I'm not in love, this time, this night

So, its been a long time since I wrote anything here, but as I am very busy not listening to my english lecture, and I was looking at this blog the other day. Since the header photo is oh so pretty (and no, I'm not blowing my own trumpet here, check the disclaimer) and this blog holds so much of the past, I figured it was worth pretending to maintain.

I found it really interesting, rereading the last post, and even more so again that I've not written here since then...

If I was meant to have had my 'wow, this is real life' moment already, I must have missed it. Yeah ok, school was sheltered, I know that. But I don't feel that I've magically stepped into real life. In fact, I feel that I've just learnt to do a much better job of avoiding it, which certainly can't last.

So I don't know where I'm at, if i'm honest, or why I'm writing this, or why I am so tired.

But I guess that's just my reality right now...

It always comes back to you...

So I wrote this a few days ago when I was in the middle of rapidly swapping between tailspin and frozen with fear and I want you to know that I am slightly more ok now, have picked myself up and kept going. Still lots of conquering to do, but at least for now I know I can do it, which is a big deal for me at the moment. But no worrying, ok? And to those of you who've helped me start this conquering, giving me ideas for special studies and such things, I owe you one, I don't know what I would have done without you. Ok, I do, I would have frozen up, driven away, and never come back. So thanks <3

Solid, violent in its stubborn refusal to budge any further, the wall is cool against my forehead as I rest for these moments. I know each will cost me later, as I watch those next to me carrying on with such ease, I just can't do it anymore.

The past months and weeks I have slammed myself against it, for each scar, tear, each drop of blood, sweat and anxiety has chiselled away another piece. 

I have fallen to doubt, illness, exhaustion. Sometimes others have helped me up, but most of these falls are unseen, and all down to me. 

The wall is left, now, with nine giant stones, all but two of the smaller pieces are gone. I know that the foundation stones are designed to be chiselled away in pieces, but I don't know how to approach them and no-one can tell me. 

So I stand here, hands and forehead leaning on it, wishing to to just fall and be over, but I know it will take much more than this. 

I know I am close, I can see the light through the cracks that I paid for with little pieces of myself. I have become currency, only a sum of energy, time, will and words. Parts of my life, heart, mind, soul, have been traded for these things and as I stare at what remains to be conquered, I don't know that I've got that much left. 

Like a child or a desperate man pulling their empty pockets inside out I pick and pull at myself. Nope, not that much left...

I know that I need to reach deeper and find something to trade, to burn and consume in a last desperate push at this wall. Nine desperate pushes, which maybe I can afford, but not with any left spare...

No more backup, no more buffer, 

crunch time.

and always, the two questions hovering over me...

What if I genuinely can't pick myself up again?

What's it even for, if I do make it, what's on the other side? 
What then?

All the anger here, all the pain inside...

Something is very wrong.

My foot is glued to the accelerator, the break disintegrated into nightmare long ago.

I just wanted to cruise along, I just wanted to be happy and relaxed, but now I got sucked into this thing, and I'm just

Rushing rushing rushing rushing
trees, fences, houses, streetlights
rushingrushingrushingrushing
right on past me

as I am rushingrushingrushingrushingforward to this... this thing

This big black, howling, hungry thing.

And right before it, is this moment.

I can feel it coming.

My eyes are watering, begging me, pulling with every thread of desperation I have ever felt, pulling themselves closed, beseeching me to just let them go, just let them shut, let them rest, just let them fall right down and rest there, tired, exhausted, drained, empty, begging, completely desperate. Just let me close.
Just.
Let.
Me.
Close.

Please.

I can see it coming.

My hands are aching, splitting at the bone, pulling themselves away from the wheel, pleading for someone else to take control, to take the lead. Don't leave me hear at the helm of my own life, I can't trust myself, why should you? Don't make me fight through this, I can't, it will wrench me apart either way, so why bother? Muscles retracting themselves, pulling, pulling, pulling away from control, crying surrender, screaming at me to just let go.

Just.
Let.
Go.

I can feel it coming.

This moment, this decisive moment that I am rocketing towards.
This choice.

This choice between closing my eyes for that second, pulling my hands off the wheel and just saying 'OK, consume me, whatever, I can't do this anymore' or wrenching my foot off the pedal. Ripping my soul off of that pedal, shredding the skin, tendons and muscle and bone all exposed, all of me exposed, rip it of to slam raw flesh right back down again, find some trace of determination, some last drop of strength from somewhere, but where? Wherever it is, it's deep down, and drilling into the bedrock of yoruself, not pretty.

So what do I do?

As much as I would love to stay stuck in this moment, as much as I despise every second, I do not have that option. Pausing time, is not an option.

Give up and be shredded, or break out the dynamite and find something, and push into and through this big, black thing.

And even as I rush with all involuntary haste toward it, I cannot choose.

Even as I can see the light gleam in its eyes and feel its breath on my face...

I do not have an answer...

Annie are you ok?

This is an ittie bittie study break :)

I just wanted to tell you about the mental image that is getting me through this week.
And no, it is not the sight of 'the beast' falling down an endless flight of stairs, I've hardly seen her in the last week haha. It's a combination of three people, two are fictional characters and one some of you might think is a fictional character, but I disagree.

The first, is Miranda Bailey, from Grey's Anatomy. Her role in this pile of mental weirdness is to be there to lovingly kick my in the behind when either I'm procrastinating like crazy and going to get myself failed real, real hard or when I'm going into a 'ohmygodohmygodohmygodican'tdothisohmygodican'tdothis' tail spin. Bailey grabs my chin, looks me in the eyes and says 'STOP! you are GOING to make it, now enough freakin out and PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER'. She is a little rough and tough, but she does it with love. And you know, she's frickin awesome.

Second is the Doctor. No prizes for guessing this one haha. It's either Matt Smith or David Tennant depending on my mood. Whichever one tells me to be brilliant, to be the best of humanity and all the brilliant pep-talk stuff that they give humans and gives me the best hug ever, because every single one of the Doctor's hugs are the best ones ever hehe. Oh, and don't blink, of course.

And who's the third one I hear you ask? Jesus. Jesus doesn't say heaps, he just kinda sits near me while I'm studying, or in the exams themselves, he knows how hard I have to concentrate. He keeps himself occupied quietly, keeping me company and silently encouraging me in the deepest way possible. I like to imagine him sitting there casually humming four part harmony all by himself, absent mindedly writing a symphony, or growing a new species of flower right before my eyes. Sometimes Jesus is so awesome he makes it hard to study haha. I hope this last one doesn't weird too many people out, but at the same time, I don't really care.



In other news, I'm watching moonwalker. And absolutely loving it. My respect, appreciation and enjoyment levels for MJ just skyrocketed. I'm loving seeing him at least looking happy, like the bit when he's running around in the studio, that cheeky grin, I love it.

I guess in a way I've always felt a bit sorry for him. To me he always seemed...well sad, a little disturbed. I think I agree with his being cleared, I don't know that I think he ever actually assaulted little boys or anything like that, but there was still always something strange about his kids in the masks all the time and such. But watching moonwalker, and the scenes of MJ with the kids, it just seems a little like he did what I and so many people want so badly to do, he avoided growing up and kept a great imagination.

Maybe in the real world that doesn't work. But yeah, his apparent relationship with these kids in this movie, is awesome.

Oh, and the video for smooth criminal? My favourite, FREAKIN AWESOME

Hold your own, know your name, go your own way

And everything will be fine...

I feel like...

Like it's getting to the point where I have to choose. Either to stand up and beat this thing, or let myself be shattered by trying to do it semi-half-assed. I mean, I'm not slacking that much, but enough to make it super hard on myself.

And in doing this, I've reached a fork in the road. Or maybe not even a fork. Just a sign telling me the gradient of the road ahead, and to either stop here and cry and let everyone else go on without me and sit here and shatter, get off and pick another road...

Or pick up my friggin act, pull my finger out as they say, kick myself up the ass.

And honestly, the more I think about it, the more the first option seems easier and in truth, more likely.


I keep trying to tell myself that if people last year and the year before and the years before that could do it, then so can I. But honestly, the year twelves from last year still look a little like superheroes to me... I know you'll probably think its just as funny and stupid as I did when you said I was dealing well.

But I've tried to re-naturalise all the images I photoshopped inside my head, but the sparkles won't rub off, the capes won't be erased, and the onomatopoeia of 'BAM!' just won't go away.

And honestly, the further I get into this year, the more it feels like the people who made it in the past must have been the minority...


And the longer I spend sitting in her classroom...
sitting frees freezing up...
sitting at home playing flash games and procrastinating...

The bigger the little doubting voices get...

Her voice is getting into my head, 'I'm disappointed in you' 'I can't believe you haven't done this yet' 'you aren't good enough' 'you'll never make it' 'just give up now'

And honestly... I'm beginning to believe them...

I'm a little more than useless

Sitting in the library trying to do modern in the middle double today, it came to my attention that today is 'brainwash the year nine ignites' day. This consisted of them filling the glass class room and listening to two men talk a little over loudly. My opinion of these men and this process was not helped by the fact that one was a semi-evil looking american man who bore an eerie resemblance to the cartoon version of Cronos, and the other pretending to be some type of NASA man. He was australian. This feels a little inconsistent.

The thing that bugged me though, was the way they treated year twelves when they wanted to use the tables outside the glass classroom. They used them for about three minutes, doing some stupid little activity that seemed to involved having pictures taken of them using post-it notes in some way saying 'go shaun!' Confused? Me too.

The thing that was irritating about it was the way they completely disrupted about five different hard-at-work senior students, with deadlines to meet. To play with post-its. And pretend to be astronauts.

It just shows something about the way this school treats its non-ignite students. And this is coming from an ignite student too. It feels, honestly, a little like once you're out of the official ignite program and you have not decided to be an engineer, a doctor, or a scientist in some way, they don't want to know you. All the focus diverts on brainwashing the next wave of nerds to work away making atom bombs and microwaves. Too far? Maybe.

I'm just frustrated by the fact that we've been told by teachers for years 'sorry, I couldn't get it done, I was doing year twelve work'. Told that we would be treated better, respected, prioritised as year twelves. Right now, it feels like a load of crap. True, several teachers are pure amazing in human form (looks at unbelievably wonderful drama teacher) but really, you couldn't mark our drafts because of year eleven work? Learn to time manage, thats what you keep telling us! I hate it because it's hypocritical of her. We slave away getting things done for that woman, sacrificing hours and hours of sleep and other subjects.
For absolutely nothing.

And I understand they have a lot on their plates, but so do we, and its that bit they don't seem to realise. They happily whinge on that they are stressed and therefore cannot meet the deadlines that they themselves set. So things have to be pushed back. Again. So we're behind. So we get blamed for being behind. Starting to see where this gets frustrating? And as for teachers that can't make up their minds, I'll leave those horror stories to Cindy and Hammy, but really. I cringe just listening to their tales of woe and teacher induced ridiculousness.

So, teachers who can't make up their minds or meet their own deadlines? Teachers who think they are more stressed than we are and decide to break promises, change their minds, are generally not worth putting up with. We are reaching the end of our collective tether. Soon it may be time to start peeling off peoples fingers to make it easier. You will be the first.

Dear Louise,

Hi there Louise, You've reached your brain. 
I'm full of essays and poetry and piano and music theory and mise en scene right now, so I will happily forget that you wanted to contact me, as well as that essay and the fact that you should be reasonable and go to bed early. Leave a message after the beep and I'll get back to you. Maybe.


-beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep

Just a few more weary days and then I'll fly away

I shouldn't have watched Jessica Watson coming home. All I want to do now is go on an adventure, jump on a plane, or learn how to sail, or just drive away. I want to throw a few things in a bag, grab a copious amount of energy drinks and a few friends on the way and just go.

I CERTAINLY do not want to do my english. at all. not even a little bit. or my classics or drama or modern, and trust me, theres bloody well enough of it that I should be able to choose the least repulsive one...


But no, not anymore.
I don't want to by a formal dress, I don't really want that cup of tea, I don't want to listen to or play music, I don't wanna paint, I don't wanna take artsy photos, I don't want a bubble bath, I don't want a hug, I don't want an A+, I don't want to go to youth group or go to church or even go out.





All I want is adventure.

All I want is escape

I won't be made useless

Dear fresh box of delicious Lady Grey tea.

Nice to meet you, it was a pleasure cracking you open and I am now enjoying the first of your spoils. You will get me through year twelve I hope, so please don't desert me : )

Much love,

like a dozen lies and a dozen more

English studies homework is like deep water diving without oxygen. Take a deep breath and dive in.
Hold your breath and don't stay there too long, or you'll die.

So basically, I sat at the computer desk staring at facebook for ten minutes before I realised I'd got out my classics book not my english.

Then I realised I had not in fact finished analysing my poetry, but was relying on the power of wishful thinking. shockingly, this has not got my english finished.


'i've been writing you a letter. about skin and bones. the internet. sometimes it begins, yesterday i saw a black bird in the park eating worms. and sometimes, it doesn't. these days it takes everything i've got not to burn down your house. rise up from these bed sheets in the morning to screaming. instead i fold paper hearts into paper birds. and other things with wings. sail them out our old-bedroom window. until collections of them. like memories of me and you. drop there on the almost-summer concrete below. false falling snow.' - http://doggerel.blogspot.com/2010/05/diacritical-remarks-for-your-dead-dead.html


incredible...

I will still sleep peacefully with answers out of reach from me

'Arithmetic'

Sums
Deadlines met, missed and Looming
Twitches, strains, aches
High points, valleys, dead pan
purple
sheet music
copious amounts of unwarn jewelry
singular shoes
copious amounts of caffeinated beverages
mind full of analysis and random Baz Luhrman inflicted weird
Constant freakout or exhaustion.

Division
Sucks


somedayallthatshazythroughacloudedglasswillbeclearatlast
sometimeswe'rejustwaitingforsomeday

It's so like me to never see

This is a part of a draft essay of mine sent to one hilarious young girl/woman/creature from the black lagoon.
It made me laugh, while editting an essay.
Super dooper props...
The smaller writing is her comment, the larger my essay. don't you go plaigerisin' my modern history now!

A considerable

Use of ‘considerable’ twice in as many sentences. Perhaps replace with ‘substansial’ or ‘significant’

percentage of the male population either volunteered or were sent off to war, leaving the industries at home bereft of employees and turning to who was left,

Try using a dash instead of a comma – implies importance of “the women” (irony in this sentence absolutely intended).

the women.

 

Time was lost up in a cloud, in a whirl

Reaching for breaking point.
It's hardly pretty up there on my shelf,
but it couldn't be worse than
keeping this all inside myself


I'm so nearly gonna snap.
Don't get me wrong, right at this particular second I'm fine. But seriously, double english on wednesday?
Someone is going to die.
I will reach into my bag for the pre-prepared petrol soaked book for my individual study. I will hand it to you to look at, getting the petrol on your hands. You will attempt to wipe this off onto your clothing, increasing your flammability. You will then reach for my modified version of your favourite object, the air conditioning unit remote. Upon attempting to turn it on, it will spit out flames, catching your clothes on fire. As you reach for your face in an expression of horror, your entire body will go up in smoke and the whole class will calmly get up and walk out of the classroom. Ready to either never speak of it again, or collaborate its reliability as an accident.

Too detailed?
Have I thought this through too much?
How will I get the air conditioner to spew flames at the right time?
How will I hand you the book without getting petrol on myself also?
How will I afford the petrol?


No.
No.
I'll figure it out.
I'll figure it out.
You underestimate the willingness of students to 'pitch in' on events like this.


Also, Dearest father. I know you are reading this, and I am not actually going to do this.
I'm just going to get through my double lesson on wednesday imagining it. Trust me, if you had to spend 100 minutes with this ridiculous excuse for a condescending illogical english teacher, you'd figure out how to make air conditioners spew fire too.

Possible blog code names for this teacher?
I'm open to suggestions :)

But after this day its this week all over again...

Ok, so school sucks. We'll get that off my chest straight away.
School sucks and tonight is my last shift at my dodgy job, which is 60% hurrah and 40% 'Oh bollocks I have to actually verbally acknowledge this with my employer now, -TERRIFIED-'

After that I don't know what there is really.
And thats extremely sad.

And I am extremely... bored.
Bored with this whole repetitious cycle thing.
Let me give you a step by step guide to an average school day for me...

1. Wake up at seven thirty
2. Wake up again and actually get up at 8.
3. Apologise to whichever teacher it is for being late
4. Lessons
5. Spend reccess being bored and tired
6. See step 4.
7. See step 5
8.Home
9. Procrastinate
10. Finally start doing some real work at about 8, 8:30
11. Finally go to bed at about 11.
12. Actually go to sleep somewhere between 12 and 1.
13. Repeat steps 1 through 12.

Wow, incredible isn't it?

I'm not counting down the hours to easter camp or anything... not at all

(if you're interested, its 116 at the moment)

I've been dying to get out, and that might be the death of me

even though there's no way of knowing where to go, as long as I'm going...

Some days, I want to be one of those people who can just run and not give a damn.

Just run from things, desert people, fail commitments, all that.

And not care.

But in the ever so wise, truthful and shoe-immortalised words of a great friend

trip on your own guilt land on your own headache

im a hostage to my own humanity...

you're the field in the middle of the city

Dear everyone who ever expected anything of me.

Shove it.

In other news, I am undeniably going to fail this maths exam on friday.

Like, not even a question.

And I beg you, for crying out loud, don't tell me I will be fine and do better then I think.

I ALWAYS and I mean ALWAYS do worse.

I am not good at maths.

repeat, since you seem to learn this slowly.

I

AM

NOT

GOOD

AT

MATHS

Sorry to have disappointed you, but thats the truth of the matter.

And whats that I hear?

You want to tell me I'm self handicapping, and should think positively?

just to reiterate, so you can learn using classical conditioning through repetition,

shove. it.

and if you stop telling me I'm not going to fail, maybe I'll reward you, by using negative reinforcement by removing the unpleasant stimulus that is my presence .

because, looking at that practice exam, I don't remember a single thing.

It looks like chinese to me.

And we all know how much attention I paid in chinese...

PS OH LOOK THE QUEEN! Imjustgonnagocutsomedumplingswithscissorsnowkthxbai