Potentially dodgy beef
Hey up. Damn you, Rexy, you got that greeting in my head. Yeah, I just ate, and I'm not sure it was a good idea. My meats were a day past their best, but they were also living in the top of the fridge by the naff icebox bit and were partially frozen when I pulled them out. So they should be fine, they didn't smell rank or anything, but I'm still a little... concerned. Paranoia is making my stomach churn. Or it could just be that I was really hungry... what kind of fool has dinner at 11.30pm? I wasn't really intending to have dinner at all, but I went into the kitchen and made tea, and thought I should probably have something substancial since I would otherwise end up eating McVities Caramels til I spewed, so I ended up cooking. *Rie's Wagon* I don't regret it... yet. Give it time to fester in my stomach and breed nausea.
On a weird note, and I mean really really weird, considering the state of things recently, I got a raise at work today. Of $2.20 an hour. Fucking hell, man, that just doesn't make any sense. I know my new pay rate is what I deserve, what I should have been getting all along, but it is a very odd time for my boss to decide to give me more money, since last week, my job was being advertised... I don't understand. I think he actually may still fire me. And I still don't care. That place is insane, but would make the best tv show. I should start writing episodia.
Mac has released Boot Camp - Windows for Mac, apparently, and I feel my respect for them slipping away. The intel chip is one of those things you can look at from multiple perspectives (or perspectii) and understand, but I can't think why anyone would want Windows on their Mac. It's kinda like buying a pair of Manolo Blahniks and jazzing them up with a Suzanne Clip. I can see how it would be useful at times, but really, what's the attraction? Or the point?
Sour Skittles are good, but the green ones kinda taste a bit like wet dog.
I've decided the whole live journal thing is creepy and weird and a bit stalkerish. It's a good idea on some levels, but on others, an open invitaion for strangers to observe the inner sanctums of your brain, or at least my brain, since I'm likely, at some point to forget this isn't a book, and write down something ridiculously secret and fuck myself over. I'm too used to being able to hide my life under my mattress...
I threw out my old journals when I left NZ, it was really liberating, and the strangest feeling. I'd never thrown out a journal before. I used to keep them in this box, and I read back on the one I covered in fur in 6th form and cried and cried. It was truely horrible to be reminded how it felt to be 16. I wish I'd had happier things to write about, or at least been less articulate in my misery. A lot of it concerned Nik, though I don't think I ever wrote his name, petrified someone would find it. That's happened before - my oldest friend in the world, along with my boyfriend, found and read an old diary that had been lying out in my room. They hadn't read much of it, but I freaked out anyway, and rightly so. I was furious. That, actually, is probably in my top three moments of pure rage. Along with Mum interupting me just as Sirius died, and... My Aunt going through all my stuff, thinking it was the stuff I was throwing out when I left, not the only stuff I was keeping. It sounds like a simple misunderstanding, but she's an impetuous drunk who never listens and I cannot relate to her anyway, let alone pass off something like that as a good-natured mistake. My mother was partly to blame as well, which didn't help, she makes me angry a lot, but I expect that's normal. I get her though, I understand why she does the things she does that annoy me. She's very different to me. She's very nice, but occationally unfair in her criticism, whereas I'm a bit of a sourpuss, really, but could never hassle someone about things they have no power over. I only mock people's decisions, their poor choices, and their shitty taste in music. And occationally I'll mouth off about how stupid someone is, but it's usually true, and that's a privilege of the sub-genial anyway.
I can't think of words strong enough to describe just how good Notice is. It's one of those songs that's gonna make me cry. It has all these qualities I can't understand. It's like a cold day, walking alone through a city at dusk, when you can feel it's about to rain. It's very... right. There's a person out there somewhere who has these qualities, and one day I'm going to meet them, and have all their babies. All of them.
That's enough for tonight, I've lost track of what I was saying.
Love to Micah, Elian, and Oliver.
On a weird note, and I mean really really weird, considering the state of things recently, I got a raise at work today. Of $2.20 an hour. Fucking hell, man, that just doesn't make any sense. I know my new pay rate is what I deserve, what I should have been getting all along, but it is a very odd time for my boss to decide to give me more money, since last week, my job was being advertised... I don't understand. I think he actually may still fire me. And I still don't care. That place is insane, but would make the best tv show. I should start writing episodia.
Mac has released Boot Camp - Windows for Mac, apparently, and I feel my respect for them slipping away. The intel chip is one of those things you can look at from multiple perspectives (or perspectii) and understand, but I can't think why anyone would want Windows on their Mac. It's kinda like buying a pair of Manolo Blahniks and jazzing them up with a Suzanne Clip. I can see how it would be useful at times, but really, what's the attraction? Or the point?
Sour Skittles are good, but the green ones kinda taste a bit like wet dog.
I've decided the whole live journal thing is creepy and weird and a bit stalkerish. It's a good idea on some levels, but on others, an open invitaion for strangers to observe the inner sanctums of your brain, or at least my brain, since I'm likely, at some point to forget this isn't a book, and write down something ridiculously secret and fuck myself over. I'm too used to being able to hide my life under my mattress...
I threw out my old journals when I left NZ, it was really liberating, and the strangest feeling. I'd never thrown out a journal before. I used to keep them in this box, and I read back on the one I covered in fur in 6th form and cried and cried. It was truely horrible to be reminded how it felt to be 16. I wish I'd had happier things to write about, or at least been less articulate in my misery. A lot of it concerned Nik, though I don't think I ever wrote his name, petrified someone would find it. That's happened before - my oldest friend in the world, along with my boyfriend, found and read an old diary that had been lying out in my room. They hadn't read much of it, but I freaked out anyway, and rightly so. I was furious. That, actually, is probably in my top three moments of pure rage. Along with Mum interupting me just as Sirius died, and... My Aunt going through all my stuff, thinking it was the stuff I was throwing out when I left, not the only stuff I was keeping. It sounds like a simple misunderstanding, but she's an impetuous drunk who never listens and I cannot relate to her anyway, let alone pass off something like that as a good-natured mistake. My mother was partly to blame as well, which didn't help, she makes me angry a lot, but I expect that's normal. I get her though, I understand why she does the things she does that annoy me. She's very different to me. She's very nice, but occationally unfair in her criticism, whereas I'm a bit of a sourpuss, really, but could never hassle someone about things they have no power over. I only mock people's decisions, their poor choices, and their shitty taste in music. And occationally I'll mouth off about how stupid someone is, but it's usually true, and that's a privilege of the sub-genial anyway.
I can't think of words strong enough to describe just how good Notice is. It's one of those songs that's gonna make me cry. It has all these qualities I can't understand. It's like a cold day, walking alone through a city at dusk, when you can feel it's about to rain. It's very... right. There's a person out there somewhere who has these qualities, and one day I'm going to meet them, and have all their babies. All of them.
That's enough for tonight, I've lost track of what I was saying.
Love to Micah, Elian, and Oliver.
posted by Leocadia at 5:39 PM
1 Comments:
Actually, I really really hate the word blog. Journal is a fine word, I have several made of paper and refer to them so. I don't use my live journal anymore because looking at the layout depresses the shit out of me, as it reminds me of the time when I did use it. I needed somewhere different, this was the first place I came across, and I had to sign up anyway to post pointless stupid comments on Mez's blog, so it seemed logical. More logical would've been using MySpace, but I didn't realise it had a bloggy bit until I'd started here. And yes, I realise that I can choose to reveal as little or as much as myself as I like, but I don't necessarily trust my own judgement on these things. Though in truth, it really doesn't matter, since the only people who know me, and whose opinions of me actually matter, and know where this is, already know everything about me anyway. With the exception of you, of course, since in some ways you know me, but you don't really in a lot of others, and despite this, along with the fact that I don't really know you especially well either, your opinion does matter to me. Becuase you like scrabble too ; )
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