She's too invested in the hours that pass her by

"And so they are ever returning to us, the dead. At times they come back from the ice more than seven decades later and are found at the edge of the moraine, a few polished bones and a pair hobnailed boots."

Goddamnit, I should have read these books for genre study. I never got around to it, and they would have been perfect for this stupid class.

Also, I have to take in some piece that has influenced or inspired me for Cultural Studies. Influenced or inspired me? I don't know what the hell has influenced and inspired me! If anyone can remember me saying something about something inspiring me, please let me know before Thursday cause I have no idea. And it's not cause I don't read, hell no, I read. A lot. I guess I just don't read with the goal of later quoting it in class as being influential or inspiring. I don't knoooow. Gah.

I am in a very dangerous place with uni at the moment, the initial shock and stress have worn off, leaving me numb in that little place probably best called apathy. The problem is that it’s hard to be productive when you find yourself not caring. I wish I could pour the same enthusiasm I have for my fandoms into sociology theory. But then again, that would make my life extremely dull and boring. Thing is though, sometimes the pompous condescension of tertiary education just threatens to overwhelm me. Does not want. Appropriate Postsecret –



I started this post at lunchtime and never got round to finishing it, isn't that sad? Anyway, it's going to be long and rambly. Consider yourselves warned. Oh before I start, just saying things are positively soaking in melancholy. What's more upsetting is my disastrous attempt to hide this, the epic failure to conceal my mood always makes my mother feel bad. This is why I try to hide it, I just feel too guilty when she gets this *thing* about her and she goes around like she thinks she's a bad mother. It's not her fault I'm like this after all. It's no one's fault that sometimes every miniscule interaction feels like ripping a bit of flesh from my bones. That sometimes every conversation, the mere thought of conversation in fact, takes so much energy that I feel positively drained afterwards. That disconnection is so pronounced that I cannot bear to be in the company of a room full of people because failure is just so much more pronounced. Though I am used to this by now, it's still utterly overwhelming sometimes to feel so completely alone in a world you're meant to be part of.

But anwyay, continuing where the afternoon post began. I love cold pizza. Specifically, I love cold Hawaiian pizza. It is, in short, made of win. I have also had way, way too much sugar recently. A block of chocolate, easter eggs, a Guava tart my mum made on a whim yesterday. I have spied the ingredients for a Peppermint Crisp tart lying around too. I'm gleefully anticipating it. If I die from a sugar overdose, at least I know it will have been a tasty death.

So Lizzie was over on the weekend. We were supposed to go to the Moonlight Cinema deal in Centennial Park but as a dam apparently sprung a leak in heaven, we had to improvise and went to see The Watchmen instead. Ah, the Watchmen. Where do I begin with you? I cannot believe this has been hyped as much as it has. It was...not what I expected. Then again, I'm not sure if it was meant to be as hilarious as I found it, or whether it's just because Lizzie and I can't take anything seriously and have too many inside jokes attached to possibly everything in the universe. We certainly were the only people laughing in certain scenes. For example, I cannot believe they used 'The Ride of the Valkyries’; I just couldn't help myself grinning at that. Also, the whole Rakshak voiceover thing had us in stitches pretty much every time. Now, no offence to The Watchmen which I understand is a fantastic graphic novel and which I intend to read at some point, but I honestly can't tell whether I thought the movie was actually fantastic or just fantastically ridiculous. I did feel like I was missing some crucial back story somewhere, and Dr. Manhattan was getting a little annoying with his ethereal nattering, which is probably where they could have sped things up a bit, but credit where credit is due though, the soundtrack was excellent. There was much arm waving and singing along on our parts, which once again may not have been the point, but hey, we had a good time. And that's what movies are for, isn't it? Honestly though, no one can take Simon & Garfunkel seriously - "Hello grandpa my old friend, your busy day is at an end." Huh? Huh? No? Just us? Ok then.

It really wasn't anywhere near as gritty as I expected. I was going in thinking more of the Sin City vibe. While I love bad action movies with an unnatural passion, and I got behind the fight scenes, some of the violence seemed a bit over the top to me. I like it stylized. I couldn't help but feel that whole bone splintering thing was just in there for the sake of putting it in there. As for the cheek biting, well. I was hiding behind my jacket at that point. That's just gross. I was enjoying my easter eggs and singing along to Bob Dylan, thank you very much. But of course, this is me we're talking about, so it's probably to be expected that I quickly developed some sort of pseudo thing for the man behind the mayhem. He may be a pompous, smug bastard, but he's quite serene and he moves beautifully. I kept thinking "don't kill him! don't kill him!" even though he so deserved it, twat that he is. I just can't resist the psychotic ones, it's a serious concern.

"Wait, do I mean fun or do I mean carnage? I always get those two mixed up."

Still, go see it. Just to see what the hype is all about. It doesn't touch The Dark Knight though. See how I didn't launch into another one of my spiels about how much I dislike comic book movies in general? Self restraint.

Hm. We’re entering my least favourite season. It is one thing not wanting to get out of bed because you are simply too tired, but couple this with it being chilly out and I get grumpy real quickly. Besides, there is nothing I hate more than the sheer schizophrenia of the weather, cold in the mornings and hot in the afternoons. I’m perpetually uncomfortable. Give me snow or heat and consistency. I’m tired of the in-betweens.

"They don't even know what it is to be a fan. Y'know? To truly love some silly little piece of music, or some band, so much that it hurts."

That has always rung so true for me. That’s precisely how it’s been with all my major fandoms. An obsessive desire to know, to feel, to be completely and utterly immersed, and it can never be real enough. Though I complain or get frustrated, there is not a single element of the entire experience that I don't love. I love everything so completely, regardless of how much certain things might annoy me or frustrate me. All the giddy excitement, heartbreaking disappointment, highs and lows alike, all part of the package of getting so involved with something seemingly nonsensical simply because it makes you happy. Still it’s like you can never get close enough. It does hurt. All mine have hurt. They have broken my heart and healed it again, they gave me something to hold on to, some way of making sense of things in my life. I can't explain it to other people, and often they don't understand it, but it doesn't matter. It feels like mine and I revel in it.

Now it is late and I should go to bed. I haven't done research for tomorrow and I can't summon the right emotions to spur myself into action. Who cares about the "profound memory of the present"? But if it makes it seem like I'm doing anything, I'll quote some randoms at you...

Fate is not satisfied with inflicting one calamity.
- Publilius Syrus

Worry not that no one knows of you, seek to be worth knowing.
- Confucius

Hope is a waking dream.
- Aristotle

Ok. So not really successful at even mimicking productivity. But hey, a girl can try.

Music: Time - She Wants Revenge/Timbaland
Mood: Bored