My sparkling wit and interesting posts... remain non existant. At least it's short, amirite?

In five hours my final assignment is due. I've already reached the word count so I just have to do some tidying and finishing up. So of course I'm writing a blog post, even when I have nothing to say. Oh, don't look so surprised, imaginary reader or myself, especially if it's myself. You should know me by now, I'm probably going to work until the last second, panic, arrive at the post office seconds before it closes, mail it and then realise I'm still wearing the pants with the hole in the wrong spot. I'm trying to bribe myself to finish in the next hour by saying I can watch the new episode of Nashville. Unfortunately, I also control the fingers that open up the new episode and the butt that can sit in front of it and the ability to ignore the part of my brain that actually looks out for the rest of us. That guys a loser, right?

I just realised I'm talking to myself, about myself like none of us are actually the same person. I'm going to go finish my assignment.

It started off alright but then I got a little lost. Or I'd be more entertaining if I ever left my house

Earlier this year I had an Aha! moment that everyone is always talking about. I was watching an Alex Day video where he was talking about how he only owned his favourite things, and he gave away or threw out everything that he didn't like absolutely. When you think about it, that is seriously the most simple idea in the world. I mean, you don't wear things that aren't your favourite and when you do you spend the whole time feeling vaguely annoyed that you chose this pair of jeans over the identical but obviuosly superior favourites.

I decided to get rid of all my clothes that I didn't like. Which kind of backfired a little when I had to take some back out of the bag and put them in my drawer again, even though I hadn't worn them for years. I mean, no one would have wanted them anyway, what with the clutch marks my fingers had made on them.

Anyway, I gave away a butt load of stuff and stopped boredom-shopping and decided to only buy things I absolutely loved and it was kind of great. Almost all my clothes are my favourites. And those other ones I don't wear, well, I can't because of the clutch marks and... stuff.

It's kind of great in another way though. It's kind of like a private secret you have with the whole world. Here you are, just walking around like everyone else, but you're not. You are wearing your favourite things, that everyone else just thinks are ordinary. The things you like reflect personality so fully, I think. I mean, You might be the only person who chooses that, or decorates like that, or cooks like that and that shows the outside world exactly who you are. When you're just wearing anything it doesn't really matter, but when you're are wearing your favourite clothes then it's something different. Cos other people don't know it, they don't know that what they are looking at is completely you and that's kind of exciting, I guess. Like you're giving everyone a glimpse at who you really, truly are without all the vulnerability.

I think I'm talking about being genuine? Blerg, I don't know how this post got there. In my head this all sounded much better and made much more sense without becoming all new agey be-yourself-it's-awesome. Ugh, I don't eve know myself in this post. Tune in next time for a thousand word thesis on not being a phony!

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Last night I dreamed I jogged fifteen miles with Tuvoc from Star Trek Voyager. I was sweating like a pig but he was fresh as a daisy, and extremely smug and self satisfied which was not very vulcan of him. Anyway, I have a 50% essay to complete by tomorrow that I am barely half-way done with, and I have to go finish that. But then I am finished uni for the year! So I'll have riveting post about being yourself through your clothing! and exactly how many hours you can spend lying on the lounge watching tv before you lose too much muscle mass to survive! I need a job!

I should stop drinking the glass I have, but it's just so delicious

I couldn't sleep last night. I wasn't sure why, but my mind was racing and I couldn't seem to shut it down. I kept trying to do those deep breathing excersises and think of nothing, but then my douchebag brain kept piping up wondering if this is what going to sleep feels like? how did we know we were going to fall asleep? Normally we just do it and there is no memory of how or when it happens, so maybe this is it? And I kept waking myself up. Like the kids who keep asking are we there yet? no brain, we're not. You'll know when we are cos you'll give me some horrificly detailed dream about grocery shopping or something and I'll wake up more exhausted then I am right now at 2 am because you're a douchbag who won't let me go to sleep.

Anyway, this morning I suddenly remembered the seven glasses of green cordial I  drank yesterday. That probably did it.

Today

Today is an sad day.
A bad poetry day,
a fuzzy socks and
hot chocolate day.

Today is a hide
somewhere dark and warm and
comforting not-think-about
today day.

Today is an anxiety day
a day of held back tears
and hugging day.
A grey inside head,
dark edges to my sight day.
A lonely, by myself, left out day.

Today the sun shines
which hurts because
today should be rain
rain and rain and rain.

Today is an sad day.

I should come up with a cutesy idea for titles like they did for friends so that titling isn't such a challenge.

Soemtimes when I get anxious I like to hold my breath until everything gets really still and calm. If there's noise around I can't hear it anymore and for a few seconds my heart doesn't pound as hard. I think that's probably what being in a snow storm must feel like, except warm. So like a snowstorm made of cottonballs or something. Oh, like that scrubs episode where JD has to tell this old lady that she''s going to die and all they can do is make her comfortable, and he's trying to think of what that actually means so he pictures her lying in a whole room of cotton balls saying "I'm so comfortable". Holding my breath feels like what it must have been like when everyone left and she was just lying there, in a room full of cottonballs.

****

So I'm thinking I need to come up with a nickname to use on this blog. I could use my real name but I'm would like to be anonymous, and using my name would really put a wrench in that plan. I'm not really sure what I want though. For awhile I thought of Bea cos then I could sign of as BeaKid. I laughed really hard at that for ages when I first thought of it, which only made the realisation of exactly how stupid that looked hit me about a thousand times harder. It actually physically hurt me, like a huge man had just clapped me on the back too hard and all the breath had just been thumped out of me and it was in public and I wasn't wearing any pants. So Bea is out.

I chose The Kid because of Billy Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I kind of secretly love westerns. and country music. This is why I have to stay annonymous, people. If you met me you would probably be surprised when I respond in a southern accent (that I practice... by talking to myself). I'm getting pretty good too. Anyway, I wanted to be the sundance kid because that's a much cooler name then Billy Cassidy. I really love how they are all each other needs (and the school teacher whose name I've forgotten), and they just ride around together, robbing trains and wenching together. They're kind of the perfect team. They even die together. Oh, sorry, spoilers. Anyway, I'm not sure if an old male cowboy really fits me anymore (...or ever, i mean) so I need a new Pseudonym, preferably one that isn't stupid. So I'll get back to you with that one.

Anyway, it's 20 past 11 and I still need to add about 600 words to my nanonovel. It's going splendidly, except that nothing is happening and my characters spend all their time sitting around watching tv. They don't even watch good shows because by the time I'm typing it I can't think of a singlke decent show so I just stick in whatever I can think of, like what not to wear. I have never, ever seen that show so, yay for fiction.

Goodbye

I totally should be doing something else, that's why this is so long

Wow, so I haven't done the whole blogging thing for awhile, and I probably won't be doing it anyway because no one is reading this. And I don't mean that in a "hello to the two people reading this when I obviously have seven thousand readers who adore me and wait for updates and obviously consider me an important part of their lives, but I'm just trying to be modest" kind of way. In an actual, hello to the no people out there, kind of way. And normally I'd spent an hour trying to convince myself that I wasn't actually blogging for readers, I'm blogging for myself! but I'm not doing that either because it's late and I'm tired and my day kind of sucked. Plus, I have two thousand words to write on my nanonovel but I'm struggling. Not because of lack of ideas, cos I know exactly what the next  words should be, more that I lack the caring. Or even, that I lack the other people caring. And that, my (non-existent) friends is the real problem. There is simply no one who cares. And so I thought I'd write a post, in my long abandoned blog that nobody reads, just to really wallow in the nobody caring business.

Because I'm a nut job (she says, trying to be all cute as she waves to her seven thousand followers. No, not doing that. taking it back.) Because I'm a person, in cases like these I would make up other people to care. For example, a friendly neighbour who would wander over and ask, "hey, I was just thinking about you last night, hows the nanonovel coming?" And we'd chat for a bit, and he'd admire my tomato plants and then with a wave he'd saunter off into his life. Quick side note, I had a blog when I was sixteen where I made up a neighbour guy who I would go sit on the veranda with of an afternoon and drink beer with. And it was such a lie. I mean, I don't even drink beer so I don't know why I added that part in even. I forget his name but he was from somewhere like Amsterdam or somewhere (oh, that's why the beer, it was imported or something. It was a complicated backstory) and people loved him. I mean they really LOVED him, and then I felt like a pathetic loser for making up somebody in my blog who was so very much more entertaining then me. Also, it's hard to take something like that back, like, oh, right, sorry I made him up. especially since there is so much scandal over bloggers making stuff up which I personally find really weird. If I like your blog, I'm probably not going to care that the neighbour from Amsterdam that you drink beer is actually you sitting in your pyjamas at four in the afternoon starting in on your second can of pringles. Or even something less pathetic, though if you are (non-existant reader) actually doing that right now, don't even worry about it, we've all been there. Once you pop, you just can't stop, amirite? plus, the phrase is hella catchy and so I just want to say it a bunch.

ok, I'm back. Anyway, apparently that whole last paragraph was just a warning to you (non-existant reader. Or me, actually, since I'm writing this for myself or something. Wow, that got a little twilight zoney. Ok, note to self...) that I'm going to make stuff up. I can't help it, I lie on blogs, it happens, you have been warned, deal with it.

Ok, facts about me:
I live in Australia. This is also a slight warning because sometimes I get obnoxiously australian and will start using slang terms I don't know the meaning of. So yea, watch out for that.

I take the bus to places. However, there will be no funny bus stories. Once again, apologies in advance. I mean, there might be one or two, but mainly I try desperately hard not to attract the attention of the crazies. Partly because I don't want to deal with it and partly because I generally read on the bus and so if I was asked to get off before my stop, I don't think I could find my way home.

I am writing a nanonovel. Nanowrimo for those who do not know, is an event where in november you have to write 50,000 words in a month. The aim is to get a very (very) rough draft of a novel done, so then you can move onto revisions. I want this. I want this so bad I freeze up and can't type the words because I'm afraid I wont make it to 50,000. It doesn't help that I have no people, and I got into a private (meaning, he doesn't know about it) competion with this guy who has at least 15,000 words more than me. Which is both baffling and horribly annoying. So that is why I'm thinking about maybe doing some blogging. Because I need people and I have just made you guys up! look at how I smoothly transitioned from calling you non-existant friends to refering to you like we are sitting having coffee write now. Actually, it's more like we're in a uni lecture hall and I'm talking at you while you try to sleep or text or whatever, but that's ok, I forgive you cos we're buds. Anyway, Ive got to write 2,000 words in the next hour so I don''t hate myself in the morning.

Goodnight

So today was meant to be a study day for my Psych exam that's coming up in like 5 weeks. I was all set to post-it not the crud out of my notes and palm card words and their definitions and freaking colour code stuff but then my mum told me that it was an Incredibly Hard Exam that Many People Fail. so, I've spent most of the day in bed watching movies and eating chocolote mousse. The chocolate mousse is horribly bad though because not only is it belgium chocolate and tastes fantastic but also because the lid is so difficult to take off and put back on again that once it's off I figure I may as well eat as much as possible before I have to go through that ordeal again.

So anyway, I have my intentions set to Study For My Psych Exam so at least one item is crossed off the to-do list. Next on the list is to actually study for it.