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!

todays love

Sometimes I want to ask "where do you think this is going?"

Not to be demanding or demeaning or critical at all, but just because I am genuinely (and impartially) curious. I'll confess, I never do because I'm worried of the answer. I'm not scared of hearing "nowhere fast" but of placing undue emphasis on the destination and not the journey.

So think about it. If you knew how your relationship was going to end, be it 5 years or 5 days into the future, would you leave now and spare yourself the waiting? That would be the practical thing, wouldn't it, because this isn't the love thats going to be permeant. Not the love that will tie up all loose ends. Not the one that you were aspiring to.

But does that make it any less valuable or precious?

I mean, lets be honest. Life is generally shit. Whether its bad luck, karma, coincidence or mistakes its hard to sustain a smile on your face for more than a few days at a time. And if you can you are an insincere liar with an agenda.

The happiness generated from relationships is so powerful it can change people. It can loosen their morals, betray their families, de-rail the teachings of religion, break habits and suppress appetites. Why would anyone want to forfeit these unparalleled emotions just because its not the love thats going to be recognised by the state.

Even if you discover that there are only 15 days of bliss left for you and your (perhaps) temporarily beloved, shouldn't you relish in the euphoria of what is between you for those last days?

It only matters that it makes you happy. For this day, for this hour, this minute. This one second.

Today I'm happy.

the bed you made

talk to me about regret.

talk to me about mother fucking regret because I can educate you like no one can.

It starts with falling from euphoria.

Failing your better judgement and the normal perimeters of your boundaries.

Its sustained by speculation. And judgement. The kind of judgement you would pass if it was roles reversed.

And then its all pity, prose, nonsense, devastation, ignorance, idiocy, trashiness, self disrespect and damage from there on out.

Your that person you didn't want to be.

It ends in reminders and awareness. Hindsight and its constant backlash.

And something unfortunate. Like excess and deficit.

I know everything. That damp, sick feeling in your stomach and the back of your throat. Wishes. Prayers that you are able to wake up from this nightmare. Paranoia, when you hear anything thinking those whispers are publicly taking apart you.

You think for one minute that maybe being reassured that there are people that love you regardless will take the edge off. But the forgiveness of others just makes it harder for you to forgive yourself. You cant love someone who would do this to you.

You are the one keeping that photo reel turning in your mind. Putting those actions on repeat. Hooking yourself up to that drip of a slow release dose of anguish. Your playing the good cop and the bad cop interrogating yourself.

You are guilty.

i regret sloth, bingeing, not respecting myself, not being more considerate of others, complaining about not having to spend time with family and having to miss a party, my indecisiveness, ignoring something beautiful, holding my tongue, vanity, greed and being superficial.

I know you have to make your own mistakes. But take the road less travelled and dont end up a mess.

on your marks

So we are way well into 2011. Blogging has been slack. I have binged about 20 thou times already, thrown a few tantrums and am broke. Like, in debt without a cent in my wallet.

La la la laaaaarve you 2011.

Nah actually i'll take that back, (if we can allow that very childish move to absolve that naive statement). Alriiight, 2011 lets be honest. It is not your fault that I am in a bit of a compromising situation. It's actually mine own, that is, lack of self control, immaturity, laziness, appetite, material conscious ect. I cant believe people my age enter a new year, and each year beg for the new to bring prosperity, happiness, luck and strength to carry on with their resolutions and for them not to dissolve with their hangovers whilst being devoured along with a mountain of carbs. Fucken carbs.

But later on only to realise that the same old bullshit occurs because they are in the same longing and forlorn state of mind and will not change.

Passivity is killing us slowly. And giving us a shitty year. Not actually the date or chinese zodiac.

Hows that for new years wisdom. cheeaahh.

And besides, 2011 has actually impressed me somewhat. Specifically, the amazing new years celebration that ill admit I was a little bit sceptical about. Also that my phone plan can be updated and is pretty incredible now. And I didn't even have to do anything. I've already found a sick $20 sale and I baked a cake today that was scrumptious. I got a late birthday present, have finished an entire cross word (not on my own) and 2 sudoku's - solo, might I add - and finished a book in a day.

My only resolution, as it is, is to take it one day at a time.

The Gift Of Giving

In all my eighteen years of life, not forgetting to include the valuable lessons learnt over birthday and christmas periods (which for me goes hand in hand and side by side), I have discovered, or rather proven, that gift giving is well and truly an art.

What remains unfalsified, however, is whether the planes of present picking are are even playing fields, or the often considered universal notion that some of us either have it, or we are hopelessly and shamelessly disabled when it comes to offerings of merriment and affection.

It seems the latter is more true.

Sad but true. For both the giver and receiver of these forlorn attempts at personal and decisive symbols of your love/relationship/friendship/superiority in selflessness.

Obviously the poor soul stuck with a bad present giver for parents/boyfriend/girlfriend/sibling/biffl/kris kringle will suffer immeasurable amounts during festive occasions, invariably dreading the exchange with the ominous knowledge of what horror is to come, masked under the guise of a happy-go-lucky object - suggested by the optimistic and non-confrontational wrapping paper. Moreover, these people are unduly familiar with the mock-grateful "ahhh, oh a ____________. I loooove it?...You shouldn't have. Really." that they are obliged to offer in response to the (accidental) product of the cruel and random disease exerted over some individuals.

For a first hand account of such a diagnosis, let us refer to exhibit A.

An acquaintance cum friend cum acquaintance (again) who each year would try and ignore the burden of their inability to give gifts, despite numerous pleas and attempts from friends to dissuade them from following their distorted idea of a good present and instead amend the situation by just giving money for god sake. Some real gems include bed sheets, clothing taken from a storage box in their home and cheap, skanky jewellery.

I regret to inform you this individual is still suffering from this condition and has not yet been rehabilitated.

Another example of a less harrowing strain of this condition are those individuals who simply cannot fathom the concept, let alone perform the act of surprise gift giving. Exhibit B.

The, "I mean well but who gives a shit about the gift giving process?" friend who thinks that handing over a wad of cash and standing by while you try stuff on is sufficient as a heartfelt present. This 'flight' state of conscious where one chooses to omit the, seemingly, demeaning task of risking a failed evaluation of the relationship shared between themselves and the gift receiver indicates a strong sense of pride and reputation too valuable to be jeopardised at the risk of giving a crappy gift. My knowledge of such people reveals that this condition is nurture rather than nature related, and is instilled from childhood by the parents/relatives of the individual.

Not only is this upheld by those subjects suffering from a gift giving handicap, but those who embrace celebrations requiring gift exchanges wholeheartedly. Exhibit C.

The defender and gate keeper of surprise presents, who wakes up at the crack of dawn on christmas even though they are 17. Who stores gift ideas throughout the year and prides themselves on executing a successful and fulfilling present. They know the incomparable value of receiving lots of wrapped up packages with your name on it.

One such individual I know who possesses such qualities appears to have had this instinct cultivated from an early age and ingrained in their moral upbringing, taught to carry on the tradition that has been respected in the family for generations.

If you, or some one you know appears to suffer from any of these symptoms during the lead up to christmas in the gift buying period;

A sense of inconsolable trepidation.

Anxiety, shortness of breath, dizziness, lightheadedness.

The urge to consume copious amounts of alcohol.

Hallucination.

Extreme irritability and/or mood swings.

Depression.

Confusion.

An inability to concentrate.

Phobia of ribbons, sparkles, collages of bright colours, christmas decorations or colour combinations involving red, white and green.

Consult your nearest adult, confidant or christmas gift guide catalogue.

Try to remember, you are not alone, and help is available.

and so this is christmas...

Just realised that I cannot tolerate people who can't take no for an answer and overly curious people.

It's never really bothered me that much before but recently, if i'm around these incessantly questioning people I feel as if I could turn into the freaking hulk and rip off my shirt in a fit of rage. Thats a bit weird considering I am usually described as a timid/patient/non-confrontational personality.

But, maybe it's just this quaint time of year. Like, you can be forgiven by strangers and distant family members for acting like a total anti-social and agro bitch because 'tis the season' and you were christmas shopping. And whoever you tell gives you a knowing look and an ahhhhh because they can relate. Totally relate.

I guess I didn't really acknowledge the hidden yet sinister pressure that christmas impinges on otherwise temperate people who are able to adhere to the expectations of social propriety. Though, I must confess I too have cracked in an attempt to be a prime performer in Kris Kringle's present contest. To be specific, having a heated argument with my sister in the middle of targets cosmetic department. Shamelessly. Even to the point of brining up deep seeded wounds that have nothing to do with shopping, presents or my grandparents love or dislike of soap.

If I wasn't me, i'd be like wtf is going on, calm yourselves you psychos. Even my sister, who is usually an avid and dare I say, enthusiastic shopper turns into this unbearable walking tantrum. She becomes physically ill and suffers from headaches and dizzy spells. What is that all about? The come down from christmas cheer and joy?

Arm yourselves, shoppers. And take comfort in the fact that nobody is above it. I don't even think Jesus could play the holier than thou card on this one.

I am totally and utterly over high school after our very tearful and prolonged break up. Signified by the dispatch of high schools final hold over us. ENTER SCORES.

No connections, ties or strings attached. Some might suggest that we who have graduated are akin to ex-prisoners finally liberated from their cells, able to roam the streets without schedule or constant and demeaning surveillance and dictation.

But nah, I loved you high school and you know it. I'll always carry a torch for you.

So currently, the very kosher and trendy thing to do is to say that your final VCE (high school) result is "just a number" and "can't dictate the rest of your life". And well yes, it is only a number I suppose, but (to be very politically incorrect) I love my number and I would be happy for it to [partially] dictate the rest of my life. It would be a sweet life where good prevails over bad and hard work is rewarded with apt glory and veneration from others.

Okay so maybe thats selfish for me to 'impose' an omnipotence to the individual rankings delegated to us by the ever mysterious VCAA, but to be fair, everybody knows that your enter kind of defines you, indefinitely.

On the same token and to be very, very frank, this same day of elation for me turned out to be really shit for heaps of peeps. For a very clear example of double standards, (but maybe we can let this one slide of compassionate terms) can we say that if your not happy, your number can be the moment of epiphany and sublime realisation that we all long for, which motivates change in your life, and then you become the loveable underdog that prevails?

And someone makes a movie about it eventually.

Well, according to VCAA, the number I have been given and the superiority that comes with it, yeah we can.

And to sustain those who are in the mind space that your number is a reflection of our intellect, my moments of enlightenment had no-thang to do with study, or academic ability. I now know that it is a bad idea to wear a sundress and sandals while go-karting, even if you think your boyfriend will think you look super cute in it, because you will end up flashing the staff and wearing some random persons skating shoes with hairnets as socks. Especially sexy coupled with the pathetic and helpless "damsel in distress" persona you achieve by constantly spinning out and getting stuck.

I mean, I would totally look less ditzy in jeans and sneakers. Lets not deny it.

I was at this beautiful house yesterday. Like it was so good it could probably be used for a location for a film. And it was even covered in fairy lights. Ahhhh it was the stuff of dreams and I was in it for a little while. In my own dream.

Yeah but something that wasn't fantastic was that I realised girls with boyfriends should just not go out. Like, there is really no point unless your going to a hens night, and even then, you just need to be the sober organiser of it and not actually participate because you are untouchable. Seriously. Consider yourself a burden.

Or you could try not telling anyone and refraining from doing anything and just working your "playing hard to get card" but it is never long before the cat comes out of the bag. Like in the nice house. I had previously learn't my lesson that if you would like to be spoken to don't mention ya bf, so I was keeping it on the DL only in hope of not being ostracised from this gathering, annnd then some good mate decided to do a favour for his mate by 'subtly' letting him know he was wasting his time. I always, always gave boys the benefit of the doubt and thought, perhaps naively that they were not only ever after one thing. But it turns out they are! Forever and ever.

But then again, if you do have a boyfriend it means there will always be someone who will talk to you when all the single boys get sober and loose their courage. So thats one up on them. Hi Five!

my grown up christmas list

Santa baby, since I have been such a good girl, can I, pretty please, for christmas have...

Everyone in my family and in my heart to get everything on their lists and be happy and healthy and loved.

(Okay, enough selflessness because underneath the joyful facade of christmas cheer and wrapping paper you know there is only self gratification and consumerism at its besssst. That being said that is a serious wish and the most important, hence why it is at the beginning of the post. Like, I bet you forgot what the point of the holiday was, besides receiving, I mean giving gifts.

But seriously give as you would expect to receive, doing nice things for other people, materially, is actually fulfilling. And creates this wonderful sense of obligation.)

To be as glamours as my sister with her eyelash extensions, but without them.

This ring,

To live in a great big house.

Sportsgirl suede wedges.

My drivers licence.

RMIT.

A day job.

Alexander McQueen clutch,

The stamina and inspiration to buy sick presents for everyone!

These babies,

Refill of Clinique step 3, miracle moisturiser,

A proper summer, not torrential rain.

This sicccck ipod dock,

For us to have a beautiful christmas tree in our house.

And thats it for now.

merry christmas!

guess who's back?

Heya Playa,

I have returned from the vast and forgiving week that was schoolies, fantasies fulfilled, somewhat tanned however at the same time depressed because I don't think I will ever experience the same intense partying that it provided. Actually I'm devastated. But whatevs, time heals all wounds. ( Look at me, being accepting and reasonable now that I am a woman of eighteen.)

Okay so you wouldn't think that schoolies of all places would be the environment where true love blossoms, but alas, as am I, you are wrong.

I know. Random right.

So anyway it seems the atmosphere of fleeting pleasures and desires, amplified by the happiness and relief of finishing school and copious amounts of alcohol (naturally) was the prime condition to find a suitable suitor. Not for me but for my ever searching sister who, in Melbourne was not so lucky-in-love as many hope to be. But on tequila, (also know as te-almost-killed-me) night, she met someone. Yeah nothing spesh, everybody meets someone on schoolies I know, but, after their meeting they continued to be together like a proper couple. Monogamous.

This is like, defying the laws of gravity. And they did this THREE NIGHTS IN A ROW. Seriously, you could expect less from a christmas miracle. Shocking as it sounds, they continue to be cute and say cute things and miss each other proceeding the cold and sober reality that is home and routine. To be honest I can't really get my head around this one. Okay so maybe this doesn't read as shocking as it is in reality, so I will try and contextualise it. Picture easy, drunk girls throwing themselves at you like its going out of fashion. Bikinis. Vodka. Nightclubs. Relationships on schoolies breaks. Boys who literally run away when you tell them you are not planning on having sex with them. ANYTHING goes.

But these two opted to stay in on the couch watching TV TWO nights in a row.

Love really is a mystery I do not understand.

Schoolies did teach me some important and invaluable life lessons though, through both first hand and indirect experiences. For instance, if you are connected, you can get away with being seedy. Single guys will only rarely tolerate girls with boyfriends. Just because you have made it through year 12 and are on schoolies, this does not make you immune to the consequences of a 7 day bender. Never judge a trashy girl, she may be you soon enough. Sober guys are frigid and shy 90% of the time, on the other hand drunk guys are as predictable as getting wet in the rain. Boys + alcohol really show you who your friends are. Being 18 is actually the shittttttt!!!! The reckless abandon of youth is frikken sexy. Befriend all enforcers of authority (inc security guards, bouncers, cops, liquor store clerks ect)

See how wise I am?

prolouge to schoolies

until then

Okay so,
I just read that last post, and I thought, "in ten days I am going to be eighteen and a woman and I should probs suck this childish shit up and start acting my expected age."
Do you remember being told "act your age, not your shoe size." I remember that. My friends dad use to say it to us allll thhheee tiimmmee. Along with, "were you born in a tent?" when we didn't shut the door. Now that I think about it that would have probably pissed me off too. Like insanely.
Anyway for the record my shoe size is 9. My sister is 9, but I don't know her shoe size.
The worst thing is... yep we sure do have similar traits. We both can't take what we dish out, we both over exaggerate and dramatize everything and I am a self confessed sooky la la. This is like, half of what I'm supposed to be.
Okay eighteen, I expect to be demure, ambitious, sultry, confident, self assured, able to spell, clever and beautiful and capable. And to know things. Yeah nah, if there was a turning eighteen test I would FAIL. But luckily, like VCE, whatever you try you cannot fail whatsoever. Sick. But you will just get ranked. Low. Real low. Scum low. Thats pathetic low and disappoint your parents and disgrace your name. Love it.
I really feel being seventeen for a few more months would not go astray. That might be a good present that I forgot to put on my list that is stuck on the fridge. Along with my super good I.D that was unjustly taken away from me. Maybe if that bouncer was not a prick I would not hold a grudge. In my thoughts my tongue is stuck out. Not even my sister does that.
Its like this, I want to be skinny or whatev and I just ate my weight in everything (thanks family birthday dinner) and I'm blaming my lack of self control on my FOOD and not mySELF. If I was a proper eighteen year old I would just know what I eat and what I don't eat and be done with it.
When I grow up i'll let you know.
Until then I am just going to make myself feel better with Tic Tacs. I've got 10 days.

suburban incarceration

O
h

M
y

G
o
d
.

So many things are going on today because its my Mum's birthday. And it's weird because its like mid week and usually things do NOT happen on Wednesdays. Evah.
The phone is always ringing and I'm going to bake a cake. My sister has gone to school and we are going to send a parcel. Normal things, right? But they are all weirdly related and look like they have an agenda because they come under the sub heading of 'mums birthday'.

On this glorious day, which we appreciate more because the sun is out on the day of my mothers birth, I feel like I can look at myself and see what person I am.
I feel like a normal, greatful person stuck inside a short tempered persons life. Like, I hate this house that I live in, and find myself having to justify my hate to TOTAL STRANGERS that drive you home from netball when you fill in. "oh yeah thats my house down the end of the street, oh haha [polite laugh], yes well my parents are waiting to build. they didn't want to move. my brother was going to move. well we use to live in a good house."

God it sounds so desperate. And I know that the people don't give a shit, but it just comes out. I (not even secretly or discreetly) wish that we never moved from 'the mansion' - friends christened it, not us - and that when people drove me home they could still marvel over the red door and that we lived in the big house opposite the golf course. And I would be constantly greatful that I had like more than 1cm squared to myself.
Doing it again, I realize that.

So even though so many good things are happening, and I've been lucky all my life, I still get the urge to bang my head on this computer table and wait for the day that I am rewarded for this mother fucking penance.
The only thing I have learnt, the only thing, is that no good and selfless deed goes unpunished.
If you ever get the opportunity to kick and scream and tantrum to prevent something you don't want from happening, I beg you. DO IT.
If not for your own good for the good of others.
Never lend your things to friends, because eventually someone will break into their car and take it.
Don't help people with their homework.
And never, NEVER give selfish bitches the benefit of doubt. Because instead of 'another holiday in Bali!', you end up down $200 and in Surfers. Actually, hold that thought, because at this stage I'm still not sure if its a blessing in disguise.

But jeeze, I know that I sound like that song where the guy complains about his hard life being male middle class and white. I got it easy, nobody prejudices against me, my home is not being destroyed by companies who kill orangutans habitats for palm oil.
Oh my god, I am Emma Woodhouse ala Jane Austen.

telltale.

IN FEBRUARY I BROUGHT A FORTUNE BRACELET.
Feb the fourteenth, to be precise. I'm pretty sure it claimed to act as some sort of fortune magnet when you put it on, and then eventually when you have accumulated a sufficient amount of fortune, thus becoming fortunate, it falls off. And only in the last week has my bracelet began to deteriorate and maybe fall of in the near future. But to be honest I'm a bit hazy on what it really indicates.

Is it like, you have had enough fortunate things happen to you? You have reached the maximum number of fortunate situations and are no longer allowed assistance (if more is required go and pay $2 for another one). Or is it that you are now fortunate, and will continue to be? Maybe its just tricking you into perceiving the events of your life differently?

I don't know if I am any more fortunate than I was any number of months ago.
Like, there are so many fluctuating things going on all the time, how do you know which is better than the others? If it rains and ruins your day, is it fortunate because its an indication that the world is not turning to a burning hunk of shit because of global warming?
Fortune bracelet, tell me... will the proof be in the pudding or is the beauty in the eye of the beholder goddamn it.

Nevertheless, I suggest you invest $2 in this little universal talisman. Because, if anything it tricks you into being more susceptible to stumbling across happy, if relatively small in the grand scheme of things, that go on in your own life.
And you feel precious and lucky, and like your life is imbued with beauty and rarity, if only temporarily. Even if its just because the sun got up with you today, and when it set it made a pretty colour on the pavement.