smoking weed. I hadn't even heard of Hop Farm Festival, wouldn't have dreamed I'd have seen Bob Dylan by the end of the year. Hadn't fallen completely for Ani Difranco, yet, I think. Had hardly heard of Johnny Flynn, let alone imagined I'd have spoken to him within a year.

I didn't know Jack really. Didn't think of myself as someone who could 'do' relationships. Could never take myself seriously in that way (and still can't). Didn't think I'd be leaping into the ocean on summer solstice in my underwear, being followed by him. Didn't know how much alcohol I'd be consuming this year. Hadn't had sex yet. Hadn't been simulateneously desperate to be near someone and determined to not be. Hadn't had tonsillitus yet.

I already knew how to play the Nigun Concerto, but I hadn't played it with the orchestra yet. Violin was a much bigger part of my life than it is now, as were piano and singing.

I still lived in Dorset, had lived there for almost eight years, was antsy to get out of there but loving how well I knew it all. I hadn't been to: Yellowstone (snow), Yosemite (bears), Nevada, Montana, Utah, Wyoming, The Great Salt Lake (dawn), Salt Lake City (Mormon messing) and LA (got threatened by guy straight out of jail). I had been to Solana beach (sun), San Francisco (multiple walking tours), Berkeley (frozen yogurt) - but I was going to visit them all again, differently. I didn't know the full meaning of The Green Tortoise.

I had never dyed my hair, but had long had an ambition to dye it blue, which I would finally realise in the summer. Got to do that again. I started smoking. I quit a couple of times, and then properly when I got ill.

I was still in school, didn't know I'd be at Exeter the next year, didn't know I'd have a wonderful flat and know so many people, didn't know I'd be the kind of student in my first term who pulls all nighters, always offers guests whisky and whose room is always a tip to be picked through for treasures like tea cups.

And there's still a few days left.

New Years Eve, I ought to be in Cardiff, drunk in pubs, bars, and finally clubs... with the crazy girls I know from Exeter. It'll be messy, hilarious, someone will probably cry, jess and nancy will probably get on each other, I'll look pale and yellow in the reflections in the mirror, my eyes and lips crudely drawn as if I'm one of those paper men, stretched out, unfolded...

So.

What about next year?

So many hopes. To see Ani Difranco, which ought to happen as there are tickets, and things. I hope to get a job in California over the summer, but if it doesn't happen, I hope to travel around England, to get a job in England, to go to music festivals in England. And then I'm going to be in the states for university, next year. How odd.

I want to get better at country/folk fiddle, like the guy in the mountain firework company's recordings. I'd like to write more, too. To do more drugs, but smoke less. Comfort eat less. Spend less. Steal more. Maybe limit the alcohol intake, a bit, maybe less than 1000 units a term...

I want to be healthier. As in, not ill.

I want to visit Plymouth and Oxford.

And find a more comfortable bed.

i can't stand to see you bleed

The Wrote & The Writ
Johnny Flynn

They're taking pictures of the man from God
I hope his cassock's clean
The burden of being our holy fellas
Your halo'd better gleam, better gleam

What of all those wayward priests?
The ones who like to drink
Do you suppose they'd swap their blood for wine
Like you swapped yours for ink, for ink

You wrote me oh so many letters
And all of them seemed true
Promises look good on paper
Especially from you, from you

The weight of all those willing words
I carried all alone
You wouldn't put your pen to bed
When we hadn't found our own, our own

Your sentences rose high at night
And circled round my head
The circle's since been broken
Like the priest before me is breaking bread

I'm being asked to drink the blood of Christ
And soon I'll eat his flesh
I'm alone again before the altar
Shedding all my old regrets

The last of which I'll tell you now
As it flies down the sink
I never knew a part of you
You didn't set in ink, in ink

The letters that you left behind
No longer shall I read
Your blood's between the pages
And I can't stand to see you bleed

And I'll soon forget what was never there
Your words are ash and dust
All that's left is the song I've sung
The breath I've taken and the one I must

If you're born with a love for the wrote and the writ
People of letters your warning stands clear
Pay heed to your heart and not to your wit
Don't say in a letter what you can't in my ear

My sisters and parents invaded my room to wake me up today. I hate that, and it reminded me why I'm so pleased I'm at Exeter for my birthday. The stocking had the predicible joys of socks and tights and chocolate and strange facewashes and things which it always brings, minus the odd japanese fan which it had taken to carrying until this year. Church was mostly empty, a plain, pale, simply decorated and quite beautiful room in which a few large families of curious people huddled, and a few lonely elderly people dotted the pews. The preacher was obsessed with opening presents. We sang the hyms which I quite like from Christmas, except at the moment I can't sing. Christmas lunch was as expected. The walk became a sledging experience. The presents included a colourful watch which I shall treasure, an Ejyptian bag I rather like and some speakers which I needed.

I bought my seven year old sister a camera with my other sister and she loves it. She's been making movies which make me realise how much we ignore her, and taking photos which are unique as from her viewpoint. I'm overjoyed with having bought her it. Holly's glad I gave her Vogue, when really I only bought it to have something to hide behind whilst travelling (although I could, in the end, not bear to do that as it's too awful for words. Call it a magazine? It's just repetative photos. The ones without people in are okay, but the blank eyes, medical mouths and slim noses are horrible).

I need to book what I'm doing in Cardiff. Fuck. I need to get my reference from a seminar leader. I need to write a personal statement about why I want to go to America. I need to read a load of books. I need to see so many people, if they let me. I need to do things. I have such an easy excuse not to do anything today that it makes me realise how much I need to do.

Ask, tell.

I have to climb hills to find a sky where the horizons can hold me I am too used to other skies which stretch forever a lungful of stars sprayed across them and me warm and confused under them.

I go stir-crazy under these little ones, where you only see a noughts and crosses board’s worth of cloud, full like an eye before crying. The judgement passed by these skies is so different. Just looking at these closed covers I feel repressed. Pressed. Depressed. Is it just in my mind or is what we need a sunny sunny day?

Song for yesterday http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qz-FoGp3p0s, Laura Marling’s voice is amazing. I miss having my real speaking voice. I wonder how much a voice defines a person. Phone calls, voice recognition, programs in which the voice is used, technology stuff. A definable voice to define what you want, what you think, who you are.

Christmas Eve of all days. How amusing. I’m not getting confused. I got upset, which was unfair of me. Let me teach the world that when she writes 'I feel so alone' she means that she needs to be comforted before she goes crazy. Reading a blog from a woman claiming to be 60% straight and there it is again. Loneliness. Reading a blog from a girl who sits in parties staring at candles and again - solitude, negativity. The idea that the world is 'out there', judging. Are we incredibly childish to write these things down? Do they mean what they write, am I the only one who takes a teeny vial of emotion from a billion raging torrents and examines it until it could fool someone into believing that was all I was thinking?

I am thinking about the different bedrooms I have slept in in my life. I am remembering sharing a room with my brother. I remember him insisting the door was closed 'don't leave the door open lassy' and the fear that brought with it. I remember the feeling of the carpet burning my stomach as we lay on the floor to put our beanie babies and assorted other toys into battle formations. My brother used to make up intricate games, use dice to decide who won. He was a chess player, nothing if not logical.

Someone on tv said he played chess to help him win in his sport. Lots of decision making. I tried playing chess against the computer, too ashamed to try against a human as I don't know the rules. I lost very quickly.

When I have Fears that I may Cease to Be


When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
- Keats

Man On Train Comments On Tweed

Let's be honest, I spotted him getting on the train with a tandem and ran down the train to be in his carriage. Hauling the super heavy suitcase and various random bags, including the slightly horrific leather backpack. Find myself walking past him, looking at the available seats, trying to find one big enough for me and my bag. This started out as a pretence to be near him, and turned slightly urgent as the train started moving and the seats were too close together to fit the suitcase in with me next to it.

Then, OH GOD HE SPEAKS, 'Is that tweed?'

I turn to look at him. He has big soft dark eyes, dark hair with a hat, looks to be mid-twenties, a big scarf and then dark clothes. I'm going gooey chatting about how I found my coat in the attic. Who knows where the thing actually came from, it really just appeared in my life (heh at a key moment but shush that's only if you've been following carefully), but that's almost stranger than the idea of it appearing in an attic. I sit far from him but he keeps talking so I move to sit opposite him. It's a little awkwarder than I'd expected, because the seats are all so close together. Old fashioned trains on little used lines, the petite style of transport.

He's a teacher. I give up on allure at this point. He did philosophy at Kings college london, now teaches RE and history at a pretty ordinary high school in kent where the kids tease him for his brick of a phone (we compare phones, mine's worse, of course). I tell him my usual things. He likes Hume. He used to ride his tandem bike with his ex girlfriend (he gives me a look here, like he's putting the ex bit in so that I can hear it, totally my own interpretation there but HEY I LIKE IT).

We talk the whole journey til I'm surprised by the end of it. I make the mistake of voicing that surprise, so he's like, oh it was the good company, and leaps up to grab his tandem. Off the train, he says it was nice to talk. HE LIVES IN NEWBURY. HE ENDS UP AT THE SNOOTY FOX AFTER NIGHTS OUT IN NEWBURY. he told me the name of the road he lives on but I've forgotten it. He likes dubstep and post-rock, but he knew about Hop Farm.

Can I marry him now please.

When I was waiting for my mom to pick me up and he'd left an alright guy tried to talk to me but my mom pulled up at that moment. That made me laugh. Have I got more attractive or am I obviously all for free love or are there more desperate guys around Newbury than one would normally expect? And also, no one could top the teacher on the tandem. Going to walk around Newbury with binoculars looking for tandems.

And my mom just came in and told me I have to get onto their sleeping patterns. Fucking miss university freedom already.

i think i'm going to brush all my teeth!

Woody Allen.

Almost went to Bournemouth today on a whim but ended up home instead.

The holidays feel like they're going too fast and they've barely started.

Maybe I should do like my brother and just run down to Bournemouth now. I should have gone today. Then I could have seen Jade. I need to stop taking so many pills. I could go down tomorrow, 22nd, stay for two nights (where would I stay? With Jade, who's trying to leave? No. With Matty? Sort of sketchy staying there after drunkenness last time. With Izzie? She's too far from everyone else. Fuck.) and come back on Christmas eve, first thing. Or even one night, I don't spend enough time with the family. Not that it's any good me being here, Holly just wants me gone because I'm the only other person who makes any effort to be a real living human being. Vivi can be disposed of, in Holly's battle for attention, and Nippy is quiet. The parents are parents. Anyway, getting to Bournemouth takes so long. And I can't afford it.

Definitely listened to neurotic talk for too long. Taking up their habits of speech.

Desperately trying to remember how it felt that night I smoked with a sore throat and I could feel each inhalation cloaking the soft vulnerable insides of my throat in sticky itchy dusty black tar. Instead am remembering the slight rush, the way my eyes felt, the feeling of being in control.

Stars in the snow

I don't want it to be Christmas in four days. I want at least a week more than that. I'm not ready. I have bought a single book as my entire Christmas shopping. And the book is not a whole present, it's just Peake's Nonsense book, it was under the children's section in Oxfam, which is obviously wrong.

Warm floaty times. Glass of wine or mulled cider with dinner. Roast dinner, Indian take away, me cooking pesto chicken stuff and them loving it. Watching television as a group. Walking to the post office through the snow. Them being about 50. The gay couple next door, one from Portugal. Going shopping with Sue and being given £15 tights when she can't afford to buy new clothes for herself. No adolescents or even young adults. Being photographed so that she can paint me and still coming out looking like a psychopath (the first time I tried to spell that it suggested I meant 'facecloth'). I love it.

My family are finally back in England, though, so this moment of some sort of silence is almost over. That's okay. I don't mind leaving although I wouldn't mind staying. It's mild. I hope the family get home okay through the snow, though.

Despite the ever-present cough and secondarily the cold, I feel nursed back to reality, even though this is nothing like reality. I feel strong enough to deal with the past and the future, as long as I don't worry about them too much. Things seem okay, even if they're bad, because I don't need to blame myself, and I don't need to pretend, for a while. That's nice.

Show about Yellowstone on today. Almost screamed when Artist Point came on screen. Song for today, 'Goodbye England, covered in snow' by Laura Marling. I'm not leaving, but one day it will.

a reply

'Maybe baby.

Apologies for my unprovoked rudeness last night too. x'

unprovoked?

some people are better at apologies than me.

I'd have been like, 'even if you did deserve it, bitch'.

And furthermore, don't call me baby.

'Why'd you yell at me?'

a message, sent at some time between 3 and 4 last night. To Adam. Fuck. Did he actually yell at me? Bastard. Was he just fucking with my mind or did he actually mean that I was using him? Does that mean he's serious about liking me or does that mean he expected sex and I haven't given in? Does he really think I only go for him when there's no one else? I was looking for him all night.

On the other hand, he has a point. Random guy who fell on my ankle. Random guy who gay friend set me up with who said he loved me. Random guy who looked like Johnny Flynn. Andy (oh god. Andy. that was meant to wait until he fell in love with me. fail.). Then Adam. Then...

I don't know. I haven't been 'bad' in so long that I felt owed some slack... but now I know basically everyone in the club, having either got with them before or eaten meals with them, or both, that it's simply awkward.

For the record, I don't count my actions as using people. When I know someone's serious I consider yes or no, and if I don't want to get involved I make sure they know. Rob, for example, did not get more than a business-like hug. I didn't know Adam was serious... okay so he's been kind of on and off all term but whenever he sees me we just mess around, right... I don't think he's serious. 'I can't afford to do this' what the fuck does that mean?

SNOW SNOW SNOW

Also, since when did Hindle appear from my past and tell me I'm too old? Totally ruined my groove.

My groove.

Oh yeah, you heard me.

Also, when a club is dropping money on you, don't decide that you are bonnie and clyde and that violence is fine as long as you have a strong guy to help you. Particularly if you don't even like the concept of money grabbing. URGH CONSUMERISM SURROUNDING ME. I yelled at cars the whole way home.

OW MY FACE.

I'm melting! Mellllting!

Things I would like to eat:

A huge peach.
Corn on the cob, in California.
Chicken and mayonnaise and lettuce in between to thick slabs of white bread, fried.
Tonnes of sushi.
Really fancy fish dish de loup from the french cafe in Newbury, with a delicate white wine.
A whole pound bar of dark chocolate with almonds.
Churros and chocolate.
A proper Californian Mexican burrito, with all the beans and rice and jalapenos and stuff.
A teeny really delicate chocolate mousse.

What I have which I could eat:

Mouldy cheese in ancient wraps
Baked beans... could be put into wraps
Chille peppers
Porridge
Breadsticks and butter
Tea
Chocolate digestives
Chocolate icing.

Damn reality not matching up.

My essay so far goes,
Barthes - infinite meanings. Wimsatt and Beardsly - who cares. Derrida - no meanings. T S Eliot - awesome. all x3.
I feel that I may need to do some weaving together of ideas. And write 1000 more words.

I don't want to leave Exeter, but I've had enough for a while. Last night I realised that even if I was magically completely well, it's probably just as well this term's ending. Before I murder Will and Tom or attempt to get on Alex or Aiden. I'm still going to miss it ridiculous amounts, and I'm not looking forward to the reflective time where I look back and go, what the fuck was I thinking for the first 8 weeks of that term?

Holidays:
Try to read at least one more of the beginning texts from this last term (library) and then two for next term. Sort out how to get books and actually get them this time. Visit Bournemouth and try to be able to look people in the eye. Pub crawl in Newbury with Alice. Visit from Jade and Izzie. Spend time with Vivi. Work out exercise stuff within first day. Get new dress. Continue shoe search. Open NatWest bank account and sort out about Halifax card expiring.

Next term:
24 pounds a week on food and alcohol. 10 pounds a week for going out. Gives me about 120 pounds for other stuff. Aim to go to Plymouth and see Lizzie and Chris. Jog on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays whilst well (who am I kidding). Only buy noodles, peppers, milk, hot dogs, exotic fruit and crumpets on a biweekly basis, get cereal (not fucking shreddies) at beginning of term (>> shredded wheats? could get small box of shredded wheats with sugary stuff too? or special k?).

Right so that sounded like I was organising myself, but actually it was pure procrastination. Back to the essay.

happy birthday Maya

In my lecture today, they said that everything about us is shaped by environment. When we're born we are a white sheet, we are nothing until we have environmental influences. I don't know what science would say about this... I personally would probably be happier to go with us being blocks of rock, with a sculpture already in them but it depends who's around as to how that sculpture comes out... but if I was a vessel waiting to be filled, a line drawing wanting colouring, I'm glad Maya was there to help out with it. Maya's changed my life, she's made me who I am. I cannot say how thankful I am that she took pity on the weirdo from choir, from her biology class. And I cannot say how much I have enjoyed her company, through gigs, through festivals, through exams, across countries, across time zones, across all situations, in tents, in showers, in buses...

I hope you have an absolutely wonderful day, and life.

I cannot wait until I see you next, and I cannot wait to wath Ani Difranco with you. There is no one I'd rather see her with.

johnny flynn, clean rooms and sore noses

I turn from buying whisky and lemonade from the bar and walk towards the doors for the concert - over 20 minutes til doors open, but dammit I want to be there at his feet... And then a loose chequered shirt and blond hair catches my eye. Freeze. Turn to Iona, who is right behind me.
(lowered voice) 'That... isn't Johnny Flynn, is it?'
(excited voice) 'Can't be. He'd be being mobbed!'
We walk to the other side of him. He's standing at the bar and it's quite dark, so it's hard to see, and I mean, I've only seen him from a distance and in photos or videos, it's different... He goes and sits down with some older people (presumably relatives) and a woman who he talks to...
(Me, in strained tones) 'It's him.'
Two girls and an older woman walk up and shake his hand. It's utterly surreal. One of Iona's friends calls us over and we chat, and then I drag her over to Johnny. He has a slightly red scar on his left cheek. His hair is perfect... The older man next to him turns and smiles at us.
(Older man) 'You want to talk to Johnny?'
(Me) 'Well... if that would be okay, it'd be nice...'
He turns and gets His attention.
(Me, feeling like I'm about to faint) 'So, uh, we saw you over here and I'd never have forgiven myself if we hadn't come over...'
He smiles awkwardly and says hi or something.
(Me, dying) 'I saw you at hop farm, it was brilliant'
(Him, awkward and shy) 'that was a good day'
(Me, overly keen) 'yeah, a good day. You play violin... I play violin. You're really good.'
He stares at me. I turn to Iona and go, SAY SOMETHING.
(Iona, trying to be cool) 'I know this is really lame, but would you sign our tickets?'
(Him) 'Uh, yeah, sure'
-fumbling with pens and tickets-
(Him) 'So, what's your names?'
(Iona) 'I'm Iona'
-He signs my ticket with her name. Iona and I exchange glances to the effect of, okay, we're swapping tickets. He looks up at me expectantly. I pause.-
(Him) 'What's your name.'
(Me, gasping) 'Oh! Um. Florence. Like the city.'

I think it was at this point that it struck me that I was acting like a complete idiot. It took that long for this to strike me. I simultaneously realised I hadn't spoken to anyone else at the table and this was rude, and also that I probably wasn't being very seductive. Shock horror. I think I yelled Hello at the random woman next to him, at which point he was like 'Oh, do you know... her... no? Oh. It's just... She... uh.' And then handed back our tickets. We said thank you and left, squealing.

We went and screamed joyfully until the gig started. It was brilliant. Due to the stalking of Johnny we weren't the first in, but we were only a few people back.... The first few lines were all over excited girls, and as I thought disapproving and sarcastic thoughts about how they were ridiculous and overly keen I felt like the biggest hypocrite in the universe. He had two support acts, the first was a band of dark haired guys who had an awesome churranga player and a brilliant pianist, but I thought they kind of mushed their sound. The second one was Basia Balut, who walked on stage, smiled and sang out a beautiful solo complete with soulful handclapping and stamping. A really touching performance. Then her band, consisting of her brother on the drums (AWWWWW) and a very affected man with a pretentious moustache and a name like Mr Glompty on the bass and trumpet. They're Canadian, and awesome. Her voice and her playing of autoharps and other ancient harps and guitars and things really were incredible.

Then Johnny Flynn and The Sussex Wit came on, and I tried to spend about half the time checking out the band because they really were awesome. The cellist was fascinating because it was like a lesson in being the string part in those songs, which I'm trying to get good at on the violin... The drummer looked like the kind of guy I'd want to marry but never just date. The bassist looked solid, in a really good way. I thought maybe, you know, as it was so likely, I could be his girlfriend and then hang out with Johnny because I could never be in a relationship with Johnny because I'm too nervous around him. The best part of the band was probably the keyboard/vocalist, who had an awesome voice - he sang the woman's part in 'The Water', which isn't that high but is still a woman's part and his voice was perfect with Johnny's. Of course.

Johnny is exactly the man I dreamt about from the ages of 4 til 14. I used to say I went for blondes. I used to want a tortured soul. I used to want a skinny, beautiful boy. I used to want someone who was shy and awkward but deep and meaningful underneath. I used to want a musician. I used to want someone with his messy hair. He was my prince charming, my companion in all my imaginary stories, the boy who saved me from the girls school I felt trapped in, the one who I would have a beautiful wedding with...

But now, I'd like someone I can talk to. Tortured soul, well... only some of the time.

Restcure

I think I am well because I am determined to be well, and also I am definitely much better. However, I drank properly for the first time in a while last night, but I stayed in halls and still got about nine hours sleep so I think it's okay.

I am worried about Ethan. Because he almost definitely will never break down people push him too hard. He always has interesting thoughts and is a good listener, once you get used to how awkward he is he's good to have as someone you can not bother to man up with. He's sympathetic, and it's cute how much he misses his brothers - he's the oldest of four, I'm the second oldest of four, we can talk about siblings. He thinks that the problem is that people don't have enough respect for him, which is true. I'd say he brings it on himself, but he says that he 'doesn't mean to say stupid things'... If a girl said the level of things he says, people would think they were cute, innocent and ditzy. People take out their bad feelings on him, they don't think about how what they're doing will hurt him. If we were in school I'd say he was being bullied but here it's hard to think of that word - I think of it as his friends being mean to him...

Last night I broke one of my tea cups, so now I only have three left... But it was nice to have people be like 'O wow the tea cup of whisky! That's one of my first memories of you, sitting in your corridor with your back against your door which kept opening so you fell over, drinking whisky from a tea cup!' Apparently it's 'hardcore'.

I talked to Calumn (who I called Connor, I guess he reminds me of Oberst...) about J Tillman again, and once again was glad Liz Jackson recommended him to me in the days of yore... I rather like the fact that Calumn won't talk to me unless he's drunk something. Or rather, I feel like whenever I talk to him I'm drunk, but if I see him when I'm sober he just kind of smiles. So I presume it's him not me, but who knows maybe I launch myself at him when I'm drunk.

I cannot wait for tonight.

Haven't texted EG at all. I count this as a good thing, it takes restraint and everything... and I have hardly thought about him or Adam at all. Bad influences.

dreams.

in my dream last night a girl in a big white dress tore up tissues and every time she tore them something bad happened.
and then we were in a disused churchyard and i didn't understand why everyone was really pale and ignoring me until i realised they were dead, it was me. i was.

the bottom of my tongue has veins on it and i think one of them is falling off. i know this is not true but i have cut the bottom of my tongue so it really hurts and i think it is.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

My family leave for Ejypt tomorrow I think. Abandoment.

I love Shane for looking after me when I collapsed in my doorway.

gender consciousness on facebook

[You]
15:28
haha
okay. advert for touch of pink perfume. says 'when it comes to men, we've all got a type, so what's yours?' and the options are Handsome muscled hunk
Indie boy in skinny jeans
Rebel skater boy
i hate that
a lot
i mean
maybe my type
is spotty geek
FUCK THEM
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:30
XDDDD
out of the three, mine would be a mix of the last two
but with additions
and .... minusations
[You]
15:31
ahaha
why is it 'hunk' or 'boy'?
i'd actually like a rather intelligent MAN with a good taste in music
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:31
yeah
god
some people
[You]
15:31
ahaha
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:31
XD
WHAT ABOUT LESBIANS
what do they feel about thsi
this*
[You]
15:32
UYEAH FOR FUCKS SAKE THIS IS SO TRUE
where is the queer theory here?
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:32
i think that was possibly the wierdest thing i've said in a while XD
but EXACTLY
[You]
15:33
... i say that sort of thing the whole time >.<
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:33
i do in my head
not aloud
[You]
15:34
ahaha i sayit alloud. which is why i am worried about my sexual preferences, but not really because i know i prefer guys but sometimes i really am so... conscious of holding the same oppinions as people of other sexual tendancies....
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:35
haha. sexual preference is one of those things that doesn't really matter. like hair colour ;D
[You]
15:36
win
i might have to put this on my blog
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:37
haha
also, its a good excuse to not get with people ;D
or, to get with someone
[You]
15:37
ahahaha why was it my mind said that about half a second before you wrote it
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:38
XDD we are psychic
[You]
15:39
i like thinking about it like hair colour.
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:39
haha
it can change easily on the surface but in the end you are what you are
[You]
15:40
win
[Alice Jessica Smith]
15:40
=D=D my philosophical thought of the day

unsteady

I was up all night dying over the sink. All night. And some of the morning. And now I have to write an essay and then go to a meeting about universities in the us, if i an make it up the hill. Aiden took 5 paracetemol and was confused and his head hurt and his vision was spotted. He dreamed that Matt was trying to kill himself, and that he walked into a house and Matt was hanging from his head from the ceiling and had no eyes.

I lost myself on a cool damp night
I gave myself in that misty light
Was hypnotized by a strange delight
Under a lilac tree
I made wine from the lilac tree
Put my heart in its recipe
It makes me see what I want to see
and be what I want to be
When I think more than I want to think
I do things I never should do
I drink much more than I ought to drink
Because it brings me back you...

Lilac wine is sweet and heady, like my love
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, like my love
Listen to me... I cannot see clearly
Isn't that she coming to me nearly here?
Lilac wine is sweet and heady, where's my love?
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, where's my love?
Listen to me, why is everything so hazy?
Isn't that she, or am I just going crazy, dear?
Lilac Wine, I feel unready for my love,
feel unready for my love.

inventory of items

fresher's week - red, white and black dress, too short but comfortable, and pink tea cups from my 18th for whisky

then my green skirt and new wellies and tin tin bag.

then the just below the knees skirt covered in old fashioned bicyclists with moustaches and top hats for movember and a lighter.

then 'the goat', a vintage fuzzy coat/cardigan thing with embroidered big shoulders.

now mid calf length tweed coat and black leather backpack.

Balm

Xavier Rudd wasn't as good as when Maya was there. He seemed less enthusiastic. Less dancing - still some, he was still him, but he wasn't yanking people out of the crowd, he wasn't drinking funny tea, he wasn't in love with us. Maybe there were loads of technical hitches, and the fact that most of the crowd couldn't see him as the stage was too low must have been annoying, but... it made me sad. I probably annoyed the people I was with through comparisons. Ben Howard attracted more attention though - more of the crowd seemed to know him. Which was lovely. Still, they're such beautiful people, spinning through life happy happy happy I love the peace of their energy. And Xavier's first two just him songs were amazing. Amazing didgeridoo and bass drum and everything...

I can't wait for Johnny Flynn this Sunday. Determined to get there at least 20 minutes early. Might have to take a taxi from Jess's birthday festivities. I have to get better for it.

Last night I slept through most of it, only woke up 3 times, and only one of those had paranoia and coughing fits sprouting from it. My mattress is ridiculously uncomfortable, and for some reason I got the idea in my head that there was a person hiding beneath it with a chainsaw (I shouldn't have watched that smidgen of American Psycho...). Then I had a nightmare about dead babies because of Will and Tom's jokes about it, and because of that scene in The Omen... shudderful...

Now my lip balm is making me feel ill. The Dr said that it was a viral infection so she could only treat the symptoms. Hocus pocus.

And now people are thinking about Chiristmas presents. Fuck. 50 quid left in the bank.

god, i'm glad i'm not me

i would like to know what is at the centre of your world.

>> salt

you just want me to be who you want me to be.

>> sick

i can change in the course of a day. i wake, and i'm one person, and when i go to sleep, i know for certain that i'm somebody else.

>> sin

i didn't come out of some cereal box.

>> sure

Realisations

Maya actually knows everything I told Scott. It was just the difference in context which made me think it was new. Fail.

Engaged guy (from now on called EG) took me out for coffee and, as per usual, told me I was gorgeous and that he desperately wanted to kiss me. But the interesting part was that he'd been traveling this summer in some of the same places I had - he'd stayed at the Green Tortoise hostel and Yosemite, travelled through LA and San Diego... but our experiences were so different. He brought a $700 suit and got in to clubs, bars and gambling in Las Vegas. I slept through Las Vegas at the end of the most perfect bus tour ever. He worked at Yosemite teaching kids rock climbing. I squatted illegally in various campsites and wandered around during the day getting scared by bears. He learnt to surf in LA. I talked to a guy who had just come out of prison and whom attempted to get $30 off me, and took the next train onwards.

We went to some shops - he brought a fake Christmas tree; I brought tissues.

He said I had a nice bum, I called him a dick.

He said that his fiancee said he could flirt/kiss with whomever as long as he didn't tell her. I don't know what to think. I don't know what I feel. I don't know what to do. Damn it.

I think I shouldn't go near him ever but I've agreed to watch The Royal Tenembaums with him. In his bedroom, because he has cider and a big tv to watch it on. And a duvet. And a blanket...

I think I need to sort this out.



A load of girls are singing the 12 days of Christmas outside. Dinner time.

wishful thinking

Talked to Scott about sexuality. Told him stuff I never told anyone. Feel strange. Not sure if he understood. I'm pretty sure I need to go to Vassar, I don't want to let myself hope that it'll help with self-discovery stuffs, but it might help confirm suspicions. Scott said that the problem with not being straight is that he finds that if a guy knows, he assumes Scott wants to be in his pants. Damn social norms. Damn judgement. Damn expectations.

It was snowing last night, the boys kept coming in and telling me, so that exploded my early night theory, so I watched Transamerica, which is a movie about a transsexual woman finding the (ridiculously attractive) boy she fathered. Who happens to be a bit of a prostitute/ petty thief/ druggie, in New York. Lots of driving across America. Lots of interesting moments, challenges of preconceptions. Then the boys came in during one of the boy being a prostitute with an older man scenes, and it was all a bit awkward.

Going home tomorrow!

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
But it don't snow here
It stays pretty green
I'm going to make a lot of money
Then I'm going to quit this crazy scene
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby cry

He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I'm so hard to handle
I'm selfish and I'm sad
Now I've gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby say goodbye

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on.

salt and iron

my head is a flock of birds which may fly away
while the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
definitions of your prison bars

i went to a student protest yesterday and we yelled in a crowd of college kids and then i turned to see jac, bright orange curls under a grey/blue hat. Looking active as a squirrel, taking photos, taking notes, yelling enthusiastically. Compatible. Drama students, though, are supposedly to be avoided.

Speaking of which, Adam needs to be dealt with. I think he lives relatively near my family home though! I could totally sort him out this Christmas. Over a coffee. Or a few drinks. Or a bed. Say whuuuut?! Bad me.

Need to hand in job application for this summer tomorrow but waiting til I go home first. And need to write an essay for tomorrow and don't want to.

A guy I know from getting drunk in a pub with appeared at dinner yesterday and (eventually) asked for my number. He's kind of cute. Butt, when we were drunk, he talked dirty to me for a good long time and apparently wants to do all sorts of interesting things to me, annnd most importantly, he's engaged. We're meeting up for coffee tomorrow, for some reason. Why? Why?

When actually I wish all these situations were with someone else.

Effluvium

I've started saying things to see people's reactions to them rather than because I mean them. This is bad. It's not what I want to be doing. The kind of person who does that is not who I want to be.

I kissed Jade and her cousin Roxy last night. Quite a lot. John said it was hot. Which was funny even if, in the cool light of day, it makes me feel a bit squeamish.

Why would I kiss girls?

1. They were running away from a scary big guy who wouldn't leave them alone, so I told him to fuck off and kissed them.
2. Is it also kind of because guys think it's hot?
3. Am I attracted to some girls? Am I questioning my sexuality again? (Is the reason I don't like this one because how selective which girls that could be is? Or is it because the idea of doing anything more than kissing with a girl strikes me as quite repellent?)
4. Is it because kissing no longer matters to me?
5. Do I just not care?

Thing is, I've started caring about something. In my own special way. Aidan. I made Matt and John come outside so that I could breath and weep about Aidan at them. I think I burst into tears more than once last night. I made the bar man tell me if my eyes looked okay afterwards. Repeatedly. He was lovely. The ones at that particular cocktail bar in Arena always are. Or maybe it's always the same one. So what's bothering me about Aidan? My perception of him as unobtainable? My rather affectionate feelings towards him? His opinion of me? What is going on here?

Huge amounts of gooey greeny yellowy face eating snot effluvia oozing from poor nose. How gross is that sentence? Effluvia is such a gross word.