Blinding

Getting back into writing properly. Trying to decide which novel to focus on though so I'm going through some of the old bits. Can't believe I've basically not touched any of it in over a year.

***

 

None of this had been part of the plan. Granted, the plan had been pretty vague in a tour-record-???-success sort of way, but I could never have predicted how responsible I’d feel. Not just in terms of the band’s ultimate success or failure, but for them as people.

I hadn’t even known them at the start. Blake was just some prat in my French Lit class, and Chris was the tattooed guy he caused trouble with. Tyler was the stray they’d quite literally picked up at the side of the road, and Eric was the smart-arse in the bowler hat that gate crashed ESM’s practice sessions.

They were just caricatures, superficial, defined by their most obvious features. I even named them like that on my blog. Blake, due to his love of holey jumpers, his lip ring and shaggy hair, was Indie Boy. With his ever-changing hair colour and impressive tattoo collection, Chris became Captain Colour. I was the most unimaginative with Tyler who was simply The Drummer, but as he couldn’t focus on anything for more than five seconds and was allergic to shirts, he didn’t exactly give me much to work with. Eric became The Enigma because Goth Boy just didn’t cut it, despite his love of black clothes, The Sandman and Nine Inch Nails.

People judged, and boxed, and labelled. It was just instinct. I came to realise that the more time passed, the messier definitions became. Snap decisions were easy enough. It was getting to know them that made things complicated.

And it was complicated. The thing with Eric. The thing with Phoebe. Chris bouncing off the walls half the time, and Blake quietly trying to move in on my sister. And of course Tyler with the harpy girlfriend. I just wasn’t sure how it happened, or how I became personally responsible for making sure they emerged from all of this whole, and unscathed. Every day that passed made that feel like a greater impossibility.

‘Oli was in rehab, you know,’ I said, eyes fixed on the van’s stained roof. I hoped to never find out what could leave marks like that. ‘Record company paid for it. He lasted maybe two months when he got out.’ I pulled myself up again and glanced over at Eric. He was still down for the count. ‘I don’t get it. You’re a bloody genius and he’s The Badger Cult’s own Sid Vicious. What do you get out of it?’

He remained completely still. I sighed again and made my way to the door. We had four hours before we needed to head for the venue. If he couldn’t drag himself up by then, I’d just have to do it for him.

Movement stilled me just as I reached the front. Eric sat up on his elbows and looked at me from under his hair. ‘I like Oli,’ he said. ‘He makes me feel healthy.’

I slammed the door behind me as a reply. It bothered me that he said it so easily. Some people had an inherent darkness, a shadow they couldn’t quite shake. That was fine. I had no overwhelming urge to fix him. I just wanted to keep him alive. I was beginning to doubt whether he actually wanted that.

Music: My number - Foals

Things we used to rely on

Blogging at work as I've already fallen back into my old habit of procrastination. Writing is such a strange thing to do for a job. For me it's always been arbitrary and I struggle having to do it because, well, I have to.

First week isn't going too horribly though. Panic is starting to set in over the sheer amount of work I'm going to have to get my head around very quickly. I don't even know where to start so I don't want to start at all. But if I have any hope of getting on top of things, I need to finish writing this intro and three interviews today, and then we can worry about this whole editor nonsense.

Can't believe I'm back to this. Everything feels weird. Twilight Zone-y. All the same, yet subtly different. Just enough to be unsettling. I am baffled by what a timid creature I was when I first started here, nearly three  years ago. And I'm absolutely refusing to become the run down, stressed out, desperately unhappy person I was when I left.

I don't know. Everything feels strange at the moment. Transitional period, I suppose. While I'm finding my feet on a professional level, I'm dissatisfied on a personal one where I'm still not entirely sure coming back was the right move for me. But that's life, I guess. What can you do.

In the meantime, I'll just listen to lots of loud music and get on with it.

Did you sleep last night and do you remember dreams?
Do I ever cross your mind and do you ever think of me?
When you think about your life are there things you would reverse?
I still remember holding you, just out of sight of her
In the deep, dark parking lot pressed up against my car
With your hands around my neck I felt the pounding of your heart
And the summer night was giving in to the lure of autumn’s sway
I can’t seem to forget that night or how I heard you say

That I’d just die if you ever took your love away
Oh and I'd just die if you ever took your love away
Would you miss me if I was gone and all the simple things were lost?
Would you ever wait on me to say
Oh that I’d just die if you ever took your love away

Music: Mulholland Drive - The Gaslight Anthem

Cause it's all you can be

I'd forgotten how much I loved London like this, the cold and the dark. It's seem contrary to my innate dislike of the cold but it's gotten to the point now that I wear loads of layers without fear of overheating later and once I'm wrapped up in a thick scarf and gloves, it doesn't feel that bad at all. It's only been one day since the clocks went back and it just feels different somehow. The world is muted and you can sense the change in the way people live, everyone turning inwards and settling in for the long stretch of winter.

I moved back in with F on Saturday and I can't think of a more lovely way to spend my last couple of weeks here. It's comfortable and I love this area, in all my tourist romanticism. I'll be walking to work, and though I know there will be horrible days of cold and rain, it's a beautiful route and just such a snapshot of London that I'm glad for the opportunity to do it. And I'll try to remember that when I lose feeling in my face because the wind is blowing straight off the north pole.

It's been a pretty hectic couple of days - today has felt weirdly warped and out of proportion. I watched the clocks change last night at a Halloween party with Abbi and co, a lovely night with fun people, where I did my best living dead impersonation. Slept on their couch because of course it would be the day I'd just moved out of my old place and the thought of navigating night buses at a chilly 2am (new 2am) was entirely too much. That was only the tail end of festivities as Friday was quite a big night out for a work friend's leaving do (boo) that played out across many places, on many cold streets, and through some dubious decisions. At least I managed to get the last train home that time. And there was Thursday, more impromptu festivities with work friends. My scarf smells of cigarettes and aftershave.

This is what London does to you. The thought of leaving becomes harder every day. But is it only because I've decided to go that it now suddenly seems so impossible? Viewed through goggles of premature nostalgia, everything is somehow more amazing, and everything seems like a good idea.

Life would be better if I could think about things less. Turn off my brain and just let things fall as they may. What does introspection help anyone, anyway?

Back in Sydney, summer awaits. Family, and (of course) my puppy. A challenging new job. Old friends. New friends. Adventure.

And I want it, I do. But my heart aches at the thought of leaving all this behind. I suppose in a way it's better, better to leave when I feel good about things, rather than hating it all and being driven out by misery. So that's why I just want to make the most of these last few weeks, enjoy myself and not worry so much. There really isn't time for all this thinking.

You cannot always be torn in two.

In other news, went to Belfast with Lizzie, which was great. And went on the Harry Potter Studio Tour with Abbi, which was, hell I'll say it, magical - as you would expect. Life went on - I watched films, Abbi fed me delicious things regularly and I started a Dance with Dragons, leading to numerous moments of near book-throwing frustration.

Today I sat in cafes reading Sylvia Plath's poetry and probably looking pretentious. I read a brilliant short story in the New Yorker called The Semplica-Girl Diaries and wrote maybe a page and a half of my own stuff. And that is one of the great things about staying here, in particular, everything becomes much more writerly.

I'm a couple of chapters into Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl, this month's book club book (for Friday, so I should really hurry up), and I am really enjoying the writing so far. So yes. Tea, book, early night. Perfect Sunday evening wind down.

Music: Me vs Maradona vs Elvis - Brand New

Chase the wind and touch the sky

Aaaaah! This morning I got the proof for the Venice article I wrote about Carnevale and I am so thrilled with it. I'm sort of surprised by my reaction as it's not like it's the first time I've been published, but I can't stop grinning over it. The layout looks so pretty and it's four pages of my photos! I think that's the thing that makes this different - my photography is being showcased as well. Also, as I'm not the one working on the magazine, I didn't have to do the copy edits or any of the annoying fiddly bits that go into putting an issue together. So it's all the rush and none of the annoyance!

So yes. I am very pleased. Who knows, maybe I'll manage to have a crack at being a travel writer after all.

Music: Nevermind the Buzzcocks

Walls securely insulate my heart

I finished reading The Great Gatsby today and, surprisingly, did not hate it. I fully expected to, what with my dislike of pretty much all 'classics'. I suppose the fact that it was written this side of the 1900s helped. The characters are generally unlikeable, but it is just so beautifully written. Gorgeous imagery and lovely turns of phrase. Want.

Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimentality, I was reminded of something - an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, that I had heard somewhere long ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man's, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable for ever. 

That's just... that's not even fair.

And then there's stuff like,

When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware of our identity with this country for one strange hour, before we melted indistinguishably into it again.


Gah.

Although curiously, while reading it I kept imagining Tom Hiddleston's Fitzgerald sitting somewhere writing it (he was not, after all, the most humble of writers) and congratulating himself. And that reminds me of a quote from Midnight in Paris' Hemingway that's quite fitting in these situations -

If it's bad, I'll hate it. If it's good, then I'll be envious and hate it even more. You don't want the opinion of another writer.

Hemingway and Fitzgerald doing what writers do best - drinking wine.

Music: I am a heart a heart, Watson. The rest of me is mere appendix - Forgive Durden

Sunsets over the beaches from now on

I have a new travel blog. Well, no, it's not a blog. It's more of a travel site...or at least I hope it'll take the form of something decent along those lines as I add more to it.


It's called Savannah Sunset. I've actually had it for a while, originally getting the domain for it in June 2011. I was inspired after my trip to New Zealand to try my hand at travel writing again, but then I never actually did anything with the site because I wanted to write everything first before I told anyone about it. Yes. Cause that's practical. I am an idiot.

Anyway. I've now decided to rather just put it out there and start posting to it regularly. Like I said, it's not going to be a blog really. There won't be any chronological rhyme or reason to what I do. I'm just going to write posts about places and then put them out there. See, the problem with travel journalism is that everyone wants to do it. It pays even worse than normal journalism and I figure I might as well just create my own platform if I'm going to do it for free anyway.

I hope to post about all sorts of travel related things on there. I'm making playlists, and writing about books that somehow relate to travel and I'll talk about films as well. I'm also going to do a bunch of fangirl guides to places because hey, why not? It's the sort of thing I do. And there are times it'll probably get a bit academic as I lose myself in the theory of place and travel and all that stuff for el PhD research purposes. But that's why I wanted to start my own site, so I can talk about these sorts of things, the things that interest me about travel.

I chose the name purely because I was suffering from acute nostalgia at the time. It's almost pathetic how much I miss the wildlife in Africa. Sometimes, I'll even get misty-eyed watching the Lion King, that's how pathetic it is. So when it came to choosing a title, sentimentality won out. I think it's quite appropriate for a travel site though. The header image was taken in the Kruger National Park the last time we were there... must be almost five years ago now *sob*

I don't know if anyone who actually reads this blog will be interested in reading Savannah Sunset - I know travel writing can be a bit dull if you're not planning a trip or interested in that side of things. But I do hope to add enough other elements in there, and update regularly, that it's not completely a case of eyes-glazing-over-please-stop.

Do me a favour and check it out when you have a chance though, and let me know what you think. I think I might change the layout in the near future. I just don't have the patience for it at the moment. Also, I'll post more photos to brighten the place up a bit just as soon as my mum sets me up with access to our server again (yes, we have a family server, my mum works in IT, what can I say?)

Music: Not Sunsets by Powderfinger, although I am thinking about it now.

A Note to Myself

Dear Self,

You know that thing you read this afternoon? That thing that made your skin itch because you wanted to be in that situation too? It wasn't even in the spirit of envy, but simply in the way it encapsulated the rewards of what you want to achieve. So you say 'one day', but what does that even mean? Why put it off and then give yourself reasons why you'll fail?

Stop giving yourself excuses not to try.

You are not too old. You are not too inexperienced. You are not too anything. You're simply afraid of disappointment. While that's a very real fear, it's not a reason to hold back or, worse, never even give yourself a fair shot at it.

You know what you want. You're afraid to admit it really, but you know, deep down. And that's what happened today, and it's that tingling you get when you read things. That's your motivation. Hold onto it. Hold onto the aggression you experienced reading that article, the one made you want to berate yourself for sitting on your ass all day rather than working towards what you wanted. Because you know what? For the first time, you actually believed you could have it, if you just tried hard enough.

You actually believed in yourself. Who would have thought?

And why shouldn't you? You're not a child any more. You have three degrees. You have been endorsed by people who didn't have to say nice things about you. You have been published in over 30 magazines, and yes okay, it's not going to win you a Pulitzer, but it's still something. And next year this time you'll actually be a published author contributing to an academic field. Really, it's not shabby for a 24 year old. You should embrace that.

Go out there and get on with it. You know what you want, so go for it. All the writers you admire, all those artists, none of them waited. Not for experience, not for training, not for the mythical right moment. They had something they wanted to express, and they just went out and did it. They doubted themselves, other people doubted them and I'm sure many people told them they were doing it wrong. The didn't let that stop them, and they certainly didn't let the thought of it stop them from even starting.

This is one of those things you can't wait to perfect. Don't get bogged down in the semantics and technicalities. You've learned the rules, it doesn't mean you have to live by them. There is no right or wrong way to do things here, you can't fail as long as you're true to yourself. You are the only thing that's holding you back. Stop being so scared of yourself.

It's time you got this shit done because it's now or never. Wasn't that sort of the point of coming halfway across the world? It won't happen if you keep giving yourself out clauses. Remember this feeling the next time you feel like giving up, the next time you're too tired or the next time it's all just too hard. Remember the anger and the frustration and the terrifying depth of wanting. Don't waste the potential.

Now stop wasting time. Honestly.

Love,
Me

Music: The Ship Song - Amanda Palmer (cover)

Up and over it and over them

There are a couple of things I find oddly satisfying about living in London. Silly things, like when people ask for tippex or sellotape. I can revert back to those terms again! I don’t know, it amuses me. Oh, and being able to elongate my a’s without someone looking at me funny.

Life trudges along merrily. I had a rather eventful bank holiday weekend as M and A were in town, time for some Extreme Tourism™ For those unfamiliar with this craze, it means cramming as many touristy things into a single day as humanly possible. I think we did very well.

Having arrived on Thursday morning, the poor things made the critical mistake of taking an afternoon nap – naturally they were in a rather zombified state when I met them for dinner that night. They were very upbeat and positive though, boding well for their first trip to Europe. I’m very impressed by how much they managed to do despite the jet lag – definite A for effort!

I took them shopping late on Saturday and then it was off to the West End for The Lion King. Thankfully the rain managed to stay away on Sunday and it was actually kind of pleasant for us to walk everywhere and see all the things! Well ok, maybe not all, but we did the major tourist sites at least. I was quite sad to wave goodbye to them that evening, it was so much fun to share in their first-time London joy. I’ll probably do a post about it all on Winchester Chronicles, and I’ve also asked M to guest blog about her time. Keep an eye out.

In other news…there is no news. Work is uneventful, if mundane. Been a bit busy the last week or so doing canvassing which, in my humble opinion, is the biggest waste of time ever. I just don’t see how it could possibly be an effective marketing technique – who even reads these letters? I know I never do when we get them at home. It goes straight in the recycling. Pointless. It’s almost as annoying as people who call in when they get a missed call and expect me to know who rang them and why. I loathe that. Why do people do it? Just. No.

Anywhoodle, I think I’ve settled in well here though, everyone is friendly and it’s a nice enough environment to work in most of the time. There’s only one person I have a genuine dislike for in the office (the majority are likeable and the rest I’m indifferent to). She is one of the managers although her job mainly appears to be wandering around outside and dodging her clients. I have never known her to return a call, and actually, it’s very rare for her to even take a call (which I have the privilege of screening.) There’s a fine line between being busy and being a rude and she is on the wrong side of it. I have no patience for it.

What else can I report on? There was a hyper guy outside the office yesterday, carrying on about Paul McCartney. At first I was perplexed and vaguely concerned for his sanity, but then I had to head down the road and realised he was raving because Paul McCartney was actually there. I think it’s safe to say he’s a big fan. Such is life in the Wood. (My main observation about this area is a) it’s overrun by Americans and b) it’s in some sort of vortex because you’re always greeted by a sub-arctic blast at least five degrees lower than anywhere else when you exit the station.)

Had a lovely dinner and Game of Thrones viewing sesh at Chez Osbiston last night. Always fun. Speaking of, if you love your retro-vintage gear, check out ra ra Retro. The shop will launch in June and you’re bound to find some real gems.

Other than that, I have so much writing to do. Starting with my thesis proposal cause I really need to get everything sorted and applying for admission/scholarships/what have you. I also have an article due at the end of June and I’ll have another one to do next week - off on assignment to the London Sevens this weekend. So thrilled, I can’t even tell you. Then of course I do still have my own writing to get on with. I need to stop making excuses. It’s a serious problem. I truly am my own worst enemy.

Well, I better get back to work…or pretending to do work rather, the printer is el broken so no canvassing can be done and I’ve already done all my other work. Efficiency, thy name is Jen. Yesterday I spent most of the day planning future trips and trying to see how far I can get on my meagre, non-existent budget. I can’t believe that I have the travel bug again when I’ve scarcely been back for a month…and technically I’m still travelling anyway! I have issues.

Right, work. Shutting up.

Music: Hell - Tegan and Sara

London Calling

Ugh. I don’t understand how people deal with this weather. I really don’t.

Yes, blog, I am alive and relatively well in London town. Almost been back a month, you’d think I could get my act together long enough to start blogging again. But in my defence it’s been a manic blur of boring admin stuff – updating CVs, writing cover letters, applying for jobs and attending interviews. Not to mention the absolutely mundane necessity of trying to organise a bank account and national insurance number. Oh, and room hunting. Doesn’t exactly make for thrilling blogging.

Nonetheless, it’s all necessary in the elusive quest for employment which I thankfully didn't have to brave for long. Very lucky there. I’ve been working as a receptionist (dear god, I forgot how boring it is) at a real estate company for the last two weeks. It was the first one I interviewed for and while I also went for a couple of other interviews, I decided to take it when they offered it. Considering that I’m absolutely flat broke, I didn’t think I could really afford to be fussy. This is what backpacking gets you – broke.

Anyway, it’s not too bad. The people are quite nice and the job is hardly a challenge. I should have a fair bit of time on my hands to do some writing at the very least. Today is the first day they’ve trusted me enough to let me work by myself – thus far, the outgoing receptionists has been ‘training’ me. This mostly seemed to involve her showing me a couple of things and then shopping online for various car related things. It’s been riveting stuff. I’m so glad to be on my own now, I was starting to go a bit mad. No receptionist needs to be trained for two weeks, it’s absolutely insanity. I’m not building a nuclear missile here, I’m answering phones and sending emails. After the absolute mayhem of publishing, this is a nursing home. Honestly *shakes head*

Other than that, I haven’t been up to much. Since my room isn’t available until May, I’ve been staying at F’s place which has led to a wonderfully surreal commute to work. It’s really quite cool to walk past the Houses of Parliament every day. I’m going to miss it. Even if I do get quite terrible tourist rage – look, when I’m grumpily marching towards the tube, it’s hard to summon the patience to navigate groups of loud, camera-wielding tourists clogging up the sidewalk. What else have I been up to? Let’s see…oh, attended the London Marathon with Abbi, Paul and Paul’s lovely family; watched a whole lot of random television; started a Dwarf Fortress quest and I’m still alive mwhahahaha (thanks to expert guidance, it must be said); finished A Storm of Swords (oh dear god, why, why did I ever get into this, my soul hurts) and Mockingjay (meh comes to mind) and…um, I think that’s about it.

As always, I have heaps to do. I need to write an article for one of my old mags (yay, commissions!) and I also need to write a PhD proposal since I want to start applying. I sent of requests for references to four of my favourite tutors and two immediately emailed me back to volunteer. It’s silly but it did sort of give me the warm and fuzzies for a bit – I really respect these people and it’s nice to think that they actually remember me, let alone will write a reference. I’m actually really excited about getting this PhD thing going. I think it’s time I just admitted it – university is where I belong. Lecturing is probably my future. We’ll see I guess.

I’m going to apply to the University of Otago for study next year. They’re my current favourite and I’m constantly overwhelmed by missing NZ. Which is weird, but hey. There’s no way in hell I could afford to study over here, and it’s probably too far from home if I’m honest. I don’t think I can ever actually live here with any sort of permanence…the weather alone would drive me round the bend.

Better find something work-related to do for a bit. Further updates as events warrant (and further updates forthcoming at the ol travel blog at some point in the near future as well.)

Music: Phones ringing everywhere

We never are what we intend, or invent

Oh, you guys, I am so tired. I feel like I have a terrible case of jet lag and it's entirely unfair since I don't have the thrill of new scenery to make it feel worth it. Two and half hours sleep. A for effort, self. But hey, the essay is mostly done. I say mostly because I gave it a cursory glance this morning and it's second half is lacking in substance. I need to flesh it out with another paragraph or two at least, and throwing a couple of more references in won't hurt. I also think I need to qualify why it predominantly focuses on one season (not because I happened to be watching said season at time of writing *cough*) and perhaps rethink the conclusion. Because I'm fairly sure it's the weakest conclusion I have ever written in the history of my life. But maybe that's just because I haven't actually stressed the thread of my argument consistently through my paragraphs...so I should probably do that too. And then just finalise the reference list.

So, yes. Mostly done. I have my laptop with me at work today so I'll finish it all off before 5pm. And then it's out of my hands. I can find a dark hole to curl into and weep, and then change my name.

Some men die under the mountain just looking for gold
Some die looking for a hand to hold

Well I carry this box to its proper place
And when I lower it down
I let you fade away
I know that you would do this for me
I'd serve you drugs on a silver plate
If I thought it would help you get away
I hope that you would do this for me

I stole bricks from the dam almost every day
Now I'm drowning in the flood I made
Well explain myself to me on the other side
I'm gonna want some answers when I die

Music: At the bottom - Brand New

NaNoWriMo…

…and how I’ve decided to abandon it after one day.

Officially, National Novel Writing Month kicked off yesterday. It’s my third year – I won the first, didn’t win last year, and was all set to go for this one. I didn’t have a plan but seeing as I am the type of person who wrote essay plans for submission after I wrote the actual essays, this didn’t phase me. Yesterday I wrote 1363 words, which is 303 short of the daily target but close enough not to really be an issue. And yet here I am today, ready to call it quits.

Look, I like the idea of NaNo. I like that it creates this lively community across the world and all the socialising is a blast. But in many ways, I also feel that this is a valid point of view. 50,000 words is not a novel, and on average, churning out 1666 words a day is not necessarily the greatest way to go about writing. I am notoriously bad at doing what I’m told – for example, I never really did the in-class writing exercises at uni and I never wrote essays during class time in High School. I don’t like the expectation that I should be doing something, especially when everyone else is doing it. So the expectation that during November I should be writing 1666 words a day is not really something my personality is all that compatible with.

And it’s not writing under pressure that’s the problem, I excel under pressure. The whole reason I first decided to do NaNo was because I usually work far better with a deadline hanging over my head (and leave everything to the last minute). I think it’s more the idea of everyone writing at the same time – like every time you turn around someone is there, writing, and what are you doing? Shouldn’t you be writing? Why aren’t you writing??? Stop nagging me! I do what I want! If I’m honest, listening to everyone talk about their writing and their word counts completely puts me off doing my own. I know it’s meant to be inspiring and encouraging, and for many people it works brilliantly to be writing with others. That's great! Doesn't really work for me though. I don’t know why, it just doesn’t. It’s completely irrational, but that’s just how it is. Maybe I’m just too much of a loner to really embrace a communal effort.

Of course, whatever you write in November will have to be edited. Probably more painstakingly and stringently than a first draft novel written on a “normal” schedule needs to be edited. This is a given. There are few things in life I hate more than editing – in 6 years at uni I never once, ever, edited an assignment. The only re-drafting I did was for my creative pieces done under a supervisor, which is really like working with an editor telling me where I need to lift my game. But me, for myself? Not great at the editing thing. Which is precisely why my first NaNo novel continues to languish in a ridiculous, didactic state. Not that it didn’t serve a purpose – I’ve certainly never stopped thinking about the premise, even if I do now want to turn it into a graphic novel.

Now I’m at an impasse of sorts. I don’t want to feel like I’ve given up without even trying, but we’re two days in and I’m already feeling a nagging apathy settling in. I have a cool story that I’m dying to tell, but I don’t want to have to write huge chunks of it at breakneck pace while others are doing the same thing. So I don’t know, maybe this format isn’t really for me. And considering that I write, on average, 2500 words at work a day, I’m pretty tapped for words as well. Even if it’s just boring craft terminology, it’s still using the same part of my brain. Oh, and I still have an essay to write within the next week too.

I think NaNo is a great thing as a motivational tool, it gets people writing, brings people together and generally it’s quite fun. For me personally though, maybe it would be better if I was just 'racing' myself and my writing practice. So maybe I should just be more rational about this and instead of trying to fit into this model, I need to adapt it to suit my own style. Who knows, I might still finish anyway – sometimes it’s hard to stop once you get going. But I won’t beat myself up about it if I don’t. With that in mind, I think this November I’ll aim for 20,000 words and then just keep going. 700 words a day, give or take, is not such a huge ask.

Music: Fairytale of New York - The Pogues feat Kirsty MacColl

For you I am blinded

Nostalgia is a funny thing. I can go weeks, months, without the thought of you crossing my mind until, quite suddenly, it crashes down around me. Awareness and regret. I’m young again, stupid and careless, and you’re there, always there, always looking out for me. The best friend I didn’t realise I had until you were gone.

And I marvel sometimes at how I can miss you, so many years later, as if I’m missing the possibility of what could have been, what should have been, had I stayed. Sometimes I even wonder, in those rare moments when the lack of your presence is almost tangible, whether there’s a part of me that’s remained untouched since your removal from my life. A part that will always remain untouched. Maybe every broken line I ever wrote, every lie I ever told, maybe it was all for you.

It’s a cliché to say you never appreciate what you have until it’s gone but that’s what you do. You drive me to clichés. It’s the only way I can make sense of any of it. We were young, too young, and surely it shouldn’t hold sway, can’t hold sway. Irrational and meaningless. But somehow you burrowed your way into my emotions and no amount of arguing with myself can evict you. I think you’ll be there for the rest of my life.

It’s selfishness, really, that drives me. I just want to know if you think of me. If you ever remember the times we spent together. Does the thought bring that lopsided smile to your face? Do you remember the colour of my eyes, the sound of my name, the way you could always be yourself around me? Do you remember how you’d stick by me even when I was being impossible, how you’d always forgive me when I picked a fight? Do you even remember my face?

But I’m smarter than that. I know that no one ever remembers the ones who leave. That knowledge – the thought that you never knew, will never know, can’t possibly care – is harder to bear than the memory of you, the memory that breaks me open and defies my better judgement. If I had been better adjusted, if I had been less insecure, if my life had taken a different path, if we had been given more time…I would have been your refuge, you would have been my all.

Music: Blinding - Florence + The Machine

Golden lies feed my role

In his latest Fuse blog, Mat Devine shares 5 tips for (maybe) conquering writer's block. One of them is -

D. GET STUPID. The best songs were written by bands who had no idea what they were doing. Their subsequent work lacks charm and originality because their innocence was lost. They’d been “taught” the formulas of the craft; the modes, arrangements, melodies, keys, tempos. My hunch is that right now you know too much. Challenge yourself to look at the page and at language in a new way. Deconstruct and reconstruct. Be free. Be wrong.

That is me. It is so me. I'm so bogged down in theory, in the basics of writing, in the study of how everyone else does it, that it becomes nearly impossible to just...write. I've settled into this uni/work-writing state, and it's hard to break out of that. At least there's comfort in knowing that everyone else goes through such things too. Just have to keep at it and one day "the flow" will come back. Hopefully.

Music: Hyper music - Muse

Two cents on writing process

It's SWF time, so of course the city is in a literary flutter with everyone entertaining writerly aspirations, attending talks and taking hints on how to make it in a rather ruthless (and mostly depressing) industry. The thing is, I rather think it's all a bit pointless. Sure, it's fascinating to hear writers talk about their process, and it can be really useful too, but if you're going in there with the hope of finding some sort of template on how to write, you're setting yourself up for failure. At the end of the day no one can tell you how to write. No one can sit you down and give you a foolproof way to get there. There is no map to being a successful writer.

Last night, we had a guest lecture on manuscript assessment and something I think we all know came up - majority of manuscripts presented for assessment come from people with no prior writing experience or training. And I know what the thought process is there - you can't teach someone to be a writer. This is the mentality I started studying with, that either you could write or you couldn't, and no amount of technical knowledge could change that. To some extent, I still believe that. Some people can have all the training but they don't have that something extra that makes the writing feel alive. But it's also an entirely naive point of view because it is the technical knowledge, learning and understanding the craft, that gives good writers the opportunity to be great.

So really, studying writing gives you the tools to help you write, but if you aren't capable of using those tools, they're not going to be much use. And some people don't even need the tools. It's a very wishy-washy thing, this writing business. Studying also gives some people a lot of funny ideas.

Which brings me to my main reason for writing this blog - routine. One thing people always seem to ask writers is how they go about writing, what their routine is. As a result of such questions, I now sadly have Cory Doctorow mentally yelling at me every time I sit down to have one of my epic television watching sessions, saying I should rather be writing every day because I won't be wishing I'd watched more TV when I'm on my deathbed. Thanks for that, Cory! The thing is though, that whole 'you must write every day' thing some people perpetuate? For some, it's just too much pressure.

I can understand the logic behind it, of course. It means you're actually turning something out, being productive, practicing. All good things. Personally, my situation and my mental make-up make it unfeasible and, when I attempt it, it never ends well. Simple reasons for this:

a) I am naturally inclined to being a night owl, my best work gets done between the hours of 10pm and 3am. With work, it's physically impossible for me to get to that point and remain a functioning human being.

b) I'm stretched too thin. Full-time work plus full-time uni = Zombie!Jen. Not to mention the wealth of other commitments I've got on my plate. Any weekday, I'm out the door at 7am and back at 10.30pm. There is no time for me to write every day.

c) My job destroys my creativity. There's no way around this. I write 50+ pages worth of editorial content a month and it's all so similar, and all so banal, that it entirely drains my will to live. Why don't I make it more interesting? Well, I can't. It's client based material and clients have the final say. I do what I can, but at the end of the day there's a set format that needs to be adhered to and I can't really do much about that. Plus I'm super busy so I cut corners. It's exhausting and, in the end, I don't want to come home and force myself to sit and write when I've done that for the past eight hours anyway. It's utterly depressing.

d) I am my own worst enemy. If I set myself the task of writing every day and I miss a day, that's it. I'm done. I will immediately consider myself a failure and it'll be impossible for me to get back into it and maintain the routine. This is a major flaw in my personality, I am well aware of that fact.

Some may say that these are weak excuses, that I should force myself to write anyway. You know what happens when I force myself to write? It comes out sounding forced. Fancy that, hey? I have gone through three drafts for my writing project this semester, with my supervisor knocking back the first two precisely because they lacked that something that used to be in my work (the third I got sorted after taking two weeks off, and she was much happier with that.) So yes, some people might say all writing is good practice, but to me it begs the question whether its worth mediocrity simply to justify routine.

My point is, we are all different people and we all have different writing styles. Naturally, we have different approaches to writing. We can't make these general statements and say that's what you need to do to be a writer, it just doesn't work that way. I think because writing is such a personal thing, something that you create from within yourself, there can't really be a tried and true method everyone can subscribe to.

Now, I'm not pretending to be an expert on writing, but I have spent the last six years at university studying it and I'd like to think that I've picked up a thing or two. One of the main things I've gotten from my tutors is this - find something that works for you, and stick with it. That's all. If you spend all week pottering about and then sit down and write 10,000 words in one day, do it. Just stick with it. Make it a ritual. Just keep going, until you've finished that first draft. And then start again.

I find it counter-productive when people tell me to write every day, even if it's just a sentence. I've tried it and it doesn't work, I can't make my brain work that way. And I'm tired of feeling bad about that, tired of beating myself up over it. I've been struggling to write the last couple of months, and as I put more pressure on myself, as I worry about it, it just becomes worse. So, if you can't write every day, don't beat yourself up over it. Write when and how you can, just do it consistently. Set yourself goals and meet them, however you can, even if that means pulling an all-nighter the day before your self-imposed deadline to get it done - hey, some of us only work well with a deadline looming over our heads, I know. I'm not knocking people who do write every day - if you do, that's great. It obviously works for you and that's fantastic. Keep going.

At the end of the day, what matters is the final product - whether it's a short story, a novel, whatever. Words on paper. Finished. Done. How it gets there is arbitrary. So just keep writing, and don't get discouraged by the myths of what being a writer is. All it is, really, is hard fucking work for very little reward. But you don't do it for the reward, you do it because you just can't help yourself.

-- Edit: Ooooh man, I used the term 'some people' way too much in this. My critical writing lecturer would have a field day with this. So to clarify that is in reference to members of the general writing community who may hold the view I mentioned. Err. It's not very clear. Sorry, lunch hour blog.

Music: Red Right Ankle - The Decemberists

Take some time to warm it with your hands

I am cold and I don’t want to work.

I get the feeling this is going to be the refrain for the entire winter. Why don’t I dress warmer you ask? Well, I’m already wearing three layers. And half the time I keep my coat and my scarf on as well. I can’t dress any warmer than this. Of course, I probably wouldn’t be this cold if the air con in our office actually worked.Our office here referring to the little shoebox hanging above the warehouse that my deputy editor and I share, and air con to our pathetic wall unit that seems to be objecting to warmth. It stutters to life for a couple of minutes and then promptly gives up again, long before the chill has really been taken off the room. My fingers are sore from the typing/cold combo. As you should know, dear blogosphere, I do not take kindly to winter, so this isn’t going down well.

But is it just me, or is it colder than usual? I’m freezing all the time and it’s not even properly winter yet. I have been consistently late to work for the last week because I simply can’t get out of bed. It is dark. And cold. And I refuse to wake up.

No, I don’t know why I’m moving to Europe either. But at least they have heating that actually works.

In non-weather related news, I have officially been employed here one year. Drum roll! Fanfare! It feels a lot longer. Now I can technically leave and it won’t look dodgy on my resume. Of course, I can’t really leave. No well paying job will have me for only six months. Why I’m worried about well-paying, I don’t know. It’s not like it’s all that great here. I’d ask for a raise but hey, the publishing industry is screwed, what can you do.

On we plod.

Only four more weeks of uni left. That’s it. Holy crap. It’s weird not to have any immediate plans for study in my future. I’ve gotten so used to it! I’ve been thinking (a dangerous pastime, I know) - considering the state of publishing and the fact that it’s death to my creativity, I should just get a job at a uni. Even in admin or something to start with. Then when I do my PhD, I can always start tutoring. I like how I say when, not if – I’m such a sucker for punishment. I still don’t think I’d be a particularly great tutor, but who knows. Actually, I’d rather not talk about future career plans or anything like that, it just depresses me. Woe.

I’m finally taking that French course I’ve been going on about for the last two years. See, I get there in the end! It’s two hours on Monday nights and it’s actually quite good fun. There’s about six weeks left on that, might keep going with it, just have to wait and see how it goes. Hopefully I can actually retain what I’ve learnt, that’s the big thing.

Um. What else? I’m in a bit of trouble as I have to submit a title for something I haven’t written or, you know, researched. Mostly forgot about, in fact. Now I’m scrabbling about, trying very hard not to panic. Failing, but I should get an A for effort. At least I have finally managed to write a decent piece for my uni writing project, so I can roll on with that and hopefully my 15,000 words will come together in a halfway decent fashion. That was freaking me out so much. I can’t even begin to explain how hard it is for me to write creatively these days, to do my own writing. It’s like my brain’s just shut down and I have to bleed for every word. I blame my job entirely for this. I’m going to try and finish all that off this weekend before the rot sets in again.

In general though, I’m just tired all the time, sort of on the borderline of having a cold, and trying very hard to do everything all at once. So really, it’s just business as usual.

Music: Sowing Season - Brand New

We together make a limb

I don’t know when UTS got some many hipsters – I guess the undergrads are really rolling it out this year.

Anyway. Greetings! I have survived another week of tertiary education. I'm setting quite a precedent. Good news is we’ve gotten an extension on our second editing assignment so it’s now only due after the break, yay! Well, I still have to do it before anyway, since I won’t be here, but I don’t have to worry about handing it in – skipping class that week as we’re flying out to shaky Christchurch in the morn. Everybody wins.

All’s quiet on this front, really. Some of my classmates still seem incapable of understanding the difference between en dashes and em dashes, leading to my generally just wanting to stab myself in the eye with my pen, but other than that it’s plodding along uneventfully. My writing project is in a bit of shambles after I wrote the most shocking first chapter. I read it over before going for my meeting and was just horrified. So I’ve decided to chuck it out and start all over again – going back to my beloved first person. I think I’m way better at writing in first than third. I only try out third because I feel like I have to give it a shot. Like it’s somehow more…well literary, I guess. But fuck it, I’m tired of working so hard for my moments of glory. Writing in first takes me half as long as third does. I’m already 2,000 words into my second take and I started it at 10pm last night *shakes head*

Not that first doesn’t have its limitations – that’s why I flirt with third in the first place. It’s easier to do multiple characters in third and give a better overarching view of a story, whereas first obviously narrows you to one person. You could do alternating chapters of first, I know, but I’m not willing to try that on with five separate characters. Coming up with five distinct internal voices will liquefy my brain. So yes, I’m sacrificing good bits of story by limiting it, but I think I’m making my characters work more for me. Maybe. I don’t know. See how it goes, I guess.

Um. What else? Oh, had a lovely evening catching up with R after uni on Wednesday. Topics of conversation included Supernatural, Jared Leto, books, the trip, and the trip and Supernatural as a combined entity, haha. Sample of the quality conversation – ‘Why am I Sam? It’s because I’m emo, isn’t it?’

It was so overdue, it felt like eons since I’d last seen R. And M, who I am seeing tomorrow morning. Yay, socialness! But yes, there was pizza, what I call ‘the vampire show’ and brainstorming of grand ideas for our gap year adventuring. This has morphed slightly from ‘move to the UK, get jobs and go from there’ to ‘let’s go EVERYWHERE!!!1!’ Motto: it’s time to get your Kerouac on, you’re only young once.

Although Kerouac is probably too hipster for us

But you know, there’s plenty of time to be responsible later. And R and I don’t exactly have the most conventional aims in life. A year of travelling and writing (and starving) seems kinda perfect. Well, if it can be wrangled. So, large scale logistical planning operation is go. Maps, pins, books, brochures. Let’s rock and roll. Eight months and counting.

Pretty busy weekend lined up so not sure I’ll manage a top 10 today. I’ve got writers’ group tonight, breakfast with the girls tomorrow, dinner with mum’s work friends, and then mum’s birthday on Sunday – we’re going horse riding. Mum’s trying to decide if she wants to come on the Lord of the Rings ride with me in NZ so I figured a trot around the park would ease her into it.

Oh and somewhere in there, I will finish season 1 of Brothers & Sisters and sneak in a few more SPN eps. It’s been like 5 days, I’m having serious Cas withdrawals.

“This is a den of iniquity. I should not be here.”

Music: Red right ankle - The Decemberists

Drop of a hat

I had a trip to the hairdressers last week and had her strip out the red completely, so it’s more violet than the red-violet it was before. Problem is the red kinda held the colour nicely and now the purple is fading out to a colour I suspect is going to be disgusting. Like grey-brown. Yuck. And I’m only getting it done again when I get back from NZ. Double yuck.

I think in the scheme of hair colours, I’ll stick to the red in future. Purple is awesome, but red is more me, I feel. But really, the fading in both is a bitch. Ah well. Only a couple more to go then I’m properly going au naturale. Can’t afford to worry about fading hair when travelling.

There are so many draft blog posts saved over here, t'is rather nuts. I keep starting things and then get interrupted. And when I get home..well that’s it. I have no will to spend time in front of the computer anymore. I’ve also been avoiding my email for the last two weeks, possibly more. The sheer amount of unread emails is enough to give me an anxiety attack. I try to pretend it’s not there, or that I’ll get it to it tomorrow, or on the weekend…but it never happens. I know I need to just stop putting it off and get in there and sort it out but…ugh. There are things I don’t want to sort out, that’s why I’m avoiding it in the first place. If I don’t know about it, it doesn’t exist! *fingers in ears* La la la!

It’s stupid, I know. I’ll get round to it.

Um. What else? Uni’s going ok. I’ve got an assignment due on Thursday that I naturally haven’t started. Will attempt to get something written tonight. I need 5,000 words done by next Wednesday for my independent project as well. I’m going to try to knock about 10,000 over on the weekend. The aim is to have the entire word count for the project done before Easter, so then I can just re-draft and keep writing. I’ve gone with a re-write of Amped, rather than continuing on with Silver & Silent. Only because I’ve hit a bit of a wall with that and I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with where it’s going – it lacks direction and I’m not sure the structure of it is really doing it any favours. So rather than beat my head against a wall and be miserable for the next 14 weeks, I’ll just write something that I know exactly what I’m doing.

My Thursday class, professional editing, is overall not too torturous. My classmates annoy me but even though I’m not overly fond of the subject matter, it’s not filling me with utter dread. So really, not too shabby for my last semester. I do think it’s going to drag down my GPA, but we’ll see how we go I guess. Not worried about the writing project at all really – I get on really well with my supervisor, having worked with her in undergrad. I was very surprised she remembered my project, she sees so many students, but she seems to think it had genuine promise. So when this is all done, I think I might try to work on that again. Once this one is finished, and Silver & Silent. Gah. Too many.

That’s about the scope of my life at the moment, I think. There have been outings, and movies, and drinking and such, of course. And work, which continues to be hellish. Nothing new there. I’m applying for so many random things – I don’t even care. I just want to get out of here so I can actually write again. Instead of going home brain dead and miserable. Hopefully, I’ll have something new by May. All I need to do now is get through the next three weeks. Can’t wait.

Music: Killer Queen - Queen

Well read and poised

I feel the same way about grocery shops as I do about Catholic churches. There’s something about it that sets me on edge and my main modus operandi is to get in and out as quickly as possible. I know what I want before I start out and I try not to stand around looking confused. Time is too precious to be wasted on boxes of cereal and fifty different kinds of egg. Fact.
    So it’s unusual that I find myself at a complete standstill in the confectionery aisle. They don’t have the chocolate I was after and it’s a careful process choosing a substitute. Besides, they’re on sale, might as well get two.
    “Mum, is that a vampire?”
    It’s asked in the stage whisper of the young, when you’re entirely self-assured that only the person you’re addressing can hear you. My eyes slide from the rows of chocolate-y goodness to a young girl not two feet away, eyes wide and holding onto her mother’s hand. She looks about six. Her mother, for her part, looks mortified.
    “I’m sorry,” she says but I wave it off.
    “It’s fine.” I turn to the little girl, still staring at me with open curiosity. “Why do you think I’m a vampire?”
    She draws a little closer to her mother’s leg but answers with complete conviction. “You’re tall, and pale, and you’re wearing funny clothes.” She takes a breath as if considering. “And you look sad.”
    I nod. “That’s true, but look,” I smile widely. “No pointy teeth.”
    “Vampires don’t always have pointy teeth,” she says in a huff – an honest to God huff – and giving me a look that implies I should know better. What did I think she was, an idiot? “They go in and out, like they need them.”
    “Well, you’ve done your research!” My eyes go to the mother. She seems stuck somewhere between embarrassment and amusement. I’m curious as to why her six year old knows so much about scary monsters, but I won’t ask. She must read it in my face as she gives me an apologetic smile. I return my attention to girl. “No vampire’s ever going to catch you, huh?”
    “Nahuh.”
    “Can I tell you a secret?” Her eyes go wide in that way only a young kid’s can and she shakes her head. “You promise not to tell?” Even more head shaking. I glance over my shoulder then crouch down. “Truth is,” I begin in a loud whisper. “I’m a vampire hunter.”
    “Really?” she whispers back.
    “Ahuh.” I flick another glance up and down the aisle. “See, you have to blend in, otherwise they’ll know what you are. So you thinking I’m a vampire means I’m doing a good job. Do you think I’m doing a good job?”
    She nods.
    “Okay, good. I’ve got to go now, but if you see any vampires, you leave them to me, okay?”
    “Okay,” she says, her face a mask of solemn importance.
    I straighten up. The mother is grinning at me. I smile, give a little shrug, and leave without looking back. I didn’t get the chocolate I was after but maybe, just maybe, there’s something to be said for grocery shops after all.

Music: Sophomore slump or comeback of the year - Fall Out Boy

Knock me down

News. I can haz it!

So, I attend a writer’s group now. It’s good, despite my general dislike for all group social interactions. I’m not sure how it’ll work out with uni as we currently meet on Wednesdays, and I think I’ve got class on Wednesdays. We shall see, I guess. Only two more weeks till it’s back to the dungeons of tertiary servitude (she says even though she secretly loves it.)

I’ve got an essay to write this weekend – please, please nag me about it, if you have the chance. I will kick myself if I don’t at least try because there are few things in life greater than marrying your fandom with academia.

Thirdly, after much deliberation, I have decided to apply for a new job. I was hesitant because I didn’t want it to seem like I was giving up with my current job – but it’s a great opportunity in a line I’m much more passionate about. Applying can’t hurt, right? Problem is now that I’ve decided to apply and I’ve written everything that’s required for it, I’m actually a bit scared by how much I want it. I have a personal rule against expectation and I’m dangerously close to breaking it :/

Yesterday, I had a day out with mum. We headed to the travel expo first and accumulated a frankly frightening amount of brochures. I may or may not have added another bazillion places to my list of places to visit. I think there should be a stall to help people like me navigate the logistical nightmare of wanting to up and leave for a significant period of time. I don’t really know what I’m doing and it’s very annoying. Following that, we had lunch at Pancakes and wandered about Town Hall, seemingly acquiring chocolate and cupcakes without really trying. Good times.

In news that is not my own, Pete Wentz and Ahslee Simpson have split. While I’m tempted to say ‘I told you so’, I’m more concerned with Pete’s self-destructive tendencies at the moment and I hope someone’s looking out for him.

What else? Oh yes, first wave of Sydney Supanova guests have been announced – including the insane (now married) James Marsters, Simon and Inara from Firefly, Cary Elwes aka Westley aka Robin Hood aka coolest dude ever, and my dearly departed fictional Welsh boyfriend’s doppelganger, among others. So all in all, it’s shaping up adequately geeky. Now, prepare the hip flask… not making the same mistake as last year, after all.

Just discovered Cary Elwes played Paris in a tv show about the Trojan War. Wonder if he was better than dear old Orlando Bloom. Speaking of the Trojan War, I’m currently halfway through the second volume of The Illiad. Oh my god, Homer. How long do people need to stand fighting over a body? The amount of time it’s taken them to get Patroclus’ body back to Achilles is only beaten by the amount of time it took Patroclus to actually start fighting in the first place. Epic poem is epic. Sigh. Greek mythology clearly favours my ‘setting sims on fire’ approach to religion.

On the work front – things are still completely manic. I had the fun job of sourcing a Kindle for a photo shoot this week and using one is actually not as horrible as I thought it would be. I still love books though. Nothing beats the feel of a book. But yes, work may still cause a nervous breakdown at this rate. And it’s extra stressful because I am not biting my nails anymore – as that’s my standard response to stress, I’m not quite sure what to do with myself.

And on that note, time to crack on. A bazillion profiles to write. From thin air as clients are useless. As always. Yay.

Music: Lips like morphine - Kill Hannah

There's no sign of life

So reading the paper this morning revealed that Kate Hudson and Matt Bellamy have apparently been dating for the past six months. How many rockstars do you need, Hudson? How many?

Sigh.

FNB is going well, we had our second meet-up last night and it was a very enjoyable evening. After our discussion of the books - Marian Keyes' The Other Side of the Story proving the more popular choice over Good in Bed by Jennifer Weiner - it was decided the evening needed to be continued with our favourite pass time, movie watching. We headed off to the local rental place to scare customers away and aggravate employees and finally settled back on the couch for a long evening of silliness. We stuck to the chick lit theme of the evening and went with romantic comedy types. T'was quite hilarious. Our next genre is YA and it's my choice - I've nominated Summerland by Michael Chabon, and The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak. There's been some contention over whether the latter is in fact a YA novel, but according to the rules of the book club, I think I am comfortably within the right to recommend it.

Sunday's been pretty hazy, but I've been buzzing. I've had an idea for a story for a while now and it's finally clicked into place enough for me to want to write it. Yay! I've missed this feeling. I try not to worry about it too much when it's not around, mostly because when I try to force myself to write, it's just depressingly second-rate. To actually feel somewhat motivated again is great. Too bad I have to work tomorrow. What can we do?

I was totally angsty over that on Friday actually. That whole 'you have to work, what can you do' thing. I can't stand it. I can't handle the thought that this is what life is. Maybe it is, you know, but there has to be something else. There just has to be. I don't want to settle for anything less, for convention and tradition, and expected hopes and dreams of a good career, buying a house, all that stuff. It's fine for some people, but it's not me. It's not what I want, it's not what I've ever wanted. Maybe I don't really know what I want. I just want to look back on my life one day and know that I was always entirely true to myself, without affectation and without compromising who I was or what I wanted to fit in with some sort of expectation of what I should or should not want or be. A counterintuitive life. Anyway, I get a bit manic when I'm cooped up in an office, dragging myself through dull mediocrity, and that leads to such thoughts. I know saying this sort of thing comes across as overly idealistic, naive even, but I just don't think I'm cut out for it and I don't see why I should have to settle. I refuse to. I'm still too young to do so, anyway.

While grocery shopping today, I caught sight of this ultra violet hair colour that's taken my fancy. I've got an appointment at the hairdressers on Saturday and I'm seriously thinking about going for it. I love my red layer, and I get tons of compliments on it, but something different might be nice. Thoughts?

In other news, my William jeans are fraying at the hem. Sad. These jeans are my favourite pair, possibly ever. I will wear them until they disintegrate completely.

Music: Modern Love - David Bowie
Mood: Creative