Stupid people hurt my feelings.
Seriously.
There's a page on Facebook called 'Always be Yourself. Unless You Can Be Pikachu. Always Be Pikachu', which I originally liked because of its excellent name. Then I grew to like it even more because its name is actually quite misleading, and rather than a Pikachu fanpage, it's actually a page where the admins (Mark and Ted) post sometimes offensive (but always hilarious) jokes, interspersed with discussion threads and amusing pictures.
That particular page's main admin is called Mark, and he terms himself a misanthrope. Usually I don't take people who call themselves as such seriously, because, please, you're probably just going through an angst phase, but this guy actually does seem to despise humanity as a whole, which is very entertaining, because I get to read him being snarky and bitchy to mostly everyone who dares catch his attention on the page. I don't especially understand why he has such a grudge, as one must be very closed-minded to truly judge every human being as equal to all the others one has met in one's life (I mean, there are seven billion people out there, chances are you've not even met ten per cent of them.), but it makes for a good five minutes of amusement each time I sign on to Facebook :)
Anyway, the Pikachu page is essentially a page where people make jokes in order to offend other people, and in general bitch people out for being idiotic.
Which makes me happy.
Because I really hate stupid people.
Well, not hate, per se. I just view them with a great deal of condescension and scorn. And I find it difficult to feel bad about that, because, well, they deserve it for behaving in such a manner.
Hating requires a great deal of effort that I'm just not prepared to put in, especially for such matters worth so little of my time.
Good grief, I do come across as such a snob/bitch/person-who-ought-to-be-beheaded.
I think I wanted to talk about misanthropy. Possibly. I don't know. I'm going to talk about it anyway.
According to the dictionary, the definition of misanthropy is 'a dislike of humankind', stemming from the Greek 'μισανθρωπια' (misanthropia), which, when broken down, is drawn from 'μισο-' (hating) and 'ανθρωπος' (man).
I presume that usually, misanthropy in an individual is formed once the individual has experienced something traumatic or emotionally stressing, sourcing from someone close to the individual. Most likely, the individual will have gone through a series of problems, probably similar in nature, all linked to humans who the individual knows well or view as personally dear to them. From there, the individual will feel a slight resentment, possibly blossoming into fully matured hatred or dislike of humankind in general, and not differentiating in judgment from person to person. The individual will not trust easily, but perhaps they will keep a few well-knowns close to them and view those select few as precious to them.
I don't particularly understand this viewpoint. Maybe this will make me appear naive, but, well, regardless of how many people who you have fallen out with or who you feel have become untrustworthy or traitorous, surely you should be aware that there are at least six billion other people out there, all of whom are different and therefore there will most likely be someone kinder in nature than whomsoever has hurt you in such a way?
It's hardly logical to form a hatred of mankind as a whole based on experiences gained with a handful of people, most of whom are likely insignificant and irrelevant on a wider point of view.
I think so, at least.
Talk later, my babies :) x
Showing posts with label words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label words. Show all posts
Wednesday, 30 May 2012
Saturday, 26 May 2012
Eminem is Aggressive and Sleep Is More Interesting Than Latin
I've gone back to listening to rap- i.e. Eminem.
He's so aggressive. It's kind of intimidating. And his music videos always have really bright lights flashing everywhere. It's like he has some kind of grudge against epileptics.
Hm. And they all do really weird things with their hands. It's like they've got cling film or something stuck to their hands and they can't get it off.
Yeah, I'm watching/listening to 'Lose Yourself' right now. This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo.
Kind of like YOLO.
LOL. YOLO makes me laugh. It's so silly. People are silly.
I want to join the army. I've always wanted to join the army. Since I was seven and I first found out that you had to do something with your life once you grow up. I can't remember if I've mentioned something like this before. But yeah.
Say what you like about Eminem, at least he's not always going on about crass crude things like girls' tits and how he'd like to 'tap dat' or whatever.
I don't know. I'm a natural born snob, I can't help the douchelikeness.
Anyway. I'm going back to pretending to memorise my Iliad now. Greek Verse Lit GCSE is on Tuesday.
Oh yeah, and the late night (early morning) physics cramming actually worked, and I feel quite confident about that particular exam, which is nice :) And Latin Language was a complete pisstake, and took me fifteen minutes out of the whole hour to finish it. And another five to check it over three times -_-
Then I had a nice forty minute nap :) That made me happy. I like sleeping.
He's so aggressive. It's kind of intimidating. And his music videos always have really bright lights flashing everywhere. It's like he has some kind of grudge against epileptics.
Hm. And they all do really weird things with their hands. It's like they've got cling film or something stuck to their hands and they can't get it off.
Yeah, I'm watching/listening to 'Lose Yourself' right now. This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo.
Kind of like YOLO.
LOL. YOLO makes me laugh. It's so silly. People are silly.
I want to join the army. I've always wanted to join the army. Since I was seven and I first found out that you had to do something with your life once you grow up. I can't remember if I've mentioned something like this before. But yeah.
Say what you like about Eminem, at least he's not always going on about crass crude things like girls' tits and how he'd like to 'tap dat' or whatever.
I don't know. I'm a natural born snob, I can't help the douchelikeness.
Anyway. I'm going back to pretending to memorise my Iliad now. Greek Verse Lit GCSE is on Tuesday.
Oh yeah, and the late night (early morning) physics cramming actually worked, and I feel quite confident about that particular exam, which is nice :) And Latin Language was a complete pisstake, and took me fifteen minutes out of the whole hour to finish it. And another five to check it over three times -_-
Then I had a nice forty minute nap :) That made me happy. I like sleeping.
Sunday, 6 May 2012
Doors In Camden
Sometimes I think that I could be on the verge of something incredible - as if whatever I'm thinking about could actually be done this way and good grief that's so clever, but then all of a sudden I get distracted by something- a butterfly or the folder sitting on my window bench when itreallyshouldn'tbethere, or remembering the ache in my carpus - I probably broke my pisiform bone when it got hit by that minibus, or it's the triquetrum or the hamate that I broke, but I have no idea and damn I wish I could X-Ray my own bones... And it's not healed properly, and it still aches, even though it's been well over a year since and it's so not fair and I wish it would just fix itself... These things are supposed to happen, because howboringwouldlifebeiftheydidn't, but they're not supposed to stay bad or broken or hurt, they're supposed to fix themselves... That's what usually happens.
Anyway. Yes, so it's easy for me to be distracted.
And that's so irritating. I could have understood so much by now, if only I could lengthen my attention span just a little. It's like having a dream of walking towards a door, but waking up just before you open it. Or discovering something terrifying, but waking up before you react to it. So much frustration.
It's funny, because I seem to spend most of my life feeling too sleepy or tired to move, but I could actually be so clever and things could be somuchbetter and why am I always so tired?
I want to know why and understand this, but I'm kind of really sleepy right now. And I can't think properly. It's all disjointed, and I keep on seeing purple and dullyelloworange at the edges of my vision. And I'm hungry, but the thought of eating makes me feel nauseous, for once.
My friend once said that going out with me was akin to taking a five year old who'd never set foot outside the house into the city. I wasn't sure if that was because of my attention span or how interesting the outside is. In Camden, there's a restaurant, and it's got massive doors that are the size of a small tree, and it's the kind of bright red that looks like the Sun. And it's so pretty.
Anyway. Yes, so it's easy for me to be distracted.
And that's so irritating. I could have understood so much by now, if only I could lengthen my attention span just a little. It's like having a dream of walking towards a door, but waking up just before you open it. Or discovering something terrifying, but waking up before you react to it. So much frustration.
It's funny, because I seem to spend most of my life feeling too sleepy or tired to move, but I could actually be so clever and things could be somuchbetter and why am I always so tired?
I want to know why and understand this, but I'm kind of really sleepy right now. And I can't think properly. It's all disjointed, and I keep on seeing purple and dullyelloworange at the edges of my vision. And I'm hungry, but the thought of eating makes me feel nauseous, for once.
My friend once said that going out with me was akin to taking a five year old who'd never set foot outside the house into the city. I wasn't sure if that was because of my attention span or how interesting the outside is. In Camden, there's a restaurant, and it's got massive doors that are the size of a small tree, and it's the kind of bright red that looks like the Sun. And it's so pretty.
Rhododendrons Have Feelings Too!
There is never nothing to see. There is always something, and if you can't see it, well, that's a clue in itself, isn't it?
I've been thinking about Sherlock way too much recently.
And the Reichenbach Fall. How he faked his death- why does no one ever talk about the rhododendrons?
He spent ages fiddling with them! And they've been used since the times of the Ancient Greeks, and rhododendron ponticum is well known to be a cause of h.y.p.o.t.e.n.s.i.o.n. and b.r.a.d.y.c.a.r.d.i.a once ingested in any form.
Hypotension: a physical state in which the blood pressure is abnormally low, especially in the arteries of the systemic circulation, i.e. the part of the cardiovascular system carrying oxygenated blood away from the heart.
Bradycardia: in an adult is defined by any heart rate at less than sixty beats per minute.
Oh, wait, didn't John briefly manage to take Sherlock's pulse? Oh, that couldn't possibly have been deliberately designed so that he'd feel barely anything - which couldn't possibly have been caused by something which slows down the blood circulation in some way. Hydrochlorothiazide? Yeah, maybe- except it's a regulated chemical which can't just be bought from your local chemist. How about an arm band? U.s.e.y.o.u.r.b.r.a.i.n.s. it would have turned his arm blue, and would have been freezing to touch- and he only died a few seconds before John caught up to him. He would have noticed something.
Or, hang on, there's this miraculous plant just chilling right in front of him. Oh, it's a rhododendron bush? Nah, probably just an ornamental plant- that's what they're there for, isn't it? Oh: it causes hypotension and bradycardia - nah, must be a coincidence. We all know how much Sherlock loves his plants, after all.
It really frustrates me how no one ever talks about the rhododendrons. They're important too, you know.
I've been thinking about Sherlock way too much recently.
And the Reichenbach Fall. How he faked his death- why does no one ever talk about the rhododendrons?
He spent ages fiddling with them! And they've been used since the times of the Ancient Greeks, and rhododendron ponticum is well known to be a cause of h.y.p.o.t.e.n.s.i.o.n. and b.r.a.d.y.c.a.r.d.i.a once ingested in any form.
Hypotension: a physical state in which the blood pressure is abnormally low, especially in the arteries of the systemic circulation, i.e. the part of the cardiovascular system carrying oxygenated blood away from the heart.
Bradycardia: in an adult is defined by any heart rate at less than sixty beats per minute.
Oh, wait, didn't John briefly manage to take Sherlock's pulse? Oh, that couldn't possibly have been deliberately designed so that he'd feel barely anything - which couldn't possibly have been caused by something which slows down the blood circulation in some way. Hydrochlorothiazide? Yeah, maybe- except it's a regulated chemical which can't just be bought from your local chemist. How about an arm band? U.s.e.y.o.u.r.b.r.a.i.n.s. it would have turned his arm blue, and would have been freezing to touch- and he only died a few seconds before John caught up to him. He would have noticed something.
Or, hang on, there's this miraculous plant just chilling right in front of him. Oh, it's a rhododendron bush? Nah, probably just an ornamental plant- that's what they're there for, isn't it? Oh: it causes hypotension and bradycardia - nah, must be a coincidence. We all know how much Sherlock loves his plants, after all.
It really frustrates me how no one ever talks about the rhododendrons. They're important too, you know.
Friday, 20 April 2012
Depression/Frustration/FirstSeriousMonologue
Am I depressed? I don't know. Possibly. Possibly not. I'm disinclined to diagnose myself, when I know full well how biased I am (and obviously. Who wouldn't be?) towards myself.
However, it can be difficult. Life is difficult. It's full of ups and downs, and sometimes the downs are steeper than the ups, and sometimes the ups are too slight to notice. And when this is the case, it can be so, so hard to continue being happy and hopeful and, well, not-depressed.
And I've been suicidal, too. I've wanted to kill myself.
That's really a difficult thing to say. I've never written that anywhere before. I don't think I have. Not where other people can see me.
I think the first time I consciously wanted to do so was when I was seven, when I first realised what dying really meant. I'd felt curious at the time- I wanted to see what it was like. To me, it sounded like something to be explored, something interesting and new, even if it was so very, very final.
I feel as if I'm confessing something. It's not a crime, and to be honest, then, it was mostly the curiosity (albeit dangerous) of a small child. But I did also know what it meant - and I thought it sounded nicer than where I was then.
And that stayed with me, for nine years of my life. That's both impressive and sad, I think.
I don't know why, but when I was ten, I think I tried to hang myself with a skipping rope. That's... actually really creepy. My younger self was really, really scary. What's more frightening is that it wasn't out of desperation or a bid for attention or even a desire to actually die. It was just... boredom. I wanted to see if I could actually do it. And then my friend came in and I stopped, because I really didn't want to have deal with the questions of why I was standing on a bucket with a skipping rope round my neck.
Thanks, Isa, however unintentional it was :/
And it was the same with the whole self-harm-y/slashing-with-a-knife business that started when I was twelve. Though that wasn't suicidal or being curious, that was me being desperate and taking things out on myself to get rid of the awful feelings :(
I don't regret it. I still have scars, but I don't regret it. I never did. It felt easy and better at the time, and it did help. And they were just surface wounds - nothing too damaging. I sound as if I'm trying to justify myself now - probably because I know people who I know are going to read this and I don't actually know if they'd known. Eep, that's going to be awkward :/
I think that what's slightly shocking, though, is the fact that people saw. People saw it, they saw all of them, and they didn't even raise an eyebrow. Is that normal?
Hell, even my parents saw, and they wrote it off as being an attention-seeker, which is actually kind of painful, to be honest. Who would go that far just for a bit of attention? Is that what everyone thinks when they see scars and cuts that were so obviously self-inflicted? It was just for attention? Parents?
I don't get humans.
Yeah, I know, I am human, but when I see that kind of thing (yes, when; I've seen a lot of messed up people, at least, I have for an urban middle-class sixteen-year-old,) I've never written it off as attention seeking. I've never thought: Hey, they're obviously hurting themselves. Ah, never mind, I'm sure it's not that important, or, What a stupid fuck. They're obviously cutting themselves for attention. Idiot. I have never, ever pushed it to the back of my mind and thought it irrelevant. Why do people do that? I do not understand it. I've always tried to help, though I back off when pushed away, but when that happens, there's not much else one can do, apart from let them know that you're there for them.
It's always so sad.
And frustrating. There aren't enough people who genuinely help. Caring is irrelevant, it's whether they help or not. Though actually caring usually does play a large part of helping.
But some people don't really need people to care, or to help. With some people, it's just a matter of pushing onwards and moving forwards, and running with the pressure as opposed to resisting it.With those people, there's nothing, I don't think, that anyone else can do - the fixing is always up to them alone.
I don't do it anymore. I haven't... cut myself, I suppose (I've never really thought of it as that) since around this time last year. That's the longest I've gone since I first started, so kudos to me, yeah? :)
I haven't thought seriously about killing myself in months, as well. Since... early November-ish. It's getting better. :)
I feel like something off The Trevor Project. (You know, the ad-things, like the clip that Chris Colfer (love that man) posted about things being difficult getting better).
I think things do get better. You just need the right moments - like the right songs, or those perfect snapshot moments where you're laughing and you don't think it's possible for things to be better than they already are, the right jokes and the right memories, those moments where you feel like you've finally succeeded and it's as if you're standing on top of the world.
I know that it doesn't get better for some people. But there's the potential. And that's the most important thing, right? The potential- to improve, to heal, to laugh, to get better. If there's potential then there's hope, and if you have hope you're already halfway there, aren't you?
I want to help people. I want to give them what I'm gaining, I want other people to be happy and alive. It's lovely to see people smile. :)
Smile :) x
However, it can be difficult. Life is difficult. It's full of ups and downs, and sometimes the downs are steeper than the ups, and sometimes the ups are too slight to notice. And when this is the case, it can be so, so hard to continue being happy and hopeful and, well, not-depressed.
And I've been suicidal, too. I've wanted to kill myself.
That's really a difficult thing to say. I've never written that anywhere before. I don't think I have. Not where other people can see me.
I think the first time I consciously wanted to do so was when I was seven, when I first realised what dying really meant. I'd felt curious at the time- I wanted to see what it was like. To me, it sounded like something to be explored, something interesting and new, even if it was so very, very final.
I feel as if I'm confessing something. It's not a crime, and to be honest, then, it was mostly the curiosity (albeit dangerous) of a small child. But I did also know what it meant - and I thought it sounded nicer than where I was then.
And that stayed with me, for nine years of my life. That's both impressive and sad, I think.
I don't know why, but when I was ten, I think I tried to hang myself with a skipping rope. That's... actually really creepy. My younger self was really, really scary. What's more frightening is that it wasn't out of desperation or a bid for attention or even a desire to actually die. It was just... boredom. I wanted to see if I could actually do it. And then my friend came in and I stopped, because I really didn't want to have deal with the questions of why I was standing on a bucket with a skipping rope round my neck.
Thanks, Isa, however unintentional it was :/
And it was the same with the whole self-harm-y/slashing-with-a-knife business that started when I was twelve. Though that wasn't suicidal or being curious, that was me being desperate and taking things out on myself to get rid of the awful feelings :(
I don't regret it. I still have scars, but I don't regret it. I never did. It felt easy and better at the time, and it did help. And they were just surface wounds - nothing too damaging. I sound as if I'm trying to justify myself now - probably because I know people who I know are going to read this and I don't actually know if they'd known. Eep, that's going to be awkward :/
I think that what's slightly shocking, though, is the fact that people saw. People saw it, they saw all of them, and they didn't even raise an eyebrow. Is that normal?
Hell, even my parents saw, and they wrote it off as being an attention-seeker, which is actually kind of painful, to be honest. Who would go that far just for a bit of attention? Is that what everyone thinks when they see scars and cuts that were so obviously self-inflicted? It was just for attention? Parents?
I don't get humans.
Yeah, I know, I am human, but when I see that kind of thing (yes, when; I've seen a lot of messed up people, at least, I have for an urban middle-class sixteen-year-old,) I've never written it off as attention seeking. I've never thought: Hey, they're obviously hurting themselves. Ah, never mind, I'm sure it's not that important, or, What a stupid fuck. They're obviously cutting themselves for attention. Idiot. I have never, ever pushed it to the back of my mind and thought it irrelevant. Why do people do that? I do not understand it. I've always tried to help, though I back off when pushed away, but when that happens, there's not much else one can do, apart from let them know that you're there for them.
It's always so sad.
And frustrating. There aren't enough people who genuinely help. Caring is irrelevant, it's whether they help or not. Though actually caring usually does play a large part of helping.
But some people don't really need people to care, or to help. With some people, it's just a matter of pushing onwards and moving forwards, and running with the pressure as opposed to resisting it.With those people, there's nothing, I don't think, that anyone else can do - the fixing is always up to them alone.
I don't do it anymore. I haven't... cut myself, I suppose (I've never really thought of it as that) since around this time last year. That's the longest I've gone since I first started, so kudos to me, yeah? :)
I haven't thought seriously about killing myself in months, as well. Since... early November-ish. It's getting better. :)
I feel like something off The Trevor Project. (You know, the ad-things, like the clip that Chris Colfer (love that man) posted about things being difficult getting better).
I think things do get better. You just need the right moments - like the right songs, or those perfect snapshot moments where you're laughing and you don't think it's possible for things to be better than they already are, the right jokes and the right memories, those moments where you feel like you've finally succeeded and it's as if you're standing on top of the world.
I know that it doesn't get better for some people. But there's the potential. And that's the most important thing, right? The potential- to improve, to heal, to laugh, to get better. If there's potential then there's hope, and if you have hope you're already halfway there, aren't you?
I want to help people. I want to give them what I'm gaining, I want other people to be happy and alive. It's lovely to see people smile. :)
Smile :) x
Thursday, 12 April 2012
Yay! Mid-Teenage Crises!
I'm bisexual. I'm quite happy about this - for some reason it makes me feel as if I've accomplished something. I have no idea why.
It's curious, being bi. I feel as if whenever I walk down the street, I'm looking at everyone I see - looking to see if they're attractive or not, and if they are, looking to see if I 'would' or not - i.e. if they're within my age range. :)
It's not meant to be perverted. Just a subconscious thing, and sometimes I feel bad about it. As if my constant 'checking out' is almost a harassment of sorts. It's worse, though, at school. I go to an all girls school, and to be honest, it's just weird looking at any of them in even a remotely sexual way. They're my friends. And if they're not my friends, they're people I find obnoxious or childish or just plain irritating. But more importantly - they're straight.
Well, about 90% of them are. And the ten per cent that aren't are kind of intimidating. Or I just don't like them. :P Yeah, I dislike a lot of people.
So it's weird to even think about thinking of anyone at my school in a vaguely sexual way. Though there is one girl who I'm fairly sure I'm actually in love with, but as Yossarian of 'Catch-22' does, I think that I fall in love with nearly everyone I meet. Though the only difference with this girl is that I've stayed in love with her. Possibly because I usually just admire her from afar... but still. Although, now I think about it, I don't think about her in a sexual way either.
I didn't think about my first (and only) boyfriend sexually either. I don't think I've ever thought about anyone sexually. Apart from maybe when I was seven and I had this massive crush on this one guy and I kept on kissing him. But I was seven!
How is it that I was more sexual at seven than at sixteen?
Eww. The thought of sex (or kissing, or blowjobs, or handjobs), are kind of just repulsive. Sex is a bit gross... isn't it? It's like... This guy secretes some weird fluid (that contains about a trillion different babies) into your private girl-bits, and then if you're lucky you get to secrete some equally icky fluid (but this time it doesn't contain a trillion different lives.)
And it's really personal. Like, they get seriously in your personal bubble. I don't know if I could deal with that :/ There would have to be some serious trust going on before I let anyone press their naked body up against my naked body? Or even just let their tongue into my mouth. Eww... someone else's saliva IN my mouth? It would stay there for two weeks! I'd have someone else's saliva in my system for two weeks!
Excuse me while I retch :/
But it's weird. Nearly everyone I know has had some sort of sexual thought about someone else- whether it's Ian Somerhalder or the boy next door or even the girl next door. Their sexual experience is irrelevant; the fact remains that almost everyone I know has wanted someone.
Does that make me weird, or a slow developer? Or am I just asexual? Hell, I could be biromantic (a silly word for someone who can love any gender or type, but not sexually)
Crap. I can't have a mid-teenage crisis on a blog!
I oughtn't to be having a mid-teenage crisis full-stop.
Bah. Take it as it comes, right? For now, I'm sticking with bisexuality :)
Peace, my babies,
x
It's curious, being bi. I feel as if whenever I walk down the street, I'm looking at everyone I see - looking to see if they're attractive or not, and if they are, looking to see if I 'would' or not - i.e. if they're within my age range. :)
It's not meant to be perverted. Just a subconscious thing, and sometimes I feel bad about it. As if my constant 'checking out' is almost a harassment of sorts. It's worse, though, at school. I go to an all girls school, and to be honest, it's just weird looking at any of them in even a remotely sexual way. They're my friends. And if they're not my friends, they're people I find obnoxious or childish or just plain irritating. But more importantly - they're straight.
Well, about 90% of them are. And the ten per cent that aren't are kind of intimidating. Or I just don't like them. :P Yeah, I dislike a lot of people.
So it's weird to even think about thinking of anyone at my school in a vaguely sexual way. Though there is one girl who I'm fairly sure I'm actually in love with, but as Yossarian of 'Catch-22' does, I think that I fall in love with nearly everyone I meet. Though the only difference with this girl is that I've stayed in love with her. Possibly because I usually just admire her from afar... but still. Although, now I think about it, I don't think about her in a sexual way either.
I didn't think about my first (and only) boyfriend sexually either. I don't think I've ever thought about anyone sexually. Apart from maybe when I was seven and I had this massive crush on this one guy and I kept on kissing him. But I was seven!
How is it that I was more sexual at seven than at sixteen?
Eww. The thought of sex (or kissing, or blowjobs, or handjobs), are kind of just repulsive. Sex is a bit gross... isn't it? It's like... This guy secretes some weird fluid (that contains about a trillion different babies) into your private girl-bits, and then if you're lucky you get to secrete some equally icky fluid (but this time it doesn't contain a trillion different lives.)
And it's really personal. Like, they get seriously in your personal bubble. I don't know if I could deal with that :/ There would have to be some serious trust going on before I let anyone press their naked body up against my naked body? Or even just let their tongue into my mouth. Eww... someone else's saliva IN my mouth? It would stay there for two weeks! I'd have someone else's saliva in my system for two weeks!
Excuse me while I retch :/
But it's weird. Nearly everyone I know has had some sort of sexual thought about someone else- whether it's Ian Somerhalder or the boy next door or even the girl next door. Their sexual experience is irrelevant; the fact remains that almost everyone I know has wanted someone.
Does that make me weird, or a slow developer? Or am I just asexual? Hell, I could be biromantic (a silly word for someone who can love any gender or type, but not sexually)
Crap. I can't have a mid-teenage crisis on a blog!
I oughtn't to be having a mid-teenage crisis full-stop.
Bah. Take it as it comes, right? For now, I'm sticking with bisexuality :)
Peace, my babies,
x
Saturday, 10 March 2012
School And Teachers Cause Spaz Attacks (Of The Worst Kind)
RAWRRROHMYGODI'VEBEENSOFARAWAYFORSOLONG
Well hi there. I've missed typing this. It's been far too long :/ Roughly... 41 days since my last post. I'm sorry :(
So... What's up? I've been unreasonably busy. First it was mocks (but we all knew about those, didn't we?) then it was sit-in-corner-and-cry-until-results-come-in time (which was even more stressful than taking the damn things), then there was half-term where I sat at home and got fat on cookies and chocolate and chick flicks (Whoopwhoop for being single on Valentine's Day!) then I had history assessments to panic over and almost fail, and then there was English coursework, which was so monstrously difficult and scary and upsetting that I think I died.
But yeah. Thankfully, English coursework week is now finished and I only have to look at it again on Wednesday, which is when my lovely English teacher (who is so ridiculously attractive that she's got the entire (all girl) class crushing on her) will sit me down and carefully and meticulously tear all of my hard work down, explaining exactly why it's complete shit, all the while looking at me with those gorgeously eyelinered brown eyes of hers.
Damn her. Damn her for being so hot. :/
It's not even bisexual little me, though. It's everyone in my English class- even the ones who are so painfully determinedly straight that even hugs are kindofawkward for them :( That woman is just too attractive, and the cute figure-shaping dresses she wears (as well as the KILLER HEELS) just do not help. Apparently, one of my friends saw her in a bikini on a ski trip to... somewhere in America. I was jealous. I still am. Although, to be honest, if I did see her in a bikini, I'd probably lose all concentration in lessons. It's hard enough as it is. I feel so awkward when I start being perverted (like now). I've not even kissed anyone yet. Also- she has an 'other half'. Who apparently she met in university seven years ago and they've been together(FOREVER) since. So yeah. I feel creepy and awkward and kind of weird.
It's really annoying how most of my teachers have such amazing romantic lives. My biology teacher saved his wife's life before they'd even been properly introduced, and then they were, and she was all 'Hey, you saved me' and he was like 'Uh, yeah, I guess I did' and then they had an epic love and got married in the autumn this year and he's still ridiculously happy about the fact that he's married and after he actually got married he came into school and we teased him about the fact that he was married and 'tied down', and do you know what that man did? He laughed and did a happy dance. My biology teacher did a little happy jig in the middle of the lab just because he was finally married. Gah. He's too adorable.
Also, I had seen him with someone before and my friend told me that that was probably his wife and I got so excited because THEYWEREBOTHGINGER and can you imagine the adorable redheaded babies they would have made? But then he was like, 'Oh yeah, this is just my friend of like, a billion years- my actual wife is Indian'
And I don't have a problem with him marrying an Asian person- but whatawaste! All his cute ginger features will disappear and be completely wiped out by the all powerful dominant genes of the Asian. :/
Erm.
Okay. >_>
Also:
OHMYGODSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCK <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
<3
<3
<3
<3
<3
<3
<3
<3
I love that program and I love Benedict Cumberbatch and I'm very very very proud to state that I am completely and irrevocably a Cumberbitch.
And his cheekbones... **drools**
Uh, yeah. Just wanted to share that with you. :) xx
Peace, my darlings.
Well hi there. I've missed typing this. It's been far too long :/ Roughly... 41 days since my last post. I'm sorry :(
So... What's up? I've been unreasonably busy. First it was mocks (but we all knew about those, didn't we?) then it was sit-in-corner-and-cry-until-results-come-in time (which was even more stressful than taking the damn things), then there was half-term where I sat at home and got fat on cookies and chocolate and chick flicks (Whoopwhoop for being single on Valentine's Day!) then I had history assessments to panic over and almost fail, and then there was English coursework, which was so monstrously difficult and scary and upsetting that I think I died.
But yeah. Thankfully, English coursework week is now finished and I only have to look at it again on Wednesday, which is when my lovely English teacher (who is so ridiculously attractive that she's got the entire (all girl) class crushing on her) will sit me down and carefully and meticulously tear all of my hard work down, explaining exactly why it's complete shit, all the while looking at me with those gorgeously eyelinered brown eyes of hers.
Damn her. Damn her for being so hot. :/
It's not even bisexual little me, though. It's everyone in my English class- even the ones who are so painfully determinedly straight that even hugs are kindofawkward for them :( That woman is just too attractive, and the cute figure-shaping dresses she wears (as well as the KILLER HEELS) just do not help. Apparently, one of my friends saw her in a bikini on a ski trip to... somewhere in America. I was jealous. I still am. Although, to be honest, if I did see her in a bikini, I'd probably lose all concentration in lessons. It's hard enough as it is. I feel so awkward when I start being perverted (like now). I've not even kissed anyone yet. Also- she has an 'other half'. Who apparently she met in university seven years ago and they've been together(FOREVER) since. So yeah. I feel creepy and awkward and kind of weird.
It's really annoying how most of my teachers have such amazing romantic lives. My biology teacher saved his wife's life before they'd even been properly introduced, and then they were, and she was all 'Hey, you saved me' and he was like 'Uh, yeah, I guess I did' and then they had an epic love and got married in the autumn this year and he's still ridiculously happy about the fact that he's married and after he actually got married he came into school and we teased him about the fact that he was married and 'tied down', and do you know what that man did? He laughed and did a happy dance. My biology teacher did a little happy jig in the middle of the lab just because he was finally married. Gah. He's too adorable.
Also, I had seen him with someone before and my friend told me that that was probably his wife and I got so excited because THEYWEREBOTHGINGER and can you imagine the adorable redheaded babies they would have made? But then he was like, 'Oh yeah, this is just my friend of like, a billion years- my actual wife is Indian'
And I don't have a problem with him marrying an Asian person- but whatawaste! All his cute ginger features will disappear and be completely wiped out by the all powerful dominant genes of the Asian. :/
Erm.
Okay. >_>
Also:
OHMYGODSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCK <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
<3
<3
<3
<3
<3
<3
<3
<3
I love that program and I love Benedict Cumberbatch and I'm very very very proud to state that I am completely and irrevocably a Cumberbitch.
And his cheekbones... **drools**
Uh, yeah. Just wanted to share that with you. :) xx
Peace, my darlings.
Thursday, 26 January 2012
Stream Of Consciousness
1.
2.
3.
4.
When I was very small, and fairly a young girl, I slept with a teddy-bear. A teddy-tiger, rather. It was small and fluffy and fit perfectly in my small arms in my fluffy pyjamas.
I... have a sister. When she was born, I had dressed in my pinkest finery, and, dripping with gentle jewellery, I had rushed into the hospital to greet my new small baby playmate. She was cute and small and teddy-bear like.
When I was born, I had been drugged up on pethadine.
Apparently so heavily medicated that I didn't even make a squeak.
My dad and his brother were down at the pub, and apparently it was my uncle who was first to hold me, not my dad.
I, personally, find that hilarious.
I was told today that I'm never serious, and I never ever take anything seriously. I contradicted them by saying that I had been deadly serious when I received my Physics mocks results (YESTERDAY).
Then I ruined it by bursting out into laughter.
I can't help it.
I'm always like that.
I find everything amusing. There's so much to laugh about in the world. So much to find ridiculous, so much to ridicule, so much to be amused by. Sometimes happy-genuine amused, sometimes patronising-condescending amused, and other times bitter-mocking-cynical amused.
But whichever it is, whether it's light or dark or black or cruel or kind or vanilla or naughty, there's so much to laugh at. To make fun of, to be amused at.
Why wouldn't I?
Sometimes I contemplate the possibility of the pethadine overdose at birth being the cause of me behaving like this. So still and silent when born, so determined to live and laugh in the middle bit.
Then I stop and think on what I just thought, and realise how utterly ridiculous I can be. :)
I'm the way I am because I want to be, not because of any early external influences :P
Anyway.
Life laughs, laughs live, we're all a happy family...
PAHAHAHAHAHA.
This is supposed to be a 'stream of consciousness', where everything I write is completely spontaneous - anything, anything and everything and nothing at the same time, probably completely nonsensical and most likely of poor, imbecilic standard.
Psh.
I'm just making it up as I go along. (Which I suppose is correct, as it is intended to be spontaneous)
Ella's drawn a pentacle onto my hand, and it's weird and doesn't look pretty and it's awkwardly clashing green with red on brown skin...
Christmas colours.
There's also an awkward hole in my tights and they're too small so they keep on slipping down and my 'p's are quite pretty, and this is completely and utterly irrational.
I... want a party.
With balloons and everything.
And music and dancing, and pretty dresses in flashing colours and clever people with cleverer jewellery.
It'll be gorgeous.
It'll be...
Spectacular.
I hate physics.
2.
3.
4.
When I was very small, and fairly a young girl, I slept with a teddy-bear. A teddy-tiger, rather. It was small and fluffy and fit perfectly in my small arms in my fluffy pyjamas.
I... have a sister. When she was born, I had dressed in my pinkest finery, and, dripping with gentle jewellery, I had rushed into the hospital to greet my new small baby playmate. She was cute and small and teddy-bear like.
When I was born, I had been drugged up on pethadine.
Apparently so heavily medicated that I didn't even make a squeak.
My dad and his brother were down at the pub, and apparently it was my uncle who was first to hold me, not my dad.
I, personally, find that hilarious.
I was told today that I'm never serious, and I never ever take anything seriously. I contradicted them by saying that I had been deadly serious when I received my Physics mocks results (YESTERDAY).
Then I ruined it by bursting out into laughter.
I can't help it.
I'm always like that.
I find everything amusing. There's so much to laugh about in the world. So much to find ridiculous, so much to ridicule, so much to be amused by. Sometimes happy-genuine amused, sometimes patronising-condescending amused, and other times bitter-mocking-cynical amused.
But whichever it is, whether it's light or dark or black or cruel or kind or vanilla or naughty, there's so much to laugh at. To make fun of, to be amused at.
Why wouldn't I?
Sometimes I contemplate the possibility of the pethadine overdose at birth being the cause of me behaving like this. So still and silent when born, so determined to live and laugh in the middle bit.
Then I stop and think on what I just thought, and realise how utterly ridiculous I can be. :)
I'm the way I am because I want to be, not because of any early external influences :P
Anyway.
Life laughs, laughs live, we're all a happy family...
PAHAHAHAHAHA.
This is supposed to be a 'stream of consciousness', where everything I write is completely spontaneous - anything, anything and everything and nothing at the same time, probably completely nonsensical and most likely of poor, imbecilic standard.
Psh.
I'm just making it up as I go along. (Which I suppose is correct, as it is intended to be spontaneous)
Ella's drawn a pentacle onto my hand, and it's weird and doesn't look pretty and it's awkwardly clashing green with red on brown skin...
Christmas colours.
There's also an awkward hole in my tights and they're too small so they keep on slipping down and my 'p's are quite pretty, and this is completely and utterly irrational.
I... want a party.
With balloons and everything.
And music and dancing, and pretty dresses in flashing colours and clever people with cleverer jewellery.
It'll be gorgeous.
It'll be...
Spectacular.
I hate physics.
Monday, 23 January 2012
RawrBunnies
It started with a low light,
Next thing I knew they ripped me from my bed,
And then they took my blood type,
It left a strange impression in my head,
You know that I was hoping
To leave this star crossed world behind,
But when they cut me open,
I guess that changed my mind
And you know, I might,
Have just flown too far from the floor, this time
Cause they're calling my name,
And they're zipping white light beams,
Disregarding bombs and satellites,
And that was the turning point,
That was one lonely night.
The songmaker says it ain't so bad,
The dreammaker's gonna make you mad,
The spaceman says 'Everybody look down,
'It's all in your head'
That's been running through my head non stop since last Monday. It's Spaceman, by The Killers. Brilliant song. :) Brilliant lyrics, beautifully sung, excellent accompaniments. What more could you want?
I received four of my mocks results today. They weren't that bad- 3 As and 1 A* - it's a good start, I suppose. But... Perhaps it's not quite good enough for my parents, Asians that they are. :)
Tomorrow, I think we'll be getting English back. I'm quite nervous for that, because I fell asleep in the English Language mock and as a result, missed a ten marker, which is absolutely awful, and will probably drastically hinder my score and cause me to lose any chances of an A*, which is dreadfully depressing - because English really ought to be my best subject. :/ Oh dear. Guess I'll learn to get a bit more sleep next time. :P
Ciao now :)
Next thing I knew they ripped me from my bed,
And then they took my blood type,
It left a strange impression in my head,
You know that I was hoping
To leave this star crossed world behind,
But when they cut me open,
I guess that changed my mind
And you know, I might,
Have just flown too far from the floor, this time
Cause they're calling my name,
And they're zipping white light beams,
Disregarding bombs and satellites,
And that was the turning point,
That was one lonely night.
The songmaker says it ain't so bad,
The dreammaker's gonna make you mad,
The spaceman says 'Everybody look down,
'It's all in your head'
That's been running through my head non stop since last Monday. It's Spaceman, by The Killers. Brilliant song. :) Brilliant lyrics, beautifully sung, excellent accompaniments. What more could you want?
I received four of my mocks results today. They weren't that bad- 3 As and 1 A* - it's a good start, I suppose. But... Perhaps it's not quite good enough for my parents, Asians that they are. :)
Tomorrow, I think we'll be getting English back. I'm quite nervous for that, because I fell asleep in the English Language mock and as a result, missed a ten marker, which is absolutely awful, and will probably drastically hinder my score and cause me to lose any chances of an A*, which is dreadfully depressing - because English really ought to be my best subject. :/ Oh dear. Guess I'll learn to get a bit more sleep next time. :P
Ciao now :)
Thursday, 19 January 2012
The Beginning: The Big Bang, As It Were
Hello.
How are you? I'm fine. Actually, I'm feeling pretty cool right now. I've got my own blog and everything.
See? Sexy.
Anyways.
'Why?' You may be inquiring. 'Why are you taking up my time with this odd little blog, when I could be doing so much more interesting things, such as YouTubing or Facebooking?'
And my answer is this:
Everyone needs someone to talk to. Some people talk to their mums, other people to their best friends. I know some one who talks to their invisible friend Algernon. And here, is where I want to talk to you. About everything and anything - from boys to school to politics to music to MarioKart to exams to best friends to obsessions to quiet contemplations on muddy fields.
Anything.
So to start off with, my name is Tara. I have a best friend called Ella and a twin (in everything but blood) called Fran. My parents were born in India, but I like to pride myself on being completely English - from the way I speak to the food I eat. That's not to to say I don't take pride in my parents' country - I do, it's just not my country- it's not the place I was born and raised in, not the country I love.
I love England. I really do. I don't know why - people always complain about the dreary weather and the hostile inhabitants and the ever growing influx of foreigners. Or at least, they do in London. (Where I live, if that wasn't obvious :P)
So England is hardly the place people dream of living in, nor is it the dream holiday destination, but life knows I'd hate it if it were. I like the rain and the odd wet dryness that we get so often, and the summer in the spring and the spring in the summer, and skipping autumn to go straight into winter. I love it. It's different and it's special and not even Germany has it, and Germany's one of the few places I've been which is probably the most relatable to England.
England is home. London is home.
What could possibly be better than home?
I like to talk. I wouldn't say I'm the most extroverted in reality - for some reason, despite the fact that there always so many things to say just teeming in my mind, I can never manage to get them all out. I usually end up looking like a complete spastic :P
Words are so brilliant. Words can paint a whole new world, a secret haven to escape to when you're bored, a place you can take anyone who'd care to read your work. Words are the keys to the heart and the mind and the soul - they express everything you could ever feel, everything you could ever dare to dream. Words are freedom, without them, we are nothing but shells, mere copies of our simian ancestors. But when we have words, when we have the freedom to express ourselves through words, we can go soaring towards the heavens; with words, we are entirely free.
So this is my blog. My lovely blog with words and words hidden inside, waiting to be typed out and shown to the world. This is my freedom. My way of reaching out to everyone, to show them me.
Hello. My name is Tara, and this is my blog. And may I be so bold as to say, I am so very, very glad to meet you.
How are you? I'm fine. Actually, I'm feeling pretty cool right now. I've got my own blog and everything.
See? Sexy.
Anyways.
'Why?' You may be inquiring. 'Why are you taking up my time with this odd little blog, when I could be doing so much more interesting things, such as YouTubing or Facebooking?'
And my answer is this:
Everyone needs someone to talk to. Some people talk to their mums, other people to their best friends. I know some one who talks to their invisible friend Algernon. And here, is where I want to talk to you. About everything and anything - from boys to school to politics to music to MarioKart to exams to best friends to obsessions to quiet contemplations on muddy fields.
Anything.
So to start off with, my name is Tara. I have a best friend called Ella and a twin (in everything but blood) called Fran. My parents were born in India, but I like to pride myself on being completely English - from the way I speak to the food I eat. That's not to to say I don't take pride in my parents' country - I do, it's just not my country- it's not the place I was born and raised in, not the country I love.
I love England. I really do. I don't know why - people always complain about the dreary weather and the hostile inhabitants and the ever growing influx of foreigners. Or at least, they do in London. (Where I live, if that wasn't obvious :P)
So England is hardly the place people dream of living in, nor is it the dream holiday destination, but life knows I'd hate it if it were. I like the rain and the odd wet dryness that we get so often, and the summer in the spring and the spring in the summer, and skipping autumn to go straight into winter. I love it. It's different and it's special and not even Germany has it, and Germany's one of the few places I've been which is probably the most relatable to England.
England is home. London is home.
What could possibly be better than home?
I like to talk. I wouldn't say I'm the most extroverted in reality - for some reason, despite the fact that there always so many things to say just teeming in my mind, I can never manage to get them all out. I usually end up looking like a complete spastic :P
Words are so brilliant. Words can paint a whole new world, a secret haven to escape to when you're bored, a place you can take anyone who'd care to read your work. Words are the keys to the heart and the mind and the soul - they express everything you could ever feel, everything you could ever dare to dream. Words are freedom, without them, we are nothing but shells, mere copies of our simian ancestors. But when we have words, when we have the freedom to express ourselves through words, we can go soaring towards the heavens; with words, we are entirely free.
So this is my blog. My lovely blog with words and words hidden inside, waiting to be typed out and shown to the world. This is my freedom. My way of reaching out to everyone, to show them me.
Hello. My name is Tara, and this is my blog. And may I be so bold as to say, I am so very, very glad to meet you.
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