Things

In one of those moods where I feel I can't do anything right.
I'm too loud, too crazy, too intense. Too much of what people don't want, too little of what they do want.
Remember when you were quiet and demure?
I remember that. I think music, high school and my mother conspired to change that.
Remember just acting how people wanted you to?
I do. It was hell, but somehow slightly more desirable to feeling like I'm less of a person for being myself. Like that I am tolerated, not accepted.

It's one of those days where giving up is on my priority list, where my aim is to roll up in the foetal position and do little else but sleep and listen to music.

Having my motives questioned is getting to me. I don't like people assuming I am doing things solely because I want to disrupt or cause attention. More often than not I do it because it would make me happy. In fact, the less attention I am paid all at once, the happier I am. I can't function too well when thrust in front of people and ordered to speak. I will write for you and flee.

I wish, though, that people could just give me one fixed point by which they'll measure me. Not ask me if I'm okay because I'm quiet then get aggravated when I talk. I'm over the majority of everything and I want to run back to childhood, the blissful state where I didn't know people had active opinions about me, so I did what I want no questions asked. I miss living like that.

WHOA LET'S BE ALL WEIRD TONIGHT. Goodnight todos.

25 questions that you never actually asked me.

Oh hai.
So, yes. I'm really becoming terrible at updating this blog. I don't have much else to say except for the more-frequent-than-ever-rant - which, after I do this (needs time to fester a bit more), I'll actually post - and frankly, you guys deserve better than that.
But on the off chance you completely miss me (snort), I live over here now, at my new sort of bookish blog. (Go on! Click the enticing large font! I dare you!)
Also, Maija and I are starting up a bridal blog. Heads up for that.

Anywho! Meme post to get my writing shenanigans underway!

1) Post 15 facts about yourself.
I currently have no favourite band. My favourite TV show is Offspring (to which my Twitter followers reply, "OH WOW SUCH A SECRET THERE"). I am very much obsessed with the song 'All Hell' by The Cat Empire and long to play it on piano. I don't know how to play the piano. I have two golden retrievers who, while irritating from time to time, are lovely. I work in a deli (still, and much to my distress). I am very bad at cleaning. I also am very bad at turning on lights when it gets dark if I've been sitting in the same position since it was light. According to psychological test studies, I am neither Anglo-Saxon nor Hispanic. I own a pair of socks with cow heads on them and grip on the soles. I can knit, but not purl. I have chosen my children's names because I'm just creepy. I plan on owning a Border Collie named Fernando at some stage. I love to draw, particularly faces and fashion illustration, but I've never sat still long enough to complete a realistic portrait. I get sweet kicks out of writing fan-fics that I'll never share with anyone.
2) Write about the best friends you’ve had over the years.
My best friend in Sydney was named Alyssa. Her family was from the Philippines, and I remember when she went to visit them. Neither of us knew where the Philippines actually was, so we assumed it was somewhere like Western Australia. She loved to write, like me, and to draw. We used to write stories about our adventures on safari and whatnot. (We would have been four or five.)
Then I moved to Wollongbar. Roanna and Liana came along. Liana lives at this blog. We were rather strange, I remember. Roanna moved to Cootamundra in Year 2, and Katrina came along. Year 3, Gemma came along. Liana loved Leonardo DiCaprio. I loved one of my brother's friends. I have no idea who Gemma and Katrina loved.
High school happened, and Kathryn came along. Liana and I didn't really keep in contact, but Gemma, Trina and I did. Not much to really tell - after all, you've heard about Kathryn, and you've heard about Gemma and Katrina.
Now uni's happened, and I've pretty much whittled it down to Trina. YOU'VE STAYED SINCE YEAR 2. AREN'T YOU SKILLED, TRINA. I have a variety of guy friends - I'd go to Josh for most anything, purely because I know he'd not judge one iota and also always listens to opposing opinions, a trait I aim to cultivate in myself. I have a bunch of pals that are people I'd go to for different things, but I just know I can count on Trina and Joshua the most out of my pallies.
3) If you only had 24 hours to live, what would you want to do?
I'd love to spend the day at the beach, wear a pair of Louboutins, dance at Southbank and sing to God.
4) Write about a period of time in your life where things seemed to be constantly going good.
Ah, unimaversity. Got an internship. Got a job. Semi-got a degree. Brisbane was excellent, I was seeing my lovely friends, and I just loved being there.
5) Write about a period of time in your life where things were not so good.
Ah, high school. Oh, everyone who says high school is the greatest time ever - I sincerely worry about the quality of your life after those horrible years.
6) When was the last time you cried? 
Last week.
7) Upload a recent picture of you.
'Recent' meaning 'A Couple of Months Ago Shush I'm Lazy':

Hobo gloves, nerdy glasses.

8) How do you feel today?
A combination of tired, completely over my job, and a little bit sad. Melancholy Tash is Melancholy.
9) What’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to you?
"Oh my gosh. I love your eyes. They look like beads." - random customer at work, who was studying art and apparently had a fascination with eyes, according to her friend.
10) What’s the meanest thing anyone has ever said to you?
"... I guess you're pretty. You're just not as pretty as, say, Trina." Probably not mean but my gosh, it stung and I still remember it nearly two years later. #hangingontothepast
11) Write about the best day of your life.
Probably trip to Melbourne, getting to see Dali. Life dream was realised.
12) Write about the worst day of your life.
A day involving tears, vomiting, stress, screaming in pain and a whole lot of hugs. And many, many, panic attacks.
13) What are your plans for the future? Far and near.
I plan on returning to Brisbane and continuing my degree, while writing. Trina and I are housesharing, and we will make cakes. I think Glen's coming at this stage, too.
I hope to get married, and have some wildly funky children.
I want to have a bookstore.
I want to travel and visit Shakespeare's grave, and Neruda's grave, and throw some tomatoes in Spain.
I will write for the Sydney Morning Herald, a bridal magazine of some description, and edit one of these.
14) Post your favorite book, favorite movie, favorite band, and favorite food.
Book: Too, too many. Possibly HP&OotP. Possibly Letter Perfect. Possibly Atonement.
Movie: Moulin Rouge, Love Actually and Pride and Prejudice. These cannot be separated.
Band: None. I... I said that. Coldplay was it, but they're relegated to the Corner of Shame until they give me a new album.
Food: Chicken schnitzel and mash potato, with cheese empanadas. Ooh and cheesecake.
15) Write about something you worry about a lot.
... what don't I worry about a lot?
16) Upload a picture of your room and talk about your room.
No. It is messy. That is all.
17) Bullet your day.
Shoot it? *considers the implications of destroying the space-time continuum*
18) Post one confession/secret.
I am currently obsessing over a guy who couldn't care less about me.
19) Write about your last birthday and how you plan to spend your upcoming birthday.
I went to Brisbane and hung around the city, finding clues and attacking people. I don't have plans for this coming one, but I am going to con Trina in helping make me an epic cake that we'll take to Southbank and eat with spoons.
20) What did you eat today?
Cheese on toast, and eggs on toast. Also, 4 Wicked Fizz lollies and a few spoonfuls of Nutella.
21) How has your life changed over the past year?
I'm back here, and I'm twenty million times more cynical about men than I was last year.
22) What made you smile the most today?
Frezned's video about eyes.
23) Describe what you spend most of your time on.
Writing and reading.
24) How was your week been?
An absolute pain in the butt that I'd shoot if I could, qualms about the space-time continuum aside.
25) Write a letter to someone you miss. 
I miss very few people right now.

30 Days of Music, which I have cleverly condensed into one post. Because I'm fearless like that.

Yeah, I know. You're complaining. 

"Another music post, Tash?"

Hey. Be glad. Thanks to my incredible self-control yesterday (or, more accurately, my evening involving a lot of music rather than relationship counselling - which begs the question, why? I have never been in a relationship. I am not the person to counsel you), you got spared last night's diatribe regarding men.

Which would have been vastly hilarious, but in a laughing-at-me-not-with-me manner.

So this is that 30 Days of Music thing that's currently making the rounds on Facebook. At least, it's currently making the rounds with five people I know, and has finished with Nate and Maija.

Also Courtney, but as far as I know, Courtney is limited to Facebook.

Why do I tell you these things?

Getting to the point would be ideal.

Away we go.

1. Your favourite song.

You Be the Anchor That Keeps My Feet On the Ground, I'll Be the Wings That Keep Your Heart In the Clouds, Mayday Parade

Introduced to me by my brother's friend Tim on a New Year's Morn, this song has been on my love list for a v. v. long time. Usually I fall in love with songs and then quickly get over them, and they start gathering cyber-dust and feeling unloved and then when I do listen to them, I skip after 30 seconds.

It's a terrible cycle, yet Mayday Parade has not fallen victim to it.

(Incidentally, I'm currently putting Mumford and Sons' The Cave through this vicious cycle.)

So I suppose it, for now, fulfils the role of being my favourite song.

Also, it's pretty. Which is most definitely a proper musical term.

2. Your least favourite song.

Where to begin. Oh, where to begin.

I'm sure everyone's done Justin Beiber and Miley Cyrus and Rebecca Black. It pretty much goes against human nature not to. I am itching to, but instead, you can have this one.

In Da Club, 50 Cent.

There is so much wrong with this song. So very much. Firstly, the title. It's one more letter, Mr Fifty-Cent-Sir, how hard is it to write 'the'? Not very! NOT VERY AT ALL.

Secondly, this verse epitomises everything that is wrong with not only this song, but society in general.

You can find me in the club, bottle full of bub 

Look mami I got the X if you into taking drugs 

I'm into having sex, I ain't into making love 

So come give me a hug if you into to getting rubbed 

50 Cent (and what sort of a rap name is that, anyway?) - you are made of fail.

3. A song that makes you happy.

Waiting for the End, Linkin Park.

Yeah, all you Linkin Park hardcore fans, I do have their original stuff. And I do eschew their new stuff because it's Twilight-fail. 

However, this song makes me very happy.

I don't know why, I cannot explain it, but it's dancy and beautiful and made of awesome.

4. A song that makes you sad.

Time to Say Goodbye, Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. 

Before you start hurling the rocks, hurling the spears, and throwing tomatoes unceremoniously in my direction, I am very much aware that this is a lovely song and it's beautiful and that everyone should adore it no matter what.

But you know what? It always, no matter what, makes me cry.

Laugh all you want, but that's what happens.

5. A song that reminds you of someone.

Strangers in the Night, Frank Sinatra.

My grandfather is an excellent man. He knows more English than I do. (This is saying a lot, considering he only ventured in this country's general direction in what would be 1986.) And as a result, he often enjoys putting new spins on songs. He can commonly be found singing such classics as Everybody Loves My Body (and yes, he is a 70 year old man), Tengo-tengo-tengo-tu-no-tienes-nada, and variations on Strangers in the Night. 

Over the course of my life, I have heard:

• Empanadas in the night
• Chorizos in the night
• Vino in the night
• Carne in the night
• Tortillas in the night, and
• Palta in the night.

All food, and all sung by my grandfather. He appears to only know a few lines:

Chorizos in the night... exchanging glances, lovers at first sight...

And we get that over. And over. And over.

Still love the man though.

6.  A song that reminds you of somewhere.

Damned If I Do You, Damned If I Don't, All Time Low.

This isn't a terribly exciting location. In fact, it's one of the most boring places I've ever been to.

The Pacific Highway, that boring stretch of no-man's land between Tweed and Byron, somewhere that I cannot exactly pinpoint.

But oh my gosh, it's a lame point of land.

Anyway, I was listening to this song as I was fleeing Brisbane last year, and around that darn stupid stretch of land that I still don't know what it is (surely it has a name?), this song was on. It made me vaguely happy, when I was massive-freaked and didn't think happiness could actually come.

Kudos, All Time Low, yet I'm sorry I associate you with such a mundane area of the Northern Rivers.

7. A song that reminds you of a certain event.

Baila Caporal, Illapu.

Hellooo, Chile Day.

Chilean Independence Day is an odd thing.

For one thing, we celebrate it in Australia. We appear to put more emphasis on it than we do Australia Day.

[Yeah, yeah, get back to your own country, etc. My relatives at least came to this country without shackles around their ankles.]

Anyway, Chilean Day is essentially an excuse for my grandmother to hold a party and bust out all her decorations. She has a whole pile of Chilean flags in a box, and blue, white and red streamers on standby. The house gets turned into a dancehall. Of course, we have to look patriotic. Patriotism apparently means that Daniela and I put on jeans, white shirts, and red scarves, so for a day we pretend we're twins and that we totally didn't co-ordinate our outfits. (Which we did two years ago, texting each other madly so we didn't have to show up wearing peasant skirts and caked-on makeup.)

And there is much food. Generally, we eat churrascos, chorizos, and empanadas. Pebre, too. Oh gosh, it is the greatest day ever. And we get tasty dessert. And calzones rotos. Oh, you need to celebrate Chilean Day sometime. 

I mean, there's a lot of political stuff behind it, but when you're getting dragged into a circle of people waving handkerchiefs around, just because you've picked up a serviette to give to your cousin who has dropped Coke everywhere, the politics cease to matter.

8. A song you know all the words to.

Tales of Girls, Boys and Marsupials, The Wombats.

Yeah, I pretty much put this song on here for lols.

9. A song you can dance to.

Dragostea Din Tei, O-ZONE.

Please, someone. Tell me I'm not the only person outside of Europe to own this song. 

Because it's amazing. I don't know what it says, but watch the video. It's just amazing. And the comments that used to be there were hilarious. ("THEY DO TOO HAVE GIRLFRIENDS JUST BECAUSE THEY'RE HUGGING EACH OTHER DOESN'T MEAN THEY'RE GAY THEY'RE JUST IN EUROPE". Whoa, simmer down, YouTube.) 

And once you've watched them dancing on plane wings, go and watch Elijah Wood dancing to it, courtesy of Yo Gabba Gabba and some editing. Best giggles you'll see for a while.

And then, of course, you will end up dancing like Elijah Wood every time this song comes on... oh wait, that's just me.

10. A song that you can fall asleep to.

The further I go along, the more I feel I've done this. But I think I'm just recalling my answers whenever I saw someone post about this meme.

Across the Universe, Jim Sturgess.

Hurl rocks at me. I do love the Beatles' version of this. It is impossible not to. But this version is still amazing and beautiful and is lovely music to curl up and snooze to.

Also, omnomnom Jim Sturgess.

11. A song from your favourite band.

Don Quixote, Coldplay.

I still love you, Coldplay. Even though you're being utterly heinous and not releasing a new album (which you promised me would be out at the end of last year, you -- calm, Tash, calm), my love for you still lives on.

Though if you can release a new album sometime soon, I'd like it a lot. Just sayin'.

12. A song from a band you hate.

Big Jet Plane, Angus and Julia Stone.

Who allowed you to make music, Angus and Julia Stone? Who deemed it okay? AND WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS ON TRIPLE J?

13. A song that is a guilty pleasure.

I'd Do Anything, Simple Plan.

Um... please don't kill me. After the post a few months ago, my Simple Plan love has come back with a vengeance.

14. A song no one would expect you to love.

Heart That's Pounding, Sally Seltmann.

Usually, I cannot stand songs like this. It's all to do with Clare Bowditch and Florence and the Machine. I cannot stand either of those artists, and it makes me very sad when they come up on Triple J. Which they do with unnerving frequency. 

Let me tell you, when I heard Clare Bowditch cover Fall at Your Feet, a very large part of me died inside. I think it was the rest of my hope. (And I'm not linking you to that, because I don't want you to die either.)

Anyway, this song was featured on Offspring. (Offspring is my new love; for those in America, it is an epic TV show which is made of win. Clegg, the head obstetrician, is just amazing. So socially awkward it makes me seem like Ita Buttrose by comparison.) And it came on every time Nina and Chris were having lovely nawwww-worthy moments. So, because I'm like every single female who has invested emotion into Pride and Prejudice, I invested emotion into Nina and Chris, and I now have an emotional attachment to this song.

Go figure.

15. A song that describes you.

Um... what?

Oh gosh.

I suppose only Lifeline, by Papa Roach.

It doesn't describe me, but what I've been feeling for the majority of this year.

16. A song you used to love but now hate.

Another embarrassing gem from the vaults of my youth.

Crush (1980 Me), Darren Hayes.

I'm pretty sure that's a 'nuff said' response.

17. A song that you hear often on the radio.

Sex on Fire, Kings of Leon.

Because when you listen to community radio which broadcasts to a very small area of the Northern Rivers (you know it's small when 'Wollongbar' is included in their town shoutouts. Heck, when 'New Italy' is included), they're at least a year behind every other radio station in terms of new music.

Yes, we're even a year behind Nova.

18. A song that you wish you heard on the radio.

Hearts, Alex Day.

Come on, wouldn't the world be a better place if Alex Day was on the radio? Why can't there be a radio station devoted to YouTube artists so I don't go over my downloads? Then we'd have Chameleon Circuit on the radio. And that would just be, to quote Joshua, kriffing awesome.

19. A song from your favourite album.

Swallowed in the Sea, Coldplay.

Because Coldplay are lovely, and because this is an excellent album. I still don't quite get why this is my favourite, but there's something very beautiful and soothing about it.

20. A song you listen to when you're angry.

Faint, Linkin Park.

I pretty much listen to this song all the time, but it comes up a whole lot more when I'm deathraging. Hey, if Chester's screaming, I can sit there quietly reading and getting over my stuff that way.

21. A song you listen to when you're happy.

Drink Up Me Hearties, Yo Ho, Hans Zimmer.

When you're happy, and you get to listen to a song which has forever epitomised piracy for me? Well, maybe it's just me, but I always begin to imagine I am a pirate. (Which was why I was regarded as special in preschool.) And if your fellow pirate includes Johnny Depp, I must say that's something that'll make me especially happy.

22. A song you listen to when you're sad.

Los Momentos, Eduardo Gatti.

It hasn't really got anything to do with my sadness, but it's slow and relaxing. When I'm sad, that's generally what I'll go for, and there's something soothing about Chilean Spanish.

23. A song you want played at your wedding. 

Thank You (For Loving Me at My Worst), The Whitlams.

This song has one verse to do with romantic love between a couple, as far as I can tell, and the rest appear to be about Tim Freedman's relationship with one stellar audience. With all the usual songs out there being typico wedding songs, I have decided I want this. Just to be different, and because if I let my family have a say, I'll end up with Steve Earle (shudder) or a song about dancing like a gorilla (which actually exists).

24. A song you want played at your funeral.

Bolero, Craig Armstrong.

And you had all better learn how to walk in time, because if you screw up moving my casket out of the church in time to this beat, I will come down from heaven with my jetpack and cry at you all.

Kidding.

Or am I?

25. A song that makes you laugh.

Stuntman, Tripod.

I'm sure they have funnier ones out there, but this will forever be my favourite. Mainly because of the original video, where Yon gets mowed over by a bus.

And they used a dummy. Of a woman.

26. A song you can play on an instrument.

Clocks, Coldplay.

When I say 'can play on an instrument', I mean on piano, and I mean very poorly.

27. A song you wish you could play.

Such Great Heights, Ben Folds (though originally done by the Postal Service).

Watch how those fingers fly over those keys, and watch my self-esteem slowly die.

28. A song that makes you feel guilty.

I really don't know.

Uhm.

... get back to me on that one.

29. A song from your childhood.

Cigarettes Will Kill You, Ben Lee.

Before Ben Lee embraced the power of Zen and became all lovey-dovey and for the power of the people and we're-all-in-this-togethery, he was somewhat disgruntled. I preferred him that way, because his music was far better.

Of course, as a child, I did not have the powers of deduction to realise that Ben Lee was cranky. Instead, I was more focused on the title. My dad was attempting to explain how language works, and oddly enough, it made sense.

Which probably was the third moment I consciously decided words were AWESOME, and that I really needed to get into that whole business of words.

30. Your favourite song at this time last year.

Here Comes My Baby, Sons of Admirals.

This is further excellence from YouTube. Originally by Cat Stevens (excellent then), four YouTubers decided "Hey, let's get together and make a band, yo" and they released this, as well as a brilliant cover of Believe in Yourself (otherwise known as the Arthur theme song, which was originally done by Ziggy Marley. So there's some trivia for you).

All of us watching this video, courtesy of Gemma, simultaneously gasped at Charlie's two-timing shenanigans and shouted "WELL CHARLIE, EXPLAIN YOURSELF".  

I'm getting kind of besotted by these memes, aren't I?

Ah well, buenos noches.

Thoughts, again.

So I've not blogged on here for a while.
Sorry, todos.
I could say that I'm working on something fabulous. -Unfortunately, that's a lie. And the only other thing I'm really working on is a dodgy fan-fic, an attempt to sort out where my novel will be going (because I'm never going to complete a NaNoWriMo unless I do that), and another blog where I'm just rambling about books for a long long time.
I could say that I'm really busy as of late. -Unfortunately, retail has dropped significantly, so my extravagant hours are moot.

So I'm just going to tell the truth.
I don't know what to say.

Lately, I'm in a bit of a funk. It's an irritating funk, because it's hashtag-firstworldproblems all over. My biggest problem is that I'm living with my parents (age 19) and seem to completely freak guys out?
I still get food and I don't get beaten every day.
Yet it's something that bothers me - more the latter than the former, because I know that the living with parents stint will finish in a few months (we hope). But gah, why on earth do I freak out guys all the time?

Chronically unloveable, is what flickers through my mind every time I try and think of good qualities for myself.
Always a fail.
Never going to be worth it.

The last time I liked a guy, I was sort of smitten. Okay, very smitten. I tried pursuing, which didn't work out too well. I backed off, which worked for a little while, then --
Oh, then. Then he got with someone else.
Now married.
This is the low point of my 'love life', non-existent as it were. Unfortunately, it also exists as the high point.

The guys I like don't ever choose to like me back.
The guys who do like me, I am never attracted to. I can see them as friends, but as anything more? My head puts a large big cross over it and says, "Don't. Even. Go. There."

And maybe it's not just me.
But it sure as heck feels like it, and even though I'm only 19 and everyone apparently gets like this at some stage, I don't care.
I just want some form of love, from a man in this universe, in this world.

You know what? I'm really, really, so much fun when I get in these moods.
It's good I'm going to hit publish on this post.
Rawr.

I'm leaning over the balcony at Nana's, calculating how accurately I could spit into the bin three levels below on the footpath. You know. For science.
On Nana's balcony, there is mesh, and according to the adults, this is because of me. It is my fault there is mesh covering what could be footholes (and better aim at the bin). "Ay, Carmen, you were una diablilla," Nana always moans, flapping her hands around her face to stop herself from swooning at the very thought of my idiocy. "You used to climb up and up and up -"
"Who cares?" Tata grouses. "At least she showed ingenuity, wanting to get away from you."
Nana carefully ignores him all the time. "And then, then, you went through your 'depression' -" (she says it with quotation marks) "- and I was so worried you would jump, and I was extra glad I put the mesh on."
The mesh was probably black when we got it, and after fifteen years of it being firmly in place, it has been covered with glitter paint, sticky tape and a few teeth marks from a young Trinidad. I toe it with a scuffed Converse; it barely budges.
"What are you doing?" Lorena appears at my side, suitably patriotic in her blue spotted dress and red headband. "You're jumping?"
"I'm spitting. Vast difference." In contrast, I do not look patriotic. I am wearing the colours, but I am not nearly feminine enough to pass for a Chilean lady. "Do you think I can hit the bin?"
She peers over the water-stained white bricks. "Yeah, but I'd say you'd have to go a bit to the side. Wind factor and all."
Lorena may look patriotic, but she is less of a lady than I am.

Nana's balcony is also covered with plants, some exploding into bloom and some, like the tomatoes, creeping slyly across the cement floor with curling tendrils. It takes Nana approximately twenty minutes from noticing our absence to find us huddled under the leaves and flowers.
Today, five minutes. Lorena is particularly allergic to some orange flower that's dangling on her nose.
"Why are you two always out here?"
We shrug.
"Carmen, I need to introduce you to someone." She waggles her eyebrows at me. "Come on."
The eyebrow waggling concerns me. I make to grab Lorena, but her hand is now covered in slightly wet snot.



One day I'm going to finish and edit and fix and make you better.
For now my excitement to write has diminished and instead, I leave you with Fishies.
Whoadittyditty.

Things and longings and buses.

Sitting on a bus, leaving my lovely Brisbane, I'm feeling nostalgic.
It's odd for me.
I very rarely felt nostalgic last year when I left - perhaps because I knew I'd be back a week later.
This time, I don't really know, and it makes me pretty darn sad. I would like to leave, leave my work and find a job, just move to Brisbane again and forget about this stint at home. Just experiencing the loveliness of saying I quit to IGA would be more than enough.
But I can't, and I am rather irritated by that.

I was up in Brisbane last night, participating in a quasi Amazing Race. I have an excellent friend, Joshua. He made it work. And Glen and I got in teams and raced around the city, Glen busting out the awkward turtle whenever he found the slightest opportunity. Which there were hundreds, I quickly learned.

I regret not wearing heels. When you consider the night, it would have been darn painful, but the Cons were as horrible to run in as a glass slipper studded in thorns would have been.

I don't know. The night itself was amazing, but moving further and further away from the night and the places I ran, I'm getting less euphoric and more melancholy. What am I doing now? I'm listening to PotC soundtrack, on a bus. I'm fighting the urge to GTA the bus and turn back to Brisbane. I'm stupidly overthinking events that I wish so very very much would happen, but never will because whenever I wish incessantly it doesn't usually happen as I dream. And once I would like it to. Just to see what it's like when you hold at dreams and get them in your hands and inhale their magic, their faint cotton-candy scent, and just look at them. If my dreams were a colour, they'd be red. Bright red, deep red, scarlet, vibrant, passionate, slightly too bright to go with anything else but clashing in brilliant form.

It's pathetic I'm going on like this; my life is far from hard. But I don't know, I just want a dream to come to light.

Just, once, I'd like to know what love in its romanticised sense is like. Just so I know.

The true purpose of this post was really to wax lyrical about shenanigans. Constant listening to Ben Folds changed that.

I apologise for a horrifically ridiculous post, dear 7 followers.

Location:Somewhere around the Gold Coast.

Words

Posting has become scarce lately, primarily because my love for words is hidden.
It's not diminished - I'm drinking words in, grasping onto them like they're my final meal before a forty-year fast. But I'm not to create them.
My mind is asking for a sabbatical. For me not to be in a world where I pour out the words and finish, feeling exhausted. Instead, I have been relishing listening to words. Hearing the accents, hearing poetry, hearing rhythms that exist in sentences and in paragraphs and that flow on to make me feel content. Those rhythms and nuances serve to remind me that there is more out there, and while it may make you scoff (because people don't usually find these reminders in sentences), it's what I do.
I find words.
I love these words.

When I returned home this year, I decided I would write that novel, the one I'd discarded when NaNoWriMo hit me like a bullet and I couldn't write. That, I think, is where I gave up. I couldn't write. I couldn't finish the assignment. I had no inspiration, and I thought at home the inspiration might begin again.
It hasn't, but in my head my characters are having an extended nap. Carmen is lying, in an uncoordinated and frankly strange-looking position across a bed; Cristian is seated next to her on the floor, asleep and head tilting back onto the mattress. And I have no doubt in my mind that these characters will wake up. One day I'll write those words. Maybe this November, I will write that novel. But for now, I'm learning again.

When I did my HSC, I pushed books aside. I loved them, but I worked in a bookstore, where Twilight ran rampant on the shirts of twelve year olds and in the headspaces of those who thought Wuthering Heights had been written because of Twilight.

And really, no, I'm not kidding about that, I did have someone say that to me and my only response was a facepalm.

I digress; that bookstore was excellent besides the Twilight fanaticism. But thanks to the idiocy of Meyer, all I see now are vampire books. And escapism for me was not to be with vampires on pages, swooning in a pale, lacklustre imitation of Dracula. I found it in DVDs, movies. Scrubs became my escape; if I'm honest, Scrubs kept that stupid HSC year in perspective.
Eight exams, and millions of people around the world were dying from illnesses? I had it fairly good. From Scrubs, I learnt that words were not just what I spat out onto a page, or hurled across the room to communicate with someone, but they were just as important in what they missed. That pause, that thought. The moment where I can describe a room, but not one aspect - where I can tell my reader that it's their job to piece in the gaps, because it's not my novel once it's in their hands. And it's odd, because in television you're shown the surrounds. But from what they didn't say, from watching a character do something rather than giving it anecdotally?
Somehow that made a difference.

This year, I have fallen in love with remakes and with Offspring.
Offspring, primarily because I sit there totally in awe at Nina's headspace and how it's so similar to my own.
Remakes, because it's all about perception. Joe Wright's Pride and Prejudice compared to that 1995 BBC one that everyone adores but I can't stand because Colin Firth makes me want to snarl; the newest Emma compared to that one with Gwyneth Paltrow. They all have their merits in some way, but I'm learning that I'll never appease everyone. But, and this builds on something I learned last year, if I write to appease myself, and make myself happy, that shines through.
When I had a consult with my tutor, Trent, about my first story in Short Story Intro, he said that the reason he loved it wasn't because it was about something complex, something that needed to be said to change the world. He loved it, because he said I wrote what I knew and what I wanted to write. And I can't write unless I feel the urge, unless the story takes hold of me and directs me. I wrote 2000 words before I got those words.

If I ever find that, I will post it.
I have a draft of it, but my old computer has died.
Likelihood is, I won't have it on there anymore.
When I find it, I will post it, because I doubt it'll be published.

One day, I'll get to my words again.
For now, I will absorb lyrics.

mood - contemplative. Confused. Slightly nervous, but an anticipatory nervous.
listening to - Heart That's Pounding, by Sally Seltmann. I usually don't like music like this, but I am charmed by the beauty of this one, and to steal what I said to Glen, it has crept under my skin and has set up comfortable residence there.

what i am reading - I am reading 2 Corinthians, Neruda, and Mother Tongue. For light reading, I've got Cathy Marie Hake sitting next to my bedside. I may pick up on Song of Solomon tonight. Who knows.

Happy Easter, all of you.

http://pqhobbit.wordpress.com/category/spiritual-life/
Thank you.
The image makes me sing.