i think about you and i know that ill always come running back even if you give me every reason not to.

even if i know i'm acting like the people in the movies. those ones who are frustratingly naive

and give everything all the chances to hurt them. and you sit there yelling at them to wake up wake up and see whats there in front of them. staring them in the face. sizing them up. glaring at their victim. meanwhile our heroine stares blankly at the face of danger as if under a spell of love unto her captor.

you lay like a snake does next to its prey. and everyday grows more sure of its ability to swallow it up. how docile and submissive to let you lay and know more and more of how you can attack me. and how i will let you.

everyday my heart gets a little more frayed around its edges and you tug more and more on the unravelling strings.

it will never break.

it will never beat.

once you have seized all the thread,

there will be nothing left.

i wanna be cool i wanna be cool!

i do, i wanna be the cool skinny girl, decked out in the best high heels, towering over every building, larger than life lashes, killing with looks...pouting for peace and winning the war with fashion.

i want youth to be in my eyes forever and for them to sparkle so in the dark. to stop traffic and start politics.

but there is only one way to go. you can run forever and burn all the calories you could dream of, but where would you get to? who would be waiting there to greet you?

bones and trees and an army of skanks just like you who are weary from running. and then you wouldn't be cool, you'd just be ordinary.

did that actually happen?

I really do wanna be that really cool girl who looks good in photos and is effortlessly funny and charmingly indifferent and refreshingly independent.

Not someone who is told that "first impressions count, and good impressions go along way. I like your hair so don't piss me off."

Ah yeah alright. How do you respond to that?

Obviously not by asking more repetitious questions because you still don't understand.

Uni and me are not friends.

I want someone to plagiarise me and then be found out and then I know. That would really make my week.

Oh my god. What a life.

Lets put our sympathetic and melodramatic hats on for the minute because a) its the first day of university and b) shit just got serious.

You know how when people asked you "what do you want to be when you grow up?" you were expected to look all starry eyed and wondrous and be like "ahh well I want to be a fire fighter and a veterinarian like my barbie is and also a ballerina", at university its like "please students refer to the solidifying block of concrete around your ankles affixing you to your chosen career forever and ever so help you God if you change your mind, and while were on the topic, is journalism really for you?"

:|

Well it was until it encompassed your limbs and demanded a permanent decision from you, today.

Not to mention the first weekly reading assigned to your new, dangerous subject casually mentions the fatalities and casualties involving journalists for the years 2003 & 5 and also incorporates an anecdotal account from a journalist who LOST HER EYE on the job.

mmmhmmm first day jitters are all part of the experience!

Last year, when the popular threat was merely perpetuated shame and humiliation as a result of your efforts in the VCE, my resolution was to "take it one day at a time."

Apt, I feel, to a situation lacking in the current immobilising sinking ship that is the onset of unit guides and readings and assessments.

Thus, in order to move from my own personal tertiary titanic and onto the wild party boat currently situated in uncharted waters heading for Ibiza that everybody else seems to be aboard, I am going to play the hand I've been dealt.

Get over that I am by myself in the middle of nowhere with no friends.

Am currently killing time in the library like a total loser.

Do not own any prescribed texts.

And am broke.

Hopefully the key to eventual success is in the guise of a poker face and strategic game playing.

Steaks are raised.

First thing to go is your inhibitions,

next thing to go is your clothes.

Your notion of sound.

Your sense of decorum.

Your better judgement, any pessimistic or realistic thought processes.

Your self righteousness.

Your sense of loneliness.

Get thrilled.

r.i.p self. haha

At the risk of sounding like a vain, vapid, superficial creature who is god willing to be subject to gender related inferiority and treated like a petty and useless girl whose single good use is to be sat on the knee of a dominant male while my arms and mouth are puppeteered by him, let me say this...

Maybe, maybe the reason men get paid more than women, and sometimes valued higher than their female counter parts in the workplace is because they do a better job? In the real world women do tend to rely on men.

Not saying women can't be independent, sisters be doing it for themselves everywhere, however, isn't it true that you ladies find it flattering and romantic when your date pays for your movie/lunch/coffee? Or otherwise scandalous if you are obliged to spilt the bill?

Do you not find mowing the lawn/DIY shelving/checking the oil in your car dirty and laborious?

And don't you think that, if we really were equal, bloke-y drinks and girly drinks would be priced the same at bars? I mean, you can get a pot for like $5, but good luck finding a vodka raspberry for less than $9.

I'm not advocating a mass surrender of female independence or rights, but I mean, if your going to be a self righteous bitch feminist all the goddam time do not allow that guy to buy you a drink, lest it be beer.

we don't need no education

Have/do/will you ever think "why do we even have to learn that? It's not like we are going to use that piece of information later in life?"

I can tell you a good 30% of my schooling life was devoted to contemplating and lamenting this concept. And within good reason.

An 'anecdote' (there you go, another random word for personal story i picked up from high school) that aptly sums up this situation occurred when I was still to inexperienced in secondary education to actually feel the full impact of the uselessness of some lessons. Our pleasant, (haha), music teacher was lecturing us on the vitality of understanding treble or bass or something. To this, my friend and maybe the funniest person in the south eastern metropolitan area replied, "why, WHY do we have to learn about this shit? It's not like I'm ever going to use this again. It's not like some dickhead with a gun is going to come up to me and hold me at gun point and be like 'oh I'm going to kill you unless you can tell me what this symbol means.' Is it? It's not going to save my life."

Bless her.

I find the period where students are subject to the most vacuous and irrelevant information is during years 9 ad 10. Where nobody, except your adorably naive parents care about the state of your information and really how you spend your 6 hours at school is, at this stage relatively unimportant.

Like who is ever going to need to know about the vikings, or how to make a freaking proabala They should be teaching us valuable things, like playground/street lingo so you don't ever find yourself in a situation where someone slips you a pill when you thought you were getting a cookie after being offered a bikkie. Now thankfully I have never found myself in that situation, but thats no thanks to the Victorian education system, I'll tell you that much.

Or stuff like, how to upload/sync your ipod/iphone/ipad. Because it is inevitable that you will end up doing something like that for you or your parents or grandparents at some stage. And how to present shop, and dress for appropriate occasions.

Or how to suppress your cravings for baked goods.

I would've benefited plenty from that lesson.

But you know what. Lets be fair. Because my life lessons have taught me diplomacy and to observe situations from an objective standpoint, let us consider the beneficial lessons of formal education. One such example is learning the art of bullshitting your way around a question, and answering vaguely and indirectly yet getting the result you want. Another lesson I fully and gratefully attribute to my schooling is my ability to be able to untangle electrical cords and find the sources of them. Without those worksheets that ask you to follow the lines that are scrambled with your pencils I may not be the technologically comfortable person I am today.

Sex ed. Thats a given. Thank you for sex ed, for teaching us about STD's and babies and bodies and things you would die before asking your parents.

And actually, now that I think about it, all that random information I have retained from school is actually pretty good to bring up in conversations when you want to sound cultured and educated and refined.

Without which, I may find myself betraying a grievous amount of my inner bogan/immature baby.

Quelle catostrophe!