hahaha I just toned my hair in preparation for re-pinking (most of it is white/yellow) AND half the toner didn’t come out so now I have lilac patches all over my head.  I lol’d.

My friend made a Wave with another girl listing all the straight men they would like to see making out.  I was added, and went to add one, and thought, “What straight men do I find attractive?”

I ended up writing Tyler Durden and The Man With No Name.  And I’ve been racking my brains for more, and my second choice was Jude Law and Daniel Craig, Jude Law because honestly, I never ever found him attractive and DID NOT get the appeal, and then I saw The Holiday and was like “Ok, yes, I get it, he is pretty great” and Daniel Craig because of that crying photo that has been doing the rounds lately and that is ALMOST AS GOOD as Clint Eastwood in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly holding a kitten.

My last pick was Mr. Knightley (BBC film) and Mr. Darcy (BBC series) because oh god do I need to explain?

Out of six men I find attractive (not counting my boyfriend), four of them I find attractive mainly due to their fictionality.

I feel like I can’t say what I think about myself because I don’t want to seem like I am fishing for compliments.

I feel like I am choking.

I feel like there is no point.

Now, and for a long time, I know that if someone were to ask me where I see myself in ten years time, I would answer dead and alone, after having worked for ten years in a job I hated, scrabbling to get enough money together to live.  I wouldn’t have committed suicide, I just know I am going to die young and miserable.  It is my greatest fear, working 40 hours a week in a job I hate, because I have already done it and I know that it is what my future will be, and it makes me feel sick.

I feel guilty a lot of the time, and I dislike myself, because the whole idea of living, that is working and paying bills and moving and finding places to live and just day-to-day existence, is far too over-whelming for me to cope with.  I do not have to deal with most of those issues yet, but they are not too far away, and I feel like I am going to have a nervous break-down if I have to deal with them.  But why am I so goddamn precious?  There are so many other people “worse off” than I, and yet they can manage it.

I have literally no one to talk to about all this, and I don’t want anyone, and this makes me feel abnormal, because you’re supposed to not want to be alone.

I wrote this when I was eighteen, and it is a really shit poem overall, but it depresses me because reading it, I can recall every reason why I wrote it and even though so much has changed in four years, really nothing has.

Her eyes were soft from crying, and
in them I read her execution.
She said: “I am so young and stupid
but I think that I may like you.”
She could not hear me when I told her
that every day I found another
reason to love her even more.

“It’s not entirely you, you know
it’s more that oh, the effort of living
sometimes gets me down.
It’s not so much I want to die
more I cannot bear the hurt.”

“It is such a very brave thing, to be alive,” she sighed
consumed by all her cowardice.

She curled herself into her sorrow
and locked herself inside a box.
“It’s only to protect the world from me,”
her voice echoed dimly
as her fingers tapped in morse code
all my ridiculous lines of poetry.
They told her “It’s only to protect yourself
from anything that may hurt you.”
(everything may hurt you) but
all she heard was silence.

“It’s just that everything I ever love
seems to break
and I love you too much
to ever hold only pieces of you.”

I said nothing, merely held her hand
as the rest of her turned to water
trickling through my fingers, and
wetting the hems of my jeans.

I stood upon her, our only contact
until she disappeared into the soil
trying to discover
the roots that tie her to this earth.

My mother and my flatmate saw a documentary recently, made by one of the students at the tertiary institute my flatmate works at, about furries.  One of the men interviewed is in love with the yellow Angry Beaver (YES. THOSE ANGRY BEAVERS) and draws porno pictures of him… but a few times a month he “cheats” on him with Brian from Family Guy.

Family Guy is on T.V. right now and Brian is getting ready for a date and my mother said “Oh that man would love this scene, Brian is wearing a towel.”  And Family Guy is now ruined forever for me.

I know you shouldn’t be mean about people’s sexualities but Angry Beavers.  ANGRY BEAVERS.

My paternal grandmother just called to tell me my sixteen year old cousin gave birth last night (her older sister who is my age gave birth soon after she turned twenty-one.)  And my nana was telling me how quick her labour was (less than four hours) and how her uterus went back up in six minutes and it usually takes six weeks and I was like “WHAT.  THE.  HELL.”  yet another thing about childbirth that I did not know about and did not WANT to know about, and then my nana was saying that my elder cousin was saying “You bitch!” because her recovery from childbirth was a bit difficult, and (I quote) “She had trouble with her stitches, because they stitched up her blossie too tight” and I was all “I ALREADY KNEW ABOUT THE VAGINA-STITCHING PART OF CHILD-BIRTH BUT I DID NOT NEED TO HEAR IT AGAIN.”

And then I was telling her how I am going to do a diploma in French and German as well as my B.A. degree, as she said “Well you are going in a totally different direction, your father has resigned himself to not having any grandkids by now.”  Seriously?  Seriously?  Just because I am twenty-two and childless doesn’t mean I am not ever going to have children.  I mean, I am never, ever, EVER going to have children, just the thought makes me dry-retch, but that’s not really the point.