This song…AGAIN?!
A friend once told me that you really know you like a song when you first put it on repeat. This is all good and well until you’ve had it on repeat for upwards of thirty minutes and then have to start thinking about planning its funeral. Yes, I have killed many songs and albums in my time, so much so that I haven’t been able to listen to that Foo Fighter’s CD since January 05.
I don’t know if it’s my love for the song or just pure laziness that makes me lead the song to the slaughter but I can’t seem to stop. If I’m busy doing something, there’s now way in hell I’m going to get up every few minutes to change the song or album over. So this in effect leads me to push the dreaded ‘repeat’ button. I really should do something about it otherwise I’m just going to keep going through CDs by the handful and I have accumulated a healthy collection of CDs over the years too. Maybe I should sell them or at least put them on more of a rotation.
It’s even getting hard to listen to my Ipod because I’m just sick of all the songs. It doesn’t matter how many times I try and rearrange the playlists, the effort is futile. This has all led me to delete a large proportion of songs from itunes and let me tell you the number of listenable songs remaining is quickly dwindling. And note to self: never again turn to the radio as a substitute, they kill songs faster than I do.
On the topic of music, the OC is on in the background here (It’s the final where Marissa dies) and they have a cover of ‘Hallelujah’ playing in the last scene. I quite like this song in a disturbing sense, although I still haven’t been able to work out whether it’s about King David or if it’s a twisted love song with religious connotations. Jeff Buckley does my favourite version of the song and Rufus Wainwright’s version isn’t too bad either, except his voice trials a bit. This song has been played in just about every depressing scene of any movie or T.V show EVER. Thankfully I don’t actually own a copy of it, or ‘Hallelujah’ would probably have earned itself a plot in the graveyard by now.
It’s what o’clock?
It’s just hit 3:30am here and I’ve just finished my assignment. Feels kind of strange, I was expecting this one to be an all-nighter, looks like I’ll get some sleep after all…Well at least I will when all the caffeine wears off.
I’m surrounded by sheets and textbooks; it’s amazing how much of a mess you can make when you’re busy. I didn’t even realise the magnitude of the mess that I had created until I hit the ‘print’ button, swung around in the computer chair with a relieved/satisfied look on my face only to find my dopey expression vanish when I found all that crap staring up at me.
I’m so going to feel like crap tomorrow. I hate being tired at school, especially when it’s because I’ve been working all night. It’s a pain, I struggle to stay awake in class, have trouble holding a conversation and I walk around all day with that sleepy look on my face that just make me look as if I’m stoned.
Argh, I should probably go and drag myself off now…and I guess do something about the mess. And this is probably full of typos and poor grammar. Meh.
Hey, umm…what’s wrong with your ear?
My ear is infected again…the piercing on the top of my right ear just does not want to heal. It’s pretty gross, my ear is swollen and red and weeping. I guess my body just doesn’t take well to piercings, the one in my ear is a reoccurring problem, my tongue got infected and put me on a course of antibiotics, and I had to pierce my belly twice because it rejected and left me with some nasty scar tissue. While I have retired from the piercing game, sometimes I just feel like taking them all out.
The problem with having piercings and anyone who has one knows this, is the ‘like did it hurt?’ question. Now I have to admit it, I am guilty of asking this myself. I was too caught up in the moment and before I knew it the words just came flooding out. As soon as I said it I knew I had committed the ultimate piercing sin. The question in itself is stupid; it’s like asking someone with a hangnail if it hurts.
There’s only one thing that fires me up more than people asking if piercings hurt, the people that say they in fact DIDN’T hurt. Oh please, spare me. Unless you have no feeling in that area or were inebriated at the time, your piercing hurt, I don’t care how much you smugly insist that you ‘didn’t feel a thing’. I know that everyone has different pain thresholds and whatnot, but I can sure as hell say that shoving a piece of metal through your skin certainly doesn’t tickle. By saying that the shoving of the metal didn’t hurt doesn’t make you look tough or hardcore, it just makes you look stupid.
To some degree ALL piercings hurt, whether the pain only lasted for a second or you’ve forgotten about the event, and thus the pain. It’s time to get over yourself people and admit the facts…or maybe it’s just me.
Frustrated much?
Today I have made the conscious decision to stay indoors in an effort to try and get some work done. And as I sit here on one of my ‘study breaks’ I have realised that I have chosen the wrong day to become a hermit. I approached today thinking it would be a good chance to get things done, I mean it’s the middle of winter so there’s not much to do anyway because it’s cold, and I would also have the house to myself, so therfore there would be no distractions.
You can just imagine the shock on my sleepy scrunched up face when I awoke to find a big bright yellow thing beaming at me from my window. While I was internally furious at the weather, I tried to remain unperturbed, and after showering, giving the sky another look of disgust…and then another, I sat down to study.
Half an hour later, I was going full steam ahead until I was interrupted by an all too familiar sound. The sound my friends, was the piercing and consistent bark of my dog. Now I’m all for animals and whatnot, hell I don’t even eat meat, but there is nothing more annoying in the WORLD than the bark that this dog has. Now after putting up with it for ten minutes or so, it became evident that he wasn’t going to stop. I peeled myself out of my computer chair and attempted to shut him up. We have a mutual hate/hate relationship and I just know that he chooses his timing. He knows I can’t hack it on my own, so he waits. He waits until he’s got me cornered.
After numerous "shut up Rocky"s later, he cracked me. He knew it, I knew it and the goddamn stupid sun probably knew it too. I gave him one of those bone-shaped dog biscuit things that smells like god knows what, and he trotted off. And while he did stop braking, the only thought I had in my head was: He had won.
Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way (I’ve closed the curtains so that I can fool myself into thinking it’s gloomy out and fed my now snoring dog) I can finally concentrate.
I took this picture of my dogs yesterday when I was feeling a little more loving towards them. Don’t be fooled, the one in the back is the neighbourhood cat-killer and the one in the front will bark at his own shadow.
And I also took it upon myself to take photographic evidence of this fateful day as I am sure the sky will turn against me on the weekend and the dull grey clouds will make a comeback. Yes, I am bitter.
Out with the old and in with the new?
The bed: you spend most of your nights with it, you wake up to it in the morning and sometimes when you’re really drained, you visit it in the afternoon. So it comes to no surprise when people say ‘there’s nothing like sleeping in your own bed’. I have come to strongly agree with this saying however up until a week ago I was still sleeping in a single bed. I’d grown accustomed to it, the size was not an issue, the gentle creaking sound it made when you first got on it became endearing. Yes, I had become a bit too attached to my little old bed.
I had finally made the decision to part ways with it and upgrade to a new queen size bed. It suited my room, was a perfect fit and was delivered and set up for free. Suddenly, my old single bed was forgotten as the new one sat in front of me, filling the room with that new furniture smell.
That night, as I excitedly jumped into my new bed I came to the conundrum of deciding which side to sleep on. I’ve never had to make this decision before, as while I have slept in beds of this size, it had always involved a second person and it was usually their bed. I eventually chose the left side as this was the closest side to me and settled down to watch some T.V before I drifted off. It didn’t take long for me to realise that there was a large, unfilled space to my right, where the blankets weren’t messed up and the pillow sat perfectly unblemished. Nothing has ever made me feel so single in my life. Ever.
The next morning I found myself sprawled out diagonally and by the morning after that I had worked my way up to horizontal status. Being the still and quiet sleeper that I thought I was, this came as a bit of a surprise. So in an effort to combat my restlessness, the night after that I slept in the middle of the bed, with both pillows piled on top of each other.
This was fine until I found myself awake at 1am in the morning, with blankets on the floor, head facedown in the pillows, sweat formulating on my forehead and my body positioned somewhat like a dead starfish. I have no idea what I was dreaming about, but I blame the bed.
This all lead me to curiously wonder where my old perfect-fit bed had disappeared to (and whether I should give my ex-boyfriend a call), however not one to give up, I gave the giant bed another go. A week later, I seemed to have found the perfect formula: one pillow (the other one hidden so that I can’t be confronted with my singleness), sleeping in the middle of the bed (again to avoid my singleness) and sleeping on my side. So far it’s been working, lets just hope it stays that way for the sake of all single people out there.
Yay or Nay?
It’s that time again…The time where you find yourself staying up at all hours of the night, just because you can. It’s the time where your normal routine gets a culture shock, where night becomes day, day becomes night and where you become so hazy that you don’t know what day it is. Yes, it’s the School holidays.
Being a year twelve student going into her final term of secondary education, this means that this is my last break before my HSC. Now, after getting through all the pressures and assessments that I was bombarded with last term, it is expected that these holidays will be just that, holidays. A time to breathe and relax until the whirlwind picks up again. While this all sounds so acceptable, I am faced with one problem: holiday homework. To add insult to injury, I also have another two assessments to be completed and study notes written for each subject.
Upon the arrival of these two weeks of ‘holidays’ I was faced with some options. I could procrastinate like I usually do and go into panic mode the day before school comes back where my hand rebels against me because it has forgotten how to write, or I could formulate a disgustingly organised routine and get things done accordingly.
I would like to say that the jury is still out on this one, but judging by the fact that I spent most of my night doing nothing in particular, that I didn’t wake up until 1:30pm and the fact that when I did finally wake up, I thought it was Tuesday, the verdict doesn’t look good.
