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Marry me Mr Bean! – 28th of July 2012

July 28, 2012


So I know I haven’t posted in forever, and I only have pathetic excuses why not…. so lets move on.

Run down of late: I’ve gone back to uni for the second semester (and my timetable is alirightish – it’s reasonable but I still want to complain), mum’s smother mother status needs to be upgraded, Dog got clipped and now looks like one of those hideos french poodles… that’s about it.

My nerdy secret is coming along though, which is good. I’ve been writing away and am determined to finish chapter 8 this week (OMG I know – Finally!) which if you’re me is exciting and if you’re you then probably as uniteresting as a rock. Recently I haven’t been able to stop my mind from speculating and forming plots for a sequel.. several in fact, which feels good because it’s exciting to speculate on the future of my characters. Also, is it weird that I think I’ve become friends with them? It is, isn’t it? Not in the way that I have conversations with them or anything psychotic, but that when I think of each of the characters in my book I feel different emotions and fondness for them, like they’re actually real people in the world I have relationships with. Now, forgive me for self preeching here, but perhaps that’s one of the things that defines a writer in this philosophical world of ours: to care about the people we create and invest ourselves in their fates. Yuck.

Anyway (I just realised how often I use that word), this weekend, a family friend from Sydney came down to stay with us and shop with a friend of hers. This is all fine, and this girl is nice, but there could not be two creatures on the planet more different than her and I. Picture this: she’s a party animal, wears heels as tall as Lauren Jackson (she is as tall as Lauren Jackson too), short skirts, has six piercings and wants to get a tattoo. I couldn’t be more different: not a party animal (In fact the very thought of clubs makes me want to curl into the foetal position and cry myself to sleep), barely ever wear heels let alone tall ones, don’t really wear short skirts, don’t spend money like it grows on trees, don’t want a tattoo. Anyway, tonight she has roped me into taking her clubbing. Being  a non-clubber means that I’m way out of my depth, so I’ve managed to rope in Horse who’s coming to save the day and taking us Bar hopping (save me now!). I’m quite confident that in a cowardly bid to ‘fit in’ and ‘be cool’ that I am going to spend more money than I would on an overseas holiday. But that’s life, I guess. And this horridly ordeal of drunken, money spending, painful shoe wearing torture will be over by the morning…. In other words i’m trying to psych myself up to bare what lays ahead.


I got up at 5:30 this morning to watch the opening ceremony of the Olympics. Yes I loved it, yes I thought it was clever and awesome and funny and stuff and yes I want to marry Daniel Craig. Favourite funny moment: Rowan Atkinson and his Chariots of fire skit. Favourite epic moment: when helicopters released confetti over the stadium and the commentators added that there was one piece of confetti for every person on the planet (7 billion apparently). When that happened I had one of those nerdy, deep moments when you think ‘that’s really something special’. I then let my eyes focus on one piece of confetti that was falling and imagined that it was me, among all the other people in the world, just being confetti and falling like confetti does. So yeah, psycho analyse away.

Also, here’s a deep thought I had today whilst on the tram that I thought I would share: I both love art (any type) … but I also hate it: Art is a tool that feeds off you to sustain itself and then spits you out the other side, an emotional cripple, with no thought of the consequences for its creator.  Yeah, that’s about it, corny I know, but deal with it.

That’s it from me today.

Happy opening ceremony day,



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