Health

According to the medical model accepted by mainstream Western society, health is the absence of a diagnosable disease; however, good health is not the same as optimal health. Optimal health refers to being in peak physical, emotional, intellectual, social, and spiritual form, which is fostered through the regular practice of life-enhancing habits, including regular exercise, eating nutritious foods, avoiding tobacco and excess alcohol, managing stress, enhancing social networks, pursuing of a spiritual path, and achieving a sense of fulfillment in intellectual and occupational vocations.

(This text shamelessly stolen from Mary Hartley RD, on caloriecount.about.com)

I just felt that this was relevant, because it is nearly the New Year, and I hope to become truly healthy in 2010. Yes, it is resolution time. I read back over last year's resolutions and wow, I used to be a good writer. 2009 really was sink or swim, and what do you know, I managed to swim my ass right outta town. 2010 is a whole new decade, a whole new phase of my life. I'm a real adult now.

I need to avoid putting so many high expectations on myself that I end up crashing and burning and giving up. Health, creativity and spirituality (yeah, I'm a hippy, go fuck yourself) are my selfish goals.

Being a good little kitten for Owner is the other main plan. For mine and his benefit. I love him, and I want to make him happy, and if that means being slightly less of an insufferably selfish brat-creature, then so be it. A little less selfishness will probably help with every part of life.

Strongbow tastes better with piss in it.

I do not like Strongbow. Nor do I like James.

Last night we had one of our infamous drunken gatherings, where for some reason, much manly wrestling occured. Michael and Andy drew as the strongest, and James was the weakest. I beat him. Even though he pulled my hair. Yes, me, the patheticest piece of low muscle mass to ever walk the planet, beat somebody at a thing involving strength.
Anyway, for some other reason that probably seemed really good at the time, the boys got the floggers out for some kinky fun to manfully test their pain thresholds. At this point, I finished my bottle of wine and Mike gave me a can of cider. After I had drunk it, James decided to finally own up that he had pissed in the can to try and get Mike.

It was at this point that I threw up. In the bathroom, I hasten to add. I don't go round puking in public, whatever the provocation. James' prank seriously backfired on him. His hot girlfriend, and everyone else in the room, suddenly hated him. After much arguing, I decided to hide upstairs, and the arguing continued for a while longer. Eventually it was decided that he should take lashes. It was supposed to be 20 from a ten tailed rubber flogger, but this was cut down to 15 due to pussyness. His back was livid, bright bruises and even a little blood. And then him and Dan continued to argue for a long long while, as his girlfriend got bored and got a taxi home. He did not even notice. I assume he is today suffering the pain of an angry woman. Women are possibly the worst thing to ever have angry at you. With the possible exception of sharks, but lucky for us sharks are cold-blooded fishmonsters incapable of emotion.

Anyway, everyone was angry and moaning and so we decided to go to bed. This was a good move. All the drama had made me kinda sulky. And me being in a bad mood while drunk rarely ends well. Luckily tonight it ended ok. We snuggled up, all drunk and giggly, and watched Red Dwarf and ate cheese. So everything turned out ok in the end. It usually does.

Sod you, Sod and your stupid sodding Law

As soon as I got back to blogging, my laptop died. Lucky for me, being an unbearable middle-class brat, my parents bought me a new one. I'm just having to wait for it to be delivered, as it gets posted first to their house and then sent down here for me.
Having no laptop made me realise how much I need the internet. The entire modern world is based online. Right now I'm using a borrowed laptop because Zoe was lovely enough to let me use hers while she's at work. Now I must try to cram two weeks worth of internet into this day.

House Sharing

This is the first time I ever lived away from my parents (awwww, bless, etc. etc.) so everything started out as an awesome novelty. This house also started out with only four people living in it. M/Michael/my boyfriend/owner (yay nominal confusion), John, Jade and Dan. I moved in after about two months, and then Jade left, helpfully leaving us all of her kitchen utensils. To replace her, Gary moved in. Gary requires some explanation. A 24 year old virgin who owns a few thousand video games from every era, Gary is possibly the nicest person IN THE WORLD. If you asked him nicely, he would give you all his money, and let you stamp on his face. The poor guy wound up living in this house, and I'm not sure what that is doing to his sanity.

Yes, this house. This infamous pit of depravity. Mostly having its bad reputation because Michael lives here. Everybody knows that he is a Deparaved and Evil Human Being™, which basically means that our parties are always really awesome. They also frequently end with nudity, whips, butter (ok that only happened once), facepaints, violence (courtesy of lil' old me, the legendary psycho drunk), lesbians (me again) and terrible things happening to whichever poor fool passes out. So far our greatest achievement has been the 3 day Halloween party, involving 5 litres of vodka, 90 cans, various other miscellaneous alcohols, facepaints, and lots and lots of boobies. Yay for boobies!

So, What Do We Do?

We have a business. M quit his job (which he hated) and now he works for himself, and I work for him. We make collars. Or, he makes collars, and I help sometimes, in my unique and not that helpful way.

The company is called The Collar Box. We have a website!

Yeah, I am a corporate tool.

Lilly Scabette is Back!

Yes, I have returned to the blogosphere (whatever the fuck that is) and I have a lot to report.

Firstly, I, the free-range icon of commitment-phobic whoredom, am now in a commited and long term relationship. I am now living with M. Yes, I packed up and moved 200 miles to live with him. I've been here more than 6 months now.

Also, after years as an independent feral creature, I am now a domesticated pet slave. Not a particularly obedient pet, more the kind that scratches holes in the sofa while you're not looking, but still. I have an owner, and he does a pretty good job of not just putting up with me, but actually being nice and making things better. I am looked after and loved and in love. Which is all very nice and sickly-sweet, but not exactly interesting for you, dearest reader. Yes, I am considering your needs, so be grateful.

Luckily for you, stuff also happens here. We live in a houseshare, have friends and social life and such, and there is always plenty of petty drama and sexual deviance going on. You will be so glad that I came back.

I Got My Adventure

I went to see him for a week. It was amazing. He bought me flowers. Lilies for Lilly. 

We played and fucked and he mde me cry and it was good. 

I met his housemates and we got very drunk. I kissed a girl and I liked it so we fucked. Her boyfriend liked it too. So did M. 

We can lie in bed and talk for ages. Kisses and snuggles and all the things I couldn't let myself want. He likes me.  

I'm going back soon.

Wait...

I'm not that happy. We're all outta smokes. 

Easter

It is Sunday. I've been wrecked since Friday. 

I have an Eeyore Easter egg with a little toy Eeeyore. I think I am happy. 

Eeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

Soon. So soon. A week, a little longer. I have a diary, and a new set of matching underwear, and that is about the extent of my preparations. 

I ask how I can prepare. He says, "You can't." And that is very true. This is looking to be the most intense, crazy mad fun adventure of my life. I am so happy. I like him and he likes me. This has already changed me. And soon I will change some more. Breaking and rebuilding and learning to be his. 

I can't wait. 

I stroked a hedgehog. It uncurled and sniffed at me with its little black nose. Then it ran away. 

There was a rainbow around the moon. 

Science is just another kind of magic. 

So we went to a nice pub, and he was friendly, and we talked, and I drank red wine. I went back to his place. 

He'd asked me on a whim. The last time he'd seen me, I was a wrecked little fucktoy, crying and drugged. Says something for his character that he decided he'd like to actually get to know me after that. 

 

Ha. Ha.

So I log on to MSN today. And guess what? There are about 12 random guys who added me from Teenchat. Someone really is dedicated to increasing my popularity amongst the online pervert community. 

And more (web-based, this time) Drama

So a random guy adds me on MSN. I ask who he is. He acts like I should know. 

It turns out that somebody under the name of 'HornySubSlut' on Teenchat (no, I didn't know what that was until today) had given him my address, and said she was up for a random fuck. And, surprise, as soon as he asked her about why she was so weird on MSN, she disappeared. 

I wonder who would pretend to be me, and why. Did they think that I would be offended/upset/annoyed by a random guy asking me for sex? Er, I'm a girl, on the internet. I am sadly used to this happening. 

Were they trying, from the kindness of their hearts, to get me some free internet sex? Because that is just a bit weird, and I don't really need the help. 

Were they trying to get back at me? This is the most likely scenario, seeing as I've made it something of a hobby to piss people off on the interwebs. However, I wish they would at least try to give out some effective vengeance. I mean, trying to imply that I'm a horny sub slut who likes random sex is really not going to cut it, for reasons which should be very obvious.   

Okay. Drama.

So I saw my wife today. Yay. We did our usual dissolute youth thing, wandering around smoking and dancing and generally unemployed/unemployable. Then we went to a friend's house, and of course, this being a small town, and not having seen him in a while, the topic of THAT party came up. Was all laughs until we came to the group conclusion that somebody spiked my drink. 

You see, normal drinking goes like this: Sober-tipsy-laughing-drunk-paraletic-unconscious. 

That night went: Sober-tipsy-laughing-solid three hours of utter memory blank-return of memory-drunk

I am not the kind of person who would make up some spiked-drink bullshit to try and excuse my bad behaviour. I would prefer my bad behaviour to be all my own work. I don't need an excuse. 

It is also generally pointless to spike my drink, given the high cost of drugs, and the fact that I already have a drink means the liklihood of my saying no is really not that high anyway. Failing that, just give me the drugs, and then I'll be both grateful and even less likely to say no. The secrecy is really unecessary. 

Anyway, the main act of the drama. A couple of guys had told me that it was Gary who did it. I don't know how they know this, and its not like I'm in any position to disagree. They might actually remember something. So we have an anger about this, because Gary is apparently not such a nice guy anyway. Later, my wife talks to Gary. He didn't do it, and is upset about this stain on his reputation, but he does know who it really was. Somebody I have never heard of. 

I don't even know if any of this stuff happened. Everybody is going mad around me, slinging rumours and spinning stories, as I sit in the middle, serene in the knowledge that I managed to do bad. 

Why would this even happen?

I feel horrifically sad. Everything inside of me is dead and nobody outside wants me. I am a burden to the world. 

I am empty and broken. 

I don't want this. 

You will hate this post

Yes, I'm going to write about how much I adore my man and how he makes me feel so incredibly happy. 

Its true. 

Oww

I think I am hungover. Also sleep deprived. 

Through being drunk, I think I made some online enemies. You see, normal folks get home drunk and sleep. I can't sleep during the night, so I get home and talk to people. Lols ensue. Especially when one of these people is possibly the most arrogant man in the world. And by arrogant, I mean off the scale of human experience. He has, and I kid you not, written a 'self help' book centred around how incredibly awesome he is. He also took it upon himself to regularly criticise my lifestyle, and worse, my relationships. Being told that I was actually single, because any relationship I have is meaningless because it is not exclusive, got somewhat wearing. Worse were criticisms of M, and the constant questioning of my loyalty. This arrogant guy also reckons that he is the best dom in the world. 

So, us both being drunk, M decides to talk to this guy. Arguments ensue. Is rather entertaining. Somehow I don't think he's going to come back and tell me that I'm a slut any more.   

I am hated.

Yep. The status quo is restored. 

I knew things here seemed a little too... charmed. 

Nothing in my life can be maintained for that long. There is a law of nature requiring me to do something catastrophically stupid on an annual basis. Or possibly more frequently. 

For some reason I feel it is a little unfair that I'm hated for something I can't remember. Notorious, I don't mind, but people assuming malice really gets to me. My main rule in life is to never hurt anyone if I can help it. Also, apparently I am the one to blame for starting a fight. A guy tried to stick up for me against another guy, and both ended up punching, and the nice guy's nose got broken. So this is apparently evidence of my terrible character. I am truly the fallen woman. Though considering where I was before, if I fell any further I must be in the basement by now. 

Yes, today I have been mostly stressing. Which led to the vodka and hash pipe, which led to some pretty cool artwork. I got my scribbling mojo back! 

And I still have my M. He is still pleased with me, and so those little townsfolk don't seem to matter much anymore. He cares about me, and they don't. 

Money

There's some kind of conspiracy to take my money. 

I spent £5 on what the shop owner told me was UV paint, to find that it was not UV at all. 

My phone got robbed, that's £90 worth of thing gone, and then £45 to replace it. Spent £10 on vodka that someone took.

Then I went shopping. Spent £10 on jeans that don't fit. Spent £5 on food. Spent £20 on other stuff I really don't need. Went out and spent £20.

And today I get my phone bill. £73. What the hell. Especially seeing as 2 days ago it was at £40. I really need to sort out my contract. 

Anyway, that adds up to £188 of unecessary expenses in 2 weeks. Not even including the stuff I actually needed.

I get £60 a week to live on. Fucking stupid irresponsible fucktard. I think I was a bit hypomanic last week though. That's a good excuse right? And now I get the comedown, and have to face the consequences and pay the bills. 

Why can't I do anything sensibly? I thought I had the money stuff under control at least, but apparently not. I'm a disaster in life. I think if I was living on my own I'd have been thrown out on the streets long ago. 

Justine: The Ending

Is both abrupt and unexpected. Also slightly horrid. 

Overall, a good book. I recommend it to anyone with an interest in literature, moral philosophy, or torture. 

Book Review

I'm currently reading Justine, by the Marquis de Sade. It is definitely entertaining.

Justine, as a woman thrown out to fend for herself at the age of fourteen, tries to live a good life. A good Christian girl, she sticks to her morals. Some good it does her. She seems the unluckiest girl in the world. 

Unlucky to the point that when she runs away from a crazed incest loving sadistic paedophile and tries to take refuge in a monastery, she finds that the monks are actually, guess what? Debauched sadists! 

This contrasts with the life of her sister, who manages to seduce, murder and deceive her way into high society and live a life of immoral luxury. So, the question is, who will come out on top? Will virtue eventually be rewarded? Will moral crimes be somehow punished? Or is pleasure, rather than morality, truly the way to make it in life? 

Sadism is named after the good Marquis, and you can see why. Every man in this book seems to like nothing more than molesting innocent girls and attacking young flesh with whips. However it is also witty, philosophical, and quite short on the gory details, seeing as it was written in the 1700s. De Sade was still imprisoned and declared insane for publishing this novel, and it still hold the power to fascinate. Tales of weird depravity alternate with the perpetrators' moral justifications, as they try to persuade innocent Justine to join their libertine lifestyles. 

I haven't finished this book yet, but she's already been whipped quite a lot, lost two toes, her money, and her virginity, been branded with fire, and generally molested and beaten in every way. Her naivety and attempts to appeal to the goodness of humanity only seem to enrage fate.

Fate may well be the ultimate sadist. And sadists like it better when you cry. 

Being Forgiven for Doing Stupid Things

So I have an owner, M. Or should that be Owner, with a capital letter? Anyway, we have a good arrangement, where we are both allowed to do what we like, with whoever we want, provided we don't actually start a 'relationship' with them.  However, there was one single exception. I ask can I send pics to this person? Answer: NO. 

So guess what I did. 

Yes, I was deceitful, and I betrayed trust. I also woke up the next morning hungover and terrified and full of self loathing. There seems to be some horrible part in my mind which compells me to try and ruin everything. I don't deserve to be happy, and I'm going to be rejected anyway, so why not do it now, on my terms, sooner rather than later? 

That stupid part of my brain can go and die. 

I owned up to what I did. And he was not happy. But he didn't reject me, didn't just dump me. He decided that I should not any more speak to this person. So I obeyed. Me being weak has cost me. But it is a fair price, fair punishment. I don't know it's fair on the other guy though. I'm sorry to him. 

But M forgave me. 

The first orders. To change my behaviour. To make me better for him.

To be a slut. 

He makes me smile. He knows all of the terrible things wrong in my head, and he likes me anyway. He likes me because of them and in spite of them and I don't think I ever believed that such a person could exist. 

Of course, I still predict that everything is going to go horribly wrong and I'll end up heartbroken and even more of a mess than before, but that's probably a little paranoid on my part. 

I can't wait to go see him. About 3 weeks to wait. Hurry up, time. 

I knew it.

My blog is worth $0.00.
How much is your blog worth?

Day of not so much fun

Feeling randomly stressed for no reason. Getting nothing done, don't want to do anything. Impatient, trying to get my new phone and sim cards to work. Keep getting intense urges to break things. 

So I decided to smoke a little. I really need a smoking implement that doesn't leave my lungs in pain. Anyway, I giggled for a while and ate biscuits. 

Now am pining after Owner. This is bad. I do not do this. I'm not this pathetic over anybody, ever. He thinks its cute though, so it isn't all bad. 

I spent so long cold hearted and careless, but now I care, and are cared for, and it's amazing. It's also really really scary. Change. I know everything changes, and it's definitely time for me to do it, but it's still always easier, somehow, to stay where you are. Even though where I am is pointless and obviously unsustainable. 

Eek. So much anticipation.

Sleeeeep

I'm tired. Went to Stafford, spent the night with a friend. He's sweet. 

There are still nice people in the world. I think I made nice people happy. 

Got some funny looks on the way home when random commuters spotted the bite marks on my neck.  

Now I've got to do an entire German speaking assignment. I have about 4 hours to do the whole thing. But I may accidentally fall to sleep before then. 

I don't want to fall asleep, I want to talk to Michael first. Will be telling him all about my adventures.  

Massive LOL

I'm banned from the club because I got caught sucking someone off. 

This makes me giggle. 

I might actually be nearing the edge of my limits. I think my hand is broken. I also need to stop putting cigarettes out on my arm every time I get drunk. Find a new party trick, girl. That one is getting boring. 

Oh, and I got taken home in a police car.

I really wish I had my phone. That's the only part of last night I'm upset about. All my numbers, all my texts, my dirty pictures, everything. Lost. 

If the drugdealer boys stole my phone then that really is a new low. I mean, sure, take advantage of my drunken state, but don't rob me as well. 

Oh look, a new depth of depravity

Getting fucked, while drunk, by a bunch of guys, while they feed me drugs.

On the down side, I lost my phone. Was a good rave last night though. 

Fucking Emos

Killing yourself? I used to be exactly where you are now. 

I still think you're a selfish, inconsiderate bitch. But I don't hold it against you. As long as you try and get better. 

Because there is hope. 

I am a businesswoman

Because I have business cards. They advertise my services as a "writer and sexual performance artist". I am not sure how sober I was when I ordered them on a special free trial offer. 

Anyway, they arrived today, and Maddy took some. She gave them to some people, and then I got a call. I have succesfully self-promoted! Details of this call are to be kept secret for the time being, but if anything comes of it, then I will most definitely be writing about the results. I'll only say that the 'writer' part of my job description is not in very much demand. 

A fabulous career beckons...

(a spot in the gutter awaits)

 

RIP Sushi Mouse

Tonight Sushi mouse was dead, all curled up and cold in her little nest. It was nearly midnight. 

Funeral. Wearing my nightie but no knickers, I put on my black hat and my pearls and my mink. Digging in the moonlight, a hole big enough for a mouse. Didn't take very long at all. Lit a candle and buried my little darling. Gave her food and nest to keep her comfortable. 

Good night little mouse, sleep peacefully.  

Hehehe (that's a dirty little giggle)

I have found somebody as twisted as me, who agrees that I am as twisted as him. Twisted in a complementary and compatible way. We talk on the phone at night. He makes me admit I'm obsessed with him. He values my weirdness. 

He is also the only guy I have ever met who is happy with me being a slut, and I agree that it is only fair that he can play with whoever he wants as well. He gives me this freedom. Hell, I think he'd be disappointed in me if I decided to stop fucking around. 

Possibly, not that long ago, you may have heard me swear off relationships. However this is not normal relationships. This is a very caring, friendly and kinky arrangement in which I become his property. He takes care of me, and I be a good girl. He owns me. 

Yes. Me, the angry scratchy defensive one, is trusting an owner. It's like a feral cat being domesticated. All kinds of heartwarming. Possibly I'm the only person on the world who would describe slavery as heartwarming. Oh well. 

He makes me happy.

Obligatory Moan

This essay sucks. I hate my course. It's so boring. I can't wait for it to be over. 

Ok, moan over.

Now to finish this assignment and start on my German one. Expect crying and rage. 

Yay Maybe

As you may know, I am covered in scars. They make me look like a crazy person, and just lately I've been wondering what exactly people think when they see them. Are they a turn off to guys? Do they scare or disgust people? The reason for this random bout of paranoia is that I met a guy, he saw me naked more than once, and not once mentioned the obvious history I wear on my skin. Was he damn unobservant, or too scared to even ask? 

Then on a totally unrelated mission, a friend sent me to Scar 13's website. And maybe, just maybe, my porno career is safe. I can continue being interesting. 

Peircings + Paintball = Pain

I can not resist blogging my brother's misfortune/stupidity. 

Last weekend he got a hip piercing. (They look like this)

This weekend he went paintballing. 

Direct hit. A steel ball embedded in his flesh, leaving a nice spherical hole. No more piercing.  

The Happy Side of Today

I got a new skirt delivered in the post. Its really short, one of those flippy layered things, in black and white stripes. It is a bit slutty, but in a cute way, and I'm sure my owner would well approve. OK, I promise to stop all of these stupid oblique and self-satisfied references to being owned. At some point when I'm feeling eloquent I'll explain, but for now, I have a nice skirt so I am quite happy.

Also my dad bought me a good mic headset when he went to PC World. We also have a new printer now, networked so that I can actually use it. The luxury...

Even better than these things is that I talked to him on the phone again tonight and he makes me smile. I feel like a total fool, and some part of me is warning that I'm only going to get hurt in the non-fun way. But he is so very brilliant. If I tried to invent a matching man for myself, I don't know if I could have done quite this well. 

I haven't even met him in person yet. Shut up slut-girl, and stop making a fool out of yourself. 

Unhelpful

I am doing a German course at the Open University. The assessments for this involve me recording myself speaking and then sending them through the internet to my tutor. For this, I need a microphone. Well, guess what? My dad is doing his utmost best to avoid buying me one. Also, I am apparently banned from ever owning a webcam because 'there are more important things I should be doing'. I am utterly fed up of that being used as a reason for things. It doesn't bear up to any logical scrutiny. But basically, anything that is not work is actively discouraged. However, usually anything to do with my education is supported with great enthusiasm, so I must be really hated to not even deserve my course essentials.

I think I am way too cranky today. Maddy made off with my fags, and I get no good sleep because my mother has taken it on herself to wake me up at 8am every weekday, and this being a weekend she decided to wake me up at some random time anyway. Why can't everyone just fuck off and leave me alone? Or at least not actively try to make my life more difficult. Fucking hell.

Happy

I was woken by a slap in the face (I love you Grace), and then Maddy made me coffee. I was needed to witness Grace's awesome new tattoo.

The day was sunny and beautiful, we were remembering what it was like to be warm. A picnic bought from Tesco, including a bottle of wine, and some (non-Tesco brand) weed was all we needed. Sitting on a fallen tree, being kids, smoking and eating Jammy Dodgers.

Home early. I finally watched Dark Knight. I must be the last person in the world to have seen this movie. But it was worth the wait, it is rather good. Ironically I was wearing a Dark Knight t-shirt while I watched it. I only realised this about 3 hours later, and then realised that I was kind of a dick for wearing a shirt promoting a film I hadn't even seen.

Later, talking online, and then a phonecall. He lives 200 miles away, but is the most compatible person I have ever met. We are both twisted, but in ways which complement each other perfectly. He owns me. He makes me feel so happy.

Good Morning

I did not go to bed. I think I will drink some coffee and eat some cereal now.

I spent the rest of the night on the internet. I learn so many things every time I do this.

I learn disturbingly funny things. NSFW. NSFAnywhere really. (And I found this as a link from a normal blog, before you ask.)

I found that Amazon recommends me really shit stuff. But my wishlist kicks ass.

CBA to link to where I've been. Probably mainly on MSN anyway. OMG can tell I had no sleep, typing in abbreviations and not caring that it makes me look slightly ignorant.

Now I think I'm going to find coffee. Then I'll sleep. Yes, I know that's the wrong order completely, but fuck off. It's how I operate.

LOL

Mingle2 - How Sexually Experienced Are You?3

The life of the common woman.

Awakened at noon by the doorbell, my friend is here to see me. I am half awake and we drink coffee and play Guitar Hero. I totally rock out still wearing my pyjamas. My father walks in, looks at my friend in disgust, and asks, 'What are you doing here?' He has chosen this day to work from home, and apparently there is now a rule against people visiting the house during the day. An hour later, friend is sent away, and I stand ashamed of my own father. He is so lacking in social skills.

Now it is time for me to get ready. Shower, clothes, make-up. Dick around for a while, eat, do a crossword, tidy up. Change into a shorter skirt, fine-tune the eyeliner, style the hair. I am heading out the door, as father is coming home from the shop. Cue argument, in which even my mother takes my side. Even she agrees that greeting somebody with an interrogation/critical rant is not good form. However the situation still ends with me telling my daddy to get the fuck out and die, and storming out. Yes, I am so mature.

I march to Belper powered by anger. It is a good way to make a journey fly by. I have things to do tonight. Meet my friend on the way, make a quick phonecall, go to a cashpoint, and go pick up. This is a task entrusted to me by others, and I must say I did rather well.

Next stop, boy's house. No more details for you on this. But he has to wake up at 6am the next morning, and screw it if I'm doing that, so it's back out, and to the pub I go.

Having eaten only a couple of snacks today, downing half a pint, a double and a single in an hour was surprisingly effective. Then cheesy ships with ketchup as I walk home with my brother and two of our friends. Oh yeah, and I have a thing with one of those friends too.

Oh, and all through this I was exchanging texts with another man.

Now I'm home, eating chocolate swiss roll (got to have at least one chocolate thing in a day) and chatting rubbish on MSN. It's 2.36am and I may soon go to bed.

Nutritional Profile

Today I have eaten:

slice chocolate cake (200 kcal)
mug extra strong coffee (50)
sausage (120)
peas (60)
baked beans (100)
cup of tea (20)
giant bag of chocolate buttons (920)
babybel (50)
herbal tea (-)
apple juice (90)
water (0)

Total: 1610 kcals.
Calories from chocolate based foods: 1120
70% of all calories from chocolate

I am massively healthy.

Real Boy

So I was all happy to not see him. But I'm seeing him again. He was sorry. He wants some fun, and so do I. I will go and rock his nice normal-guy world until it falls apart and he dies of fear and exhaustion. Then in the morning I will go home.

And Now Comes The Bad Part of Being Loved By Many Weirdos

I now have to start pruning down my collection. Hairdresser was sadly the first to go. He got dumped by his girlfriend today. He asked the question, outright, if I wanted to fuck him. And so I say no. And I don't want him to come and do my hair either. He's probably going to go kill himself now, and it will be all my fault. Sorry to Maddy and Tom, I just lost us all our free highlights, but he was getting creepy. Phonecalls to me while he was with his girlfriend, constantly wanting amusing conversation and goodnight texts, this is not a person who I want knowing where I live.

Now I expect that some others will fade away. I found the normal people who I need, they are staying firmly here, but hopefully over time the obsessive weirdo quotient will decrease. However, the ones who make good conversation are welcome to stay, simply because I need something to do at 4am on a Wednesday night. And, I suppose, there will be plenty of new people I meet. The social scene must not be allowed to stagnate.

Warning: Incredibly fucked up revelations.

I live in a state of constant amazed amusement, gazing wide-eyed at the world, and what I do in it.

Somewhere in my head I am still that good little girl. Perfect Pip, who got really good marks but would scarcely dare to speak. The one who had never had a boyfriend, the one they pitied, the girl with the glasses who read too many books and always did as she was told.

Then that girl gradually stopped being scared of everybody. She dared to speak. She dared to scream and drink and fuck. She was still scared, but that heart-pounding adrenalin became her favourite drug. That girl went a little crazy and lived a lot.
All the while, the good girl was sitting with her notebook, watching the all-night parties and casts of strange characters, writing and wondering and being thoroughly entertained. Once upon a time she dreamed that she would live like this. Yes, she may have been a good girl, but there was always a fascination with the seedy and debauched side of life. Nobody knew this. She hardly knew this. But it was there, and now it could be indulged.

All this indulgence is not good for little girls. Quiet girls are not wanted at parties, they get pushed to the side while the real women drink and flirt and worse. I let her watch. She gets no love, this lovely character. She's the one with the empathy, the will to please, the kindess and the big eyes that gaze up at you wanting a hug.

I just kept kicking her. She's the part of me that gets hurt, the part that gives and trusts without suspicion or subtlety. She's the one who gets ripped off and left broken hearted. I thought she was a liability. So no more empathy and giving and submission. Excise it. Cut it out and burn it up.

Couldn't do it. I still keep my mixture of empathy, caring, and utter, fucked-up, going-too-far, pursuit of pleasure and experience.

And so, I have found somebody who will help. Fucked-up extremes, somebody for the good girl to please, to take me back to who I really am. A master.

Told you it was a little fucked up.

Reject

'Come round later.'
So I did not ask exactly when later, and so I did not go. This makes me happy. Second nights are not a good idea. I hope he doesn't try again.

What is a good idea, is running away to a distant city to see a guy. It has to be done. More on that later.

Academic update: When doing a course, don't leave all the reading for the week before your assignment deadlines. Damn, but these Open University courses are so boring. I think if I made the effort to get properly into the subjects then I'd enjoy it a lot more, but effort is the key problem with that plan. That, and my attention span re-shrinking to fifity seconds. Damn you, internets.

Er... I have no excuse

To have a boy in my room kissing my neck, while I choose my underwear for a date tonight, and talk sub to another guy over MSN. This be somewhat debauched. Is there a policy on turning up to see somebody with bitemarks already on your neck?

Boy

He said I'm amazing.

I'm seeing him again.

This isn't how things usually work out.

Something which is a little bit creepy:

A Goth couple with matching purple hair.

Cyberfuck.

Humans are uniquely various creatures. They are also ruled by various complex social value systems and self-restraints.

However, put them on the internet, and everything falls down. Behind their screen-shields, people lose their shame. And hey, who wants shame anyway? It's interesting to see how people interact without the fear of condemnation. Even if they do get shunned by some sections of the online community, there is always somewhere else for them to go, more people for them to meet.

You can meet all sorts of people on the internet. Just like the real world, but while you might have to know somebody for years in person before they admit to their bizarre fetishes, you only need to IM a stranger for five minutes before you know that they love to dress in rubber and have cat-women piss on their face.

For some reason, I am deeply attractive to weirdos. I don't go out to find them, I don't offer webcam services or MSN sex. There are only face shots on my profile, and I don't have a secret stash of other pics to send people. I am, as internets go, a nice girl. (I AM NORMAL WTF.)

This fails to explain the followers I have. The cross-dressing bisexual who loves me and wants me to be his exclusive sex slave. The rubber fetishist, the masochist, the men in general who tell me their secrets and expect topless pics in return. Ha, good luck to 'em.

I spent the early hours of the morning explaining to a depressed guy why I really would not be able to be his girlfriend/collared slave. He was really upset that I wouldn't promise to be faithful to him. This is what led to this blog. Expect more news updates.

And no, I am not an internet whore. It just seems that if a woman spends too long online, she draws all the wrong kind of attention. It's like walking into the seediest pub in town. I feel so very dirty. LOL.

Endorphins, Pina Colada and Ghetto Boys

Today I was wandering around Derby with Maddy, a massive grin on my face, utterly high on the adrenalin of piercings. Jordan the piercing guy and Maddy were slightly bemused by how calm and happy I was.

We decided to celebrate. A picnic by the river, with a box of donuts and a bottle of pina colada. Surrounded by pigeons and seagulls, looking out over the water, people passing by and everything working out just fine.

A guy on a bike starts talking to us. Shows us his prison tattoos, tells us about the guns and cars and drugs he owns. I'm not sure what happens then, but I'm sat on his knee kissing him.

Why does this kind of thing happen to me?

Nipples

Yes. Pierced.
Feels so very good.

Sheffield, From What I Can Remember

I went to visit Kayl. We ate the most delicious pizza, and drank vodka in her room. Then I wake up with a horrible hangover, some really filthy texts on my phone, and a matching cigarette burn on my other wrist. I think it was a good night.

Every time I travel I discover a random phrase, and a random piece of knowledge. Today, we learned that the Beatles are a fabulous hangover cure. I had a lovely walk through Sheffield, it is getting to be one of my favourite cities in this world.

"Don't just sit in Kansas waiting for the storm."

Days

Wreck it 'til you're shaking, then sleep all day. Live in the dark, live in smoke, live in cyberspace.

Drink and smoke and snort and swallow.
Tease, flirt, fuck.
Listen to music and talk to people, learn about this world.

Travel, keep your promises and take your chances.

Be inspired.

When I don't come home, do they wonder where I am?

Daily Routine

It is nearly 6pm. I just woke up. I slept for 14 hours, but that doesn't seem unusualy anymore. I make coffee and stand outside to smoke a cigarette. My throat hurts. It is almost dark, the last birds still chattering their evensong. By the time I've finished smoking, they fall silent.
Inside again. It is music time. First song of the day, Nine Inch Nails, Closer. Some dark filthy sex music to set me up for the night.

It appears that I have departed from the routine.

Cried myself to sleep, woke up and cried, stared at a computer screen, stared at a book, cried some more.

I feel so bad right now and there's nothing I can do. I'm a fuck up and that's it. Finished.

Consequences

Shaun actually hates me now. I mean he has cancelled every last scrap of caring or respect he might have had. He says I'm selfish, a burden, and people don't want to get to know me because of this. He says I need to grow up, that he has utterly stopped caring, that I am being removed from his Facebook because he 'considers it a place for friends'. He hopes I've learned my lesson.

I wish he'd have just left me on the street in Manchester. Would be better than being so scorned.

Happy Valentines Day

I'm shaking and fragile, coming down, hating myself. Fucked up, can't focus, can't walk straight. Fucking idiot.

What Happened Next

I remember being in Grand Central, and then I remember being in the nearly empty top room at Jilly's, with a bunch of older guys. Then Shaun appeared. I made out with some guy, who uttered the words 'If I wasn't engaged...'

I drank a vodka and coke, and then there is a blank space. Apparently I passed out on the stairs, which would explain the bruises on my back, and was then carried out of the club. I remember sitting outside while a girl gave me water to drink. I'm told I tried to attack various people, and was taken in a taxi to the train station. At the train station I apparently burnt my arm with a cigarette, and then we went to Leeds, me continuing to be off my tits in a shameful manner.

Then we are at Leeds station, and some memory comes back. Shaun and a friend he met there waited with me for three hours. Then they went, and I somehow made friends with a guy. So we talked, and then some old guy started talking to us for a while as well. Eventually I got a train at 6am back to Derby. The guy I met asked me to go back to his, but I figured that wouldn't be wise. So home I went, getting colder all the time. Eventually I got in at 9am and collapsed into bed.

Reportage #3

[transcribed with increasing difficulty from Manchester notebook]

My God. I am utterly fucked. Took one pill, spilled drink on self. Lost ability to write. Oh dear, I'm the loner alky. Every bar and pub has one, but why does it have to be me? Oh yeah, because I'm the only one on drugs. I bet none of these folks drank a bottle of Benylin yesterday. I bet none of them took a random pill. Oh fuck, I have utterly failed. I had planned to talk to people, but instead I'm writing bitchy things about them.

I like it here. I'm fucked, really out of my brain, but not one person has hassled me. I might move to Manchester, or Sheffield. Both are better than Derby. I can't write properly anymore. I am going to look an utter twat when I meet Shaun. But weirdly enough I don't care. I have finally stopped letting people affect me. I feel like I'm about to pass out. I am happy. NIN are on the jukebox.

I want sex but never love. I want those bastards who will fuck me and not care. I am not built for love. I want to text my sexfriend because NIN remind me of him.

[this final section is practically illegible]

Oh dear. I'm with guys, trying so hard to test [?] everyone. I even burnt a fag on myself. [upon reading this I check myself for evidence. there is indeed a burn in the centre of my left wrist. it does not hurt at all.] [the final lines of writing are utterly illegible]

Reportage #2

I found my way to the Oxford Road, and I found the student bar Font. £2 cocktails, need I say more? Admittedly they are very basic, but definitely drinkable. I just slurped down a Cosmopolitan in record time. I think I'll go soon, there are too many students :(

I've now made it to Grand Central. Shaun text me about it and said that it was a rocker pub. I just saw long haired boys wearing black outside and decided to come in. Now I'm drinking Stella and waiting for something, I know not what, to happen. I guess I want someone to randomly talk to me, but I'm not sure if that happens in cities. People are once again looking at me funny as I'm sat on my own writing. There's a nice Kerrang metal flavoured jukebox here at least. I feel somewhat at home. My head is spinning. I have eaten two baked sweets today, and yesterday a yogurt, a packet of crisps, 2 grapes and 2 biscuits. My alcohol tolerance must be really low now. Might go to the bathroom and drop a pill in a bit. The anticipation is killing me.

Human beings are quite insular creatures, especially metalheads. They are possibly the geekiest of rock tribes, but still. I have noticed that less people approach me now I look more weird. Am I too much of a loser? Just too odd for them to engage with? Or maybe the fact that I'm always writing, rather than engaging in the real world. Even when I'm not actually writing, I'm thinking, 'Hey, this would make a great blog post, I'd say this, and present it from this sort of angle.' Maybe I just look self-sufficient. Nobody fucks with the girl with the notebook. I am an impartial observer. Or something.

By the end of the night I hope I'll have written maybe one useful thing. Most of this is drunk drughead balls, whatever spills out when I put pen to paper. I hope at least that I'm developing as a person and as a writer.

Reportage #1

[transcribed from a notebook I took with me to Manchester]

Railway tracks dissect our concrete desert, and trees perch in islands. Glass is broken and brickwork is dirty, cars and people and stores fly past now blurring. I can feel my belly hollowing in, you can't eat properly on this stuff. We're travelling past fields now, fences and green, rivers shining in the low winter sun. I smell of cigarettes. I've smoked too many in the last two days. For some reason it doesn't seem to matter anymore. I have pills in my bag. Clouds float on water. Reflections like paintings, beauty. I'm still half fucked from the bottle of DXM I drank yesterday. In the quiet carriage of the train, it feels like a library. Warm and safe and peaceful. I feel so calm and hollow. This feels like the end. There is still so much green grass in the world, although some is hidden under snow. The sun is just an orange glow and trees stand stark silhouettes.

Depart.

Waiting for the next train, in a deep cutting which feels like a canyon. Between the cafe and the high stone wall, the people are quiet and the air is cool. It smells of caves and no sunlight. Green moss grows.

This train is crowded. People everywhere. Orwellian announcement: 'A full ticket check will now take place. Please have your tickets nd travel documents available for inspection.' The woman's voice is damn scary. I thought I was dying earlier, but a bit of food was all that I needed. Easy to let blood sugar fall too far. I don't know how long this train ride is. Everything in here is purple, chairs, tables, floor. Outside are snowfields reflecting the twilight back at us. Great hills on the skyline, the sky streaked with pink. Rooks fly around their messy nests, black scraps of life. Existence. This is wild country now. Hamlets and farmhouses, stands of trees and the high hills surrounding it all, cutting it off from the real world. Us on this train, sealed in with our laptops and electric lights, we are aliens to the small leaves and dry branches. We are lost.

I've got here. City full of lights and people, a big cold place where we are all much smaller. First pub I saw, I'm in it. Traditional style, painted-on character, all cheery and full of the half dead. I'm drinking cider on my own and quite hilariously out of place. I can watch all of these people as they relax and unwind after a week of work. I can never relax or unwind. Or work, for that matter. Must look a little odd sat here writing. At least they ignore me.

Everyone here looks the same. Jeans and shirts, suits and shirts, same attitude, same manner, same laughs. I need some cigarettes, I'm running out already. This is dificult. I'm in a totally unknown place, alone. I've never done this before. Always there was somebody to follow, somebody more likely to know the way. Now I have to rely on myself. I can feel cider in my brain already. This is going to be a fucking weird night, I can tell. When I've finished my drink, I'm going to walk. The longer I sit here, the more odd looks I attract. This is not a place for girls, let alone pink haired ones. Men outnumber women by about ten to one, it feels like a gentleman's club. I am a weirdo. Not even taken any pills yet, but I'm sure they will help the situation hugely.

Oh, I love cider. So sweet and refreshing, it slips straight onto the brain. Oh my. An old man just stared at me for five minutes straight. He looks like he's going to burst into tears, or attack. Fun times. I'd forgotten how being a bit unusual looking changed things so. I'm drinking faster now, this place has nothing for me. Everyone is in their groups, talking boring, old, done. Drink almost finished, nearly time to move out, chance my luck and sense of direction in the real world. Or at least until I find another pub.

Another Fabulous Compliment

'Your dorkorrific nature puts me truly at ease.'

Pink hair and Singledom

I finally redid my hair. Going from a slightly quirky, inoffensive style (with undercut) to a bright pink streaked, very assymetric cut, (with bleached undercut). I also dyed my eyebrows slightly purple. I feel like I'm back to normal.

People look at me slightly funny. Some people love it, others really don't. I just do what I feel like. It's nearly Valentine's Day, horribly commercialised as it is, and I'm single. Apparently this is because I look like a freak.

WRONG.

It's because of my multitude of obvious character flaws.

Come on people, let's not be shallow. Its what's inside that counts.

That Lovely Nicotine

Well, the quitting smoking thing is a total waste of time. I don't even want to quit. I like it too much. I know, its filthy, wrong and unhealthy. But that just makes me want it more. I am the queen of perversity, and I love my drugs.

I'm happy this week, because I have something to look forward to. On Friday, I'm going to Manchester. Going shopping, drinking, meeting a guy I talk to on MSN, going to a goth club. They have the best music. Although I am generally a lapsed goth (I don't have black velvet clothes any more), I think I can still get it together. Hopefully spending the last year wearing ripped skinnies and whatever is on the floor of my room has not totally destroyed my impeccable sense of style. And yes, I still pretty much only wear black.

Promotion!

Randomly wasting time on the internet can lead you to fascinating places. Not just weird porn and woeful comedy videos, but real original thought. Here is an article which seems to agree with what I'm saying. It's from nthposition, a brilliant online magazine site. It contains many fascinating articles which you should read. It may even increase your intelligence.

Another Night, Another Dawn

Sky daubed luminous with sunrise, night fading gently into a cold new day. Walking home, there is still snow, white on distant fields. It glows as the sky widens pale and empty.

To stay up all night, talking, listening to music, getting to know new people. Sustained by chemicals, the evening starts in a pub, ends up in private rooms. I haven't been out as myself in a so long, I forgot I could socialise. Met a lot of new people, which was brilliant. Found a new poison to add to my repetoire too. *sniffs covertly* Everything slightly surreal, night deepening around us as the weak drop out and go home. We, the select nocturnal, stay, playing classic rock at 5am with the windows open, watching the sky lighten.

We are such a lovely mess.

Plans Which Backfire Spectacularly

Well, I quit smoking. Haven't had a cigarette for a couple of days. All well and good, no?

Sadly, this state of affairs can not be maintained. I am now making a concerted effort to obtain kreteks. These are clove cigarettes. I don't want them because they are a classic goth cliche, although I do appreciate this. Oh no, I want them because they are rumoured to make your lungs bleed. I mean real, heamorhagic pulmonary edema type bleeding. Yes, I think that coughing up blood is cool.

There is possibly something very wrong with my brain. I woke up feeling unreal, like I was physically falling through space. This has happened for the last three days. Maybe I'm going to have a mental breakdown. That would be pretty entertaining. I'd make sure to blog every morbid detail of it too.

Curses

Yes, I realised one possible cause for all my unhappiness. It is, as usual, entirely my own fault.

I seem to have got into a terrible habit of cursing people. I wish inventive, poetic, and entirely horrible fates onto everybody for even the slightest misdemeanor. Sometimes I wish bad things simply because they would lend poetic irony to a situation.

Today, as far as I can remember, I've wished people mutilated, impotent, diseased, and dissatisfied. I've wished life-changing catastrophes on people for their own good (yeah, you'll value your life more when you get cancer) and generally been uncharitable and cruel within my own brain. Maybe I shouldn't have watched Saw.

All of those curses above will probably be dissipated by my publicising them, but the millions of others are still out there. And, equally worrying, I curse myself a lot too. I wish misfortune and misery upon my own head. Hey, I'm a writer, where else am I supposed to get material?

More Time Wasting.

Meet the Existential Crisis Bunny. He thinks that your life is meaningless.

I'm not sure if he's even a bunny. I mean, really, what is that, aside from the malformed product of too long spent sniffing marker pens?

Distractions

Pictures. They are, apparently, worth a thousand words. Haha.

I'm Going to Fail :-)

I decided that the eassay of death was not getting any better, so I just sent it off. Hopefully the good marks on the other assignments will make up for its utter dreadfulness.

The course I'm doing does not actually count for anything. Whatever I get in it will have no bearing on the classification of any degree I get. That's assuming I can be bothered to do a full degree. I think I'd rather just get a few credits and then piss off to a real university.

I wonder, now, why I chose such a pointless course. I suppose its less pressure on me, that it doesn't count, but I am wasting my time. Again.

God damn waste of time girl. Sorry, it's existential crisis day. Feeling pretty perky on it though. A little rum can work wonders.

Don't Give Up Giving Up

I woke up coughing today, and decided to quit smoking before I get any unhealthier. From now I will not buy any more cigarettes, ever.

I had the last one this afternoon. Now its the middle of the night and I'm feeling all edgy. Its not that I physically need nicotine, its that I know I can't have it, so I want it.

I wonder what will happen now.

Only stupid people are happy.

I want it written on a T-shirt. Maybe I should start marketing stupid slogans.

Only stupid people are happy.

© 2009 LillyScabette

Intelligence

Yesterday I decided that my brain was not as good as it used to be.

Today I realised that of course it isn't. I used to be in school, thinking, solving problems, doing intelligent things all the time. I used to devour classic novels, have in-depth conversations, and analyse paintings.

Now I do none of these things. I skim-read textbooks, and avoid scientific thought. The last book I read was a trashy vampire pulp novel. Mostly I feed my brain webcomics and daft stoner conversations.

It seems obvious that I would have got worse at academic subjects. I live on junkfood, and feed my brain the same. I need to nourish it on something other than drugs and Youtube videos.
Even the trash novels are a step up. Reading an entire book is an achievement. This is so horribly sad.

Strange

I feel strange.
I had weird dreams and woke up feeling not-quite-here.
For some reason this post has automatically aligned to the right, but it seems appropriate somehow.
I feel alone but I don't want to go out. I don't want to see people. I need alone time.

However, I also have a creeping suspicion that not many people like me.
And even less people really care about me. I have no really close friends. Nobody really knows me. This is quite depressing.

Why have I suddenly fallen into maudlin introspection? An hour ago I was kicking ass at Guitar Hero, and an hour before that I was dancing around the place, full of industrial electro-joy.
Stupid mood swings.

An Academic Education

Well, I'm supposed to be writing an essay right now, hence the blogging. It is not going well. It is on a subject I don't care about, for a course I'm getting bored of, which doesn't even count towards my final degree classification. Still, it would be humiliating if I failed. And more importantly, I need to learn how to write decently, without relying on the panic-induced essay trance which normally happens.
I don't know if I'm clever or stupid. I was clever at school and got good grades, but maths is beyond me, and I'm currently struggling to write 1200 words on a simple topic which I have just studied. Possibly I did used to be intelligent, but lack of use and too much messing with it have left my brain withered and shrunken. Maybe I was always a bit daft and people were just humouring me when they said I was clever. Or maybe I am too intelligent for such mundane tasks as essays, and my brain is more suited to writing philosophical treatises and creating fabulous and revolutionary theories.

Ok maybe not that last one.

Possibly I will settle for being average or slightly above average intelligence, but with severe problems with motivation and application. Even when I want it to do stuff, most of my brain just can't be bothered. Its my brain, it should do as I say, but obviously not. Stupid lump of junk. At least it burns 25% of calories consumed, so is doing its bit to stop me from getting fatter.

Maybe that is why stupid people and fat people are generally considered the same. Stupid people think less, and so burn less calories, and so are statistically more likely to be fat. Yes, another theory which sounds good, but is utterly unscientific. If thinking made you thin, then I would be a skinny rake. Although maybe it is what lets me eat like an utter pig and not become morbidly obese. Yes, people, become neurotic! Fret constantly! Pause only to think up crackpot theories! It helps you lose weight!

Snow!

Yes, the entire country is in uproar, it's all over the news, everybody has heard about the three inches of snow. But I'm still going to blog about it.

I love the snow! It makes me feel like a kid, it transforms the world, making beauty everywhere. Walking through the streets, seeing the snowflakes falling down, casting tiny shadows in the whiteness, is so life affirming, so peaceful. It is impossible to be unhappy in the snow.

I'm sure if we lived in Canada or Norway or some other permanently snowed in place, then it would not be at all exciting. But this is England so we have to be more enthusiastic about this novelty weather.

We made a giant snowball and named it Jeremiah. It started off as a snowball, then became more of a snowbean, then a snowprawn, then the prawn wanted to be a real boy, and its wish came true, and we had a snowbaby which we smashed to pieces on the ground.

Back on Earth

Here I am. Back in what passes for normal life. Brain still subtly rearranging itself, processing the mass of sensations and information it received over the last two days.

I think I have learned some things. Some things which make me sad, other things which will help me.

I learned that people are motivated by fear, and as such they are dangerous. I learnt that people are motivated by instinct, and as such can be controlled. And I learned that people still contain something pure and beautiful.
People are hurting, and I want to help them, but I don't know how. I know that I can't fix them, they have to grow themselves, but I at least would like to know how to guide and nurture them.

I learned that I can not expect people to be how I want them to be. They will be shallow and selfish and silly and they will not learn or change.They will not be gentle or thoughtful or spiritual, and I have to learn to deal with that.

I learned that the human body is a precarious balance, more like a man riding a unicycle across a tightrope while carrying all his wordly possessions, than a sleek and beautiful system. Luck keeps us going as much as anything. My own body is starting to wobble. My legs are bad and something in my stomach is bad. I should do something about this.

I saw that the universe is a place of chaos. We try to create order, but this is impossible, and we end up only with stress and pain. To accept the chaos of life is the way to happiness.

Glass Birds, Guns, and the ability to think entirely in abstract metaphors.

The shaman seeds. We are children playing with guns now. We can not even pretend to understand what we are doing. I just hope I've not pulled the trigger.

Intense, soul-baring, cosmos-communing agony/ecstasy and the most beautiful experience. Imagine knowing everything. Losing the ties which bind your soul and experiencing the entire universe. The human brain is possibly not built to process such input. Or possibly the brain is so much better than we thought, and can generate such things if given the proper stimuli. Imagine experiencing the death and decay of your body and knowing that this will come to pass, accepting this as inevitable as you swallow back the blood and feel your bones crumble. This is not frightening. Imagine being able to see everything between people. The intricate connections between each one of us and the universe. The thousand complex layers of motivation, ego, instinct, desire which drive us.

Know that inside everyone is a kernel of infinity.

What would happen if we dared to let it free?

We live now in fear. Our true selves are glass birds. They are so fragile, we keep them in cages inside fortresses of ego. We think that if they touch the world outside they will shatter.

Try it. Unlock the door and the glass bird will be feathers and warm beating heart and fly out into the world. It is eternal and ever changing.

You do not need to fight anymore.

We just went to the health centre to pick up some weed. On the way back we waved to a policeman.

Irony and Alienation

When people feel alienated from mainstream society, they tend to join subcultures. But now the subcultures have become so exclusive, with so many rules and ideals, that they are hilarious.

I have no natural home. I flutter around between the punks, goths, 'alternatives', 'normals', ravers, stoners, unique human beings. Each group is ironically the same. I laugh at them all, I can identify with them all, and therefore I belong nowhere. I'm a culture-whore, running from the Chemical Brothers to Jefferson Airplane to Rammstein to TaTu to the Velvet Underground. Lately I have mostly been listening to goth, EBM and electro. Nine Inch Nails being the only example that you will have heard of. I haven't even heard of the rest. Alva Novalis? Huh? But they're good. I found them in a 'Gothic Compliation' I downloaded. I love random musical discoveries.

Sometimes I just wish I belonged somewhere. It must be nice to be able to think of yourself as part of a defined group. Then you know what you're doing, what might be fun, where you belong. Animals survive by specialisation, so maybe being a generalist is a bad strategy. Creatures like rats are generalists, and everybody hates them despite their evolutionary success. General handymen are paid less than specialist artisans.

Being a 'generally everything' is not getting me anywhere. My life is utterly lacking in focus. My music collection is bizarre, my education piecemeal, and my wardrobe an utter mess. I feel like I'm not expressing myself anymore, not bothering to discriminate between 'me' and 'not for me, thanks'.

I'm too cowardly, or too lazy, to bother being me anymore. I've fucking dissipated. Fail, again.

Equal and Opposite Reaction

Every time of happiness is followed by a time of miserable payback.

This is really fucking annoying. I want to curl up in a corner and cry. Instead I have an essay to write, but every period of intelliegence is also followed by a period of dull stupidity, and my brain has lost its processing abilities.

So yes, I'm miserable, bored, and tired of this. I'm going to do really badly on this assignment, which is 20% of my course, and basically I fail. It doesn't help that I was woken up this morning by my dad turning on my bedroom light and shouting at me. I don't know why anybodyt think that its acceptable to do that to somebody. Manners?

Stupid fail. The worst thing is that I can see I'm being irrationally morose. I just have no idea how to stop being like this apart from waiting it out. This sucks so much. Not even the prospect of free cocaine is cheering me up. Those who know me will understand, that's a very bad sign.

I can't even make a decent blog post, let alone converstion, and as for a 1200 word essay on tradition and dissent, well, fuck off . Fucking stupid world, stupid bitch, fail. I feel so horrible that I should stay away from everbody, but that is not the sensible thing to do. I feel so aimless and pointless and worthless. Why now? I was doing everything right.

Camera Wish

Last night I was thinking how nice it would be to own a camera. Today I walked past the Oxfam shop to see their window display filled with old cameras. Proper style ones, which take film and have big chunky lenses and flash attachments and all sorts of arcane and fascinating equipment.
I could take photographs of all of the things I stare at. I could make whole insufferable albums of blurry abandoned buildings and half-obscured faces, empty shots of little interest to make people feel vaguely sad.

I wonder if I'd be any good at it. Probably end up throwing the camera at a wall after about 3 failed shots. Everything worth doing is so freaking difficult.

I've lapsed into worn-out melancholy, and it's not even midnight yet. Fucking idiot.

Thought Pattern

Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Chocolate. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Violence. Essay? Failure. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Bondage. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Kinky sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. (stupid brain) Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Damn. This is incredibly impractical. But hey, sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Fucking. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Fornication. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. (going to Hell) Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex.

Proper ladies do not think about sex quite this much.

But... sex?

Dread...

I am waiting for karma to kick my ass. Or drop a grand piano on my head. Maybe clawed hands will reach up through the floor and drag me down to Hell. Now that would be a real adventure.

I Took A Gamble

And I won.

I went on another random adventure. It was Burns' night, and I was all set for staying in, when a ridiculously attractive and incredibly cool guy added me on MSN. Had fun talking, eventually decided that I'd go to his house for drinks. We both lack possession of a sense of danger, and operate in a world where it is always a great idea to sleep at strangers' houses and invite random people home. Fire is fun to play with, and we're indestructible.

Turns out that he has a girlfriend and is trying very, very hard to be good. It also turns out that I am an excellent agent of moral decay.
However, as moral failures and bad people, we cannot be held responsible for our actions.

We played baccarat and I think I'm moving up in the world. I may be a harlot but fate was my guide. Moth, meet flame. It's all good fun, made even better by the terrible evilness of it all. Yes, I'm going to hell, and it's going to be a great party. Life is strange and oh so random these days. I keep trying to understand but it's futile. Just go with it, and don't think too much.

Woke up early and out into distant memories of mornings. Had breakfast in a cafe and read newspapers. Odd, the things I find novel. The gaps in my life experience, which are slowly filling up. Still feel like I'm playing catch-up sometimes.

But I digress. I still won.

In fact, I can scarcely comprehend the levels of winning which I have reached.

And Yet More Actual News

Everything is happening at once. I got my marks back on my last assignment today. So far my scores are 76%, 70%, and 81%. Not bad, but not really outstanding either. Although they could be seen as miraculous, considering I've done no work and write all of my essays in a drunken panic.

A Lucky Escape

Before I decided to go to Sheffield, my plan for Friday night was to go for a drive with the stoners. The car owner had been asking me to go for days, join them randomly driving about, hotboxing the car and generally smoking masses of weed.

Turns out that, last night, the cops stopped them. Driver got arrested for having a flick knife and fuckloads of weed, passengers got cautioned. I feel so fucking lucky now.

This also serves as a reminder of just how close to the wrong side of the law I am.

Sheffield

Now that I've had some food and sleep, I can write all about my adventures. It all began on Friday night, at about 5pm. I awoke from my 3 hours of sleep and checked Facebook, to find an invite to a demonstration in Sheffield. After not a lot of thought, I decided to go. So I packed my bag and set off, kept awake only by energy pills. Ioan met me at the train station and we went back to his house, via the vodka shop. We sat down and began to drink. Kayleigh arrived, in an incredibly drunken state, and then details become somewhat more fuzzy. Kayleigh went home to sleep, and a couple of Ioan's housemates came round.

I do realise that I am at best an obnoxious drunk. At worst, a violent liability. After half a bottle of vodka I managed to get hold of a kitchen knife, causing much panic and consternation, and also for some reason I ran away in just my socks, crying and laughing maniacally, and scaring the wandering students. Luckily I was found and bought home. It was all so rock'n'roll, drunken escapades, and waking up the next morning in another strange bed. I should really stop doing that. I admire the bravery of the guy. Or his clarity in seeing through my psychopath act. Or possibly his opportunism in seeing that I was really wasted. Anyway it was all good fun.

Waking up was a nice surprise in that I did not have a fatal hangover. Which is lucky really, because today was the actual mission. Me, Ioan and Kayleigh walked, with only Ioan having any idea where we were going, for many many miles to the green where the demonstration was starting. It was a nice walk. I would loveto do some photography in Sheffield actually, some of the old industrial buildings would make brilliant image. The march was from Ellesmere green to the middle of the city. I'd never been on a real protest before, and I will definitely be getting involved in more. We got placards and a police presence, closing roads and stopping traffic as Socialists, Anarchists, Muslims, trade unionists, pacifists, regular folk all marched together, chanting and waving banners. Marching done, speeches began over an almost non-existent PA system.

The situation in Gaza is horrific and criminal. 1.5 million people are crammed into a tiny area of land, under occupation, blockaded in by a massively superior military force. Human rights for these people are practically non-existent, they live in constant fear as Israel seems free to break international law as it likes. They bombed a school with white phosphorous, for fucks sake. Then they tried to deny it. When the UN exposed them, they then claimed that militants were firing on them from the position. Even if this was true (and I don't say it isn't possible), this presents a chilling insight into Israel's campaign. Children are regarded as acceptable collateral damage. This can never be justified.

After the speaking, I got the train back to Derby, utterly strung out with exhaustion. I staggered around Derby, wondering why my stomach hurt and then realising that I had not eaten anything for the past sixteen hours. Greggs to the rescue, nice warm food to revive me long enough to buy some drawing paper and get the bus home. What an awesome adventure I had. The past 24 hours had absolutely everything. I hereby pledge to have many more adventures like this.

And, dear reader, look up the situation in Gaza. Look up the situations around the world. Don't just ignore injustice. Take action!

Exhaustion

I am so tired that I am close to physically collapsing. 48 hours with 8 hours of sleep, lots of alcohol and high energy expenditure has drained all of my strength. A report on my adventures in Sheffield will have to wait.

Turns out that I do need sleep after all. Damn being a regular mortal.

Ioan (he's Welsh, he has an excuse for spelling his name like that) has just spent a long while searching for me. I ran away in a drunken rage. I suck at life. :)

Still Got It

Stayed up all night again. Still not sleepy. Having my own little morning rave. I think I ate and drank way too much sugar. Especially considering that alcohol is just a special kind of sugar. I also have the benefit of having woken up at 4pm yesterday. So plenty of energy suddenly requires burning. I am annoying everyone. I am so fucking awesome.

I'm playing electro with the bass whacked up, dancing around like a maniac. At least I'm now fully clothed. I think Transmetropolitan has got to me.

Actually, staying up all night for two consecutive nights reading all five years of Transmetropolitan is probably what's done it.
For those who don't know, its a comic/graphic novel, written by Warren Ellis. Fucking read it. It is the best thing I've read in many years. It was worth giving myself permanent insomnia for. It has mildly altered my view of reality. It's my new desktop background. I actually want a tattoo inspired by it. And no, I am not obsessed, just impressed.

Now where was I? Aside from the return of my fucking swearing problem. Actually I was not anywhere. There was no unifying theme or reason for this post.

Just: Hey, I'm alive! Who'd'a thought it?

Typical Night

Go out, go to the shop, buy a packet of fags and a 200ml bottle of the cheapest vodka going. Go to someone's house, smoke a couple of spliffs, have a few drinks, listen to Chemicl Brothers remixes and cheap electro, watch Family Guy, leave. Keep the shop workers company for a while, meet a couple of people, walk through town to a street, wait on the corner while some guy visits a dealer's house. Decide to go, sit on a bench pouring vodka into coke as police cruise by. Eat sweeties, drink. Walk. Friend's house. Eat leftover pizza, drink tea. Demand the return of my jeans. Get them, thank god. Get a phonecall, leave. Somoeone is walking home my way. Company is always good. Walk. Meet the guy, walk more, swigging vodka and coke, smoking. Compain about this town, the people in it. Find a traffic cone in a skip, steal it. Abandon it because those things are actually quite heavy. Make escape plans. Property development, university, mad get-rich-quick schemes. As rain starts to fall, light cigarettes from other cigarettes in a chain-smoking double act. Reach the conclusion that this town is shit. Every day, we figure out the same thing.

All the people here are bored. And instead of fixing things, creating something to do, they go out and get wasted. You're never more than ten minutes from a drug deal here, thirty on a really bad day. There are no jobs going, just people getting drunk, day in, day out. Nothing better to do. The world outside is nothing. The world inside, creativity, ambition, has long since died. All we have are our mad stoner schemes and drunken dreams. Everyone here is just a kid, grabbing at the nearest entertainment, the easiest relief from the mind-numbing tedium of living, and hang the consequences. Hang our brains and hang our livers, hang the fact that intelligent and loving human beings are rotting away here, dissolving into the acrid scum of small town wreckhead life.

Yes, I am feeling bitter. I know members of Mensa, musical geniuses, artistic talents, people who in another life would be out there right now, at university, in an apprenticeship, learning, living, experiencing the world, and all they do, like everyone else here, is sit around, play Xbox, smoke weed and occasionally bitch about the world. Hell, I may have just partially described myself, but at least I'm taking some courses, and will leave this town someday. I am considered an oddity and an outsider for this. I want more than a dead end retail job and a shitty rented flat. I want more than a bottle of vodka and some pills for the weekend. I think secretly, everyone does. But they don't dare to try, because they know it's too hard, it won't happen. Maybe I'm the stupid one here.

So, what am I doing? Continuing a random mental theme I've had going for a while, what the fuck am I doing with my life? Slumped unwashed in front of a laptop, slurping rum and apple, reeking of cigarette smoke, tapping out useless and hateful thoughts. I really should be a journalist.

That is pretty much what this is. Part gonzo self-reportage, part internal monologue, part harsh critique of small town life. Its good to keep my thoughts somewhere. One day this could be the inspiration for a book. One day... everything comes down to 'one day'. Then we go and get wasted and that day recedes ever further into the mists. It doesn't do to be too hopeful in a place like this.

They really are out to get you.

I just posted about how I feel paranoid this morning. Then I went to check my inbox.

There, I find an email, subject line: "Pip, Will you survive this month?"

Thanks a lot, ipoints. And no, however paranoid you make me, I still do not need home insurance or a credit card. Even if I get free points for it. Can you imagine me with a credit card?

I Hate Mornings

It is now 4pm, but as I have been awake for less than half an hour, this is my morning. We have no food suitable for first-thing eating, so my breakfast was a handful of Japanese rice crackers, a cow biscuit, and my patented DeathCoffee®. This is possibly contributing to the MASSIVE PARANOIA. I woke up to find unfamiliar number missed-calls on my phone, a mysterious package delivered to me, and the world in a generally unfriendly state. Or perhaps my mind is in an unfriendly state. The missed calls will be from my friend who always calls me from random peoples' phones as she has no credit, the package is something I ordered, and the unfriendliness consists mainly of my brother calling me a twat (and then getting hit by his girlfriend).

But still, I am entirely on edge. I should maybe finish my breakfast with whisky. Or codeine. Or some kind of tranquilisers. Ah well, at least I'm going out soon. That might help. Or make things massively worse, but never mind.

Reasons

I am not unhappy because of a traumatic past, or a chemical imbalance in my brain. It is not the fault of an oppressive capitalist society, or the lonliness endemic in a fractured society.

Oh, no. I am unhappy because I am a bad person. I am distrustful and suspicious of all other human. I frequently threaten violence. I am unintentionally but fundamentally dishonest. I am filled with the worst kinds of irony, cynicism and contempt. I have an unpredictable rage but sometimes I just sulk. I deliberately freeze out emotional relationships, preferring meaningless hedonism and easy detachment.

Maybe I was an asshole in a previous life, and now I'm in hell. But I was reborn with my misanthropy intact, thereby dooming me to fall ever downwards in the cycle. There are plenty of hells, you know.

Oh God.

My life is utterly meaningless. There is absolutely no point in me being alive.

Question 7 of Application Form

IMPORTANT

This area is intentionally blank, however please do not write in this area.

[ large beige space ]

I though I should write my autobiography. But it would be boring, cliched, and utterly unbelievable. Though I really should try, just so that I don't have an blur where my memories and life story should be. Hell, I couldn't even make a simple timeline of my life, let alone a coherent narrative.

Firefly and Stuff

I watched a few episodes today. Halfway through, my friend came round, sat herself down, ate all my sweets, spent the whole time playing on her phone and then declared it boring.
Also watched the Obama inauguration ceremony. It was kinda sweet how he fluffed up his swearing-in lines. I don't think he's going to be quite the messiah people make him out to be, but he can't be worse than Dubya.

I got my story up to 10,000 words after a couple of sleepless nights, but then had a massive deja vu delusion that I had already got a story to 10k but had lost it. Yes, my grip on reality is that tenuous. I also utterly hate my story. I would never want to read such utter dross. It's beyond embarrassing. I really can not write, at all. It just passes the time, I guess, so I carry on. I still have a whole bunch of ideas to ruin.

Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas

I actually read a book! After a long while of having a flea-like attention span, Fear and Loathing was the perfect way to ease my drug-traumatised brain back into the focus required for the printed word. This is a mad ride of a book, filled with quotables and brilliant scenes. It will have you laughing, riding with Raoul Duke and his attorney, gazing in disbelief at their debauched and outrageous antics, and musing with Thompson on the death of hippy idealism.

Really don't even attempt to count, let alone equal, the epic drug and consumption here. This book captures an insane session with defined skill. Gonzo indeed; you don't know which parts are Hunter S. Thompson's experiences, which are Raoul Duke's experiences, and which are their collective drug trips. This book is harsh, definitely outrageous, and perfectly matched by Ralph Steadman's illustrations.

I am not sure how I avoided reading Fear & Loathing for so long. Writing, drugs, trash and journalism are among my chief interests, and this definitely combines them all, in a deliciously dirty soup.

Desire

For some reason, I only want what I can't have, what will harm me, and what doesn't exist. No wonder I'm so morbid.

Detox Over

Well, I lasted 6 days. And on the seventh day, I got cider, and I saw that it was Good. And so I saith unto myself, bugger this abstinence for a lark, and so it was decreed, that alcohol is permitted to myself, and to all, without fear. So saith the Lordess.

My gran took us out to the Hanging Gate for Sunday lunch, it was sehr gut. See, we never get that kind of meal usually, so it is a rare treat rather than a traditional weekly staple. And I got some pear cider, because well, the self-inflicted ban on alcohol got really boring. And I need something to take my mind off the pain in my throat and chest. The Irish coffee was just a nice end to the meal.

Every time I speak, somebody either laughs or looks shocked. I have started losing my voice, and now sound like a cross between Joan Rivers and Kermit the Frog being slowly strangled.

Thomas Truax

This guy is genius. He has mad-scientist invented instruments, smartly brilliant lyrics, and is on youtube here.

By the way, that spinny thing in the left hand side of the video is a real instrument, called Sister Spinster. She's the drummer.

I know that my music tastes have got really weird lately. I'm branching out.

Online Anarchy

I sit in my comfortable home and think about post-apocalyptic anarchy and the possibility of creating a better world.

This guy has one solution to the problem.

Problem? You didn't realise that society is inherently flawed and certain to fall? That we live in an opressive and non-optimal system? That we, as an intelligent species, could do so much better than this?
Well, realise it. And then, do something about it. Yeah, I have spent far too long reading. But honestly, I don't know how so many people can live without questioning the structures of the world around them. There are so many changes which we could make for the better. "We must be the change we wish to see in the world" said Gandhi. Or, possibly, we must be the trouble we wish to see in the world. Yes, Gandhi and webcomics are the main building blocks of my political worldview.

This is all Steampunk's fault. Ergo it is all Abney Park's fault, because years of listening to their music somehow sent my thoughts sepia-toned and post-apocalyptic. I think Captain Robert would be pleased.

OMG OMG OMG! *swoons*

Abney Park are headlining Whitby Goth Weekend in April.

I must go. Or I will actually die.

Pressure?

So my dad bought me a 16GB flash drive. And gave it to me with the words 'This is for your course work.'

I already own a memory stick. This one is apparently exclusively for my Open University courses. So he expects me to create 16 gigabytes of scholarly work?

I don't do well under imaginary pressure. I haven't been able to paint since I got good quality paints for Christmas. Nothing I can do will ever be good enough to justify using expensive Windsor & Newton acrylic paints and synthetic filament brushes. But soon people are going to start asking questions and getting all offended because I haven't used my present. I can't force myself to paint though, or it all goes horribly wrong and I end up breaking everything.

Damn damn damn. This may be why I am not massively functional. If I can cause myself this much stress and utterly destroy my abilities just because of imaginary pressure, then how am I supposed to operate in the real world?

Tattoos!

Once again I am planning tattoos. The decision-making has progressed slightly. The current ideas are:

• An Om on my right wrist
• A pentacle somewhere. Still working on what kind
  
• A vine with leaves/flowers curling across my foot
  
• A frog. Possibly sitting on the vine.
• Another vine/fine line tribal design on my left ribs.
  
• A moomin!
  

Also they are opening a piercing studio here, so expect the impulse-bought metals to start appearing soon. But I will try to keep it classy. Face metal is no longer my thing.

I am irretrievably broken.
I guess I just have to work with what I've got.

Though it still makes me cry sometimes.

Another comic?

Sick

I am ill. Even iller than usual.

I am burning with fever, coughing my lungs up, and my head is about to explode. Or possibly my eyes will fall out. Everything in my body hurts. Stupid body,
It seems unfair that as soon as I stop my worst excesses, then I become sick. Where is my reward for virtue?

Meh. I can't sleep but I can't do anything useful or fun either. I never get this ill. And my mum refuses to buy me codeine. So yay, even more pain.

The Ultimate Flake-Out?

It is broadly termed 'Eastern Spirituality'. This covers all schools of Buddhism and Hinduism, as well as yoga, Ayurveda and generally anything involving incense. Westerners are allowed to pick and choose whichever aspects of these appeal to them. Generally chanting and prayer beads go down well, but rules of abstinence and anachronistic rules can be ignored.

As my spiritual path is most recently described as 'Extreme Hedge-Witch Shaman of the Universal Pantheon', then I think I am already as religiously flaky and/or schizophrenic as you can get. I have already combined

1. Paganism (a religious version of Pick'n'Mix)
2. Pantheism (all you can eat)
3. Shamanism (tonight we dine in the spirit world)
4. LaVeyan Satanism (we are all gods)
5. Hinduism (my heritage, of sorts, and also with Pick'n'Mix tendencies)
   
6. My own personal musings and an unhealthy dose of magical thinking.
7. Imaginary Buddhism
8. Voodoo. The cool version of Catholics.
   

So yes, maybe religion is the way forward. Fetch out the Nag Champa, prayer beads, oil lamps, chalices, candles, athames, statues, pentagrams, mantras, idols, and free sex (that last one is for the Satanism).

Product

Well, I stayed up till 6am last night, and as well as chatting about a ninja pirate army and writing notes on the invention of tradition, I thought about important stuff. The whole point of detoxing was to get my head together and move on in life, and maybe I will now make a start on this. I wrote pages of stuff about life, problems, and general rubbish. Re-reading it now makes me sad.

I still feel like I have done too much wrong, made too many mistakes. There is no way to fix this. I have fallen down a level, and I will never go back to being who I was. I am stuck on this level, and I will have to make it my home.

I have to realise that I will never make it anywhere. I won't be anything amazing, I won't change the world, I am nothing special. Most people are perfectly happy to live with those facts. I have to as well. No point dreaming of what will never happen. I can't live in dreams forever.

But then again, why bother living if I make no difference to this world? All I will ever get is a drudge job, and by the time I'm thirty my brain will be just as dull as every other small-town shelf stacker. Though I'll probably be dead by then anyway, so it doesn't matter.

I don't know why I'm bothering to detox any more, but now I've started, I don't want to quit. I'm trying not to add to my already epic list of failures.

?

Unknown Value.

I seem to have run out of words. I can no longer express myself in any way. The stuff in my head has no way out. It will just sit in there and ferment until I explode. Or maybe it will turn into thought-alcohol, and get my psyche really drunk.

What the fuck. Yeah. Just had to listen to Friend going on about love and drugs. The two things I want more than anything but can not have. She knows this. She doesn't care.

Nobody cares. Not really. I need to stop caring about their not caring. I need to sort myself out. Everything is difficult and weird. I don't know what I think or feel at all. This sucks.

Job?

Went to the Jobcentre today. I may soon be getting work of some kind. This is a scary thought. It will only be part time work anyway, probably only a temporary placement at first. I am not even capable of finding real work.

The detox is going fine. I haven't drunk alcohol, smoked, or taken any kind of drug except headache pills for, ooh, about 38 hours. I already want to cry. Alcohol was the gag which stopped my brain from screaming. Now its been taken away, I have to listen to it all the freaking time.

On the other hand, I just ate a penguin shaped lolly, so it can't be all bad. And no, I am not eating healthily. I think if I give up all of my vices at once I will actually die. For some reason I am incredibly tired now. I got sick of games and can't concentrate to do any useful work. In fact, I suck at everything today.

Stupid brain. Its such a distraction.

Oh No

I now have Twitter. This allows me to update people on what I am doing. It is, apparently, addictive. It's like an entire network of Facebook status updates.

Oh, how self obsessed can the internet generation get?

Well, I have connected my Twitter updates to my blog, via a happy little widget that lets everybody reading this see my status in the sidebar. I'm sure that at some point, the archives of information on my whereabouts and nefarious deeds are going to present some kind of privacy/security issue. Not that anybody reads this stuff now, but in the future, my millionaire fiance's father will hire a private investigator to check up on my past, and then everything will go hilariously wrong and I will lose my last chance of being rich.

However, random announcements on my life are worth sacrifices.

And so begins...

Starting at midnight, I will spend at least 10 days detoxing. I can not remember the last time I went a day without either drinking or smoking, so this seems to be a necessary measure. If I fail, stage and intervention or something.

I have 36 minutes left. I think I will go have a final drink.

[intermission]

Yummy, Baileys. And the matter of: what will I do with my time? I should have at least 50% more free time while I detox. Maybe I will finally get around to tidying up, and catching up on my course. Or maybe I will just finish Fallout 3 and Guitar Hero Legends as well as World Tour. No, I will do useful and fulfilling things. Like writing things that nobody will ever read, and painting things that nobody will ever see.

On the other hand I could just become an ascetic Zen hermit. What fun. I'm sure that in a couple of days I will be going mad, but things were starting to get a bit silly.

[end]

[credits]