all by myself

having spent every sunday since july working at hmv, i particularly enjoy sunday evenings. previous to the working, sundays were my favourite day of the week. they're like a day that doesn't really count, where time passes slowly and there's no pressure. it's a great, great day. unfortunately it is the only day i am contracted to work seven and a half hours a week. with a great sigh every week, i trudge my way in at ten and trudge my way out at six. it's shit.
my sunday evenings are this very important to me, as they are the only scrap of the day i salvage. sunday evening is my oasis in a crowded, noisy world, and i use it to my advantage. oh yes, my favourite things all happen: tidying, the dishes, baths, doing work for monday, lazing, the gilmore girls, nail polishing, eating wagon wheels and drinking earl grey, writing these blogs etc etc. the glorious shenanigans i get up to are great. as of tonight, i have gotten straight into bed, browsed the internet, polished my nails ( barry m. mint green), eaten a wagon wheel, and am watching the gilmore girls. it's going pretty darn well so far. soon, i will descend into a lavender smelling bubbly bath and read my latest cluster of books, maybe with incense (cranberry) and candles. depending on how luxuriant i am feeling.
i dyed my hair flamingo pink once more, to much glowing review. the people have spoken, and they speak in favour of flamingo pink. here it is in the top along with my nose:



















pig is being a librarian with my tatty devine glasses necklace. i find myself endlessly hilarious.
i think i'm going to go and get more tea.

you've always been a failure, but now you're bearing strange new fruits

well golly, i've spent the last hour cutting out pictures from magazines and sticking them on my walls, and listening to the dresden dolls. i'm 14 again.
tonight i voyage out into the bititing northern cold to see mungo's hi-fi. i don't like reggae, or dub-step, so i don't know why, but heck. i need a reason to wear my black velvet dress that makes me feel like an iceskater, i think that's probably it. teaming that with a big fur coat may keep me warm, so there's a chance i won't die of hypothermia.
it's only five weeks to christmas though. jesus. literally. i haven't bought any presents except my mum's. i bought her a crocheted moomin that i've had to go to great lengths to hide from myself in case i fall more in love with it and eventually cannot be parted. i might just go and buy another one in all fairness, £16 for a crocheted moomin is £16 well spent in my eyes.
it's almost that elusive time again, when i dye my roots. i honestly do let them get extravagantly long purely because i'm so lazy. they get to about 3 inches, then i put my foot down and dye them. it takes anything from 2 to 3 months, but then i have proper hair again. i've ordered the dye off ebay again (directions - flamingo pink) so as soon as it arrives, it's bleach blitz.


more importantly, as it is actually the point of this blog, i submitted a poem to a creative writing competition, and here it is:

Said Wretched Crow to Starving Wolf,

‘Imagine, my friend, if we ruled the world.’

‘Imagine us, just we two, roaming as we pleased,

Caring for no other, ambling and casting our rule over the land,

Flying over river and sea, consuming all that came across our paths.’

Padding gently, Starving Wolf thought quietly to himself.

A crimson desert moon soaked him in red light,

And he seemed to bloodily shine.

‘Perhaps,’ he said quietly,

‘Our places were given to us in consideration of our temperaments.’

Wretched Crow puzzled awhile,

And floated in the hot night air.

‘Explain yourself, friend. Your hesitance for greater things confuses me’

‘Could greatness be achieved by things so carnivorous as we?’ asked Starving Wolf

‘A terrible reign we’d have, you and I.’

Said Wretched Crow lustily in a drawling caw.

‘Feasting as we pleased, pulling seeping eyes from sockets,

Rending flesh and muscle from bone. No longer skulking in darkness.

Shouldn’t you care to reign with me?’

‘A world found in blood and teeth disturbs my countenance.

Solitary, I was meant to be, as are you.

Casting a furious wrath on the world would not suit us,

Especially you, who hovers above bodies and lives on death.

We weren’t meant for power, only loneliness and decay.’

Damp breezes licked the fur and feathers of the two,

And flies hummed tunefully by the dirt.

‘I see you are not meant for greater things, friend’ said Wretched Crow.

‘But never mind. I’ll find another companion with whom to share my dream.

I shall fly onwards and upwards,

Leaving you in my wake to think on my words.

What a world we could have made,

Where we were kings.

I should have liked it, so very much.’

Wretched Crow swept away, loose greasy feathers raining behind him,

Showering Starving Wolf, who walked ever onwards.

He sighed, and forever he shall walk alone beneath the moon,

In a desert devoid of friend or love,

As Wretched Crow hungrily drums the barren earth,

Wanting some flesh to share with a friend.

now it's off to shower, get dressed and draw on my eyebrows.

blurgh

the black hole of ennui has once again swallowed me. i'm working from 4 until 8 tomorrow, meaning i'll miss my yoga class, and it has tipped me over the proverbial edge. not in a stupid fall-out boy, black hair dye way, just in the sense of fed-up-ness.
university is different than i thought it would be. me and jane were milling over it this morning over mini chicken fajitas --spelt fahjitas on the menu, which upset me-- and nachos. i had naively thought that a degree in creative writing would open the wide world of writing to me, but it turns out our seminars are taught from textbooks. our exercises are done with textbooks. our lecturers are all failed writers who constantly harp on about their 'past success' (allow me a derisive snort) and what shit thing they're working on now. most of the people on the course are drama students who want to write scripts, and i HATE drama students. they're in my top 5 most hated things in all existance list. i imagined my course as a dimly lit, incense smelling mecca of the creative talent of my generation. i imagined berets, literary arguments, tiny leather notebooks for writing down inspirations too important not to be captured immediately, red wine and most of all, fellow book enthusiastists. i got kids fresh from their a levels, drama students, stupid rah idiots, and generally the scum of the earth who don't even enjoy reading. one girl showed us her sex bruises yesterday with absolutely no invitation to do so, and then cackled raucously at her own disturbing lust for violence. sex stories make me wriggly and uncomfortable so i nearly threw up on my notebook. i turned quietly to daniel and said
'make her stop daniel.'
'i don't think i can.'
'jesus wept.'

but, just to keep things in perspective, i enjoy the poetry, most of the assignments, most of the booklist and most of the literature lectures. especially the ones on themes, which are excellent. it's not a bad course, i'm just very anti-social and have a low tolerance for people who enjoy drama. but i am biased, and a snob. i consider 99% of people to be living dirt, so my opinion is moot.

anyway, i am feeling fed uppy. i think i might dye my hair purple to cheer myself up, just because i can. or just sit and read blogs and eat ritz crackers straight out of the box. or shave away my winter leg hair that is accumulating very fast. or do an improv dance routine in my room, if it isn't too arctic. or buy something small off the internet. or draw a full sleeve on my arm of cats. we'll see. i know i'll have to have a shower though, because i went to the gym and collapsed afterwards without showering, which is decidedly manky.

i'm dreaming

of a white christmas! it's almost time to get the bing crosby christmas album out again and start decking the halls. it's pig's first christmas, so i want to make it super christmassy, even though he's a cat and doesn't even know what christmas, or indeed words, are.

i love best coast, listening to them makes me feel dreamy and like i should be wearing a swingy dress.
i made my first terrifying excursion to the gym in ages the other day, in preparation for operation get-really-fat-at-christmas; an operation that is resurrected yearly. basically, i'm going to lose weight to balance out the weight i will inevitably gain from scoffing mince pies and mulled wine in an orgiastic 30 day long celebration of the birth of our tiny lord. or something. i forget what the point of christmas is, apart from the food. in order to better prepare this year, i've put myself into a grooming routine including going on the bouncer (the machine at the gym that i use that isn't a cross trainer, but it bounces you up and down like one) and doing yoga on wednesdays. having never been to yoga, i look forward to a clean aura and unclogged chakras and so on so forth. maybe i'll find my calling and become a spiritual wild child with flowers in my hair and dirty feet. i got a do it yourself pilates video a while ago, which was horrific, so my hopes for yoga are high. i don't know what to wear though, i think jogging bottoms will be unharmonious. it will just have to be scabby leggings. hopefully buddha or whatever won't care. but anyway.
here is a picture of me trapped in a giant heart made of hands:



















good stuff. you can tell i've been taking my vitamins, because i look more lustrous than usual. my pelt is unusually glossy.