15 Apr 2012

Productivity Rookie

Hey hey guys guys guys guys guess what day it is guess guess.



This day pains me so because it's the one day where I'm identical to every other teenager in the UK. And that shit burns my SOUL. Therefore, I always like to make my TSWIRIDFAAE a bit edgy. Starting with spending at LEAST half an hour entwined with my duvet and trying to make my leg look like a chicken in the mirror.

I think you'll find I was rather successful with that challenge. If you look closely, there's a beak on my heel. Reeeaaalll close. Just...there. Got it? Not to mention my toes like the top of its...wait is that a chicken or...oh maybe...well it's poultry alright. I'm a woman of many talents just accept it GOD WHY ARE YOU SO CONDESCENDING jeez.

I will do actual real life work later.

I will. And it's not like I haven't done ANY productive tasks over the last 2 weeks, I mean I did an essaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAhahahaha...oh wait no I did wow. I wrote an essay the other day. 3 whole pages of phenomenally articulate constructions of the English language, bar the last few paragraphs where I essentially did a few scribbles in the hope my teacher deciphers the works of the Gods within them.

Then I read a book about incest which included a BATSHIT MENTAL sex scene involving the phrases: "I feel him twitch inside me." TWITCH. And "I feel it prod my thigh." PROD. HAHA. Yeah, batshit mental. I couldn't take it seriously. Sorry Tabitha Sazuma.

Then Karen Gillan got twitter and I spammed her with love, I couldn't stop myself. I was like a rabid fangirl with no boundaries. Oh no wait I AM one of those. Yeah I should probably fix that. Especially the rabies bit. Just inconvenient. This was me for the first 3 hours of her getting an account, just refreshing manically until she tweeted that she's joined just for me sssshhhhhhhh yes she did tweet that just ssshhhhh now just nod.

Aw, look at me in my work uniform. Such a dedicated employee. I've been at work so much this week that I've become a supermarket nazi. I have no interest in customers who come to my basket till with a trolley. BE GONE. AWAY WITH YOU AND YOUR "BUT IT'S JUST A BASKET ON WHEELS!" CRAP. I also cannot fathom anymore polite amusement at the "IN MONEY IF YOU'VE GOT IT HAHAHAHA" reponse to my "How would you like your cashback?" questionIn all seriousness, I love work and those responses are good compared to the "I'll push it all the way in for you babe ;)" after my "Could you push your card in a bit further please.." yesterday. I suggested he takes his knobness to Lidl.

Feminism's been high on my agenda recently as I'm in the process of planning a UK Rookie site. It's gonna be so bloody brilliant with hilarious young writers. I'm excited. It won't be around for a good few months though because I should probably try and get into university first. But yeah, that's an exciting thing happening. See THIS IS WHY I GET NOTHING DONE. Too many ideas, too little action and TIME. Being aware of Jennifer Lawrence's existence hasn't helped. I've spent about a third of my time watching interviews with her and shouting "OH GOD LET ME LOVE YOU." at my laptop: 

Shouting "OH GOD LET ME LOVE YOU." is becoming a too regular occurrence, but when you've got friends doing stuff like THIS, it's kind of necessary.

So really, can people stop writing mentally addictive books, making legs have the potential to look like a chicken, and being so amazing and nice so I can GET SHIT DONE PLEASE. Thanks. Honestly, you're all so inconsiderate sometimes...

7 Apr 2012

Paraprobablynormal Activity

Oh it's pun heaven over here lately isn't it. I regret precisely NOTHING.

...was that title even a pun? Have any of my puns ever been puns? I don't care. I'm calling them puns.

I'm eating fudge, it's lush. Thanks Baby Jeezy C.

TOPIC CHANGER. I don't know if I believe in ghosts, it's never something I've really thought about. My mum does though. She's adamant that after her Nan died she woke up in the middle of the night (my mum, not her nan, because would be WORRYING) and saw her Nan sitting on the end of her bed. They chatted for a while before she put my mum back to bed and said goodnight. Adamant. It wasn't a dream.

I don't want to believe in ghosts until something happens to me. I'm not religious, but I do believe in something. I don't know what that something is, but it's ingrained in my brain that there's something else there. A soul maybe? I want to believe in a soul purely because thinking that we're just a bunch of cells, a machine with systems that need maintaining, is a depressing thought. We're just here to keep the environment provided with carbon dioxide and thus alive. I get freaked out every time I'm hungry or tired, because my mind doesn't WANT to be hungry or tired, it's not a desirable thing. My mind is totally different to my body but where the hell is my mind? And why is it different from everybody else's? I, as a human, am so horrendously complex in my head, that I seem detached from the rest of me. All the time. And I find it not right that we can't control our bodies when it comes to illness and even feelings. No matter how hard you try to not be upset, or embarrassed, or angry, it happens. I failed in trying to find a quote I saw to put here, I think it's by Stephen Fry where he talks about being able to change states, but I found this one by him instead:

“We are not nouns, we are verbs. I am not a thing - an actor, a writer - I am a person who does things - I write, I act - and I never know what I'm going to do next. I think you can be imprisoned if you think of yourself as a noun.” - Stephen Fry

That's how I want to think, but right now this machine thing is freaking me out. Being in a hungry and tired state it happens because I essentially need refuelling. Like a machine. THAT'S WEIRD, RIGHT?! TELL ME YOU GET FREAKED OUT BY THAT TOO?!1??!1

So I want souls to be a thing. Or something LIKE a soul, I'm not necessarily using it in religious terms. What about fate? I'm in two minds about fate. I want to believe in fate because of the weird unexplainable occurrences that happen to me. The people I meet, it being a small world, dreaming and fantasising about things and them coming true, seeing a word you've never seen then seeing it everywhere that week, thinking you've seen a friend but it's not them and you see them minutes later. Just odd STUFF that can't just be coincidences. Everything happens for a reason, etc. Fate is my safety blanket, or fatey blanket (lolol) if you will, and whenever something goes wrong or I'm worried about something, I just believe that it WILL happen and everything will be fine. If something's meant to happen then it will happen. I have a direction in life and no matter how much is seems I'm slowing down or veering off, everything will come together and be fine.

But then that's boring. If we're all destined to be or do something, then what's the point? There's no freewill then. No spontaneity, no doing something out of the ordinary, no being daring. Just an excuse to be lazy, waiting for things to happen instead of making them happen. So then, I don't want to believe in fate.

That's why I believe in something. A something without a name, which I like and don't want it to be named because it makes it more flexible, mysterious, and quiet. It doesn't stand out, but I know it's there. I can't explain it, but it makes me feel better.

But then this something freaked me the fuck out big time the other night so we're now on rocky terms.

I've lived on my own this past week while my family were in Devon. No, no no don't, put your car keys down. The house is fine. NO. Disconnect the call. It's FINE. No fires, no break-ins. What? NO! Course I didn't you dirty cow.

On Friday morning, at 5:45am, music woke me up. I thought it was my radio at first, that my alarm had gone off early, but when I slapped it to hush it, it carried on. I had no choice but to properly wake up. Tsk. My next thought was my brother, and even from Devon I wouldn't have put it past him. But as I stood in the middle of my room, delirious with... deliriousness...I figured it was coming from my wardrobe. On top of my wardrobe. This music was still going loud and strong and my ears had deciphered the type. It was a music box. But I don't own a music box. I grabbed my chair and stood on it, not really the best idea when you're practically unconscious and it's a swivel Argos chair. But nevertheless, my hands waded their way through a spider rave where cobwebs were their smoke machine, and the music slowed. The closer to the source I got, the quieter and slower the music became. Then, as I pulled a box full of a old Christening gifts to the front, and grabbed the music box, it stopped. The music stopped dead as soon as I touched it. It was smothered in dust, and I tried to find the knob thing you twist to make it play, but it had broken.


It hadn't been touched for a good 17 years and was broken. How did it play? It had never done that before. It can't have cued by vibrations, or initiated by a previous twist, because IT WAS BROKEN. I couldn't make it play again when I tried. An inexplicable circumstance.

It was my something; my lovable, my awesome, my creepy as fuck something. And don't tell me otherwise because I want my safety net.

and make fate happen.


As a side note, I was in Phil Yeo's youtube video last weekend and he's awesome and I'm more Essex than I thought. So if you want to see what I ACTUALLY look and sound like...