Feeling down?

I just watched the first episodes of both Dollhouse and Caprica. I was very impressed with both, although the main thing that stood out in both was how much bloody stuff was only in there for the straight male gaze. Cheers, media studies.

I've been feeling, guess what, lonely. As everyone is spending this time of the year with their families, it means I have to as well, so for the past couple of days I've been alone. Tom's been busy, although I might be meeting up with him later. I just realised it's my first Christmas without my parents. I don't find myself missing them. I want to be earning enough to afford to live alone. I want to go to university.

Every time you think you're walking, you're just moving the ground.

Every time you think you're talking, you're just moving your mouth.

Every time you think you're looking, you're just... looking down.

I don't know what this post was meant to be about. To quote someone else, "farewell, empty silence of cyberspace!"

all the looks of love were staged

If only we could Edit The Sad Parts, eh?

I wasn't going to write this post, as I'm a lovely drunk/upset combo, and promised myself I wouldn't do these sort of blog posts any more. Oh well. I'd turned my mac off, and was just settling into bed with On Avery Island's first track Song Against Sex, and I reached over to hug my other pillow because, yes, I feel lonely. And it reminded me of my ex. Early, early on in the relationship, probably about a year ago now, on the rare occasion we didn't share a bed, I would hug a pillow.

So, tonight. Very messy. Jacob tells me that he saw Chris and his new boyfriend in Gianni's. Any other restaurant and I would have probably been fine. Considering Gianni's is my favourite (had my birthday there pretty much 12 times or something), and that I took Chris there a few times as we were getting to know each other, it has a certain sentimental value to me. And the fact that he now takes someone else there makes me feel ill. It really means nothing. It means he likes the pizza (or the prices), and that's it. I'm still angry.

Something else. I got with someone called Bobby at a party a few weeks ago. I was quite drunk, and people had been telling me quite how much we'd get on. We got on quite well. Anyway, he repeated pretty much our entire sexual encounter to all his friends the morning after. I'm not happy with this, really. Especially as I find this out tonight from someone who barely knows either of us. It's ridiculous.

Oh, and. Some straight guy called Stephen is furiously intent on using me to explore his sexuality. I mean, come on. Nothing's going right at all.

John stayed at mine last night. He was going to spend my only day off this week with me, and watch a film. He didn't stay, he left so he could get a lift home. He didn't take the lift home, and instead met up with someone in town. If I'd been invited, I'd have been okay. But it's fucking annoying. I deleted his violin part (to be honest, it was badly played) and put some cool reverb effects on Karen's guitar part to my song, which still has no name. I like Underwater Breathing Apparatus.

I had a very nice chat with a drunken Ben. He's a good listener.

I just want to get away from it all again.

I'm too used to running from my problems.

I'm probably too self-absorbed. I like feeling sorry for myself.

I'm selfish.

And it all breaks down at the first rehearsal

I watched Synecdoche, New York again. And cried. Again.

Sometimes all I really wanna feel is love.
Sometimes I'm angry that I feel so angry.

I've been working on my song a bit more. It needs lyrics, but I think the music is finished. I got John and Karen to come over yesterday, Karen brought her guitar and John brought his electric violin, so we had a bit of a go with those. While I didn't get exactly what I was intending from either instruments, I think what we came up with is pretty good. Fuck it, actually, I'm gonna put them on Youtube. Hang on.

Compulsive Liar

I made up the most absurd lie earlier:
"You can't clap your hands if they're wet."

oxygen to breathe

I finally managed to figure out how to use Logic. It was really simple: Preferences>Audio>Input>Input. Oh well. This is the first thing I've made, so no laughing. The guitar is all me, the drums, synth and bells are all thanks to Logic. It definitely needs more instrumentation, and I'd hope to get vocals at some point. Comment.

In other news, Simply Syndicated head Richard Smith announced today on Twitter that he's going to hand the network over to someone else. That's a bit sad.

test 2

The woman next door is crying. Her skin is grey and broken: mottled, greasy and infected. She is no longer bullet proof. She tears at her face with clawing hands, it falls away and dissolves at her feet. The condition of her husband is not as severe, but progressing rapidly. As the woman's eyes burn away, she takes a last look at him and feels not remorse, but regret. "Is this the best I could have done?" she thinks, "That man? This life?"
She can feel nothing. She cares not for living.
As the woman dies, she can hear only her husband's screams, and the house collapsing around them.
The noises fade.

I did ask for this.

I did. Really.

Tonight, I went out with Tom for his birthday. He's 19. I wrapped a shoebox up for him in loads of newspaper, so it looked like something exciting. Inside was a card with a cute puppy on the front, and the words BITTER CRUSHING DISAPPOINTMENT on the inside. His present off the internet hasn't arrived yet, so I thought that would do.

Like I said, this is what I asked for: while in Woodrows, I saw two thin, trendy people wearing those bloody stupid hats that everyone seems to have nowadays. The second time I looked, I realised it was, of course, my ex-boyfriend and some lesbian looking woman. About half an hour later, I find out that it was in fact Chris, and his new boyfriend.

I was filled with despair. I still am. I know that this shouldn't be affecting me in any way, but it really is. Either this is what he wants or (more likely) he's moved on. It just seems so sudden. And, of course, I haven't moved on. I'm a mess, pretty much. I left Concrete early (the guy I was dancing with was straight, of course) (oh, and I applied for a job, badly) to walk home, alone. I couldn't be bothered waiting for anyone. It does seem, however, that I am now only capable of contributing to this blog when I'm a bit upset and drunk. Oh well. John gets back in just under a week. He really is marvellous. After I've spent Christmas with him, I'm probably going to go to France and work with my dad. Unless this Concrete job works out, or maybe that gay bar will get back in touch. Both are not likely. I just want to curl up in a ball and have no contact with anyone until it's time for university.

By the way, I have no right to be feeling sorry for myself: I did ask for this.