Shellfish

"You only think about yourself
You only think about yourself
You better bend before I go
On the first train to Mexico..."


So it’s been exam time. And at this time more than any of the University cycle, it seems people are very much “for” themselves. I’m sitting in Info Commons right now, and behind me are two computer niches which were being “reserved” with bags. Not only is this not actually allowed, it’s blatantly inconsiderate... and it’s not allowed BECAUSE it’s blatantly inconsiderate.
I sat down at my computer about 20 minutes ago, and in that whole time nobody came to claim the bags left on the desks. An Indian girl just came up to me looking harassed and worried, and asked me if anyone was sitting there. I told her I hadn’t seen anyone around there for quite a while, and we had a little rant-party about people who leave their belongings at a computer desk and go get food (among other things) when it’s exam time and so many people are waiting for a computer. Now I’m her witness for if the person comes back and gets pissed off.

I mean, I’m not that much better- look at me, it’s exam time and I’m sitting here writing on a blog when there’s probably someone desperate for a computer to research some obscure essay topic... but at least I do what I want to do as fast as I can, and I don’t leave my stuff and walk away any further than to a printer. Some people actually do “reserve” a computer and then go buy food, have lunch and come back expecting that they can just sit down and go on their facebook. The number of worried faces I can see pacing back and forth in this room! What can those people be thinking? Don’t they feel bad about it? At the very least they should be worried about someone making off with their stuff. If you wait long enough, especially with the apathetic society that we have going on at Auckland Uni, nobody is going to be bothered or be sure enough of themselves to stop a stranger making off with your stuff. They’re just going to think that stranger is you.

And I don’t mean to be judgemental or racist, but a lot of the time the bags left are those fancy Gucci/Guess or some imitation of the above type... and the books left are written in some Asian language... and you just KNOW they’re going to belong to some stick-thin fashion-obsessed chick... likely to be Chinese/Japanese/Korean. And I have actually seen this in person, I’m not just assuming. Is it a cultural thing? Is it because of the attitude of the countries that these people have come from? I have so so many Chinese or Korean friends and they are the nicest people ever, but most of them have been in N.Z. quite a while... most of their lives, usually. Are Kiwis just more self-sacrificing than other nationalities? Or are Asians just more self-centered?

Oh dear, this is sounding racist. But I’m not meaning to judge... I’m just making observations.

It has now been over half an hour since I first sat down here, and still the owners of the bags have not returned. Who do they think they are?!

Pressurecooker

"Procrastination paralysing me
Wanting me dead..."

I hate my inability to work without time-pressure. It started creeping up on me in 6th form and now, through the encouragement and example of pretty much everyone at Uni, it has morphed into its final form.
Whatever happened to the little girl in primary school who used to panic and crack under pressure, who used to have mental breakdowns and freak out? I even remember discussing it with mum, at the age of maybe 8 or 9. I said to her, "I don't work well under pressure, do I?"
Now... I don't know if it's because of the many other things around me to distract me from schoolwork, or the fact that I am no longer afraid of my mother catching me slacking off, or just the general sense of student apathy that permeates every aspect of University, but I am currently sitting at my laptop Toshie, staring at an essay question about Alice in Wonderland which I must write 1800 words on in the next 2 and a half days... of which there are really only about five hours of free time to write the thing. I know that if I was five straight hours out from the time that it's due, I'd be working frantically and productively and probably doing quite well. But because I have all those days inbetween now and then... I just can't do it...

Wtfpwned

Me: "So, does my shit day beat your shit day?"
Danielle: "Hells yeah! Your shit day just wtfpwned mine. Mine didn't even see it coming. POW!"


Schedule for Wednesday, May 05, 2010.


6.00 am: Get up and get ready for Uni

7.00 am: Get Jared out of bed (nicely) and have him drive me to the train station

7.25 am: Get on train

8.10 am: Get off train, walk to Uni

8.45 am: Arrive at Uni

9.00 am: LINGUISTICS LECTURE. Do a beats swap with Danielle

10.00 am: ANCIENT HISTORY LECTURE. Sit by self as Amy is at home hurriedly finishing her essay. Hand own essay in to tutor

11.00 am: Curly fries with Danielle

12.00 pm: ACCOUNTING LECTURE.

1.00 pm: Decide not to go to English lecture. Sit in on Danielle's MUSIC LECTURE instead. Spend 2 hours studying for Accounting test

3.00 pm: Come out of lecture. Go to info commons

3.30 pm:

4.30 pm:

5.30 pm:

6.30 pm: Accounting test

7.30 pm: Go home.


FOOD CONSUMED AT AUCKLAND UNIVERSITY TODAY: 1 cup of tea, 2 rice wafers, 1 large bowl of fries, 3 gingernut biscuits, 1 apple, 1 bottle of water, 1 small tub of butter chicken, 1 vanilla coke.

TIME SPENT AT AUCKLAND UNIVERSITY TODAY: 10 hours 45 minutes. Wtfpwned.

Scarred

"I miss who we were
In the town that we could call our own
Going back to get away
After everything has changed."



I just read over my blogs so far and something kinda struck me. I'm much better at writing about internal drama... emotional accidents and things... than physical things like my accident in Christchurch.
My grandma is over right now and of course we had to explain to her what had happened to me. I started trying to tell her but the more I talked, the less sense I made and the more the story I was telling disturbed me. Mum had to take over. I couldn't believe how much it bothered me to recount what happened. I guess that I had spent so long pretending that it hadn't happened that admitting to myself that it had was terrifying. I couldn't read the blog that I wrote about it here, either. I suppose this is what the phrase "scarred for life" really means. Not necessarily something you think about all the time, but something you try not to think about because it frightens you so much when you do.
After the accident, Dad said that he hoped that it wouldn't stop me being adventurous and fearless like I was before. I'm not sure whether it will or not... I might go back to the snow, but I am never going to Porter's Pass again.

The boy- ex-Shadowboy- is coming back to Auckland next Thursday. I can't wait to greet him at the airport with all of our friends! But the funny thing is that I feel so different. Once upon a time my heart would have LEAPED with hope and happiness and so on... now that he's just my friend, it's just a comfortable warmth, a passive feeling of rightness. I'm not used to a feeling like that. I suppose it's really good because it means that cutting my inappropriate ties to him has worked and healed. But I won't know how I really feel until I see him.

I was talking to a friend of mine- the one who betrayed me earlier- the other day and I started describing his writing style to him, how it wasn't like I expected. I had expected more mist and illusion and confusion, whereas his style was more solid and... meaty. Practical. No mystery, just straight storytelling. He said, "mist and illusion have nothing to do with telling a story". But I disagree. The way you write something has a HUGE impact on the experience of the reader.

This is a bit of a weird entry because I'm basically waiting until I have to leave for my English 121 exam, and filling up the time with writing. I have a feeling that the things I have said so far are all little seeds of future entries or lines of thought that will develop later into fully fledged rants. I just wanted to get them down before they sunk into the torpid swamp of writing an essay this afternoon.

Paranoia

"All wound up, on the edge, terrified
Sleep disturbed, restless mind, petrified
Bouts of fear permeate all I see
Heightening nervousness threatens me."

Thoughts from English 121...

! Do you ever get the feeling you're being stalked by everyone? Especially guys?
I know, I know, it's pathetic of me to think that everyone's in love with me and think that they all think I'm hot and all that but honestly, it's so annoying. Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me. I really shouldn't complain because once there was a time when I was not looked at by ANYONE, I was all short and very chub and I hated it. I longed for people to think that I was hot and desirable. Thus does desire wound. Be careful what you wish for. Etc.

@ Also, my tutor is really strange looking. I can't decide whether I like him or not. I like him because he's awkward and funny and reminds me of a stork or a wading bird. I don't like him because he gave me a B grade for my narrative and he has a long pointy nose and told us about the love letter that one of the guys in one of his past tutorials wrote him. I wish I had this guy as my tutor, though really a few weeks ago I would have hated him because his name is Tim. But right now he's awesome because he's telling us about how he procrastinated by baking muffins.

# Apparently procrastination is in our DNA. We cannot escape. Brilliant...

$ Somehow in the past week or so I have managed to scramble together a 1800 word essay and a very tricky assignment (which was then copied by 2-3 people who had not even attempted it). I know it's not good for me to force this scramble on myself, because it makes me stress and burst into tears at the dinner table over my meatloaf, but it seems to be normal for uni students. Not the meatloaf, the scrambling. Now I want scrambled eggs. I still have one essay to go which is a redraft which should theoretically be easier than writing a whole essay, but somehow I worry that this is not true.

% All I really want to do is play Age of Empires and watch Grey's Anatomy and read other peoples' blogs. I'm really craving my four months of holidays where I can just chill out.

^ I can't believe next week is the last week of uni. The last week of my first year of University. Holy crap... in no time at all I will be a second year looking down on all the new first years, many of which I will personally already know. It seems to be rather final... this ending of the year. Once I start second year, there's no backing out. It's the middle year. The middle child. I'm excited but I'm also rather nervous. And right now I feel so jaded with uni that it's hard to think about next year's coursework.

& Oh God, a debate about why is it that we don't eat dog, with a really angry opinionated lady. Why is there always a crazily opinionated person in every lecture in every tutorial? You know, the person who always speaks out. Sadly I think that I am that person in my Linguistics tutorial. Now that phonetics is over I am getting back my ability to know the answer almost before I finish reading the question, which is comforting because it means that I can accurately and confidently answer three of the four sections of the exam.

* I'm really scared of the Anthropology exam. Come to think of it I'm pretty terrified that I'll fail my latest essay- the one I was scrambling with yesterday- because I got a C for my last one and I thought it was rather good. It pisses me off because it's only my general education class and it has caused me so much panic. Is there no class which is an easy win for gen ed? Shouldn't they all be easy? I just want a bum class that I can sail through, pleeeeeease...

( Hello, girl who went to Jared's primary who has subscribed to my blog. Your name is vaguely familiar to me but please don't be offended if we were actually in the same school once and I don't remember... I have a better memory for faces than names, and your face is vaguely familiar too. I really enjoy your blogs, they are a good way of procrastinating and sometimes really make me laugh. Not sure if that was your aim with them, but there it is.

) This whole post has only taken me half an hour. I like to sit in the last seat of the row because then I can hide my laptop screen from people behind me and they can't see that I'm not doing what I'm meant to be doing. HOLY CRAP DOCTOR WHO REFERENCE ON THE PROJECTOR SCREEN! My God, I love this Tim guy. I just wish his name wasn't Tim. Girls do have Adam's apples but they don't stick out. Kieran isn't coming for his singing lesson dammit so I don't get Grey's season 2 or $30. I'm cooking chicken stirfry tonight for dinner. I'm going to start my English essay tonight, but I might not because Jared will be there. Procrastination, procrastination...

Assignment

My first English 121 Assignment:

"The tearing crunch of gravel spoke directly to my memory. It threw me back over seven years ago, over the handlebars onto the path of a park in Mt. Albert. As I blinked and turned around visions of a ten-year-old’s exaggerated injuries crossed my eyes and I started to think about that evening; that moment when I sat, still dazed and tumbled, blinded by the simple realization that the world- and the people who live on it- is not as kind as we think.

It had been one of my father’s failed attempts at getting me into exercise. He was tall and thin, dark-haired and a bit of a fitness freak; I was blonde, short and chubby, so it was inevitable that he would endeavor to turn me to the dark side. I was somewhat unimpressed by all this, but he was my dad and I had to humour him.
Every evening after dinner we would go for a bike ride through the local park. I had to have an escort, because it was the kind of park where people hung out and smoked strange smelling cigarettes and dumped trolleys from Pak n’ Save in the creek. The pathways through it were made of loose, chunky gravel, hazardous at best for an inexperienced cycler. Dad was teaching me how to use the gears, as up till then my own personal choice of wheels had been pink and sparkly with a back-pedal brake and streamers on the handlebars. He was always telling me to push harder, especially on the inclines. At the time I thought he just wanted me to “challenge myself”, but this wasn’t the case; and like so many childhood accidents waiting to happen, I didn’t listen.
On one particular hill I was slowing near the top. One tiny, inconsequential handlebar movement later and I was in the air, flying sideways, the wheels of my ten-speed ripping through the gravel as it toppled. With a sound like the tearing of a dove’s wings, I landed, sliding for metres, bewildered and panting.

My family used to call me a “drama queen”, and make out that the things that I got worked up about were trivial, and I was just looking for attention. But the truth is I was never very good with attention. If I’ve been upset by something and somebody tries to be nice to me, it only makes me cry more. If I’ve fallen, I’d rather people just left me be, because I get so embarrassed. But if I ever needed attention, I made enough fuss to get noticed. If I ever needed comfort, it was then.

“Are you alright?” My dear father said, laughter shaking his words slightly. I know now that this is a male thing- they can’t help but laugh at people falling over- but at the time I couldn’t believe that he could be so condescending.
“No, no, I’m not alright!” I responded hysterically.
Dad pedaled over to me and sat on his own mountain bike like a disapproving statue, towering over me. “Come on,” He said. “Get up.”
I found this such an inadequate response that I didn’t even try to comply. I just sat there, defeated and hurting, as my many scrapes and cuts began to sting and bleed.

All this jumped through my head in an instant when I heard that sound again, the tearing of someone’s pride, happiness and skin all at once. The scrape of flesh and metal against concrete. I turned around on the stairs and saw a boy who looked around my age half sitting, half lying on the ground. Without thinking, without even alerting the friend I was walking with, I rushed back down the steps. An instinct as strong as motherhood and not far from it urged me to run to this boy’s side. I crouched and extended my hand to him and saw my ten-year-old face gaze back up at me out of memory, dazed and confused and upset.
I knew what we were thinking, both my child self and this young man. True altruism is becoming rarer and rarer in this world. With our mouths we say, “Yes, I do help people when they are in need”. With our minds, we begin to quietly reel off exceptions. Unless I’m too busy. Unless I’m running late. Unless there’s lots of people watching. Unless they are fat, ugly, poor, rich, black, white, Asian…
Since that evening seven years ago, I’ve made my mind echo my mouth. I help people in need. No exceptions.
Today I can’t figure out why the fallen boy sat there so long, why he didn’t take my hand and get up. The look on his face still baffles me; he looked childlike, astounded… as if he had found his own epiphany in the dust."

Chapter Three: Overtake

"We all have someone that digs at us
At least we dig each other
So when weakness turns my ego up
I know you'll count on the me from yesterday

If I turn into another
Dig me out from under what is covering the better part of me
Sing this song
Remind me that we'll always have each other
When everything else is gone
Each other, when everything else is gone..."


Today I had a wonderful morning catching up over a cafe breakfast with my girls. It felt so good. I really am starting to realize how cut off I've been from everyone but Jared... like I'm falling behind them on the road of life, being overtaken by everyone... I really need to keep on top of it. It's such a nice feeling to be back in a group of girls... I even followed Deanna into her AUT lecture, which is where I am now. This morning has made me see just how much I actually miss school... not the classes, obviously, but the atmosphere and the connection with everybody; seeing the same people every day, being up-to-date with everyone just through "the grapevine"... and being at the same institution at the same time, day in, day out. Deanna is one of my best, best friends, but I somehow managed to not seek out to talk to her for months. (Hi De, if you're reading this later haha) Just spending an hour in her company makes me feel so happy and loved. How could I have forgotten that? Resolution- keep up with Deanna.

Ironically, the lecture I'm chilling in right now is about how relationships work. It's kind of interesting, though for someone who overthinks everything like I do, it's kinda commonsense-ish.

The lecturer just said "the substance of relationships is communication". It's so simple, and so true.

Perusal

"Well hey, hey baby it's never too late
When I'm gone you won't remember a thing
But I can't stay and you know I won't wait
I was gone from the very first day

Oh...

You've never been so used as I'm using you
Abusing you, my little decoy
Don't look so blue, you should've seen right through
I'm using you, my little decoy

Oh, I'm not sorry at all...
I won't be sorry at all...
I'd do it over again."


Girls go out window shopping. It's a thing that we do. Even if we can't afford, don't need, or even don't want anything new, we'll go out and look at clothes in shops. It's a fun activity. It's like dressing up dolls, except you're the doll (maybe we're conditioned to do this from childhood, when we're given dolls and shown how to dress them up?)... sometimes we'll even try the clothes on. But the important bit is that even if we're looking, we have no intention of buying them.

Guys don't seem to be able to understand this at all. Maybe that's why girls get accused of being teases, or of leading guys on. A guy catches us looking at him or talking to him in a certain way and as soon as he finds out we're not single, or not interested, we are discarded and labeled a tease. Well, I say "we"... I mean me. It seems to happen to me a lot.

Maybe if guys could be made to see the merits and the fun of window shopping, they'd get this. We're looking at them. We're talking to them. Once in a while maybe we're even flirting with them. But we have no intention of going any further with them. We can't afford to (no spare time or affection), we don't need (aren't single) or want (aren't interested in) a relationship. But if we didn't try boys on for size, we'd never figure out what we really want or need.

I guess where this is really coming from is this: I've just recently realized that, contrary to popular belief, there are a LOT of decent guys in the world. And I mean a lot. You just need to look in the right places. In my tutorials alone there's at least three guys who interest me (one of them only mildly, but still). And I'm lucky enough to be considered attractive to quite a number of boys who come in contact with me (I know it's pretty conceited for me to say that, but I don't feel like being down on myself today, and if I give in to my logical brain, the evidence for this claim is there. Starkly).

Since I've started comparing notes with Jared, I've become disillusioned with the male species. I used to think (or maybe hope) that heterosexual guys could talk to girls with the sole aim of wanting to get to know them, as a friend. As in, with nothing to do with getting into their pants, or hooking up with them, or thinking "damn, she's hot. I'd better talk to her". Jared assures me this is not possible. And as he is a boy, I have to take his word for it.

That being said, it's not just his word. With two of the guys who have been rather obviously interested in me, as soon as I've mentioned a boyfriend they have backed off somewhat.
EXAMPLE ONE: Guy from my ENGLISH101 Tutorial. He was all friendly and very, very obviously keen, but as soon as I mentioned Jared he started sitting somewhere else.
EXAMPLE TWO: Today a guy from my LINGUIST101 Tutorial was talking to me while I was standing waiting for Jared, and by and by he asked me what I was waiting for. "Boy," I said, pointing to where I could see Jared coming up the hill. "Oh, right," he said. "Well, see ya." And he walked off. It was very sudden. It almost made me laugh.
(Now, I'm willing to give in if anyone wants to object to the way I'm reading these situations. I'm fully open to other interpretations. But with my woman's intuition that's how they seem to come across.)

It kind of makes me a bit sad when this happens. I admit freely- I enjoy being noticed and talked to by guys. It makes me feel attractive, and not just physically. Everyone wants to feel like an attractive person, no matter what they say about "I don't need a man" etc. It's also nice to know that I'm attractive to people other than Jared. So it makes me kinda sad when I mention a boyfriend and the other guy immediately loses interest. Would it be so hard for him to continue to talk to me without me being available?

My brother and his wife and Jared and I went to see a comedy show thing today, and one of the comedians went off on a rant that interested me very much. He was talking about how girls complain that all the guys they meet in bars are chauvinistic, horrible pigs. He objected. He got quite agitated actually. He said, "There are guys out there who want to love you! Who want to bring you flowers and think about you and to... to place you on the pedestal you deserve! But they're not the ones you tend to fuck!"

Girls go window shopping. For guys, too. It's just idle perusal. Some guys can be very pleasing to the eye, too. For a little while you can pretend that you do have time and affection, or that you're single, or that you'd like a boyfriend. Just as trying on clothes makes you feel trendy and good-looking, trying on guys makes you feel attractive and appealing. And what girl doesn't want that?




I should really start writing my advice book for guys decoding the female mind...

Atmosphere

"Since you've been gone I've been lost inside
Tried and failed as we walked by the riverside
I wish you could see the love in her eyes
The best friend that eluded you lost in time
Burned alive in the heat of a grieving mind

But what can I say now?

And it couldn't be more wrong cause there's no one there
Unmistakably lost and without a care
Did we lose all the love that we could have shared
And it's wearing me down, and it's turning me round
And I can't find a way now to find it out
Where are you when I need you?

Are you there?"


I should know by now that movies and tv shows are nothing like real life. But once again real life has gotten sick of being ignored and has come back to bite me.
On screen when someone dies, it's simple. They die, you grieve, there's a funeral and from that you get closure. Simple. Done and dusted. In real life it's nothing like that.

But that's what I was expecting. I went to Nana's funeral fully expecting that this would close the book; that I could start a new chapter of this life in total security, looking forward, feeling new. And I truly believe that I could've...

The problem is that nobody else was thinking like that. Everyone else is expecting their grief to carry on for ages, and so it will...
I've become a great believer in the school of thought that says that the mind controls everything. If you think you're recovering from a disease, for example, that can go a long way towards making you recover.
I'm a planner. I plan out my week, my month, my year, and that makes me feel like I have a purpose in life, that I'm going somewhere. Because if I didn't feel that then I'd crash. My plans are the only thing that keep me sane. And so I get upset when something or someone happens to upset my plan.
So I planned to feel better after the funeral. I planned to make a fresh start when Uni started again. I planned to look forward, to move on, not to forget Nana but to forget the pain, because she wasn't feeling it anymore. But other people keep screwing it up.

It's not really my elders' fault... I know they have to sort out the legal crap, her will and her possessions need to go somewhere... they do have to think about her all the time. But nobody else seems to think like I do.
This is going to sound so horrible and tactless, but I'm sick of thinking about it. I'm sick of everyone thinking about it. Don't they understand that life has to go on? Don't they know that the faster they move on the better they'll feel?
And even if they can't stop thinking about her... I just wish they wouldn't keep mentioning her to me. "Oh, Nana would've loved that..." "Nana would've been so pleased/so proud/so tickled about that"... Would've, would've, WOULD'VE. The plain fact is that she's gone. We all know this. Why do we have to keep reminding ourselves of it? Why does everyone feel the need to do that?
If they're going to keep doing that, I kind of wish they'd all just leave me alone.

And yet I know all this is me acting incredibly selfishly. And I hate it.

I don't know what to do. I'm so impatient for life to go back to normal. And when I leave this house it nearly is. Nearly. But the instant I get back the weight of the family grief descends upon me like an avalanche.

I think what I'm trying to say here is that I'm fine. All the denial and the heartache and the other assorted crap that people usually have to deal with when someone they love dies... I've dealt with it. I should be fine... but I feel like other people aren't letting me get over it.

Syncopation

"I'm just a face in the crowd
Nothing to worry about
Not even trying to stand out
I'm getting smaller and smaller and smaller
And I've got nothing to say
Its all been taken away
I just behave and obey
I'm afraid I'm starting to fade away..."


It's so beautiful and sunny outside. Hot, too, if those builders in their shorts are anything to go by. It's crazy to think that about a week and a half ago there was just concrete in the back yard... then, over the course of a day, the framing for the first floor went up... then, just last friday, we came home and the second floor was up too, and the framing for that. It's all happened so fast, it makes me wonder what takes so long when a house is built... Dad says the plumbing and the electricity, and the furnishing, and things like that.
Anyway, it's so beautiful and sunny outside, but inside this house it's freezing. Or maybe it's just me? I've had to move my computer out to the lounge because my room is an icebox. I'll need the electric blanket on my bed soon. And it's still March!
I'm so annoyed with the amount of work I have to do. I've got a written assignment, a 1500 word essay, a sight-singing assessment and a close reading test all on the go all at once this week. I suppose I should've started all this stuff earlier, but nobody told me to. I guess this is my first taste of how Uni is different from school.
But I can't even say that's why I haven't been blogging or commenting or facebooking or beboing or any of that rubbish. I'm constantly very much in danger of making Jared my whole world, forgetting there is more to life, there are more friends and there's more work and other things to do. I have to discipline myself. But even the most time we two can spend together doesn't feel like enough. I'm not sure what to do about it.

My parents were away all weekend down in Christchurch with Meredith and Phil (my sister and her partner) for a much-needed break from the stresses of having a dying mother...

...anyway. Mum said I could have Jared over to stay the weekend, which was astounding; she's very paranoid about no-sex-before-marriage and all that jazz... but she seems to trust us. Which makes me feel bad as we'd already violated her wishes in that respect. But it doesn't matter, really... Jared is my soulmate. We will get married, we just can't afford to right now. It's all just a matter of time.
It was really fun. It was like a little taste of the life we'll have together when we finally save enough to go flatting or buy our own house. It seems strange in this day and age what with career women and whatnot but I have a real housewife-y streak in me- I love cooking for Jared, or with him. I get really excited when I think about future meals and things, and about making the house look nice. Even cleaning doesn't seem so bad when I'm doing it for him. Which I can tell is going to come in handy when we're living together.

I went in to visit Nana on Friday morning and she was so pleased to see me, it was very warm fuzzies. She seems a lot better after going through a hell of a lot of pain because of this operation they gave her to try and prolong her life. We were having a lovely peaceful time until my Uncle Richard showed up.
Richard's a pastor in his family's church. I'm not sure if anyone reading knows this, but my family is really quite Christian... my personal close family is the least religious of the bunch, and Auntie Christine (my mum's sister) and Uncle Richard's bunch are the most.
Anyway, he showed up in Nana's hospital room, in "pastor" mode, and started talking to her about death. He was asking her how she felt about it and going on about "a better place" and "where you belong", and every so often- twice in the space of about twenty minutes- he would notice I was quiet, elbow me in the ribs and say, "Pretty deep stuff eh Sheen!" Nana told him I was working things (spiritual beliefs) out myself, and I said that I'd rather figure it out myself than trust what anyone else fed me, and he said fair enough; but in true Christian style, he decided in his mind that this made me an Athiest, and showed me this little trick with his watch, saying "if I threw all the components of this watch up into the air, how many times would it take for the pieces to fall back into the shape of a watch?", which is supposed to say how could the world have come about by chance. I am not an Athiest!
Then, when I got up to go put my coffee cup in the rubbish bin, he shuffled over and took my place sitting right next to Nana, and she asked him to pray for her before he left. So he took her hand and turned his back towards me- a true cold shoulder. As if me joining in on this prayer would poison it or corrupt it. When he finally left I was in tears.

Lately I've been feeling as if I've reached an age where nobody- least of all me- knows quite what to do with me or how to behave around me. I am an unknown entity. Am I an adult? A child? Do I belong to a religion or not? Am I a friend or an enemy? Do I have full responsibility over myself or can I let others make decisions for me? Who are my friends? Who is my family?
The whole world wants to define me, and I evade its grasp- not because I don't want to be defined, but because I'm not finished yet. Let me do it myself. Don't force me into a mold of someone I will be sick of in five years' time.

I just saw the wood for the roof supports being delivered. Soon the skeleton of the house, its body, will be finished. And then the complicated stuff will begin.
For seventeen years I've been making the skeleton of myself, growing it, letting the plumbers and the electricians and the interior decoraters run riot, swap seats, have food fights, throw parties. Now maybe it's time to sit them all down and get to work on who I really want to be.

Foreword

So here I am again, planning to pour my heart out to strangers on a public website... although the only people who are going to be reading this are (probably) people who care about me, or at least know me. So it's more like planning to pour my heart out to people who are thoroughly sick of me already.

The main reason why I started this is because my friend Daniel- mostly known as Danny- is on this site, blogging out his life, and I love to read about it. Danny's the one who inspired me to start writing life-blogs on my myspace, and now he's moved on, I guess I've followed him... I think I also want to try and shut down at least one of my social websites (I have myspace, bebo AND facebook) and myspace is definitely the one I use least. In fact, in all honesty (which is my new policy) the only reason I was on myspace is to read Daniel's blog, because I like to keep an eye on him... I'm a mother hen.

Myspace used to be a "thing" between me, Cloe, Daniel and Ayesha- then my three best friends outside Avondale College, and my confidantes. They were all there first and Cloe cajoled me onto the silly site, and we all blogged about our lives, our loves, our hopes and our disappointments together. But now... well. Ayesha's blogs have gone private, and fair enough- I haven't made an effort to keep in touch with her, and I'm paying the price. Cloe's blogs haven't really changed since their beginning, but most of what she says are things that I could hear from her personally when I text her. Danny's blogs have moved here. And my blogs slowly petered out and stopped when I met my soulmate, Jared, because suddenly there was a sudden lack of negative drama in my life... and I just recently realized that most of what I blogged about was my dramas.

You might ask why, if my negative dramas were what I blogged about and they have stopped (or nearly so), am I starting a blog at all? My answer is a bit silly really. You see, most people I know who keep a diary keep just that- a diary, a book, physical paper with physical ink telling about their days, their nights. I used to as well, but the onset of technology has had an interesting effect on me; I find I get impatient with writing for several reasons. These are:

• My writing is HUGE- I fit maybe ten average words on a line of pad paper on a good day, and maybe five on a bad day.

• I am not a fast writer, and when I try to write fast my writing gets messier and bigger and messier and bigger until I'm absolutely disgusted with the result. Despite the evidence of my messy room which is usually covered in discarded clothes and books, I am not a person who revels in messiness. I can't study or do homework in my room when it's messy, I hate it when things are colour-coordinated, and I can't stand disorganization. Can't. Stand. It.

• However, I am a very fast typer. I love the speed and neatness with which the words run onto the screen- typing can keep up with my out-of-control train of thought, and the events and changes in my life.

So there are my reasons. This site is fantastic, it autosaves like every five minutes so if I lose any of my silly rambles due to Felix's spazzes (Felix is my laptop, but don't get too jealous- as you might've realised, he's a bit senile, and his battery is shot so I can't unplug him at all), I don't have to tear out my hair about it.

Hopefully this blog will be an easier way for the people I love best to keep caught up with my life and so on. A few of my friends have left Auckland (e.g. Ee Laine), and quite a few of them who are still in Auckland aren't at Auckland University (e.g. Deanna, Priscilla, Cloe, Quanny, Brooke), and quite a lot of them who are at Auckland University I haven't even encountered around campus that much yet (e.g. Sarah, Meeral, Julia, Sonali, Danny, Dhakshi), and this is my third week. I guess I'm confessing to being lazy- I don't feel I have time to write to each of these people individually- as well as concieted- who really wants to hear about all the silly stuff that happens to me, day to day, or even the serious stuff?- but there it is.

Just know that I love you all. This chapterbook is for you as much as for me.