Words, Words, Words.

Day by Day by Day.
Henry James, and F Scott G were okay.
Better than Okay actually. I may not have got as much supporting texts in the first question, but I fucking well tried and I brought up some really awesome points. I wasn't as strong as I'd entailed for Gatsby. But you never are when you're passionate about things, you forget all the amazing things you concocted the hour before.
However. I failed CRM. The feedback was as follows 'I don't think that you should be looking into these career aspects as you've obviously found a flair for writing that has unfortunately got you in a spot of bother with our markers. Your depth of satire and humour would win you marks in essays but unfortunately lets you down.' Then, off the record, I was told that they had to argue about this paper, and then resolved to fail me plainly on the fact I did not answer the questions in the rigid fashion that they asked. That she would have passed it had there not been some concerns about the way they wanted me to answer it. I don't understand it. I have to answer how they want? How the fuck does that make this is a survey of my needs? Grr.
A high point to the last two days though was that Bran and Mark, who I had consulted about my literature column previously, both spurred me on to write it. I then sent them a copy of the finished work and they congratulated me on my thought provoking and interesting piece. Maybe I should be a writer, I can't deal with the formalities that University seems to be offering me at the Moment. I'm becoming disillusioned with so much, from my essays to my exams to the attitudes I'm having in general. I'm just convinced if I dont stop, and I just work and work and work I wont have to think about this.

I've decided to see the doctor again about medication. I think I need it now. I'm not coping. I'm not finding things to cope that work. I'm lonely. And sad. And doubting my intelligence and what I'm really doing with my life. I don't know how to answer all the questions life is throwing at me. Or anyone for that matter. I just want to cry at the moment. I'm handling people less and less these days.

(I'm not coping. Not even a little bit.)

I know now that I have to change jobs. I know this since I started utterly hating working there, everytime I get there this deep paranoia bubbles up inside of me like a boiling pot and scorches me where everybody can see. It's not the customers, in fact, its very rarely the customers, it's the people I'm working with. I'm told I'm over-reacting 'like I always do', I'm told not to take it so seriously, I'm told to buck up my ideas, I'm told that I am not enough, that I am useless and needed, but not needed. I give up. There was a time where I really loved that job to death, but it's all been destroyed. There are a few elements that have contributed but they are too stupid to say in broad daylight because it means I have to actually look at them. Maybe I should start looking for a new job, where I can start again.

The big sadness is coming. I know because I want to change my hair and appearance again, because, obviously, that is the most sensible thing to do because it just seems like one of my quirks rather than a coping mechanism.

I started writing again. It hit me on the way home so hard that I had to stop where I was standing and start writing it down. This is when I know the Big Sadness is coming. I wonder what will happen this time.

Country-side chic.

'You're being normal today'
'Well, not particularly'
'Well You're being rather sedated.'
'Yes, Sedated'

Oh, and I am utterly falling back in love with a man. Haruki Murakami's 'Dance Dance Dance'. I'd give half my heart away to talk to him about his work. 'Norwegian Wood'. Oh My. First Love.

I wish there was some way to talk that made sense to people. Anything that is said now seems to interpreted as something utterly different. I hate this. I'm annoyed at my LEA for taking so fucking long to tell me that I need to add more forms and crap. I'm fed up at this house situation. I'm just not going to talk to anyone because it just annoys everyone or comes across as something completely futile. I'm so fucking confused about so many things that it's just one big stupid muddle between my ears. I just want to cry and hit the people who really are fucking me off right now.

Things to remember/Do.

* Accept that some people regard others as a novelty.
* LEA's are retarded.
* Sometimes not talking is the best thing ever
* Living in a fantasy world has its plus points.
* Drugs are bad kids.
* Liking someone is rubbish.
* Not freak out if I find out my essays were shit.
* There's always someone cooler than you.

Oh, and

* Try and find a way out of bed tommorow morning.

Oh Dear. Oh Deary Deary Me.

Why have I slept only four hours since Friday morning? Because I'm an idiot who finds it easier to forget, and hope, than sit at home feeding my thoughts and Breeding Reminiscence. When perhaps really I should.

I want to write more but I really can't at the moment.

I had a dream last night about being locked in my tiny study and not released until I wrote my Magnum Opus, and I couldnt so I was finding ways of burrowing out. Maybe this is my brain telling me that I shouldnt force myself to write if I physically cant. Well, mentally can't. There's this big blockade of riot proportions wedged under my skull. Talking of riots and blockades, I've found something to write about in regards to news, the student riots in France. I've been phoning people asking for comments, getting mildly exciting emails about the issue. Generally feeling I have a bit more of a purpose. Read it y'all.

I hate it when you don't want to talk, just want to sit in silence but people are making you talk. Its been like this all day...Perhaps I'm just being really stupid and should just shut up and get on with it. And actually go out. And 'meet people' ha ha. I love that it's such a novelty for me when all I really would like is it all to come in the post tomorrow morning. Money, Extremely hot girlfriend, Anti-cortisol or whatever is the equivalent. I fucking wish I was Faustus sometimes, but then I realise that I might actually need my soul at some point. I don't like the idea of that shifty Mephistopheles character hanging around all the time.

I better stop moaning. I am actually working on something half decent at the moment. It's a lot longer, Each section is kind of like a new entry, slightly differing in format. I guess it's closer to Whitmans' Song of myself rather than anything else. Ergh, that puts me off writing it now. I hate comparing myself to anyone.

Oh by the way,
Hello :)

I actually forgot to really comment on this earlier. It kinda made me laugh at bit because I am happy I'm the estranged one in most respects, what with the utter freedom thing and not the 'Let's play happy families' thing. Also known as, having to pretend to be straight, marrying some french guy and having loads of kids, forgetting about every aspiration EVER, forgetting about what it's like to be english although in fact I AM. I guess I still don't have the 'growing older and actually getting on with parents' thing. I don't see it happening if they cut me out. I was laughing at the thought that they have possibly cut out my face and replaced it with pictures of Shirley fucking Temple or something. People said I used to look like her. Now I probably look more like her father. Lol.





I need to talk to more people in my classes.

For the first time in ages I feel like actually writing in my paper diary tonight. I havent for a while, not any particular explanation, I just havent been able to. It's a bit of a block I guess. I now feel that I have things to actually say now, things I need to debate and scrutinise away from the eyes of everything else. It's strange. I miss writing in my diary, it was such a key thing for such a long time. I think its cos I havent had much of a chance to be really alone, and uninterrupted.

I'm feeling lonely in a way that can't be filled through friends or doing things, its that intimate kind that I know I wont be able to grasp just yet because It's not that easy. I can watch a lot of my friends fret about the guy they are sleeping with, flirt the night away with whomever they lay eyes on, and I know that I can't do that. But at the same time I feel I'm in some secret society that they'll never know how it feels to be part of. If it takes a long time to whittle out how it works then it takes a long time. If it comes, it comes.

You don't need to change a thing.

It's still there. Woo-fucking-hoo. I didn't get out of bed until 4.30pm, not because of the copious amount of marijuana that I smoked last night, but because I just didnt have a reason too. Our house turned into the same little bubble that it did a while ago, where everyone is a slightly different person, they get whittled into a different form of themselves. I don't want to talk about what I was made into, and for once it wasnt by me.

There seems to be something against privacy. One look at me writing this and it's like I'm writing their own death warrant. I don't want everyone to know everything about me, I like it better that way.

I'm just having a conversation about board games and social politics, specifically because we were playing scrabble last night, not properly to be fair. More spontaneous and colloquial. One of my friendship groups is like a board game, involving a lot of bluffing, teasing, politics, all about figuring out the right place to put yourself so you win. And when you want to pull out you feel you can't because the lure of the prize is so magnetic.

I'm chatting complete biscuits. I haven't seen daylight for 26 hours.

So I kept it down. I guess. This morning I woke up in that horrible half-consciousness that only the lonely get. I guess. Now I'm drinking once again after knowing that I have work in about 10 hours. I guess. Talking over girls with someone who idolises them as much as I do and gets all the parts that are important. I guess. I've spent today trying to be responsible at work, eating and then not, eating and then letting it sit in my stomach like a stubborn little stone at the bottom of a glass of acid. Ergh. Cigarettes substitute food too much nowadays. I wonder if they hold any nutritional value at all apart from the c word. I made someone bleed today because I threw his wallet at him for playing chas and dave, which never should have existed. Now I'm really in the mood for Johnny Cash. What a strange thought association.

I should stop 'talking biscuits'. After all. I seem to have an audience.

I really just cannot speak today. I just feel like someones' emptied me out like a suitcase, everythings everywhere in different places and i'm too apathetic to put it back.

On the plus side, just had an interesting discussion with someone about dialectic materialism, helegian theory and hellenism. It's nice to visit philosophy every now and again, it makes me realise what my passions are. I typed up another of my poems that I wrote in a fit of essay-driven panic at PL's. It's shocking that I can't write anymore, I think I've lost it.


SHAME

Lulled by idle clocks and
Far between the lines of
anti-tapestry,
the Hourglass breaks
with her fill of forever
filtered like Headlines
and sunk like an anchor,
her human bond torn open
at the heart and walked
away by the cuffs of her valves.
The ticking talks in verse.
The soul beaded brow to brow
and the curve downturned,
she calls the watch to come,
and lulls her broken face,
and arms her aching hands.

18th Nov.

I've been in a little world of my own these past few days and I like the not-talking-to-people bit. Filling myself up with work to avoid the great sadness.

It's good. It's destruction and salvation and redemption and Rapture.

I had a dream last night about my brother and I. We were sitting, as old people, on either side of a bridge with a huge blanket stretching the length of it. Covering our knees. Gradually it started to fray, stitch by stitch pulling away from each other like opposing magnets. And I didnt even cry, my eyes wouldnt work, I couldnt find the strength to force the stitches together. He disappeared as the last thread slacked, the bridge gone and the sea below it just a huge glass stretch.

Maybe there is some truth in what people are saying about the extinction of communication between me and my family. maybe its just miscommunication, maybe the telephone poles have fallen, the postman is savagely ill and the internet has faltered somewhere along the way. Maybe they are wondering why I havent got in contact. But still it hurts, it's like a stitch being wrenched open whenever anyone talks about family. I do have one, I know that, but I wish it would be more regular, rather than being paranoid about the fact that I may or may not have seen my fathers car drive through the streets of portsmouth and the fact that I tried chasing after it so I could see the number plate.

I've gone through a period of enlightenment. Things have been solved in my head that I always needed to unwravel. I have found a piece of myself that has calmed. I realised after the last few encounters that I really didnt like men. Not in a man hater way, but that I may find them pretty, or interesting, but they don't engage me how I've always wanted. And I may have felt that I loved them but I think it's purely for their personalities, I never got on with the physicality of them as such, it felt more like routine, like a regulated thing that how it's supposed to feel. So, after many many months of thinking over in my head about this, many years of hiding behind status's and how I was expected to feel, not telling a soul, not telling myself half the time, I've finally stepped out into the world as a Gay woman. And you have no idea how much it makes me want to cry with happiness. I know my parents will probably never know, if I have to tell them I will, but I know that it's another pull away from them. I seem to be everything they oppose already so why not add another part of me for them to dislike.

I've spent the day studying Zamjatin, making endless notes, reading essays and getting thoroughly excited. I have to be socially busy tomorow so I'm savouring the day I get to myself alone.

AU revoir, sorry for the disruption in posting.

Plus I just think I heard something in the house, I don't want to say ghost as I dont believe in such poppycock but my rushed washing up may have something to do with it.

It's only when it reaches this time of night, when it seems the whole world is asleep that I get these thoughts. Strange thoughts. Last night I dreamt that the small cavern that leads from a cupboard in my room to the attic was filled with dead bodies and that one by one each of them came alive and drove us out, killing sophie and adrian and leaving kirsty to run away in fear, panic and general confusion. And I was left alone in this big old house as the dead sank back into rigur mortis and realising that I couldnt live here anymore packed my bags and left for a friend of mine in banstead, where it became so scarily realistic that the first thoughts that flashed through my mind when I woke was whether I was really in my room, as the curtains were tightly drawn and the walls seemed ambiguous, and that I should find a computer quickly to check K's livejournal to see if she was alright and whether she was mad because I found the house that happened to harbour the living dead. But then I heard the builders next door hammering away above me and realised that my panic attack would subside, eventually.
Now It's two am and I'm listening to music I havent heard for a long time that reminds me of a very bad time back at my old house where I would lock myself away with my laptop and ignore the world. It reminds me of February. Which is scary.
I also have to cut out the paranoia, and I feel I can talk on her openly without getting worried I have to hold back because i'm either upsetting someone or overwhelming them, because I do need to talk. I'm paranoid about the stuff the doctor is giving me. It's not making me sleep. The other one is not making me better, it's making me worse. I'm feeling something rising in me and I'm deathly scared because for the week or so where it feels fantastic I know the onslaught of consequence and the pit I sit in when I try to hide from it. I guess its good I've realised that, but I know when I wind myself up it takes a while for me to stop. I'm still convinced the doctors are unknowingly poisoning me. As I heard today from some band lyric, The only difference between Medicine and poison is the dosage.

Oh grow up woman. Go to sleep. And fucking eat something.

So today I woke up way later than anticipated, really wanted to get more done today but I did some more painting and then had to shoot off to work for Sharon's emergency. I've been enjoying painting recently, its physically creating something, I don't even care if its any good anymore, it's fun to see where things go and my latest creation is even hanging in my study. She's all green and weird and not particularly detailed except for bizarre greyish skin tone. Her eyes and mouth and neck are all lines, her hair is one grey wisp that doesnt have much detail. I got the idea from the inside cover of Damien Rices' album 9, I just liked the simplicity of it, the expression and the dirty skin tone. The background probably doesnt even go but I had fun splotching cubes all over the background. It didnt require much thought it was just fun. It's very relaxing.
Simone de Beauvoirs' 'The Monologue' is really interesting. It's about a woman who is so used to the comforts of life and constantly being needed and appreciated that when the realisation comes, or her own paranoia makes her think this, that in fact the people she cared about didnt care about her she becomes bitter and twisted against life. The actual writing is very crude and reads on with interrupted punctuation, like one big unordered thought. As she spirals into madness the sentences get longer and full stops seem to evaporate. Its interesting to see what de Beauvoir was getting at, being given a position such as mother, or wife and then having it taken away so suddenly through death or infidelity, and she feels at a loss with what to do with herself.
I don't know what to read next when I finish all of the stories, I have loads that I'd like to.
I did get a bit offended earlier when I felt like I was boring my housemates when I watched Mastermind, we all have programmes that we like and don't like, unfortunately I enjoy this one, I like learning new stuff and answering questions when their asked. Oh well. It was only a programme.

It's late, Very late, I don't think I've stayed up this late sober for a long time. Spoke to an old friend who tells me I seem to have aged considerably in the last 8 months, spoke to him about Jess and he just told me to learn from it and move on. I'm not concerned with finding anyone at the moment, its not the be all and end all. Sure I'll miss all those coupley things but I can live without them and maybe the absence will let me appreciate it when it does come along. I'm just going to concentrate on my reading and my studies and work on myself rather than him.
I Had another long day at work, finishing an hour and a half later than anticipated, after till broke down and we had to go on manual trade, which is definately an experience, it made me appreciate things like computers that much more. I came home, flicked on radio 4 and did the crossword, my mind was still reeling from figures and product codes that focusing it into something constructive was the only way to stop me going mad.
Last night I could barely sleep. I just kept thinking and thinking and thinking and daydreaming and having dreams which I thought were real. I even imagined the sun coming up at one point when it was about 3 in the morning. I can feel something brewing in me, and it might not be necessarily be good so I have to keep talking and keep myself busy, I cant afford to lose it and go off on one. I just dont want to upset people. I wanted to cry last night but it wouldnt come out. I don't even really know what it was about, it was a general emalgamation of things.
Tomorow I'm going to lie-in, or get up early and read. Go for a walk on the beach and then come home and finish that bloody awful painting.

So me and Jess aren't even friends now. He goes to patch things up in his own special way, but I learn more about his character in one evening than I ever did when we were going out. I guess you need that distance. All I remember is crying and screaming on the streets of North end trying to tell him how much my friends mean to me, and that if he loved me then he'd not take something said in jest so seriously. But its over, and though I feel some sort of weight lifted, proud of myself for sticking up for myself, for once, telling him everything I had on my mind and I really did talk, I still feel gutted because I realised how much I put into this to work and now its gone. I'd like to be friends with him, but he has too many issues to sort out that I can deal with.
I don't really know how to describe how Im feeling, Lyn tells me to write it all out, all the ideas that I have, I don't mean the creative ones, I mean the ones that catch me unawares on a bus journey home and tell me I should do something less than favourable. Not nasty as such, just silly and idiotic. I keep feelings things, I don't know how to describe it, its kind of like not quite being here, if that makes any scrap of sense. I talk to my inner voice a lot more and imagine things which could never happen. I don't know how to articulate it without feeling stupid, or annoying or attention seeking. Its just worrying me a bit thats all and I dont really have anyone here to talk to about it.
I just feel all over the place.

I haven't really written for a very long time. I guess theres a lot that has gone on and a lot I'd rather forget about. I don't know if I ever mentioned Jess, the seemingly sensitive, artistic man that loved me but in the end became, or rather took off his mask to reveal an emotionally barren and narcissistic boy. We had a relationship that starts like most, full of those new romances, discovering things about each other and making plans for the future. He became the one who overwhelmed, planning ahead, declaring his love and then expecting me to return the phrase. It takes longer than that to love someone. I thought I'd fallen in love with him, but I realised how very far I had become from myself and my friends and now, though I look at him and occasionally the Jess I knew cracks out in one of his devil-may-care smiles and I feel like falling for him again, I know that particular Jess is gone. So on to new pastures. I'm not particularly looking, though the occasional glimpse has happened but I'm sensible enough not to get involved as certain factors permit me to. I know how much of a walkover I am so I'm trying to become the empowered female that I see in my other female friends who arent as doe eyed as I can be.
I've slacked in my reading, I've read only Orlando, and that was hard work, I need time ot think about it and digest it properly before I talk about it. I dont know anyone else who has read the book so I cant really talk about it. There's bound to be a forum somewhere. I'm now reading Simone DeBeavoirs' 'The Woman Destroyed', Ominous title but so far its interesting, its a series of three stories of three women with different situations. The interview in the back was really interesting too, it mentioned about her characterisation of the women in her books, that she never wanted any of them to embodie the women presented in 'The Second Sex' because that wasnt the point. I'll update you further when I've finished it. And about Orlando. And then onto catching up on my poetry books that I've bought. TS Eliot and then Swineburne on Patricias recommendation. I had a flick through earlier in Blackwells and so far I like it.
I havent really been writing, one of the bigger impact my previous relationship had on me. He just discouraged it because it was a part of my life that he couldnt understand, along with many other things that I eventually just stopped talking about. It was an awful thing to do, cover up parts of yourself but I was consumed by the emotions I was feeling with him that I would do most things to keep it that way. Now I'm not going to change for anyone. I advise my friends to kick me in the face if I do, ever again.
Life in the new house has been generally good, the house is quaint and pretty and the general dynamic of the house is going well, we havent had any major spats about anything, just the usual, where I get worried about people and ask people if they are alright too much. Which I have to stop because its annoying.
Well, I'll write more soon my dears, x

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—

I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

- Emily Dickinson


Now it means something for me too.



Had a hard session with Lyn today, where I couldnt physically speak or breathe. Everything in that bloody letter made sense. Every word. Things were missing but all that was there was so very poignant and I wish i could tell people how I feel in the same way that that letter did. It ordered things for me. I'm getting there. I'm getting there. Now all I need is the people I care about to see it through.

From now on this will be sorted. I havce to stop getting so comfortable in this life that I should not have until I've done everything I need to. I feel practically married, yet I get lonely when I don't wake up next to him. I'm going to slowly spend less time with him, or around him because otherwise things will break down with the people that I cherish. It's not that he;s bad for me, if anything, I've been happier these past few days because we've learned to handle each others low points and I'm not crying anymore. But I'm so looking forward to moving into my new house, even though some things will need to be smoothed out. I've become tidier here at J's, I don't feel like such a loose canon with things and i've got into a good routine when it comes to washing up, rather than 'leaving it til later'. So I guess I've had some off-site training, if you'd call it that. I just cant wait to move into somewhere I'll feel comfortable, I'm so excited. All the physical parts of the house can be fixed, and things will work out over time. I just need it to happen or I don't know what I'll do. I've let friends down so much recently and as harsh as it sounds it is because of him, I lvoe spending time with him but not at the cost of friends. He'll have to learn to spend a few nights without me, a few mornings without waking each other up and a few days without welcome homes. And I'll have to do without someone needing me, and taking care of them.