To listen and judge

A few nights ago I had an amazing night and I totally forgot to tell you about it properly - I think it only got a brief mention in a previous post full up of other irrelevant crap. You'll have to excuse my complete inability to stick to a topic with any conviction - I did warn you. In my mind, it has officially been dubbed the stoner rock night. It was after my epic day full of rallies, warehouse sales and all too many trams. So getting home was a beautiful moment.
Somehow CC and I ended up in her room, which was empty for the weekend because all her roomies took a siesta home (home home, not boarding house home:d Soz), draped over chairs, desks and beds respectively with the lights off, blinds down, door closed, and basement indie obscurity turned up loud. You know when you get those surreal moments when you feel like you're floating in limbo between physical reality and something slightly beyond that? Lying there in the dark was just like that, listening to Birds of Tokyo and Cold War Kids. Like being stoned, without the weed. It was just a crazy, self-realisation moment. Extended moment - it went on for about three hours.
Hayesy walked in at one point, light spilling in from the hallway when she opened the door. Awakward much - you could hear the unspoken WTF??? in the air. But who gives a fuck? If she doesn't gel with the music, her loss. :D
We ended up with a bit of My Chemical Romance, metalling out. Like I said: epic. XD

This would all sound so much cooler if I had a nifty British accent.

Back again. I'm mulling over my plummeting ability to write accurate, interesting pieces of text. Used to be good -have taken a nosedive. Now I know how the plane that landed in the Hudson feels. And sinking... I used to be organised, too, you know. You wouldn't believe it, but I was. I used to hand homework in early (yes, geek, we've established that), used to always have my permission forms in on time, used to be neat and organised to the point, embarrassingly, of being anal. It's called OCD. Don't be mean.
I don't actually have OCD (except for price tags - I always have to rip them off as soon as I see them. Something about them just makes me crazy. Maybe because I'm broke? Freud could have afield day with me.) Life might actually be easier if I did have OCD. Then at least things would get done. Problem is, I don't, and I'm too laid back for my own good. The Queen of Procrastination returns with an even bigger, shinier crown. Example 1: this year I'm supposed to do work experience. This shit takes a long time to organise, apparently. I'm not giving myself much leeway. I now have nine days in which to call several places, get their permission, fill out/hand in the forms, complete a workshop and generally psyche myself into getting off my fat ass and actually doing something. Of course, since this is me we're talking about, I'll end up being one of those people that has to work for my dad for work experience because I left it so late that i have no other option. I just always seem to have something better to do - wash my hair, watch Supernatural, sing very loudly and very badly along with My Chem Rom, officially the best band to metal to in the history of the universe. Painting my nails also takes precedence over getting my future in order. In fact, the rest of my life is rather low on the priority list. I can't seem to get out of the rut of living in the moment. Sounds fun. Is actually extremely inconvenient. The way my whacked out logic works, I could get his by a truck whilst walking to Corner with CC this arvo. Hell, I could get both legs broken by an anorexic daddy's girl on a moped and never walk again. Make the most of the moment, I say.

Power to the People

It's the middle of fifth period english and I'm not entirely sure why the inspiration has struck me to write to my fishies now when I have a free period next, but hey, it's almost the end of the school day, so the sooner we share the love, the better :D I have found (courtesy of CC - arigato gozaimasu!) the official Most Awesom Band Of The Year (So Far): they're called Biffy Claro and they are the ultimate Scottish rock. How can you hate that adorable accent? And I swear to you they do not run around commando in kilts. We are beyond that now. They sing the song Mountains, with which I am currently enamored - blame the lingo on the vocab list being written on the board. I am almost that big a geek, but proud to say, not quite.
This is also the perfect opportuinity to share with you my perplexity here. I've discovered a pattern and I can't for the life of me figure out what the basis of it is. Has anybody else noticed that almsot every P.E. teacher they've ever been bossed around by is a sadist of the highest degree? I mean, ten minutes of lunges and burpies? Where does that get fun?
Which is exactly why I have made a pact with myself. The moment school is out, every afternoon, I am throwing off the mantle of monotony and doing whatever the fuck I want. In case you hadn't noticed, I have authority issues. Don't laugh - it's a serious affliction, and can cause some very drastic complications when you have a terminal case, like mine. It's a disability. So tonight, I have plans. Who cares if it's a Monday night? It's my Monday night.

Procrastination has its upsides

Sunday night: the time of regrets and reflection. You know when you finally sit down after like, a huge weekend and think, well,actually, shit, I haven't done anything I actually set out to do. But what the hell. I did a truckload of other random crap instead. And life goes on. It's all good. Par example, I started out my weekend with my Friday night hope post. Strange, now that I look back on it. I think I was kind of tripping out. On Saturday I got up at nine o'clock (on a saturday morning! Sacrilege! Blame Sazzle - she wanted to leave early, so we all had to get up. Don't you hate that?) to catch a tram for 40mins out to a warehouse sale in Brunswick. Retro. In true RJ fashion, I bought a pile of junk that seemed like a good idea at the time... but has since crashed and burned like the aftermath of a really good party. The three of us then returned to the city - Sazzle, CC and yours truly. The gay marriage rited rally was on, so what the hell? Why not join in? I think Sazzle could give us several reasons to that effect, but we were on a roll, so I spent a large part of my Saturday surrounded by men in wedding dresses, Priscilla Queen of the Desert wannabes and men whose vocal cords have never adapted past puberty. Fun times. Ate altogether too much pizza and ice cream, relearnt how to ice-skate (badly) at Docklands - and paid the price with severely bruised knees today - and ended up in CCs room til the wee hours of the morning, lights off, tripping out on obscure basement punk and random Scottish rock. My idea of an effin good day, actually.
Of course, after that, my Sunday was bound to be a dud - you know, the balance of karma and all. And I have a maths test tomorrow - which I haven't studied for (please, God, don't let Mr Neeson be reading this). I'm counting on maths not having any place in my future, because otherwise, Sweet Jesus I am fucked.
I do have a really cool photo collection on my wall though - the side effect of a day's worth of procrastination.

It's the freedom, people

You know what I've decided? the best day of the week, by far, by leagues, has got to be Friday. I mean, I know everybody says it's Saturday or whatever because there's this great party and he got smashed and she fell down the stairs and that random guy that nobody knows ate every cupcake in the kitchen and munted on the doormat. But see, Friday is the day when anything is possible. Once school's out, it's suddenly all there, laid out beofre your eyes like a carpet of sequins leading up to the nightclub door and the hot bouncer therein. It's like, you don't have reality to sully your dreams. You can fill your heart to bursting with shiny happy hope because the party has yet to turn out to be a dud where you spend all your time trying to keep your wasted friend from spewing up yesterday's sandwich all over the DJ. It hasn't happened yet. So you can sit there and dream the fabulous dream like all the starlets in Hollywood. your turn is just around the corner, and you have yet to find out that what lies around there is actually the overflowing Dumpster behind the scungy Chinese restaurant.

Don't laugh at karma

I'm writing to you in the kind of slaphappy joy that comes at one o'clock in the morning when you realise that your first two periods tomorrow are FREES! The Lord exists and He has mercy. I've just watched three episodes of Supernatural in a row - Season Four, when the angels start coming out. You can probably tell. Hey, a girl can dream, right? I'm cultivating the ability to pull all-nighters without passing out or taking caffeine shots the next day. It's proving to be a useful skill (especially when you have a science assignment the next day that you haven't started yet. Not that that's relevant in any way, Ms Lee. Ahem.) I'm still getting the hang of it. Last few nights I've had to rely on midnight milo refuelings but tonight, I'm in for the long haul - cold turkey. I feel like a sniper in Beirut or something. Diggin' in for the night. Hoo-ah. Today - yesterday, as of an hour and twenty ago - was one of the harder functioning days. I didn't sleep nutil four thrity a.m., the absolute no-go-zone hour for all-nighters. Too early to still be revved when you bounce upagain a few hours later, too late to get even a half-assed contingent of sleep under your belt. It's all or nothing, and four a.m. is smack bang in the middle: nada. The dead zone. It was a fatal mistake - especially considering we did ice-skating in P.E. Does anybody else find that suspicious?

Hola mes amigos!

I'm listening to Kiss And Make Up by Funeral For A Friend while I write this and deciding that it is a very good song, for the record. I'm having a fad with band merchandise atm. I bought a New Found Glory badge from Retrostar, which is officially the coolest store in Melbourne :D Anyway, back on track... I'm just writing to warn you that if this blog post ends in a long line of unintelligible letters and punctuation symbols, it's because I've fallen asleep with my head on the keyboard. It's my own fault, I suppose, if we're going to be honest, though I'd much rather blame someone else for it. It's a bit hard this time though, since it was undeniably of my own volition that I stayed up until four o'clock last night, writing my music guru a frickin' novel (although it was supposed to be a letter) and watching Supernatural. In the morning. What a rebel. Shucks.
I'm slowly learning Spanish by watching Supernatural (Sobrenatural) on TuTV. Lol. Tu mi preguntas, carino? Has anyone ever been so pointlessly oriented? It's a hobby. I like to think of it as an endearing quirk. Like learning Hamlet's soliloquy off by heart. Completely irrelevant, because aside from random trivia nights which sane people avoid at all costs in the first place (bad experiences, don't go there), it's never going to serve a purpose in reality.
But thenpracticality's never been my strong suit.

One can only hope

I've been reading. Again. Big shock. In case I haven't mentioned it, I'm the biggest book nerd that ever walked the planet. Not useful stuff either. Random fiction books that have little or no impact/relevance to my life atm, but they make me feel better, and I've decided that, seeing it's my life, I'm entitled to do whatever the fuck I want with it. So I will. On this note, I've read two books in the past two days: Maureen McCarthy's A Rose By Any Other Name, and Melina Marchetta's Looking for Alibrandi. Technically I've already read Looking for Alibrandi (eight times - oops XD) but it's worth it. Anyway, they've made me think. The one thing that everyone strives for above all else in life is happiness, right? We scramble for money because we think that if only we were rich, we could have everything that we ever wanted, and that would equate to happiness. We sell ourselves short in relationships because we think, if only this person will love me then I am worthy of happiness. We starve ourselves and run ourselves into the ground because if only we were so fit and so beautiful then we would be happy. Of course we would. Unequivocally. Right?
It's struck me that I am an unambitious person. Or maybe I'm just not desperate to be overwhelmingly happy. Maybe because it always seems to me like that level of elation is so strong that it's going to fizzle out, and everything will seem darker afterwards.
Don't get me wrong. I'm very into the sparkler kind of happiness. I know that even though everything gets plunged into twilight for a bit, you're always going to light up another one, even at the most unexpected moments. Maybe it's just that I don't expect it to last forever. All those people out there who gamble everything on that kind of happiness and then it fails, they're left with nothing. Everyone always says that I am too laid-back for my own good. I am the epitome of going with the flow. Not always a good thing. Especially when exams are a week away and you've decided your time would be better spent trawling deviantart for amazing inspiring photographs instead of studying. But it also means that I've never wound myself up really tightly, never pinned every hope that I have on one thing. Like my best friend from my old school, Cloudy, has set his sights on being a paramedic. That's great, and if he gets there, kudos for him. But I've always been one of those people whose life would be absolutely perfect as long as I have a good supply of milo, a house with more than one room and a car - no matter how much of a bomb it is. I'm going to end up in a backwater town in a shabby shack house with garage sale furniture and a crapped-out lemon of a car twenty years past its use-by date and a cat that eats more than I do because I'll have spent my food money on a CD. And this would sound completely abhorrent to most people, exactly what they're trying to avoid. But to me it sounds perfect. As long as I can write, and it rains and there's an evening breeze, I'll be - maybe not consumed with happiness. But if there's one thing that's better than happiness, it's hope. Having something to look forward to beats happiness every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Long as I've got hope, I'm sweet on life. Chuu.