I've dreamt of this haunt, The ghosts of 1666

The hazy lecture halls, Lund cathedral in wisps.

I think my memory is getting worse. I lose names and faces and facts and dates. The tip of my tongue is becoming a place I visit far too often.

More lists maybe?

1. Blog more
2. Read more
3. Learn more
4. Get out of your damn comfort zone you big pussy!

No I don't, I need somebody to blame!

"So one day somebody asks you how you feel,
And instead of telling the truth,
You reel off a list of things you think they want to hear,
Because it's easier that way,
And so they treat you like this completely different person,Because all they know about you is misinformation,
And you gradually detatch yourself from all your actions" Reuben - Blamethrower

Trying not to sound like a redundant orange advert here. But it is other people that make me. I am constructed almost entirely of small bits of other people. A collage ripped from the newspapers of other people lives. And that can make me feel like there are no small bits of "me" left showing through. (My ability to say "other people" too much here is probably from some other people)

I am walks to groby at midnight and rambling phone conversations and my favourite page in that book I never gave back.
I might even be looking at this the wrong way. Maybe those bits become mine as soon as I adopt them, so they are "me"?. Maybe nothing is original, everything is just a different combination of everything else? Maybe I should just stop being so damn submissive. Maybe this is far too complicated for me to even comprehend.
Maybe thats why I really enjoy being things that i'm not. (And saying maybe too much)

I like to dress up. I like to assume an alternative identity. Being someone else makes me feel different... obviously. But it's that escape that I always seem to need.

EDIT-16th April 2010 : Scrap this. I need an update. Turns out my things are my things, and other people can be less than you expected from them.

"And when the son meets the father
It'll be something smarter for the pain
But you will always be the same
You will always be the same"

Homesickness exists

And it's not just the place you miss.

It's scary and lonely being away. And I just need something to make me feel better, please.
be nice.

Then in my dream, I told the doctor off...

...He said if you don't want to do it
then you don't have to do it
He said the truth is
You'll be okay, anyway.

My listening directly affects my viewing.
Regina Spektor, one of the loves of my life (I shall explain my love of creatively insane females sometime) did that fun old thing where she pops up on shuffle. I text my sister about crispy crispy Benjamin Franklin. Because that's a thing we do. Or a thing I did one time before, so now a thing I've done twice.
Basically someone playing tenacious D in the studio leads to me watching pick of destiny, which lead to me doing something probably stupid.
Basically Regina coming up on shuffle leads to me re-watching (500) days of summer, which lead to me wanting to be a proper girl. Yeah I don't see the link there either, but ah well.
I think I need this dress: (the back of it is pretty, alas being poor)

But does it go against who I am, or who I am trying to be? Maybe there is a reason I don't wear dresses, I don't know. I'll wait for a few more people to tell me I actually have legs that can be shown, then I'll think about it.

xxx

Oh dear.

This is an observation someoney recentl made about me:

"i enjoyed your don't give a fuck attitude"


This can't be good can it?

Have I changed?

"The bull and the bear are marking their territories...

...They're leading the blind with their international glories."

5pm to 5am, service as usual?
I think I got my waking hours the wrong way round today.
I sort of stumbled into consciousness and it was already dark outside.
I think I fear the day. Those normal business hours are daunting. Unless there is something planned or somewhere I have to be, I tend to get lost with possibility.
This impossible freedom means I eat when I’m hungry and sleep when I’m tired. Even though I know that’s not how I'm supposed to do things.
Mainly because I’m always tired and never hungry.

But if I’m asleep then the thoughts that weigh me down turn to dreams. And the lack of control over those dreams is comforting. Whether they are my subconscious seeping out or just a random mix of confusing electrical impulses, memory or fantasy, there is nothing I can do to change them. And I’m ok with that. They are something no one else sees or cares about. Nothing important. And that's what I need more of, things I don't have to worry about.

Circadian rhythms, guns and caves, this psychology is messing with my head.

Goodnight, sweet dreams x

Small talk turns to dust in my mouth.

Why do I look away, when people look into my eyes?

I don't think about it.
It's just that when I am engaged in conversation and eye contact is established, it's impossible to maintain. I don't think about it. It just happens, or doesn't happen, or starts then stops happening. I involuntarily look away within less than a second. And I don’t even think it’s one of those social courtesy type things. You should be able to look into someone else’s eyes without having to go through an entirely separate thought process, right?

I must have conditioned myself. The notion that if I was looking into their eyes they must be looking at mine, and I don’t like my eyes, so what if they don’t like my eyes, what if they are silently judging me as they speak. Years of eye contact being associated with human contact. Human contact being the thing that would lead to that involuntary, uncontrollable rush of blood to my young face. Like accidently knocking over a glass of water and watching the surge of liquid flood the surrounding area.

I blush.

Don’t get me wrong it got better, it’s 2009 and I can speak to people I don’t know and remain a pale freckly pink. But there was something about how I had developed as a teenager that made the concept of ME being the centre of attention, well to put it bluntly, downrightfrickinterrifying.
Those parents evenings where I would cower behind my mum, praying not to be asked a question. Those inevitable school classroom presentations where that lump in my throat refused to budge, no matter how many times I tried to swallow it down, stumbling over my words, my face burning and prickling under the fluorescent lights.

I never could take a compliment. It’s not something you can just accept without thought. It’s another human being making the effort to let you know they genuinely like something about you or something you have created. And it needs to be appreciated, and it’s a little bit scary.
Sometimes, when I feel secure and confident that it is heartfelt, I can genuinely bring myself to agree (This is when the definitions of the words “sometimes” and “rarely” have been swapped in my mind-dictionary).

It’s just that somewhere along the line something made me a bit more comfortable with being me. It’s close to coming full circle. I almost like blushing now. I just need to work on being able to stare into people’s eyes. Talking about things that matter, that’s a challenge for another day.

“Beware, the world is more fierce, mysterious and beautiful than you imagine. And so are you.”