You Know You're Tired When....

- You fall asleep while blow drying your hair.
- Coffee (the joy of life!) makes you think, Oh no, I can’t take any more
- Bananas become a confusing concept for you
- You yell at your brother in a foreign language
- Your head is constantly in pain
- Showers in the black of morning are spent mourning the death of oh so sweet night time
- Floors and tables are indistinguishable from beds in your eyes
- You laugh hysterically at your dad’s jokes and then
- You grumble at your dad to ‘Stop Being So Loud. Dammit.’
- You find your adorable dog annoying
- You stop caring
- You feel engulfed by life and VCE and crazy shiz that’s going down errrrywhere

I’m sorry if I’m ever incredibly rude! It’s mainly because I want to pass out.

However, we must keep going! It's almost holidayyys, oh the summer dayz. That aren't so summery any more, but hey, there'll be sunshine of some kind, I'm sure, and that thought alone is sustaining me. You know how you get near the end of something and you feel like you've done so much and you just can't be bothered to finish off the last morsel of activity...that may just be me, and my non committal attitude to everything, but No! Not this year. I refuse. I will COMMIT.

Here is a tip. My dad is big on tips, especially ones from extremely old dead guys who wrote poetry.



I like this take on the original quote. I wrote this on the inside of my wardrobe, so it's the first thing I see whenever I reach for clothes. It's a wonderful message, even with the obscenity of language.

LOVE.

Who are you?

Take away your family, your friends, your life as you know it, and what's left of you?
"Is this a trick question? I'm dead, right?"
How much do other people make up our identity? Is it so much that we're not able to be ourselves without them? Does this only happen because we let them, or does nature just roll us into this pattern of needing the people we know to the point that without them we feel like we're missing part of us?
I hate disconnecting with others. But at the same time, I think silence is a huge chunk of what I am too.

I win at life, finally.

I finally figured out an awesome New Years resolution that will definitely, absolutely, positively change my life and that is both simple and straight to the point!!!!! None of that wishy washy I'll be healthy and compassionate and not hurt trees and study consistently with consistent effort of the most consistent manner stuff. I know it's March, but seriously, better late than never!
My resolution iiiiiiiiiiiiiiis that:
I WILL RETURN ALL MY LIBRARY BOOKS ON TIME! This encouraes me to actually read the books, I hope, or at the very least, prevents me from having to squander my hard earned money on fines! Hooray! Yay. You don't have to care:D
Happy Monday, for tomorrow.
On a totally unrelated note:

A typical conversation with a customer at 7 in the morning.

Customer: *yawns*
Me: Hello! How's it going? (this is where my chirpiness ends)
Customer: Fine...2 croissants thanks.
Me: mumble mumble? Mumble!
(I can never really talk until I've been up for a while and have coughed sufficient amounts.)
Me: Mumble mumble please.
Customer: *hands over note of some ridiculously large amount*
Me: Thank youu. Here's mumble mumble mumble.

I should probably work on the mumbling.

On another note, indecisive customers are the bane of my existence- especially those that demand their money back after touching all the bread I've carefully packaged for them because they decide it's too "crunchy".
HOW ELSE DO YOU EXPECT FRESH BREAD TO BE?!

And another thing, people are so strange. Example #32758: Every single middle aged woman who comes into the bakery on a Saturday morning walks in with a full face of makeup but then decides to wear a tracksuit with it. It's like they put so much effort into their faces (and I applaud them, because most of them seem to know how to make themselves look very nicely made up) that when they got to the rest of their bodies, they just decided to give up. Why on earth do people do this wearing of yucky clothes in public?
I suppose it doesn't matter. And I'm probably somehow being all anti feminist and completely materialistic here by complaining about this, but I don't care! Don't tell me things like this aren't important! What if you ran into Prince William? Oscar Wilde? JESUS?
Anyway, I'm sorry. But jeans. You can wear jeans and I won't complain at all. You can even wear the tracksuit jumper with the jeans.

Another thing is I'm thinking about quitting my job and applying at the cafe just up the road. Or do those things but in reverse order. Change is scary though- the bakery's all I've ever known.



FORWARD MARCH!

I've adopted a green grasshopper.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jnvgq8STMGM
Ophelia has a sassy gay friend, and he thinks: "There is something rotten in the state of Denmark. AND IT'S HIS PISS POOR ATTITUDE."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCVc5TaPpe8
Schwarzenegger is HAMLET- "Hamlet is taking out the trash" ohhh yeah. "To be, or not to be...Not to be." *explosions*

I've been thinking about maybe studying overseas after graduation (that is, if I make it that far), even for only a semester or two. Melbourne and its universities are incredible, and I love the city itself, but how wonderfully rejuvenating an experience it would be to just leave and stay left. I was thinking maybe England (AH England, that would just be absolutely amazing) or I think I heard of this international university in Holland when I was in Indonesia. Its primary language is English, but people of all nationalities attend and it'd surely be like one big party of multiculturalism and a blur of almost nonsensical communication through vast seas of language. I'll have to do more research into it.

I get to leave early tomorrow! Hooray! Except I won't be doing anything with my life, except maybe watching the VCE Theater Studies Class at St Kevins perform Animal Farm. I'd like to think my mother wasn't instilling false hope in me when she told me that's how I'd be spending my Friday evening.

Oh, and a few nights ago a grasshopper hopped its way into my room, and even though I've left the window open ever since, it still hasn't left. I guess that makes us friends? I'm naming it Gregory, as in Rasputin, of course!

Most of the time, I have no idea what day it actually is until someone tells me.

And it sucks that tomorrow is apparently Wednesday. I have this theory that I use to justify my absolute failure in the areas of science and maths and that is that I read things differently to other people and so my interpretation is generally completely off in subjects in which only one answer can be right. In subjects where you can go off topic and flourish along tangents this isn't perhaps a bad thing, but ah dear. Yes, I am full of crap.
We had parent teacher interviews today. I remember from A Cinderella Story (yes, the one when Hilary Duff was still kind of relevant to our generation, and Chad Michael Murray actually wasn't half bad looking. Oh shush, no judgements) one of the step sisters complained that her teachers would wonder to themselves why she sounded smart on paper, and not smart...not on paper, and I think that my situation isn't so different, except for the fact that while she got Cinderella to do hers, I get my little gnome friends I keep chained up in the attic to do mine. Sometimes the stuff that comes out of my mouth is so stupid and bimbo-y it's ridiculous. I thought that by the time I was 17 (ancient!) I would at the very least, sound intelligent and be able to casually throw sarcastic comments around like no monkey's business.
Is that even a saying?
Oops, I did it again. I played with your heart, got lost in the game. Oh baby baby oops you think I'm in looooove, that I'm sent from aboooove. I'm not. That. Innocent.
Britney. Oh Britney. Why did you have to go crazy just when I fell in love with your sparkly goodness?
So, again, there is no point to this post and I'm quite sorry, but not enough to actually apologise. Ahaha, how UNUSUAL of me. Goodness, I suck at life and I blame this entirely on the lack of projectness in my life. I keep going on about this but I'm too Hamlety to act! Ah, the perils of being a man of reason in an age of honour, where time is out of joint as we ponder the crisis of intellectual scepticism versus belief in the divine- inescapable mortality! Sympathy with death! No, I beg you sir, my favour lies in abundant life. A zest for life, if you will.
But, to what extent is an individual free? How far do we bend to society's unspoken conduct; over our own desires, our own primal instincts, our dionysian complex? Aduh. I can generally tolerate people of all kinds. (When I say tolerate, I mean hold back bitchy remarks or even facial expressions that may indicate anything other than a state of perfect pleasantness) But the one thing I've found that annoys the freaking hell out of my "lovely, polite" (Mr Williams quote) demure is anyone who plays the victim. There's certainly irony in this too, though, because I find myself frequently acting as the victim, I think. I try not to complain too much or appear too heavily burdened with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune but maybe I do, and if so, I sincerely apologise to all those in a 10km radius of me right this second. But basically, I'm just over feeling like the bad guy when really, it's not even my fault. Danke to the person who pointed that out so explicitly.
Whew. Essej lit vomit over with.
You know what's hilarious? Mrs Probst smiling at you because you did good. HILARIOUSLY TERRIFYING.
Do you like the elephant picture? I like it. I think it is nice.

Why is it that every time I'm with you now

I don't feel joy, but a sense of guilt?

It's a purple and yellow day.

I'm really not a fan of leather shorts. Like, really? Not even fake leather ones. Aren't they disgusting? Aren't they something that belong in the past? Don't go dragging tacky trends like that out again.
I mean, seriously?
I'd like new shoes. Fun shoes. Shoes that will make me feel purposeful. Maybe high heels of some description. Or, what do you call those ones? Those pointy flat ones that everyone 'indie' seems to be wearing...brogues. Yes. Black shiny brogues are what I crave. Nice shoes are purty.
I need something to do. Something fun. Let's do something fun. Anyone? Fun? Please? Some alcohol perhaps?
I think my life would be complete if I could hug someone of the opposite gender right now. I'm not sure why it's gender specific. But it is, okay? I'm sorry.
Running. I'm going running tomorrow. I will.

I'M SORRY I'M NOT CALLED EMILY AND I CAN'T MAKE YOU HAPPY.

I ruined everything. Again. How am I so socially inept? How is it possible that I could be so absolutely horrible and walk- no, not walk- stomp all over another person's feelings they so trustingly laid at my feet? I feel. Confused. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry and I hate that your mood suddenly turned sour because of me- this wasn't supposed to happen.
I don't understand. But it's not fair to claim confusion, to blame that because I am the one to blame and I'm so incredibly sorry.
I hope you're okay. My conscience is rather painful.

Daily Bag limit: 8 ducks with the following conditions

•A maximum of one Australasian Shoveler per day
•No more than five ducks per day from declared game species, balance of bag limit must be wood ducks
•Wood ducks are only restricted by the bag limit of 8 ducks per day (i.e. a bag of 8 wood ducks is allowed).


The SSAA (Vic) has worked consistently to distribute accurate scientific data about duck hunting in Australia. The truth about duck hunting is that it is a legitimate and sustainable activity. The government has acknowledged this fact and to its credit ignored the emotional and corrupt arguments of the anti duck hunting advocates. The SSAA (Vic) thanks the Brumby Government for its well informed and balanced approach to this issue.

Don't worry guys, the SSAA have got it all under control.

Every year, four state governments declare 'open season' for recreational duck hunting, and unfortunately, the state I call home is one of them. During these seasons, thousands of ducks are shot down over the wetlands in the name of 'fun'. Of 'recreation'. In fact, the SSAA endorse this activity by depciting a boy no older than twelve holding a gun, smiling amiably at the camera.

Some ducks will be killed as the bullet pierces their tiny bodies. Others will become wounded or crippled and suffer in prolonged pain. This is despicable, and even those not of 'emotional and corrupt' orientation would surely agree.

Duck hunting season begins this Saturday.

Visit rspca.org.au for more information.

If you need some love, get a hooker.

I saw this title quoted on weardrobe.com today, and it just struck me as being rather poetic. Please don't be rolling your eyes at me. But you know, I've noticed that I get lonely really easily, which seems almost to be contradictory, considering how withdrawn I generally am even around close friends. Today is one such day, and I have no clue why. Perhaps it only just struck me how lifeless my life actually is, and in one huge chunk my mood slid downwards.
I look at my mother; I look at my grandmother, and they've always been strong feminist role models in my life. They're both incredibly self reliable and independent, but from them I've learnt, in a way, that to need other people is a flaw, and I don't know, is this a realistic interpretation of life? I mean, humans are social creatures. We need company. Science tells us so.
I've decided that there are two types of people, both of which can manifest within anyone at any time, and they are; Macbeths and Hamlets. I probably could have chosen a better character to represent the Macbeth side of us, but basically there are those who act and regret, and those who contemplate and regret. I'm not sure what this has to do with anything; I was just walking home yesterday and I thought of it. Because I was thinking about relationships, mainly my lack of experience, but honestly, who knows what they're doing anyway, regardless of experience? I think a relationship needs both a Macbeth and a Hamlet.
If I had to choose, I'd be Macbeth, but I know I'm a Hamlet, which sucks, but it kind of fits...the whole emo adolescent hiding behind a mask thing.
Today I just feel bleugh and I have fantastic friends but I can't help worrying because things seem to be changing. My mind is horrible and I have to keep asking myself "Why so bitchy for?", because it's really unlike me, or so I like to think.
I have this theory that if I immerse myself in creativity these feelings will disappear, but I'm lacking inspiration or even motivation to begin...erm immersing myself.
Grey day.

Dedicated To All You Nuts Out There.

Peanut butter will always reign supreme.

O+

I was going to try and write something deeply profound, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

For one thing, I’m completely and utterly sick of how my ‘l’ key doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, and also trying to find deeper meaning in things and then having to express that in a level of language complexity that is, most likely, beyond my capabilities gets old quickly. Sorry to those who love Lit.

For another thing, even if I did manage to spiel out something profound in nature, I don’t think I, myself, would even want to read a pretentious philosophical web anyway.

I hope you don’t mind though; I felt it necessary to discuss Lent, a concept of the Catholic Church. Today, I hope the Pope invited all his Vatican City friends over to the Sistine Chapel to both revel in the beautiful aesthetics of the place as well as share a meal of pancakes, and pancakes alone. Maybe with maple syrup too, or the Italian version anyway. Do they have crepes in Italy? Hm. Pancakes. Yes.

So the story goes, once upon a time, Jesus ventured out into the desert for 40 days and ate nothing but [insert desert plant here]- maybe cacti of some variety. He essentially fasted for those 40 days, and so, because Jesus is awesome and all those that still adhere to the feudalistic system of the Catholic Church strive to be like him in every way (in theory, at least), to this day are also *encouraged* to, at the very least, give up something of significance to them. It’s generally to do with diet, like children will give up lollies or chocolate, and adults might give up meat or alcohol, but it can also be something like committing to spending more time with your family, or giving up swearing etc. etc. All terribly sappy, but it’s a nice idea.

Shrove Tuesday is celebrated because back in the days after Jesus, people used to use up all their milk and flour in order to prepare for the almost-fasting period. Maybe this is how pancakes came to be, and so I think my saying Jesus is awesome up there^ somewhere is totally justified, because pancakes are just delicious.

Anyway, even though I refuse to believe in the Catholic version of God, I don’t think Lent is an altogether irrelevant concept. It’s a time for reflection, for self improvement, and an introduction (however temporary) of discipline- which in my eyes leads to a sense of self control- into our lives, which I think is wonderful. That is, of course, not to say that this can’t and shouldn’t happen at any other time of the year, but I like how giving up something important to us in order to become richer as people is openly and loudly endorsed through Lent.

I also gave blood today! I bet you didn’t know that, unless Lulu told you. Apparently my vein was “too eager” to donate and so when they stuck the needle in blood spurted everywhere. I looked over my shoulder as I was leaving, after having given 470ml of blood, to see a man with a bucket of antisepticy bubbly water scrubbing at the chair I had just sat in. I don’t have HIV, though, so hopefully there’s nothing to worry about!