beautiful monsters

Don't ya hate

saying goodbye?

boys that break up with you but still keep kissing you?

and even more than that, the fact that you want them to keep kissing you?

when you think that your benefit hasn’t gone through for some reason, and then you realise that actually it did go through, and you’ve already spent it all on alcohol?

when you work your ass off for weeks on an essay, and you pass, just, and you write another essay in a last minute panic the day that it’s due and get an A+?!

when you need to download a couple of files, but for some obscure reason the Microsoft website comes up all in Arabic and you can’t find a button to click to change it to English?

when your flatmates have friends staying... and even your flatmate’s friends have friends staying... and when they said so and so is coming up to Wellington, can he stay here, you thought it was just for a couple of nights, not indefinitely... and you cleaned the kitchen and scrubbed the floor yesterday... and the day before... but you wake up in the morning and the entire kitchen is covered with dirty dishes and spilled drinks and smears of unidentifiable substances... and you weren’t even here last night, you were at work, doing the dishes there... And everyone else is in bed and hung over... so you pick your way gingerly across the floor, and try not to gag as you clear a space to make your breakfast?

Don’t you hate that?

Yeah. Me too.

Gulp...

I just came out at work. No, not as queer, most of the country already knows that. I just came out as someone who suffers from a mental illness. I wasn’t actually there to see everyone’s reactions, I just wrote it in a newsletter, and took a day off.

I’m really nervous now. But what’s the worst that can happen? They could say, we don’t think you should keep working with the children. I can imagine them saying it in the same tone of voice the woman at the accommodation service used, after I got kicked out of Weir House for being fucked up, and the Warden had already phoned through to the service to warn her, so when I got there the director came out and said "I’m sorry, I don’t think we really have anything appropriate for you, dear." Well, I found a flat anyway, no thanks to any of the university support stuff, and I lived there for 18 months, and it was great. But it hurt, hearing her say that. And it’ll hurt again, if I have to go through the same kind of shit.

Let’s just hope they’ve been watching the ads on TV!

I want to be mad with courage, lost in living
I want to be crazy with passion, find myself in everybody
When I grow up I just want to be me...
– Mahinarangi Tocker

Democracy?

So many people are against this war... sometimes I think the only people we have to convince are George and Tony.

Blair makes important asylum announcement: "I’m checking myself into one - I think it’s best for all of us don’t you..."

George W Bush plans his own UN multi-media presentation: "multi-media means I get to use crayons AND a cut out potato" grinned Bush, cretinously.

George W Bush tells Iraq: "your enemy is ruling you". A spokesman for the rest of the world said "I think we can all identify with that George."

Bush seeks UN support for "US Does Whatever It Likes" Resolution.

It’s only inevitable if you think it is.

Decay

Are there any Scumsters out there? If so, a very warm welcome to my blog! Nau mai, haere mai. Make yourselves at home, grab a beanbag, you’ll find hot chocolate supplies in the cupboard. While you’re here, check out my list of 100 things. Hope you had a good trip back, and got some sleep at last!!!

Random

Close to the surface it is soft and crumbly, warmed by the afternoon sun. Dark brown with nutrients, rich organisms. Beetles, worms, bacteria, seething on a microscopic scale.

Further down, rough with stones. Pallid clay that clings to everything. Old nails, crumbling with rust. Jagged glass.

It is cold.

Under the layers of earth, something begins to move.

*

A man hovers in a dim corner of the room, soundless, watchful. The young woman is in the final stages of labour. She clings to the side of a chair, the pale bone of her knuckles contrasts with the pinks and reds, blood rushing to the surface, her face burning, sweating. She cries out, an animal sound that is beyond her control, it rushes out of her, wild and tangled. Hair clings to her cheeks in dark strands. Her eyes are stormy. An older woman dips a cloth in a bowl of cool water, and mops away the film of sweat. She murmurs in a soothing voice. The young woman cries out again, and the cry condenses into words.

In the corner, the man reaches out, as though he wants to go to her. Then he shakes his head, and rushes from the room.

Hahaha

Q. How many therapists does it take to change a lightbulb?
A. One, but only if the lightbulb wants to change.

Q. How many feminists does it take to change a lightbulb?
A. That’s not funny.

Posted by Fionnaigh at March 1, 2003 08:24 PM