Log in

07 September 2009 @ 01:56 pm
Here's an entry. No foreplay; no apologies. Anyone who still reads this knows my tendency to disappear, then reappear on another continent. That hasn't changed: I'm in Darwin, in the central north of Australia. Tropical climate, isolated city, lots of palm trees, slightly sinister undertone. At first it was a lovely, indulgent hidey-hole when mum and dad were here, then a fairly boring place with backyardy, beery, friendly punctuation when just dad was here, and now it's just a hot, sticky place full of restless, bored people who've evidently chosen weather over culture. Like almost everyone else who I've met here I don't have a good word to say about the place that's not about the scenery (technicolor green foliage, never a cloud, sparkly, crocodile-infested oceans) but why don't we leave? At least I'm making stacks of cash working two jobs, and the days are ticking by quite fast. I'll probably leave soon, though. I'm tired and Perth is starting to look like an oasis of culture and refinery, which is a sure sign that something's amiss in my world.

Being alone a lot sort of makes you hyper-self-aware. I have too much time to think / enough time to think (delete as you think appropriate) about my state of mind. Yesterday I was walking to work in the late afternoon and the sun was almost down. The light slanting across the path made even the tiniest pebbles and leaves cast long, thin shadows: small things thrown into greater significance. This is what it feels like to have too much time to think. More and more, I become the pathologist of my own feelings. I observe them, quite clinically, and like a nervous tic I find names for them. Saying the word in my head brings me outside of myself - it mutes things. Clearly this is a symptom of too much time. That it is also a symptom of anxiety goes without saying. I am coming to terms with it - again, by naming it. Sometimes I say to myself, "I am an anxious person." Oddly, it makes me feel better about it. Making it a thing isolates it; makes it easier to manage. When I'm breathing fast or tapping my foot, I take note and I stop it. Like a gas escaping, though, it seeps into something else: I find myself repeating words in my head, compulsively. Sometimes the same snatch of melody plays over and over and over again across my mind and I have to distract myself to cut it off.

None of this is so bad as to be distressing, though. On the contrary: I'm better than I've ever been. Oh sure, I'm bored and I'm lonely, but I've finally found a small puddle of calm inside myself that I can find and dip into when I need it. I feel less hollowed-out. More secure. Restless due to circumstance, not due to an army of ants dancing in my stomach and fingers and feet, keeping me ill-at-ease at all times. I'm not actually happy, which is hard to be in extended solitude, but I'm not unhappy either. I also feel better equipped to become happy at some future point, which is nice.


Ok, so this isn't an apology for not updating for so long, but it's an explanation. More to myself than anyone else, because I did wonder. And this is what I answered myself: I couldn't update in Berlin, because that would have meant either lying about how things were, or owning up, cataloguing the truth, and thus showing it all to myself, all stark and real. And because I'm a practical person, that would have meant making practical decisions. After all, the default option in most relationships is to stay (and this is really about leaving a person, not leaving a city). To leave is active, to stay is passive (it is when things are floundering, anyway); passive is easy, and we all love easy. There's nothing like the distance between two continents to complicate the simplicity of staying, though. So I left. Obviously. It's a punch in the guts to realise that, using a careless gaze, I probably mistook the memory of love - the sad ghost of it - for the thing itself. But what happened had to happen, and what I have now I will be thankful for. Amor fati: the love of what is necessary. A suggested recipe for happiness, from an unhappy man.

So I left the city and the person, and both partings were awful. I was browsing facebook today, and realised that he and Esme, Sam and Jess were the only significant people from that time who don't make me feel boilingly angry and contemptuous just to think about now. I don't know what it means, yet, that such odd people who are of very little consequence to me now make me so upset to think of. I guess I regret or resent something, but it will take more time and more will to find it out. It's in there somewhere, I just have to make time on my internal therapist's couch to talk it over. But I don't want to right now because it sets off little snappy crocodiles of annoyance in my gut, and it's probably not so important anyway. Maybe it's just as simple as that Jess and Sam are purely good and kind humans, and that he and Esme are the only ones of that small everyday circle of mine who are left with any will to pursue good things with some vigour. And we hate most what we recognise in ourselves. I certainly couldn't be accused of possessing an excess of vigour right now, but I excuse myself by saying I've put off the pursuit of good things until next year. In the meantime I need money, and to wait for my course to start, so the little snappy crocodiles will have to be patient.

I think in a few days I'll balance out this little slab of dreariness and text with a photo post. I've seen some nice things, dear readers, and you might like to see pictures of them.

This feels like a letter, so I'll sign off as if it were:

Yours with love,

01 March 2009 @ 04:23 pm
Ok so we all know that only something super-exciting could pull me out of posting hibernation, right? Something like my family flying from Australia to visit? Starting uni again?


I had to update to let everyone know that I put some mixed herbs in my salad dressing last night, and there was a little twiggy, stemmy thing in there that got caught in my tonsil wrinkles, and is now (nearly a day later) still stabbing me a little bit every time I swallow or twist my head. I keep thinking of that episode of House where the gypsy swallows a toothpick and it rips up his internal organs. Obviously it's pretty unlikely that my twig thing is going to go: tonsils....tonsils...LIVER! KIDNEY! SPLEEN! RIP RIP RIP! But I'm worried anyway. I'm a worrier. I tried to dig it out with my finger but I can't find it, and digging around makes me retch.

Going to go drink tea and write in my notebook at BallSac Coffee now. Ho Ho.
15 February 2009 @ 10:15 am
Winter has broken my musical tastes: I can only listen to minimal electro.

Someone please halp. Send arse-kicking music to shake me out of it before I slip into a drum-loop induced coma.

11 February 2009 @ 03:25 am

Your result for Howard Gardner's Eight Types of Intelligence Test...


18% Logical, 2% Spatial, 35% Linguistic, 69% Intrapersonal, 43% Interpersonal, 4% Musical, 24% Bodily-Kinesthetic and 25% Naturalistic!

"This area has to do with introspective and self-reflective capacities. Those who are strongest in this intelligence are typically introverts and prefer to work alone. They are usually highly self-aware and capable of understanding their own emotions, goals and motivations. They often have an affinity for thought-based pursuits such as philosophy. They learn best when allowed to concentrate on the subject by themselves. There is often a high level of perfectionism associated with this intelligence.

Careers which suit those with this intelligence include philosophers, psychologists, theologians, writers and scientists." (Wikipedia)

Take Howard Gardner's Eight Types of Intelligence Test
at HelloQuizzy

So I guess I chose the right major then? (Though the bit about a high level of perfectionism is seriously laughable. I mean, I get pretty serious about finishing off beers and tubs of icecream down to the very last smidgen, but something tells me that's not the sort of perfectionism they're referring to....)

In other news:

I have tonsillitis :( :( :( there aren't enough sad emoticons in the world to express how much I hate being sick. It messes with my usual dynamism and unrelenting flurry of activity. (Har har!)

Speaking of which:

To procrastinate from finalising my university enrolment for this semester, I watched every episode of Bones ever made. That's, like, four seasons. It's the kind of procrastination that many aspire to but few achieve. I got badly addicted, though, and now (like I did with House before it) I'm stuck waiting for new episodes to air so I can download them ~illegally~ to get my fix.

Umm, I'm not sure what else to report. I went on a massive bender the other week (probably what made me sick...) and had a jolly good time. Went to many new nightclubs, harassed many new strangers, drank many beers. Many, many beers. I'm taking a break from drinking until the family-types arrive, though, else I think my liver will explode from horror trying to keep up with dad and his own love of The Beer! Also, I'm getting to be a little fatty. I'm not sure how much I really care, though. I'll just have to buy bigger clothes I guess.

Liebe Grüße!
I bounced out of bed at 7am this morning (I'VE BEEN GETTING UP EARLY LATELY HELP WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME) to find that Paul was missing. He'd never been to bed so I was slightly curious as to where he'd gone off to. A text message (post-coffee; no fine motor skills until caffeine is ingested) revealed that he was off to talk something over with a certain someone, and "lay his cards on the table". I suggested he "lay his penis on the table" instead, but I am fairly certain he didn't follow this advice. Fool!

So being slightly lonely and a bit deranged (TOO EARLY!) I decided to make myself a replacement Paul to sit at his place on the sofa and keep me company. My eyes spied a German telly guide (why this was in our apartment I have no idea - we do not own a telly) with a delicious face on it...surly, stubbly, dishy, Paul! Here is the fruit of my labour:


His hat is made from a Christmas tree catalogue, and his body is a grocery bag.

Paul was slightly alarmed to see it, because in his words:

"You know you could dump me now and not even miss me don't you?
It's doing exactly what I do all day, even with my most common facial expression.
Sitting on the couch.
Looking severe.
That bastard has better posture than I do!
And his clothes are better."

Ahh poor bunny! Like I'd dump him for a piece of cardboard. IF HUGH LAURIE SHOWS UP ON MY DOORSTEP I WON'T BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR MY ACTIONS, THOUGH.

In other news, I'm not really having a Christmas (no pity please! I'm an atheist and my everyday life is awesome!) but I hope that those of you who are celebrating have a most excellent time! Lots of love to all xx
13 December 2008 @ 11:03 pm
I've been feeling a bit shitty and stressy - not about very stressful things, but then I have a larger stress capacity than most humans - and am about to start my bi-annual existential crisis (right on cue) but then something came along that made it all seem better....


Scroll through three pages of this - I guarantee that it will change your life.

...It even made me feel better about my grocery bag splitting earlier, and about thirty euros' worth of food getting smashed up and ruined.

I had a truly creepy dream.

I was in a bar with some people I seemed to know, and there an art exhibition going on in the same building. It was supposed to be a photographic exhibition about death and dying, but it was labelled as a performance piece, which was odd. I walked into the exhibition space: it was very small room made of plywood within the building, and it was filled with vapid hipsters, and a huge, hulking blonde woman. The 'exhibition' was basically going to be the blonde woman torturing a girl, and taking photos while she did it. All the hipsters were sitting around with rapt looks on their faces, and I had a horrible feeling that they'd spent so much time around "modern art" that they'd lost their grip on reality and didn't care that what they were about to see was real (and that they would implicitly condone it by watching).

I sensed that it was a dangerous place to be in, and was afraid of the 'artist,' so played along with being a spectator for a little while, but just as the woman pushed the girl to the ground and went to put something heavy on her stomach (think I got this image directly from studying the 'burning times' in history, as I seem to remember that it was a bag of rocks in my dreams), I stood up, sighed with resignation, and told the woman I wouldn't let her continue. She faced me down and told me that I wasn't strong enough to stop her, and that no one else would come to my aid so my resistance would make no difference except to get me hurt or killed.

I faced her down anyway, rigid with fear, watching out the corner of my eye to see if anyone in the crowd got up to help me. I knew that if a few people tackled her from behind that she'd be powerless, but I was aware that they probably wouldn't. Just as she lunged for me, I woke up. I had to wake Paul up and snuffle his chest for a little while to feel better. It was quite unsettling.

Things that this dream taught me about my subconscious:

- it hates modern art as much as my waking self. Hurrah!

- likewise, it hates vapid hipsters too.

- I spend too much time in bars. All my dreams are set in them.

- it doesn't like it when I watch five straight hours of serial killer dramas before bed.

- it has a decent moral compass, and has ~opinions~ on the responsibilities of the observer (I should email my lecturer and let her know that her lectures from the 'Literature in an Age of Terror' really sunk in!)

- it also remembers what I learnt in history in first year university. Good to know it's in there somewhere.

And lastly: that old wives tale about eating cheese before bed is true! 'Wire in the Blood' + hunk of blue cheese = creepy, creepy nightmares.

Also, I'm developing some kind of crush on Hermione Norris, which is weird. I guess she's just such an excellent actress and it makes me a little giddy. Or something. Spooks didn't air yesterday for some reason, so I can't get my fix :(

I have lots to write about all my Berlin shenanigans lately, and especially my trip to the FUNFAIR (actually it was the Christmas markets, but they've got all the same gubbins as a funfair), which was unbelievably FUN, but...I don't feel like it right now. I'll save it for an epic post of epicness.

ps: does anyone else snuffle chests, or is that just me?
03 November 2008 @ 11:09 pm
Q. You know what I hate about NaNoWriMo?

A. About 95% of the people participating in it.

Yes, I'm a misanthrope, but I hate basically everyone spamming my friends list with their progress: first I get jealous because they've written thousands of words in one day, and then I follow links to samples of what they're writing, and it's so bad it BURNS. Yes, I know it's unedited, and that I could just remove it from my friends list...but the hatred spurs me on. I mean, how's this for a description of someone's difficulty with their first chapter: "My muse ate my plotbunny." YOU WOT? Talking about 'muses' and 'plot bunnies' is the literary equivalent of a doctor referring to someone's genitals as a pee-pee. It might fly for fanfiction, or (for doctors) in those mobile free clinics where they check homeless people for crabs, but surely novels require a little more? It points to the overwhelming lack of purpose for these people's writing. Why would you attempt to write a novel if the only inspiration you had was the fleeting fancy you describe as a 'muse'? What about purpose, what about a message, what about speaking your truths to the world? WHY ARE YOU WRITING A NOVEL IF YOUR ONLY GUIDING PRINCIPLE IS IMAGINARY BUNNIES THAT TELL YOU STORIES IN YOUR HEAD? ONLY HUNTER S THOMPSON COULD PULL THAT SHIT OFF. BUT ONLY BECAUSE HE ACTUALLY HAD A POINT, NOT JUST HALLUCINATIONS.

I wouldn't be this bitter if I were actually confident in my own abilities.

People have every right to splash around with words and write a novel purely for their own enjoyment. My snobbishness shouldn't dissuade anyone (which is why I've locked this entry!)

I'm like a second-rate musician taking vindictive pleasure in tearing apart an ABBA cover band: missing the point entirely. They're having fun. I'm insecure, and too lazy to compensate for that with hard work. I have malice instead! And a blog! I'm unstoppable.

I don't think this entry had any purpose; nor was it worded very well. I ran out of painkillers and the pharmacy is closed, so I'm trying to get rid of my vicious, relentless period pain with cheap port. Aieeeee, I hurt! Must drink more. Ouch.

I haven't read any NaNo stuff from anyone I actually know, so don't be worrying that this is some sort of thinly veiled personal attack! I don't do that stuff. Good luck with your novels, and with not plumbing the same depths of pettiness as myself!
29 October 2008 @ 08:18 pm
I have excellent new icons! Quick, everyone comment with a detailed description of their favourite type of cheese, and I'll comment back with my aforementioned excellent icons. EVERYBODY WINS**.


Also, I've been reminded by the lovely Kate that NaNoWriMo is nearly upon us - anyone doing this? If there are any other brave souls here on me flist (apart from the aforementioned lovely Kate, who I've added already) would you add me? I'm rose.yuille. I know that I'm going to fail miserably, but I'll try anyway. It's good practise for any future failures I might want to attempt.

And because it's my blog and so I can justifiably post endless pictures of myself that I stole from my friends' facebooks:

MEEEEEE part 2075478484: dicking around in BerlinCollapse )
So, what are the haps?

Well, firstly I have a cunting chest cold. I cough up pieces of goo, and have to spit them into bushes which is unladylike but oddly satisfying. Though I can count myself lucky that at least I don't have Paul's stomach flu. Given that I can actually hold down solid food, I thiiiink I got lucky. I'm making him protein shakes and bringing home yoghurts and soups, and generally nursing him back to health because he's adorable and all sickly and wibbly and stubbly and sad. Awww.

So another thing (second of four, just in case you like to keep track or something) is that we have an apartment - a real one with rooms for us to do various things in like sleep, eat, bathe, go to the bog, and store my ever-expanding wardrobe. Excellent! We even have a spare bedroom, which I consider the absolute height of luxury and have to go have a peek in sometimes just to remind myself how incredibly awesome its existence is. It's a really nice place, recently renovated, but is super-cheap as it's in a really crappy old building with disgusting old lino in the halls and views of sod-all but other buildings and patches of dirt. But who needs views when you have a SPARE BEDROOM, I ask you? I gaze upon that instead. Also there's an incredibly beautiful cemetery just around the corner that's old and overgrown and mossy and quiet that I can walk around in if I ever need a bit of 'nature' and all that gubbins. I'm still getting around to taking photos of the flat. Sorry mum, promise I'm on it. I'm just working on ~Rose time~ and we all know how that goes.

The third thing, then, is that I've been learning German. In a sense. Learning implies some degree of proactive-ness, which I'm not sure I've attained. I enrolled in the community college, and while it's nice to have structure and motivation and rah rah rah, it moves SO FUCKING SLOWLY OMG. I can't adequately express how stupid some of the people in my class are. Happy, friendly, smiling bunnies the lot of them but absolutely dumb as rocks. Ok, ok, I lie. My lovely Spanish friends are really smart and we argue about modern art which is always fun, and there are maybe two other people who are pretty onto it, but they all keep their heads down so it's not noticeable. What is noticeable is the motherfucking woman I sit next to, who speaks to me in Chinese CONSTANTLY despite me never having shown any indication of understanding it, and who guilts me with pleading eyes into helping her with her exercises. 'Helping' consisting of a painstaking process of sign language, diagrams, halting Deutsch and little breaks to stick my head under the table and scream silently. I actually managed to convey the difference between the definite and indefinite article to her today, which I was quite proud of. Doesn't sound like much, (and indeed everyone else grasped it in mere seconds) but believe me, the effort of getting it into her skull nearly killed me.

But lo! Light appears at the end of the boring-German-class-tunnel! And heralds the fourth topic of this here post: friendstalking.

When I first registered for classes, I met a friendly New Zealander who was registering for the same class as me. She seemed really cool and I was stoked to think that I'd have a friend in my class. But when I showed up for the first one, she wasn't there (nor was she enrolled) and I was bummed, as well as feeling a bit pathetic for being so bummed about the absence of a virtual stranger. (I've been away from my friends and family for a while, and woe, I am becoming crap.) But! After a couple of weeks of classes I bumped into her outside the campus on my daily coffee-run in the break, and it turned out she'd started a week late. Plus she was similarly frustrated about the pace of the course, so we decided to bail out after the first month and split the cost of a private tutor. I'm so relieved. I don't think I can learn this language on my own (I'm perfectly capable of it in theory, just I'm the laziest fucker in existence and would never get around to it without someone prodding me and assigning me homework!) and this way the course will move at our pace. Just please, jeebus, let her be as smart as she seems! Else I shall weep, quit, and speak bad German forever.

Oh, and there's a sub-section to the friendstalking topic: I met internet type-people last night, which was lovely and fun. Thanks for inviting me, Jessica! I fully intend to lure you out of the suburbs to come and eat pizza by the river with me some time. You too, Sam!

Internet creepiness is a glorious thing. Hurrah.

So my mucous and I are off to bed now. ('Bed' is a mattress on the floor. We haven't actually furnished the new apartment yet, and we have no fridge. Woe!)

Wishing funhappy times to all my frenz xx