Anger!

The days of the last few weeks are blurring together in a weird sort of monotony - it's not necessarily a bad thing, it's just nothing is really happening. Sleeping and eating and showering form the biggest events of my days, horrifyingly enough, though I think this recharge time was needed.

Moving! In the next couple of weeks.. probably around the 20th of February. Into a beautiful apartment in Richmond, right next to the Yarra. It has two bedrooms, a study, two bathrooms, open plan living and a huge balcony. There is also a pool in the complex! It sounds much more exciting and exotic than the type of apartment that a student should have though.. and it is. Shall be an absolutely brilliant place to live; it's also very close to Bridge Road and Swan Street, so it should be a breeze getting some job in a boutique or gallery. There are signs up everywhere, and I have retail experience now!
Plus I need some sort of income now that Myer have unceremoniously decided not to keep on the 80% of Christmas staff, as they promised when I was employed. Sucks to trust what the management say, I guess.

Australia Day came and went without ceremony. Lucien played World of Warcraft all day, so I spent the day doing deliciously decadent 'me' things.. like covering my face in green clay that smelt good enough to eat, rubbing different types of moisturiser into different parts of my body, painting my nails, reading Vogue, doing sit-ups and stretches and.. (guiltily) eating this beautiful chocolate. Actually I ate it the night before, but the wrapper was still laying on the desk in the morning! It's called Intense Orange by Lindt, from the supermarket - dark chocolate with slivers of almonds, infused with orange. It was lovely, and I'm not even usually a big wrap for dark chocolate.
Lucien has annoyed me a lot lately.. and yes, I can write this with complete confidence that he won't read it because he wouldn't dare pry himself away from World of Warcraft. That is pretty much the reason for my annoyance. I will admit that I have dabbled in the game and do play occassionally - when he is at work. I think this is acceptable; it doesn't impinge on life this way, it's simply a way to pass the time. However, Lucien tends to be a bit obsessive. In the past he has stayed up all night trying to hand in that quest or get that monster, and every time his subscription ran out he'd vow to be smarter about it in the future. This time is different - he is bestowing a level of importance on this game that is unprecedented. He plays it when he gets home from work until he goes to sleep. On weekends, he plays when he wakes up, maybe goes to find some lunch with me and then plays again until he sleeps. I feel.. not neglected, but angry that a stupid game (that is all it really is) could completely usurp the position I hold in Lucien's list of priorities. He seems to think it's alright for him to play for hours at a time while I simply wait around for him, just so long as he gives me a hug or smiles at me once in a while. It's not nice, and whenever questioned about it, he is so .. well, deluded about how much time and energy he does actually put into it that we end up fighting. It's not a good state of affairs.. I'm wondering if I could sneak onto his account and act like a total prick and get him banned or something. Or.. maybe I'll just make him read this.

So in the spirit of protest, I up-and-left for the weekend to go back to my Mum's house. Protest directed partly towards Lucien, partly toward idiot housemate. Muhahmed, I think I mentioned him in a previous post.
He is the world biggest wastrel, turning on every single light switch in the house and leaving them on. While Victoria is in the middle of a dire drought, he left the taps running hard for 10 minutes while he shaved, while I was waiting for him to get out of the bathroom so I could have a shower. Then he had the nerve to get angry at me when I tried to have a shower, saying that he had wanted to have a shower first. I should have stood up for myself, but no, I was so angry that I could not speak - I simply went back to my room and screamed in a pillow.
He also stole my fan, which Lucien managed to get back through his powers of negotiation, and used ALL of my washing detergent. And when his scary, fat, rich relatives from Cyprus came over he showed them my room. MY room - the one full of boxes and suitcases full of clothes and everything in various stages of being packed. They laughed and muttered and exchanged glances. Grrr..
And he's constantly having loud conversations on the phone in the kitchen, not just loud but literally shouting into the phone. At any hour of the day or night that he chooses.
He has no respect for women at all, expects me to clean up after him and openly stares at me whenever I bend over. So many more horrible things...

Ok, I think I'm done now. He irks me - I used to have some sort of respect for him for trying to improve his English skills and endeavouring to get a job, but I've realised he really is just a vile human being, the type that makes a pig seem civillized.

I feel slightly better now!

Moving - Part II

Well, not moving. Or at least not moving in the format previously specified. Will pulled out. In a particularly pathetic way. I have to say I am incredibly disappointed in him - when we first came to Melbourne, he was so juvenile, so bratty. I thought that he had grown a bit as a person, but it seems no. He's willing to stay here in a bad environment and just 'cruise' along, rather than strive for something better. Oh well, it's his loss.

Anyway, one obstacle isn't enough to stop me. Fawkes is still keen, assuming that he gets the job he almost has (finding out on Thursday next week). If that is all ok, then we have very little to worry about, except finding an awesome house post haste!

I'm just so excited about finally getting out of this hell-hole, and being in a place where I am surrounded by a select number of people who I share with, as opposed to this hierarchical arrangement. A place where I can have a say in the happenings and goings-on, where I can relax about leaving my stuff in the fridge or my soap in the shower and not having people throw it away. A place where I won't get unjustly yelled at and blamed for every bit of mess. Somewhere nice and somewhere that I can actually call home, rather than 'that place where I stay in Melbourne'.

The future looks bright, and even the darker bits seem surmountable.

Moving (hopefully)

What a waste of a day. I woke up at about 1pm, walked to the shops and shared some KFC with Will (what a gourmet treats, bleh) and procrastinated.. procrastinated again, and then procrastinated just a little more. I was meant to go home to my family for the day, staying until tomorrow. I was meant to be giving my little sister her birthday present early, and making industrial amounts of shortbread for everybody I know. I was also meant to be meeting up with a friend, Fawkes, to discuss the moving in together we are hopefully going to be able to organise.

The plan as it stands: Will, Fawkes and I will be going to have a look at a house on Wednesday night. It's a three bedroom terrace house in Fitzroy, close to Brunswick Street. One of the major draw points for the boys is that it is a mere 200 metres or so from a pub. Hopefully it will be nice. Hopefully our application will be accepted above any others received. Hopefully it will work out.

I'm investing a lot of hope in this venture. I'm so eager to get out of my house, and building my hopes up to this level is bound for disaster.

Bubble-Wrapped

Posts have been sporadic, I know, and I'm sorry for it. This journal of sorts is a bit of a release for me as well as an exercise in brevity+quality rather than length+rambling (you can see I am losing the battle!). And I guess I sort of hope that you enjoy reading it too.

Lately has been .. strange. I won't go into too many details, but I'm currently not so well. On the brink of mental breakdown, I have had two people looking after me 24 hours a day for the last week. Now they have both left and it's violently quiet. I don't think my shrink would be very happy if he knew I was being left alone right now; he's up to seeing me every second day. It's all a bit full-on.

And on to happier topics of conversation! I realised I hadn't been doing anywhere near as much roaming around Melbourne as before, so I took it upon myself to do it all at once. Fabulous for my mood, bad for my figure and purse. Seraph and I went to San Churro Chocolateria on Monday. We both ordered some type of delicious white chocolate shake (mine was white chocolate and berry), and shared a plate of churros (see right) with chocolate ganache. It really says something about a churro when you have to drink a chocolate milkshake to cut the sweetness and richness! We walked away with full tummies and big smiles; as 'gourmet' churros go, these were awesome.
A couple of days later whilst at the Queen Victoria Market, we got some more churros. These were less the 'served on a beautiful plate' type, and more the 'shoved in a paper bag with a clump of icing sugar' type. But they were still lovely. It's worrying that I should be addicted to something so fried and decadent. Oh well!

The last couple of days have been rather hot, so on Tuesday Lucien, Seraph, Will and I all headed off on the 96 tram to St Kilda Beach. It was lovely - there was cloud cover, but it was still hot and windy. The water was ice cold, which Lucien couldn't handle, but I was in love with the contrast. We played with a ball, and splashed around and had fun until we noticed some wind whipping across the water. It was coming towards us, but we ignored it. Suddenly on what had been absolutely calm, glassy water, diagonal waves were coming in towards us. As we looked up on the beach, the wind was fierce; the entire top layer of sand was hurtling down the beachfront, collecting items of clothing and towels as it went. People were screaming and running, but of course, we were in the water and couldn't feel a thing.
So, we decided to make a run for our stuff and get out of the water before the storm hit. The dash across the sand to get our towels was painful; the sand was hitting my calves like needles and the wind was so strong that it knocked me over a couple of times. We ran with all our stuff up to a grassy area and crouched with towels on our heads. Eventually the squall stopped, but storm clouds were still looming angrily, so we left in favour of fish and chips. Very exciting... even if it did put an end to all my splashing and diving and pretending to be a mermaid in a black tankini.

Lucien has moved up to Melbourne with me for a couple of weeks while he has a summer clerkship at a law firm. I'm not sure how I feel about this.. I should be bursting with joy that my boyfriend, who I'm usually seperated from, will be living just a couple of metres down the hall. However, it has come with it's own little set of problems. Eating is one of them. Being a semi-unemployed student, I am quite regularly poor. This means eating relatively well at the beginning of the fortnight and then slowly as my resources dry up, resorting to having ryvitas and cheese or two-minute noodles as a meal. For days on end.
However, Lucien does not have this fund problem. So it's a bit much to expect that we can take turns in buying food and cooking, because I am simply too poor. But for him to chip in more or even pay for things, I don't like it - even though I'm barely scraping by, I like to hold on to the small vestiges of independence that I have. So it's an issue.
Another one is mess. Lucien has never really moved out of home before, nor has he ever lived in an environment where his mother doesn't do EVERYTHING. I mean everything. I am sure she would brush his teeth for him if she could. It's all very caring and everything, but he doesn't seem to get how suffocating it is. Anyway, because he rarely has to do much work around his house, he doesn't seem to get the whole 'clean up after yourself' thing. My house is a disaster right now, and although none of the mess is mine, it's very disheartening to find half a dozen empty bowls with traces of custard (Lucien likes custard as a mid-study snack) and a housemate glaring at me to clean it up. Little things, but they are irritating. I may be Lucien's girlfriend, but I am not his maid, and it makes me angry to think that all the other boys in my house truly believe that I should be cleaning up his mess.

Oh, in terms of housemates, we have some adjustments! If you have no idea what I'm talking about, see this post. Karin and Clark have moved out to much hearty celebration, whereas Raj left in the night without even telling us he was leaving. So, introducing the new recruits:

Muhammed - Overgrown man-child with no social skills. His irritating habits include turning every single light and fan in the house on and leaving them on, leaving taps running (hello? water restrictions?) and leaving a piece of fish in the fridge for several weeks. Apparently in his country it's ok to whistle at a girl or snap your fingers at them to get their attention, and he has already made some just fabulous comments about me - "Why you eating all the time?" - "Because you stress me out!"


Rick - Token gay emo man. Why token? Because he inflicts it on himself. He has the quasi-American-effeminate voice thing going on, and a penchant for peppermint tea. All in all, he's quite nice, but very shy. However, his hypochondria is tending to get on my nerves. Every passing conversation in the hallway or over the kettle has been about his migraines, his supposed glandular, his chronic fatigue, his insomnia, his anaemia, etc. He has covered his door in amateurish pastel drawings with captions like "You will haunt my heart forever" etc.

In a week or so, we're about to get another one, a young lady called Tina. And some karate people from Okinawa. And how many rooms are left?.. - one. This will be very interesting.

The Den of Slack

Another post devoted to bemoaning the sorry state of my habitat. Sorry. I guess I'm just procrastinating about going in to university on a Saturday to photocopy a small rainforest worth of paper. But there are certain things 'going down' in Brunswick at the moment that are playing on my mind.

Karin and Clarke are moving out today. Horray, but not - this practically decimates the female population of the house. Although Karin can be a rather painful person to be around, our collective femaleness I think helps calm down the absolute testosterone that is otherwise bouncing around in here. I fear my inner-city home is about to become the ultimate den of slack - the bachelor pad.

For a week and a half, I have been either at my Dad's house or at my Mom's, generally being the annoying grown-up offspring who comes home and lives in their pajamas, makes a mess in their old room, sleeps till noon, eats everything in sight and responds in monosyllabic grunts. Needing to gather some materials for a research assignment, I had to venture back last night. On my homecoming I was greeted by a half-metre high pile of dishes and a house full of blowflies. No, I'm not talking about my housemates, I'm talking about the abnormally big, loud scary black flies that seem to be attracted by filth in it's many incarnations.
The thought of frequenting the common areas much longer was too much to bear, so I retreated to my room. The horror! Underneath my half-open window was grit and dust, which was strange. Then I noticed some grey feathers laying around near my door. A pigeon was in my room!

Of course, I couldn't bare to sleep in there. What if it was still in there, hiding somewhere? What if it hadn't been able to figure out the escape route and had crawled somewhere to die? All these thoughts were running through my head, and I felt physically uneasy just being in the room. I despise pigeons, a lot. They're so creepy and disease-ridden and weird. There are so many of them in the city, they are the worst kind of vermin. Like rats with wings.
So I was too scared to sleep in there - I had to sleep on the couch. Joy.

Upon waking up, I could see even more grossness that I wasn't able to quite discern in nighttime light. I couldn't find a clean spot on the bench to put my glass this morning as I was pouring juice. Argh!

So I'm apartment looking. And I'm looking for one cheap enough that I can afford it whether or not Lucien goes in with me.

Wish I Had A Window

The subject line of this post is designed to be sung to the song "If I Were a Rich Girl" or "If I Were a Rich Man" by Gwen Stefani and from Fiddler on the Roof respectively. Followed by 'lalalalalalalalalalalalalala' - yes, I counted, and it is the exact number of 'la's!
Why do I wish I had a window? My bedroom in Brunswick has the tiniest of pathetic windows, just big enough for me to fit through and it faces up at the sky. Boring. It's so tiny and exposed that I have the shutter drawn always, otherwise I just get this blinding beam of white light falling through.
When I lived in my favourite house in Caroline Street, I had a wall of windows. Literally. One entire wall was full-length windows that opened up onto a courtyard filled with roses, lavendar and a nice shady tree in the middle. It was beautiful; the wind would drift in carrying the scent of flowers and summer, lifting my sheer white curtains and just filling my room with 'happy'. Because I had so much window space, I took to using one of them as a whiteboard - I'd write and drawing over the window with red lipstick which cast the most intriguing shadows of backwards words on my bed. Unfortunately since then, I have moved twice and am now facing the worst window situation ever. Tiny window facing the morning sun and nothing else, a view of all the corrugated iron and cement roofs in Brunswick and the smell of traffic and industry wafting into my humble abode. Ick.

Right now, I'm at my Dad's apartment in Richmond, overlooking the river. It's glorious.. I feel like I'm living in a treehouse. Huge windows on every external wall, trees and birds and flowers everywhere to be seen, sunshine and fresh air streaming into the house through open windows. I feel ridiculously unwell, but it's nice to be surrounded by something so nice.

Over the next couple of months, I'm apartment-hunting. The House of Mirth is good fun to write about, but unbearable. I simply can't handle it. I can't handle the XBox being on so loud until all hours of the night. I can't handle listening to Raj having loud sex every single night. I can't handle the Neanderthal, full stop. I can't handle the fact that whenever I buy food, someone eats it or throws it out. I can't handle the lack of space. I can't handle being kicked out of my own living room whenever Karin and Clarke decide to be space-sucking lumps. I can't handle the greasy dishes that just get put back into the cupboard. I can't handle idiots who don't know how to answer the intercom or the phone, making me run from the other end of the house in my underwear for it when they were in the same room. I can't handle the way they eat like loud, obnoxious pigs.. it makes me feel ill. I can't handle being picked on for being a girl, liking pink, not being a goth, being a 'jaffie' (college freshman), etc etc.
I've had enough, so I'm moving out.

I think my Mom is giving me a white dinner set as a birthday present, and my Aunt already sent down boxes and boxes of kitchen utensils she doesn't need anymore. It's kind of funny - she's a millionaire and has far too much stuff, but did she really think that I needed 24 champagne flutes? Oh well, I'm amused but I won't complain.

Nothing has yet been written about the birthday, I'll write it up as a story/fairy tale for next time. I'm feverish and coughing up a lung right now, so I'll get back to bed. Adios amigos.

If You Pop That Gum One More Time...

That's it - breaking point. My housemate is a twat.
This we already knew, but today The Neanderthal revealed himself to be the malicious, hate-mongering inbred halfwit that I have suspected all along. He picked a fight with me. In my right mind, I would have delivered some retort so razor sharp that his ego would have been sliced, diced, filleted and arranged artistically on a plate then served up to him with some kind of exotic sauce. Alas, today was not one of those days.
He went to buy cigarettes from the supermarket without any ID, and came home raving about the "idiot girl" who wouldn't give them to him, then gave us an account of how he yelled at and belittled her. Me, sitting on the floor with coloured pencils and sketch book looking as innocent and innocuous as a lamb in my little blue floral dress.. well, I piped up. "It's not her fault you know. The supermarket and the government make those policies, they have to ask everyone who looks under 30. You only had to walk a block to come back and get your ID anyway. Get over it." Big mistake. I ended up being yelled at by a 120kg, muscle-bound 6'5" man, who called me various expletives and stormed away. I seriously thought he was going to get physical for a second.. he was so riled that somebody actually talked back for once, his shoulders twitched a bit and his fists and jaw were clenched, but he just took a deep breath. When he came back with his cigarettes, he made a big point of ignoring me, yet talking about "little Miss Bitch" in front of me like I wasn't there. Everybody else in the house has, so far, put up with his loudness, rudeness, messiness, vileness, etc etc. But I fear that now it's war, and he has me firmly targetted as 'the enemy'.

It's not nice. I want to go home to my Mom's house now, but I have class tomorrow. I'll admit it - I'm a bit scared about the prospect of being alone in the house with him. He is the kind of man who could kill me with his bare hands if he wanted to - not suggesting that he will, but I barely know him and I have become the object of his ire. I have to get out of here.

Some alrightish things have happened today though. I've had a bit of a cooking day - I'm penniless until tomorrow, so I had to let the limited things in my cupboard and freezer inspire me. For lunch, I made some spinach, pecorino and pea risotto. It was actually rather nice, but alas.. I was sort of guessing measurements and I ended up with so little it was barely worth all the time and effort. For dinner, I cooked for Will and I (feeling charitable to the poor undomesticated male!) - I made a sort of thrown together fried rice with rather random ingredients in it.
My stint as a chef was not without drama though - as I was trying to sautee some onion and garlic, Will managed to drop an entire full bottle of Coke on the floor. On my feet. As I was cooking! He went scrambling for a mop, so I had to endure having my feet mopped by a gross, cold and possibly mouldy mop. As soon as the Coke was cleaned up, I ran off to rinse my feet in the shower.. but I left the heat on! The smoke alarm went off (I'm good at that) and it ended up being the tiniest bit burnt. Still edible, fortunately.

Suki isn't talking to me and I have no idea why. It hurts.

Nothing about me is working. My hair is .. well, manked. My skin is bad. My brain doesn't seem to be working properly. My boyfriend is being distant, in all sorts of ways. My friends are further away from me than ever. My bedroom is a cesspool of indifference. Almost nothing seems to be of joy at the moment, everything is grey. It is weird how things can flip so rapidly in just a matter of hours... after getting home last night, I pretty much retired to my room without doing much or talking to anyone. It was just too much - I had nothing left for anybody.

Sometimes I feel as though I only exist for other people. People call me things like "sparkly" and "vivacious", but those aren't really things that I can be by myself - I have to be sparkly or vivacious for other people. When they run away, what's left? An empty shell with the ability to be sparkly or vivacious, but nothing of substance? In Anne of Green Gables, Anne has an imaginary friend in a mirror who she talks to and calls a kindred spirit. Her name was Katie, I think. The bit that strikes me is that Katie is a reflection; one and the same person as Anne, and she can be a kindred spirit and a best friend. When I look in the mirror, I often see someone I detest or barely recognise. How could I want to be friends with this person, let alone consider them a kindred spirit? It makes me wonder why I do have any friends in the first place, then feel sorry for them for being landed with me.
How does one go about becoming friends with themself? In the past, I've always made an effort to change the girl in the mirror into someone I could admire. But it doesn't work. Lucien always accuses me of having a 'two steps forward, three steps back' approach to life - I'll achieve something, some little goal, then go back on my hard work by throwing my hands in the air and retreating at the first thing that cuts me down. My prospective imaginary friend (read - myself) is becoming less and less likeable every day, but it seems that becoming friends with her would be the only thing that could get her out of this horrible cycle. What an unfortunate situation.

I think too much.

YouTube of the Day: Actually I have two for you - one was recommended by Benjamin. The Blindfolded Pianist plays ALL of the Super Mario Bros themes. I love it!
This was recommended by Paul - Little Kids doing the Wassup thing. I'm not usually a big wrap for things featuring small children.. usually the only reason they are 'cute' is because they have small children in it, which doesn't really wash with me (don't like them). But this is kind of cool - "having a milk, watching the game".

So, I'll get back to the height of SAD - I took my old school edition The Merchant of Venice out of a box and started colouring in the black and white pictures with coloured pencils. It's ridiculous - Portia's all done up in a sea green gown, Bassanio is dressed in a similar colour scheme, and I'm trying to make Solanio and Salerio colour-coordinated. It really is sad. Not as sad as this is ironic though:

Bush Urges Nation To Be Quiet For A Minute While He Tries To Think

House of Mirth

I've had enough - it's time to move. Yesterday I returned home not to the catastrophic mess that my house was, but something altogether worse. Bottle caps littering the floor, the sink full of dirty dishes, half-eaten meals sitting on the bench, dirty tea towels lying on the floor, week-old scraps of fast food hiding against the skirting board. And to top it off, two of my Neanderthal housemates were drinking to the point of drunkeness at 3pm whilst loudly playing Monopoly and berating everybody in sight. I copped a serve about being a first year, wearing a dress and having 'bad' taste in music, and once again they started on Will for the fact that he has basic hygiene and can speak understandably! I felt like screaming. I also felt like slapping them both and telling them exactly what I thought, but I did neither. I eventually made some snide remarks, grabbed enough stuff for the rest of the weekend and stormed out.

But enough on that. It is a ridiculous situation, and I'll be glad to get out of there.. but so many other lovely things happened before that nastiness. Let's start from the beginning.

Friday morning was divine. A perfect morning of pancakes, window shopping, random acts of kindness and the most wonderful type of company - Paul. I hadn't quite met him before other than seeing him around campus, but as he is leaving for Philadelphia quite soon, it had a sense of 'now or never'. I'll have to post more about this theory later, but he is definitely a member of my tribe. We had breakfast at Morgan's on Collins Street, then went window-shopping, visiting RetroStar (vintage clothes), Anton's (unusual haute couture) and Smiggle (stationary), which was torturous. So many beautiful things that I wanted, but alas! I haven't started properly at Myer yet, so I don't really have the funds to buy anything. But lots of fun was had nonetheless, especially when I tried on a particular crazy purple dress. It had puffed sleeves and a full skirt, with square pieces of lace sewn onto it, with ribbons everywhere. Paul has a photo of it, perhaps he'll publish it.

After the mid-morning sojourn, I headed to Carlton and then Richmond for various medical appointments. I have bronchitis (spelling?) at the moment, which is just peachy. And now the medication to make me better is making me dizzy and nauseous. Even better!

My Dad then picked me up to have dinner with him, and my new step-mother and step-sister. This was interesting - they only got married a week ago, and already the status quo is changing rapidly. The daughter, let's call her Scarlett, tends toward being a spoiled brat. She's the only child of a single mother who doubles as a business executive - Scarlett is very used to getting what she wants, and being a little cow about EVERYTHING. But there was a noticable change in the air.. suddenly she was not getting her way, and being ignored when she sulked.

Though apart from the absolute insolence that is my new step-sistet, I had a nice time. We went out for pasta in Kew and then took a walk around a very nice shop - Leo's Fine Food and Wine. I didn't end buying anything, but just being surrounded by such interesting things was a treat in itself. There was every type of tea you could imagine, packages of dried rosebuds to put in cocktails, kinds of pumpkins I'd never seen before, tiny roasting quails the size of your palm, and little biscuits that looked like sculptures. I felt like an explorer - a shop full of curiosities!

I ended up staying the night, and the next morning we went to the Richmond and then Queen Victoria Markets. I bought three particularly beautiful blood oranges to draw pictures of before eating, a pig's trotter for my puppy, a slice of French almond tarte to share with Lucien, and then - my bargain of the day! A fishmonger called out to me to buy the last of his mussels. $4 a kilo, so I obliged. He measured them out to a kilo, then added the rest of the mussels in the tray. It came to about 1.7kg, to which he remarked, "Well then, that's the biggest kilo I've ever sold!". So yes, dear reader, I scored a ridiculous amount of mussels for $4.
I took them home to my Mom, after the housemates debarkle - we sauteed them in butter, wine, garlic, ginger and chilli. So good! If only I could cook...

Such a nice weekend, now the week looks all the more dreary in comparison. Oh well, I'll keep my chin up.

Terminally Creative

Well, it's 3am on a Friday morning and I'm not asleep. No, I was sitting at the kitchen table cutting words out of the newspaper to make interesting and non-sensical sentences. I then turned to the real estate guide to make the biggest and best house imaginable out of pictures of ordinary houses. Both my creations are still sitting on the kitchen table waiting to be defiled by philistine housemates in the morning. 'Tis sad, but it is even sadder that I have to be up in time for breakfast in the city with a friend tomorrow morning. I hate early starts, but I suppose I should get used to them.

Will (housemate) and I watched V for Vendetta tonight. I saw it before at the cinema with Lucien (boyfriend) and thoroughly.. enjoyed is the wrong word. Rather, it stirred me. As a film, I liked the experience, but as a piece of culture or dare I say literature it was powerful. The story of Guy Fawkes was something I grew up with in Taiwan, and after having to delve so deeply into George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four (I played Julia in a play version), it seemed to just mean something entirely deeper than any normal blockbuster-type film would. Plus Hugo Weaving gets major points for having such a sexy voice.

I forgot to eat dinner again tonight. I suppose it's something about living (practically) by myself. If I had Lucien here or friends constantly around to cook for, it would be something enjoyable. But althought I can see the point in cooking nutritious food for myself, I really can't be bothered. Tonight was half a cheeseburger, a glass of juice and some celery smeared with peanut butter. Healthy. I tried to make some pancakes, which resulted in setting off the smoke detector.. at 2am. Not a great idea when there are sleeping people who have to wake up in 3 or 4 hours.

Oh, and I have to share this - it kept me amused all day. Richard Cheese coupled with cheeky, childish animation is definitely a winner.