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[27 Jul 2006|05:56pm] |
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It still looks bloody awful...
http://aliment.animata.net/blog
Is there anybody out there who can help with my graphic design...?
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| boo |
[03 Mar 2006|10:36pm] |
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Especially on a night like this I find I miss writing a lot. It is raining, I'm watching a dvd (anyone seen "Besieged"?) that I don't understand, and I'm feeling betrayed, sad and lonely. Also, I am wearing a dress skirt and top with a beer jumper and toe socks yet I still think the main actor in this film is a bigger freak than I.
I stopped writing in dilattante for a number of reasons. Firstly, I was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with the nature of my writing. My original intention was to keep a journal to improve the regularity and quality of my writing. Updating about the mundane details of every day life, or indulging myself in an explosive tantrum caused me to stray from my purpose, and I began to genuinely doubt my creativity and ability to put meaningful words on a page.
I also feel that I hurt many people through my words either by complete accident, or because I was merely ignorant of the fact that they read my journal. Communication is my passion and object of my study. I should have known better than to write many of the things I did, as I believe that words can cut more deeply than a knife. If I offended you, then I apologise.
By the same token, I was beginning to feel like I couldn't express myself for fear of unpopularity. Ironic really. It is a risk you take when you publish your thoughts publicly that you will be challenged, exposed and criticised. I was beginning to experience discomfort with those aspects of lj. However, I didn't want to switch to 'friends only'. When I write I do not like to tailor or censor it for anybdoy specific; I didn't wish to feel as if I were writing for an audience.
I now live in a new house and am in my third year of university. I have decided to start journalling again. If you are interested in reading me, let me know and I will give you the link to my new page. It does not yet look the way I want because I'm a noob when it comes to web-design, but I hope the new page will give me an opportunity to start afresh and produce some writing I can be proud of.
The site will also be home to a blog about food, which I will hopefully start posting in when I can acquire a digital camera. Food writing needs food porn !!
Thank you for all the kind messages you left on my last post!
Now I might go and have a shower and pretend today never happened.
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[09 Jan 2006|08:40am] |
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The End.
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| Verpiss Dich. |
[08 Jan 2006|08:55pm] |
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tired |
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On winter trees the fruit of rain
Is hanging trembling in the branches
Like a thousand diamond buds
And waiting there in every pause
That old familiar fear that claws you
Tells you nothing ain't no good
Then pulling back you see it all
Down here so laughable and small
Hardly a quiver in the dirt
This ain't no love that's guiding me
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| i can see through you, see to the real you. inside you're ugly, ugly like me |
[08 Jan 2006|01:49am] |
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Meh. Can't sleep. Too much sleeping today. Too much stress. Feeling bad about myself and bad for everyone who knows me.
Writing is the only time I can be my honest self, free from the obligations of politeness, keeping up appearances, fulfilling expectations... I think we all have that secret life that we only let leak out in certain contexts: everyone needs a release.
But maybe I should delete all this. My words seem to do more damage than good. I don't know why people read my journal. Nobody actually wants to know what I really think.
People think they want honesty, but they don't.
So I apologise. I am very tired at the moment. Yes, I am tired of people. Tired of hearing from my mum how bad my dad is and how bad my mum is from my dad. Tired of cleaning up other people's mess. Tired of not understanding others and them not understanding me.
The money thing is getting me down. I don't know why, but it has flared up a lot recently. Certainly, I would love not to struggle so much financially. But have I earned that right yet? No... I dream of someday owning my own house and being free to travel and to dress in a way that I feel comfortable and to provide for and pay back special people in my life. But I dream of earning it. And I dream of other fantastic things along the way, like love and education and great food and weather and new songs on the radio.
We all need money, but I see its pursuit swallowing my friends and family. I hate the way it hardens people, makes them feverish, and wipes out depths of them that I formerly loved, like realism, like generosity, like satisfaction.
I guess I feel alienated from many people I thought I had a lot in common with, and it is scaring the hell out of me. With whom do I see eye to eye?
People tell me to 'think happy thoughts', which makes me feel a bit frustrated because I'm not Peter Pan. Recently I've also been advised to start doing what makes me happy and stop worrying about other people so much, but I foresee that if I do that, then I will end up completely alone.
I think at times that my parents are wack-jobs but I love them very much and I don't think I turned out so badly. I work hard and I laugh a lot and I thought I was honest.
But I take everything apart in my head - even you - just like I take myself apart. We're not pretty.
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[07 Jan 2006|05:34pm] |
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True to my volatile nature, I have both lashed out and overslept in the past 24 hours and I don't know how I feel. Just blah. Better than being furious, though.
I'm sitting down with a hot drink while potatoes boil, and I plan on spending my evening reading the novel I got out of the local library. It's The Last Precinct, another Cornwell book. I had to wade through 70+ pages of navel-gazing shite before the real narrative kicked in. I've never had that problem with Cornwell's writing before and am beginning to understand the grounds for the criticism she has received over the past 5 years. I think her latest book was much better than the two preceding it. But I'll keeping reading this one. I haven't got anything better to do right now and I am definitely not engaging in any house-hunting till Monday.
I was going to make a nice, hearty, soothing Turkish red lentil soup this evening but then I realised I'd forgotten to get both the crushed tomatoes and red onions and garlic. So I'm making a potato bake, and steamed broccoli and red sweet potato. I think I need the vegetables: my eating habits have been totally erratic since I got home from Toowoomba.
I've been trying to figure out why I don't feel particularly comfortable about house-sitting instead of renting. Of course, it has two major things going for it: living rent free and living in a house beyond anything I could ever currently afford. Those two factors alone are very tempting.
But I'm such a home-body. I love being queen of my domain. I love to come home and dump my things on my table or in my lounge-room. I love to cook in my kitchen. I love sleeping in my own bed and opening my own drawers. I love having my pictures on the wall. I love the feeling of coming home, that sense of comfort, familiarity and ownership.
I'm not sure these are things that can be compensated for by paying no rent.
I have lived down here for two years now and yes, I have problems at this house that have caused me to desire another home. Another home. Not merely somebody else's roof to sleep under, no matter how nice the roof or how free the roof.
Even with its problems, I call this place home. All my stuff is here. It is as temporary or as permanent as I want. I don't have rigorous obligations to another person in living here. I don't have to tread on any kind of eggshells whatsoever.
I'm not sure I would be willing to trade a flawed home for a free house. I feel boorish and unreasonable in saying so but I can't seem to dissuade my gut instinct. I keep wondering if I am, perhaps, going stark raving mad.
I am glad my mother is coming back on Monday. God bless the Crazy Lady. I need to talk to her badly.
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[07 Jan 2006|12:13pm] |
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Holy crap I need some Vitamin B or something.
Amazing what a blow-out followed by some sleep can do for the soul.
Still have eczema. Not sure if I still have any friends. But it's the weekend. I'm just going to relax...
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[06 Jan 2006|11:56pm] |
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I'm just not good at problem solving. Escapism and distractions are what they are, but you have to come home eventually. You have to wake up to the same problems, face the music. Perhaps it is just the way life goes, but I find that I try to resolve a stressful or upsetting situation only to land in more stress and sadness. It's frustrating and it makes me angry, which is the last thing I need because I am already so angry.
All the time. Permanently, incessantly, ceaselessly, unrelentingly angry.
I think mostly I am angry at myself. For having ample work experience and a GPA of 6.75 and not being able to get a job, for example. Or how about the daily grind of constant headaches, achey wrists, sniffles and now eczema? All this when I make a conscious effort to keep myself in good health. I am angry that no matter what I do I am never going to be tall, regal and statuesque. I will never be 'beautiful', but condemned to a lifetime of being 'cute' at best. Because I am small. I am angry that my brain wasn't built to do maths or program or something useful, but instead is tuned to the way people talk and the lines in a painting.
I am angry at my parents because their marriage sucks but both are beyond the point of actually wanting to fix it and seem to go out of their way to make each other more miserable. I am angry at my dad for being unhealthy and overweight and at my mum for being selfish and gym-obsessed.
I am angry at my brother and sister because they don't seem to work as hard as me but things always seem to come to them easier.
I'm angry that we waste millions of dollars on fireworks on New Years Eve and lope around getting drunk and pashing strangers when there are indeed small children in Africa who will never see sparks flying through the air unless it's gunfire or shelling or whatever.
I get angry when I hear people talk nonstop about money. The singular pursuit of welath, of being rich rich rich and having this and that and the other drives me crazy. Especially people who buy stupid shit. Like jewellery or dresses they will wear once when they could be saving for something truly valuable. People who squander everything they earn and then complain of having nothing. Like, why the hell buy a ring because it's pretty if it means you can't pay for stuff you really need in the not-so-distant future?
Oh and people who have no conscience about spending copious amounts of their parents' money. Especially when they bitch about how stupid or annoying their family is. It just comes across as petulant and immature when you're still living under their roof, eating their food and letting them pay all the bills and for your clothes, your laptop, your entertainment unit, the cable TV.
It makes me really angry when people harp on about things like... the possible introduction of teaching intelligent design theories at school. Because the last thing you want for your children's education is for them to be exposed to more than ONE theory. You couldn't possibly want them to learn about alternatives and let them think critically and make up their own mind. After all, you don't want your kids to be influenced by spiritualist ideas. Every second tv show is about a psychic, witch or person who can otherwise converse with ghosts. As long as it's not promoting christianity in any form, though, it's ok. Never mind that intelligent design theories are also put out there by scientists who have no religious affiliations or agenda. People are just scared. It makes me angry because we like to think we're so wordly and open-minded, but being 'open-minded' really means excluding other people and views on different criteria.
I get angry when people borrow my laptop and thump the touch-pad. You only need to tap gently.
I get angry when I'm patronised. It happens to me frequently because I'm young, female and an Arts student. People assume because I rarely drink, have never done any drugs, and like to listen to pop-music in my car, that I'm inexperienced. Like I know nothing of the bigger things in life, or the rougher side of life, or the alternative side of life. These people obviously were not brought up in a third-world country.
I am angry at all the people I know who only ever comment or chat or put in their two-cents worth to prove their experiential, intellectual or social one-upmanship.
I get angry every time I hear another person is writing a novel. It's hypocritical really, because every time I am in a bookstore, I touch, stare at and literally inhale the books in there wishing I could one day have my own on the shelf. But even a short time at uni as a writing student has taught me a lot about the publishing industry, and I get angry at every cocky writer to who thinks they are going to get published because they are like so totally great, and have neglected the rest of their studies or life without considering that most writers - even PUBLISHED ONES - need something else to support them because having a book published does not earn you much.
I'm angry at my ECZEMA. IT ITCHES SO... ITCHY.
I'm angry at the Patrica Cornwell book I am reading at the moment. It is shit.
I get angry when people only ever like ideas or things if they have personally found or thought of them. People who make up lame-ass excuses trying to disguise the fact that they are being a big, bratty baby .
Boys make me angry. The ones who leave up the loo suit. The ones who never wash a dish in warm soapy water but rinse it and put it in the dish drainer. So that I come back and wash it later because running something under cold water is something I call RINSING not washing.
I am angry at cosmetics and hygeine products manufacters who knowingly put harmful chemicals in stuff just to make it foamier. Sodim laurel/laureth sulfate is TOXIC and strips your hair and skin of natural, important oils. And you know what it does? Makes bubbles. That's it.
And I get angry because I just can't sleep. Because I'm so angry all the time.
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[06 Jan 2006|09:43pm] |
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I'm back to being in a complete panic about this house-hunting thing. I have a bad feeling Heidi and I are going to kill each other out of sheer frustration. =(
I have a kind of stress-induced eczema on my hands. This is just the sort of gross thing to happen to me because I can't bloody take any of life's real-estate knocks.
Inspected yet another house this afternoon that looked suspiciously like the previous tenant may have DIED THERE.
Any comforting advice, pesonal experiences, completely unrelated banter?
Also, would love to know what you think about house-sitting.
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[05 Jan 2006|10:24pm] |
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Grr. I just fell asleep and I was woken up by the sound of a male speaking obnoxiously loudly. I didn't recognise the voice as any of my brother's friends. So out of sheer frustration, and I'll admit - a little curiosity and craving for chocolate custard - I smoothed down my hair and wandered sleepily into the loungeroom (en route to kitchen), to find... TIM MORETON.
Aka 'Pig'.
Nemesis of my youth.
OF COURSE. I've met few other people in my lifetime who could talk with such loud, ego-saturated gusto when somebody is asleep in the next room. He did not even glance at me as I walked past, let alone say hello or apologise for clearly waking me up. There he sat, talking loudly onwards in his usual rounded, bearded, rude fashion.
Man, I HATED that guy. Hence, the nickname 'Pig'. I always thought he resembled one both in looks and personality.
I almost felt like asking, 'WHOA. You're still here? I just wondered... because I thought maybe Satan might have ASKED FOR HIS SOUL BACK.'
But I didn't.
I just grabbed the chocolate custard.
GO HOME.
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[05 Jan 2006|06:27pm] |
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I'm feeling a little more relaxed about the house-hunting. But I still don't have a job and my sinuses are blocked. I think I made a mistake by filling out the Coles Myer aptitude test last night when I still had a migraine. Ummm... I got nothing.
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[04 Jan 2006|10:15pm] |
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I had a filthy filthy headache all night and all day today. I slept last night on icepacks just to try to dull the pain a bit. I can't remember having a migraine like it before. I think it was a house-hunting headache =/
Whenever I have felt sick for a while I end up craving something and today it was chocolate cake. Not having the energy to bake one from scratch, I bought a packet mix. I've said this before and I'll say it again: don't make packet cake. It tastes like packet.
Cured my craving, though. And now I am going to bed.
PS - wow
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[03 Jan 2006|08:04pm] |
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Argh what a day.
I thought house-hunting was going to be fun, but it was anything but. The first house we looked at reeked of urine, was held together in places with brown stickytape and had 1.5m grass everywhere. That made my legs itch for the rest of the day. Plus, I locked my keys in the car there.
So we went trudging around Annerley, looked at a few other properties and were - at 5pm - beginning to feel completely despondent. Then we found it. It's fantastic. But we need another person. If you want to move in with Heidi and me, or if you know of someone seeking accommodation, this town house would be perfect for a UQ student.
I would love it if someone would come with me on Thursday at 3.40 pm to inspect it with the agent, but I don't know who to ask.
Email me at
amber [at] gwynne [dot] id [dot] au if you can help me out at all!
I feel like curling up and dying.
(Hooorrraaayy! Come live with me!)
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[02 Jan 2006|04:51pm] |
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When you're already feeling like a hunk of burning depression, the best thing you can do to raise your spirits is spill a punnet of grape tomatoes all over the floor at Coles. Actually, I tell a lie. The only thing that has made me feel any better all day is knocking back a bit of codeine and drowsily watching even more episodes of Scrubs. I think my personality combines all the dorkiness of JD with Dr Cox's interminable rage, and the fact that I just made such a geeky observation should scare me, but it doesn't.
You see, I've decided and maybe accepted that there is no way I'm ever going to feel good again. I thought two months ago was pretty slack, but this place, this time... it's all simply worse than I could ever have imagined.
I'm a control freak: I like to be able to section away my emotions like leftovers in tupperware. I like to know what they are, how they were made and how long they are going to last.
I don't know anything anymore. I can't describe. I can't explain.
And I know that whichever way I choose to go I am still going to feel just as sad, pitiful and empty. Yes or no, in or out, for richer or poorer, whatever. If it's not anger, then it's regret. If it's not entrapment then it's fear. If it's not nothing, then it's rage. If it's not heart sick then it's head sick. If it's not too much then it's not enough. If it's not guilt then it's repulsion. It's always something and it's always something very bad.
I don't know how it got this way and I don't know how to get out of it.
I feel like such a horrible, horrible person.
Where do you find that see-saw where both people are happy, instead of one up and one down...?
How do I get out of this rut in my life?
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| Blah blah. |
[01 Jan 2006|05:58pm] |
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So I don't know what else to do when I feel indecently depressed, confused, hurt, scared and... depressed... so... I've spent most of my day doing washing, watching endless episodes of Scrubs and drinking Coke, which I never do. Coke with coconut rum. Which I never do either. I enrolled in both semesters 1 and 2 for uni this year (I wonder how long it will take me to get used to writing 2006?) and applied for a job. I looked at two rental properties online.
This semester, I have selected a compulsory Journalism course focusing on grammar and syntax (yes, because I desperately need more of that), Intro Latin, and another compulsory subject, Phonology. I might have had a chance of enjoying this subject, had Dr Pensalfini been lecturing and not the yawny McYawn Dr Ingram, but beggars Linguistics students can't be choosers. I've already forgotten what I enrolled in for second semester. Something I know I have to do. Like Language and Literacy or something. I have nine subjects to go till my degree is complete. Three subjects a semester for the next three semesters. More than half of them electives. So then. 4 semesters down, 3 to go. And then I won't even be employable yet!!
Oh yes. You guessed right. I hate my life.
I finished reading the Patricia Cornwell novel that Monsieur Blades kindly gave me for Christmas. The latest in the Scarpetta series, 'Predator', was actually a good read if you're into that sort of thing. By 'that sort of thing' I don't mean preying sadistically on defenceless human beings; I mean reading forensic thrillers. =/
I was terribly disappointed with the last Cornwell novel I read. 'Isle of Dogs', not part of the Scarpetta series, featured a cocky, young detective called Andy Brazil who lacked any sort of depth, complexity or reader-accessibility. In fact, none of the characters were remotely identifiable or believable: clichéd to the point of being overbearing and thoroughly unlikeable, especially with the annoying twangs and accents over-written into the text. The only character I felt any sympathy for was the dog.
A review on Amazon.com reads, 'Be aware: this is not your typical Patricia Cornwell novel. Not only is there no Kay Scarpetta, but Isle of Dogs is a comic romp, a real departure for this author.'
Yes. Because its plot was inane and boring.
Although the central characters in the Scarpetta series have definitely grown to be bleak, sad, old, and weary of their crime-slathered lives, there's enough science and suspense in there to make the novels a worthwhile read. I would still read a less plot-driven novel with luscious prose over a Cornwell novel, but 'Predator' was probably one of her better books.
Just don't read it late at night: you will suddenly feel sure there is a murderer loitering in the house when you get up to pee.
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[31 Dec 2005|09:01pm] |
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I am a failure as a human being.
And I cut myself shaving.
Blood everywhere. How fitting.
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| Merry Christmas! |
[25 Dec 2005|05:54pm] |
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 happy |
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The best part of my day was sitting on the square verandah at half past four with the cat, and having a few nice, big fat raindrops fall on my face.
I'm full of peach and lemonade juleps, turkey breast, chicken and mango salad, blanched asparagus, beans and carrots in dressing, and tiramisu. And almond bread. And fudge.
I'm going to make a cup of tea.
I hope you all have had a lovely day and many small moments of happiness.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
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[23 Dec 2005|01:32pm] |
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My fudge was going fine until I added the cream toffee mixture to the chocolate. Which seized. So I have granular fudge. I am SO throwing it out.
No wonder I feel so depressed.
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dilattante's journal
