I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I will not make perfect sims I cant help it I cant help it I cant help it I cant heeeeeelp iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
nk
Saturday, 31 March 2012
Friday, 30 March 2012
I swear this is the last one.
I need to start turning some of this catharsis into a respectable legal essay sometime today anyway. I deserve an award in the ninja art of procrastination. 14 days turned into 6 days turned into fucking hell I've got 2 days to write six THOUSAND words. Which doesn't seem so bad in the sense that I can pull two thousand words out of my ass no sweat for the various misuses of the internet I subscribe to AND almost as easily manufacture page upon page of chapters of a book that, if I keep deleting the way I do, will never see light of day until I'm six feet under.
But cutting out the snark is potentially an issue. I'm 99 percent snark. Take that away and you most certainly do not have a billionaire genius playboy philanthropist.
Sorry. Excited for the Avengers.
And procrastinating, again.
There needs to be some sort of manufactured essence of motivation that can be bottled and sold to the hapless masses. I'd buy it.
Off to attempt work I suppose. Just felt oddly chatty today. For one way convo's with the internet anyway. Heaven help any one who tries to talk to me IRL.
Ja ne.
nk
But cutting out the snark is potentially an issue. I'm 99 percent snark. Take that away and you most certainly do not have a billionaire genius playboy philanthropist.
Sorry. Excited for the Avengers.
And procrastinating, again.
There needs to be some sort of manufactured essence of motivation that can be bottled and sold to the hapless masses. I'd buy it.
Off to attempt work I suppose. Just felt oddly chatty today. For one way convo's with the internet anyway. Heaven help any one who tries to talk to me IRL.
Ja ne.
nk
Desynchronisation
It's definitely the caffeine high.
You know, I can't even spell caffeine without the spellchecker. But then again, I cant spell field, their, successfully, business, and a plethora of other ridiculously simple words without some sort of electronic thingamajiggy anyway. Or without scribbling a thousand variations into my desk to see which one 'looks kinda right'. And I have a cambridge certificate in Advanced English. HAH. I also can't spell a word verbally, bet you didn't know that. I have to write it down. It's so bad its not even funny.
Anyway, being spell-challenged (of the English, not the Muggle variety) aside, I was just thinking...
I've changed a lot since the old days. Some of the ol'pallies have adamantly defended that it's for the better. Age and college have softened me up.
Maybe thats the problem. The messing around with shit. I don't mean to get all deep and meaningful on your asses here, fates forbid that I go all hipster-darkside, but you have to consider the possibilities. What if its like tipping over the wrong domino in a carefully laid out sequence of a bajillion dominos? And instead of neatly tipping that last domino in a little pool of ketchup in your friendly neighbourhood McDonalds, the sequence gets jacked somewhere by the doors?
Not that I don't enjoy being slightly more chilled out, but tightly wound me had shit sorted. She probably wasn't very much liked, but she had shit in line, and being liked was never much of a concern anyway. Still not a concern. Maybe I just miss rules. Not that I followed them most of the time... I was always more a 'do as I say' than a 'do as I do' type leader anyway. Not the best course of action (dad would definitely disapprove) but hell, which one of us actually knew what we were doing at that age?
I wonder if admitting that gives me cosmic paragon points or something...
Maybe I just miss authority. Or responsibility.
I think I miss exceeding expectations with the minimal amount of effort on my part. Or meeting them, at the very least, instead of wondering if I'm flying wahahaaaaay below the radar.
I wonder if admitting that gives me cosmic paragon points or something...
Maybe I just miss authority. Or responsibility.
I think I miss exceeding expectations with the minimal amount of effort on my part. Or meeting them, at the very least, instead of wondering if I'm flying wahahaaaaay below the radar.
I wonder if I tipped over one too many wrong dominos.
I can't spell definitely or disapprove either apparently.
How the hell did I ace those exams.
nk
Caffeinated and Feeling Craptastic
I've never been an insomniac. Not involuntarily anyway. Though, I'm not sure if you can even be an insomniac voluntarily. Can you? Or is that just a casual self torture thing?
On second thought, don't answer that.
I haven't slept in at least 24 hours, I've had to dose my system with coffee for the first time since... ever. I don't even like the shit. And my inner health nut job is just dying to pop the vitamins, but I'm a not sure that if I take it with caffeine in the pipes, it wont explode my liver or something. Medication has too many If's and But's anyway. I'd turn to googling symptoms, but the last time I did that the fucking thing told me that I was bleeding in my stomach. When all that happened was I that I'd had some suspicious spring rolls. Yes, I was projectile vomiting my guts out, but I wasn't fucking dying. Had me all panicked for shits and giggles. And this was on the bloody NHS site as well.
Yeah. So, basically, I'm a no go on the sleep-o.
Gah.
Im not so ridiculously self absorbed to even begin to consider my life as 'messed up' in any way, as the more melodramatic in nature are wont to do, but I'm not so stubborn as not to acknowledge that something is definitely malfunctioning under the hood. I dish out advice to the little personality clone I call a brother with the speed normally associated with explaining to the listening world what my problem is with sparkely vampires, but the minute I turn head shrink on myself I draw perpetual blanks.
So it's 9 in the morning. And I'm listening to good old John Williams soundtracks because its the only thing i can realistically stomach. Lyrics have been a bit of a temper trigger recently, even the good ones. So to the wordless classics I turn. It helps that they're ridiculously good soundtracks to ridiculously good movies though.
Until Spotify decides to interrupt Dual Of The Fates with a Titanic advertisement. I'm not sure how bringing back this movie in 3D is going to make it any better. (Will they see the ice-berg in 3D?) I think my life was better off as a Titanic virgin, 'you haven't really lived until you've seen this movie' my hideously eye-bagged ass. And now they're sic-ing this -pardon the expression- shipwreck on a new generation? Not that this generation is untarnished by shit, ohhh no. Our paltry excuses for musical prodigies saw to that with frightening efficiency.
Anyway.
I think somewhere in my life there was a divergence in my little personalised version of Robert Frost's road in the woods. Only the options were never properly considered. I'm not sure when exactly I gave the finger to the road less taken, but I'm pretty sure it happened in the past couple of years or so. I've never been one for self doubt, I've never really been one for doubt if you think about it. So something has to have gone sideways for me to wake up and feel un-me, hasn't it? I'd be hard pressed to put a finger on it though. The last couple of years haven't exactly been a cake walk.
This is the part where I rue the fact that my life isn't a movie, and I cant have a tastefully done montage with some Bob Dylan music to timeskip over my seemingly tiny, yet dramatically accumulative problems to the part where Morgan Freeman tells me what to do to get this freakshow back on the road.
Movies are easier. Books are easier. Don't even get me started on the video games. Saving the world because only YOU can, with the wise sage guy who you latch onto as a parent figure because your [insert beloved family member here] died, with that snarky, roguish, sufficiently mysterious, fans-will-write-frustrated-fan-fiction-about-you sidekick, and your assorted band of lovable class-A nut jobs sounds a hell of a lot easier than trying to figure out some semblance of direction for the next two months.
Or maybe I just need a really good kick in the butt.
The references in this post are getting out of hand, anyway.
I think I can safely take my vitamins now. Over and out.
nk
On second thought, don't answer that.
I haven't slept in at least 24 hours, I've had to dose my system with coffee for the first time since... ever. I don't even like the shit. And my inner health nut job is just dying to pop the vitamins, but I'm a not sure that if I take it with caffeine in the pipes, it wont explode my liver or something. Medication has too many If's and But's anyway. I'd turn to googling symptoms, but the last time I did that the fucking thing told me that I was bleeding in my stomach. When all that happened was I that I'd had some suspicious spring rolls. Yes, I was projectile vomiting my guts out, but I wasn't fucking dying. Had me all panicked for shits and giggles. And this was on the bloody NHS site as well.
Yeah. So, basically, I'm a no go on the sleep-o.
Gah.
Im not so ridiculously self absorbed to even begin to consider my life as 'messed up' in any way, as the more melodramatic in nature are wont to do, but I'm not so stubborn as not to acknowledge that something is definitely malfunctioning under the hood. I dish out advice to the little personality clone I call a brother with the speed normally associated with explaining to the listening world what my problem is with sparkely vampires, but the minute I turn head shrink on myself I draw perpetual blanks.
So it's 9 in the morning. And I'm listening to good old John Williams soundtracks because its the only thing i can realistically stomach. Lyrics have been a bit of a temper trigger recently, even the good ones. So to the wordless classics I turn. It helps that they're ridiculously good soundtracks to ridiculously good movies though.
Until Spotify decides to interrupt Dual Of The Fates with a Titanic advertisement. I'm not sure how bringing back this movie in 3D is going to make it any better. (Will they see the ice-berg in 3D?) I think my life was better off as a Titanic virgin, 'you haven't really lived until you've seen this movie' my hideously eye-bagged ass. And now they're sic-ing this -pardon the expression- shipwreck on a new generation? Not that this generation is untarnished by shit, ohhh no. Our paltry excuses for musical prodigies saw to that with frightening efficiency.
Anyway.
I think somewhere in my life there was a divergence in my little personalised version of Robert Frost's road in the woods. Only the options were never properly considered. I'm not sure when exactly I gave the finger to the road less taken, but I'm pretty sure it happened in the past couple of years or so. I've never been one for self doubt, I've never really been one for doubt if you think about it. So something has to have gone sideways for me to wake up and feel un-me, hasn't it? I'd be hard pressed to put a finger on it though. The last couple of years haven't exactly been a cake walk.
This is the part where I rue the fact that my life isn't a movie, and I cant have a tastefully done montage with some Bob Dylan music to timeskip over my seemingly tiny, yet dramatically accumulative problems to the part where Morgan Freeman tells me what to do to get this freakshow back on the road.
Movies are easier. Books are easier. Don't even get me started on the video games. Saving the world because only YOU can, with the wise sage guy who you latch onto as a parent figure because your [insert beloved family member here] died, with that snarky, roguish, sufficiently mysterious, fans-will-write-frustrated-fan-fiction-about-you sidekick, and your assorted band of lovable class-A nut jobs sounds a hell of a lot easier than trying to figure out some semblance of direction for the next two months.
Or maybe I just need a really good kick in the butt.
The references in this post are getting out of hand, anyway.
I think I can safely take my vitamins now. Over and out.
nk
Thursday, 22 March 2012
Revelations
I always thought religion was pointless, but it wasn't until i went to church that i discovered that religion could be scary.
nk
nk
Wednesday, 7 March 2012
20
So. Hit the big 2-O last night. Last night? Yesterday. Had a good night. Or so people keep telling me. I cant remember anything that happened after dinner.
Aside from the fact that I say ridiculous garbage when uhh... under the influence.
Its funny. I went from being completely and utterly miserable on the 5th and over the bloody moon on the 6th. Im not sure if it's something to do with the crazy amounts of happy that I get when I get presents, or if it's just that happy thing that your brain injects into... itself? No wait. That your brain tells your gland thingys to send to the brain to make you feel happy when you eat chocolate. Or in my case, stupid amounts of chocolate cake. Was it serotonin? I think its serotonin.
And mummy wanted me to be a doctor. HAH.
It is quite worrying however that I managed to ace biology, and yet come up with the above sort of masterful observations on the human brain.
Anyway, back to being bipolar.
I dunno. I was a little bummed that the whole birthday thing would be away from family (and friends, but you buggers insidiously wormed your way into my life so you count as family anyway) at first, but as i sat down for dinner (the lamb was amazeballs btw), as I sat down for dinner, I realised that you're constantly making family.
And I say family on purpose.
Anyone can make friends. The minute you make family, you know you've got something, and it's gold.
So to my massive family back home, and my strange amalgamation of new and old family here, I had an amazing couple of days to celebrate the day the world begrudgingly allowed me to exist. And I wouldn't trade any of it for anything.
Except maybe superpowers.
Coz they're cool.
nk
Aside from the fact that I say ridiculous garbage when uhh... under the influence.
Its funny. I went from being completely and utterly miserable on the 5th and over the bloody moon on the 6th. Im not sure if it's something to do with the crazy amounts of happy that I get when I get presents, or if it's just that happy thing that your brain injects into... itself? No wait. That your brain tells your gland thingys to send to the brain to make you feel happy when you eat chocolate. Or in my case, stupid amounts of chocolate cake. Was it serotonin? I think its serotonin.
And mummy wanted me to be a doctor. HAH.
It is quite worrying however that I managed to ace biology, and yet come up with the above sort of masterful observations on the human brain.
Anyway, back to being bipolar.
I dunno. I was a little bummed that the whole birthday thing would be away from family (and friends, but you buggers insidiously wormed your way into my life so you count as family anyway) at first, but as i sat down for dinner (the lamb was amazeballs btw), as I sat down for dinner, I realised that you're constantly making family.
And I say family on purpose.
Anyone can make friends. The minute you make family, you know you've got something, and it's gold.
So to my massive family back home, and my strange amalgamation of new and old family here, I had an amazing couple of days to celebrate the day the world begrudgingly allowed me to exist. And I wouldn't trade any of it for anything.
Except maybe superpowers.
Coz they're cool.
nk
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