thoughts in bed...

Antisocial boy. Maybe that's who I should be for the next month or so. I'm getting a bit too easily irritated by little things. And a bit too stupid to show it.

If the internet in the house isn't working by tomorrow, I might seriously have to think about moving out. No internet is worse than being raped by a ten foot pike.

I don't think downing that bottle of paracetamol is going to kill me. I'm too fat. Gah.

Slashing myself did come to mind, but again, the image of something sharp biting into my flesh left me cringing at my hands for the next half an hour.

I don't think my housemates got much sleep last night with all the headbanging on the wall.

There's an annoying little bit of pale anger that wells up in your throat when your eyes get really moist but you can't cry.

Smothering yourself is quite difficult when you have a history of lung weakness and your reflexes are a bit too efficient.

Walking around in just shorts in the winter to clear your head is the surest way to get frozen balls. Next to putting them in the freezer.

Having almost no connection to the big alternate reality where I actually am something is so disconcerting that I can actually watch Family Guy and American Dad and NOT be amused.

Trying to talk to God in the middle of the night doesn't seem to help with this level of depression. Neither does writing it in a blog, apparently.

Four orange Tim Tams does not a dinner make. Too bad.

tragedy...

That's what I am. A walking tragedy. Or rather, a walking embryonic tragedy. This can only be the beginning.

I have to remind myself not to get scalded anymore. Especially when frying stuff. It's a bit much when you start splashing copious amounts of boiling oil on yourself. Quite frustrating. Especially since it distracts from cooking. Gah.


Ooh. I'm becoming a slob. There's some pie in the back there, and there's a lamington crate. And en empty can of Shweppes Lemonade. And then there are stacks of paper all over. The only reason it's reasonably clean is because I need room to move the mouse. Ooo. Looky. New keyboard that so absolutely clashes with the overall colour scheme. Why can't they have WHITE keyboards, eh? Or why can't I have a BLACK scheme? Gah. My eyes hurt.

On another note, it seems I can't write correeckt neemore. And I. seem to, have bad - punctuation? Werdz jhusht sheim du kum aut rong. Heelp.

jamie who?

Clareen, there is just no way I look like Jamie Cullum. See?



No, I don't even look like an Asian Elijah Wood. So there.

rabbits...

...are scary.

it's so hard...

...to cry sometimes. It's a good thing I rarely feel the urge to even try.

Another stage of apathy. I cannot believe how easily irritated I feel these days. I've been all chirpy and overactive around people, and I don't know why. It's even less explicable since I have this vague burning feeling of hatred.

It's so frustrating. I feel like killing something. At the same time, I want someone to talk to, but I don't think it would be very safe for anyone to do that right now.

I bloody hate this. I can't wait for the 19th to come around. Then I'll be spending some quality time with myself wandering around the city. Or sitting on benches looking at people pass me by. It's like a literal metaphor of my life. I've hardly moved from that childishly hopeless idiot I've been in years past. What little progress I appear to have made is like some sort of defence mechanism.

It's a good thing I'm scared of pointy things. Otherwise, I'd pretty much have cut myself up a bit, and much of the surrounding. Maybe I just need to build something.

I can't believe I'm listening to Kiroro.

Argh. I just want to freaking smother myself right now. But what ever will Kian do if nobody was there to give him his Blinding Angels? I think he'd just die.

Memories are hard to come by. They're the source of my pissiness, and the thing that calms me down. Only thing is that I'm now just bloody angry without reason. So angry that I cleaned my room. And there's no more chocolate.

FUCK!!!

gasp...

Finally! Connection to the Wonderful World Wide Web of Whirlygigs and Whorish Whimsy! The fucken connection has been down for 4 friggin days! What the hell do we pay the fucken bills for!?

Okay, that covered, I did think of doing that perfect lover tag thing that Liz so kindly pinned on me, then I decided not. Not ready to love, so thinking about it is kinda like thinking of food on an empty stomach. So, no. But in short, my perfect love would be someone exactly like me, but without the flaws. Ahah!

Yay. New keyboard. I can't be arsed to take a photo of it. And already I forgot how much it cost. Only thing I do know is that it works like a good keyboard is supposed to. Huzzah.

Oo. Er. What else to say? Oh, yes. I lost my flair for blogging, so I think I'll kill this one permanently. Wahey.

Bang.

end trip...

The apartment in Dandenong was quite a nice place. About 60 a day. Three rooms, three bathrooms. Relatively large place, and best part was it was a new place with all those new-fangled central heating things.


I didn't actually go into the mountains. Too far, and tiresome. Rather, we spent most of the time wandering around doing random things. Like, the Dandenong Market.


And Dandenong Plaza. Which is technically like any other mall.


Mostly, it was house shopping.


Some had cool shrubbery. Like this floating bush.


Mostly though, they were the sort of dumps that you'd expect homicidal paedophiles would hide in. Gasp. Dead babies.


The rest of the time, we spend meeting Dad's friends for dinner and getting myself hopelessly glazed over.


Which reminds me, there's this place in Springvale that's quite good. But it has an absolutely absurd name.


Still, good food and random company with vegans who know what meats to order and what wines to drink is quite interesting.


And camwhore daughters. Gasp. Almost makes me want to have kids.


Then again, they can get hopelessly boring bored.


Still, I think single without kids is still best.