Real Realisations

I came to a couple of realisations today:

1. I have pretty bad B.O. Why has no-one ever told me this? I figure it’s pretty bad when you can smell yourself. Ick. I mean, I made me want to go out and test-drive every deoderant on sale. I guess that’s what you get from living in such a hot climate. But still… Oh my God. *Vomit.

2. I should really carry a notebook around with me. I believe i have had an ealry onset of alzheimer’s. I thought of the single best thing to blog about today- and forgot. 

3. As much as I complain like shit about him, I really miss my boy when he goes away. The reason i say this is because he went to a town close by for the weekend, and I was L for Lonesome without him. Hahaha the fact that i call myself independent is a laugh.

4. I am practically in love with my job, as far as jobs go… I cannot actually balieve I nearly quit. God, I can be so silly sometimes!

5. I’ve been refered to as unpredictable. As spontaneuos. In one way, I guess I am. But really, if I’m going to lay down the truth, i have a comfort zone, and I’m not exactly prepared to step out of it, without someone to hold my hand. I suppose what I’m really trying to say is that, as much as I am independant, I’m also as insecure as they come.   guess, in the long run, that’s what makes me so, er, unique, if that’s the way you want to put it.

6. Fat people should never wear short skirts/ short/ dresses. The amount of obese people in this town is alarming… The amount that don’t realise it is even more so. Seriously, I’m not one to judge, but for real, ladies- cover it up!

7. There is a migration season. Ok, so, lately, there have been an AMAZING amount of attractive men (and women) coming into town. It’s quite frightening. I couldn’t quite figured it out, until today- Brainwave! Okay, so it’s winter here in Aus- but not here in Happychicks’ town, where it’s summer virtually all year round. So, the hot people flock to the warmer weather and BAM! Happychick gets a whole lot of perving opportunities! It’s like heaven on earth… mmm.

What a sad life I lead.

So yes, Happychick is back, and, er, Happy.

Comment on my blog, mofos- I’ll be sure to return the favour.

I’m Okay- I promise

So you all saw me in that horrible state of self-despair last night. It was ugly, to say the least. Now, I can’t remember the last time I was like that. It would have been last year, before we moved. See, i have this thing, that I like to call The Spiral Theory. The way it works is, basically, good things happen to me. Eg, I get a boyfriend, he rocks, and I make some new friends, and I figure out how great my job is, and then BAM! Pete and I aren’t getting along so well, we’re getting sick of each other, we’re getting bored being together. My friends, though great, are abandoning me, and my job is just getting lame. And there’s a lot of psychological baggage going on too. I’m feeling worthless, I’m feeling fake, I’m generally just not who I was, and hating who I’ve become. And hence, I’m at the top of the spiral, and with all this bullshit going on, I come rapidly spiralling ot of control. Well that’s it, basically.

So I had a good long text convo with Jayden last night (Damn that bot and his wisdom waaay beyond his years). He kinda put it all in perspective, and generally acted as a leaning post. Then he told Pete, to save me the trouble.

So things are okay today- I had the day off school, due to “illness”- though Mum, as always, knew better. She says boarding school is on the agenda for the next couple of years, whether I go all week, every week, or just board for the five days, and stay with Nan on weekends. But then she sees my face, and how much I’m literally dying inside, and offers to send me next term.

But if I hate it, I can’t change my mind. And I can’t fail, not with all the money that my folks’ll be forking out. But I need to go, and my friends, mainly Pete, don’t like that idea.

I’m not depressed, guys. I just have days when I get a little overwhelmed. I hate not being in control of every aspect of my life. And I hate even more how I never will be. xx chick.

I’ve got nothing to say. I just really, really need to go home.

I just don’t know.

I need to get out of here. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I need. I have never felt so helpless in my life. I’m looking aroung, and I don’t know this place. I don’t know this house, I don’t know that girl in the mirror. I, I no longer feel any sort of remorse. i try to tell myself that what I do, and the decisions I make in the next few years will determine where i go in life, but as much as I beleive that, i won’t listen. I feel so tired, all the time. I feel like, no matter how much I smile, I’m not happy. I don’t feel good enough. For anyone. I’m not the girl i used to be. The old me never wore makeup. She never strutted aroung, worrying how her hair looked. She had no cares. She didn’t want to be popular. She never got bored. She rarely got angry. And she was never, never depressed. She knew who she was. She knew where she was going. She was everything she had eve dreamed of being. And that’s lost now. It’s gone. This town has sucked the lifeout of me. It has made me listless, it has stripped me of my ambition. I have never felt at home since I have been here. I have never belonged. And it’s killing me. I don’t have a purpose. i don’t even have a meaning. I’m sitting here, writing this into my blog. Why? I go to school every day but I don’t take in a word. I can’t sleep. I’m tired all the time. I just, I don’t know how much longer I can do it.

Back to School

Hey Strangers! Assuming that you missed me, I thought I’d write you a little post before bed. Ok, so the first day back at school sucked shit. Alright, it was OK, but I dunno how to explain it. Firstly off, Christy and I are, quite officially, no longer friends. We just, aren’t. And to be quite honest, I’m not sure I give a damn. Secondly, my choice classes for the term are AFL (OMG), and Creative Dance. Hahahahaha! i don’t know what I was smoking when I filled out the form. AFL? Are you joking? AFL is Aussie Football. You’ll probably have to Google it, as you aren’t Aussie. Once you know what AFL is, you will know why I was mad to choose it. I hate sport. I hate physical activity. I hate it. For real. Jeezus. Again with Creative Dance. Now, there’s a difference- Dancing (Yay. Fun, good. ) Creative Dancing- No. Bad, grr. Running around like an idiot. Bad! Third on the “stuff I have to tell you” list, I am confused. Ok, so my class has 4 boys in it. Pete and Maco, whom I like. Then there’s Marinko and Regan, whom I do not. Well, it’s not that I don’t like them, it’s that- well, they think they’re God’s gift to the world. Sure, they’re good looking, but honestly. So they’re talking to me. Conversing with me. Sitting near me. I don’t get it. And I think I liked it better when they weren’t talking to me. Also, I think I’m lacking in iron (or whatever it is that makes you tired).I seriuosly haven’t slept nary a wink in the past two days. i’m running on empty, and I feel as though I’m about to pass out.

Finally, I have a new terms resolution. Well, I say it every term, but anyway. So this time I’m seriuos. I’m going to do well. I’m going to pay attention. I’m not going to flunk. I just can’t. And if I go to boarding school next year, I have to pick up my grades freaking quickly.

Thats all for now, night night, xx chick

I’m getting shitty because, for the past 48 hours, literally everyone on my Blogroll has neglected their duty as a blogger. Do you guys realize I have been checking your blogs, like, hourly? GOD! I’m freaking dying without you guys! (Notice how I didn’t say bored- Shona would killl me). Grr!

Georgia and Kirah- Opposites

So I went to the movies today, with Kirah, the Half-cast girl who lives across the road from me. I always loved those movies where the kids live next door, or across the road, or whatever. They always end happily. I remember when i was in Year8, there was a girl who lived across the road from me. Her name was Georgia. We were the best of friends. We hung out every single day. We walked to school together, we walked our dogs together, we had sleepovers, talked about boys- we were like Pooh and Tigger, or Paris and Nicole.

When Georgia moved, though, we fell apart. Sure, we still went to the same school. Sure, we had sleepovers every so often. But it wasn’t the same. I couldn’t stay at her house playing Playstation till 6.30 on a school night. I couldn’t run over to her house when my dog died. I couldn’t walk home with her. Which is a pity, because she was the nicest girl. Everyone loved her- she was sweet and kind and friendly to everyone- never discriminatory, always popular- the kind of girl any guy would love to take home to his parents. Georgia and I shared so much, it was quite a shame to see it all lost, simply because she moved. But alas, we probably would have drifted apart anyway…

So Kirah and I are both a little onb the outer. She’s pretty much what you would call a Blackie- In the non-racist way. She’ll have a punch-up with anyone who stirs her up, is the biggest gossip queen I know, and is generally pretty tough. These qualtiies also mean that she has trodden on a number of toes over the years, and established her fair share of enemies.

So her friends are pretty sucky- and so are mine. And as we live across the road from each other, we’ve kinda forged an agreement- we’ll look out for each other. We’ll hang out. We’ll just generally become besties- which I can say is great for me, as Christy and I, are a little- well, not friends any longer.

Daddy’s Death Day

Today is July 21. It is also 6 years to the day since my Dad died. To talk about it again would not only be a waste of time, I would also lose valuable bodily fluids and the like.

The last time we went on holiday, Mum and I visited his grave/plaque/ I’mnot sure how to describe it, because he was cremated. It was quite a sad affair, as one would expected from a visit to their parents’ grave. I cried quite a bit more than anticipated, but then again, you can never anticipate how a visit to the graveyard will affect you, can you?

Each time I visit his little plaque, I leave something behind. Most of the time it’s a little toy, or something I find floating around my room. The first was a mini stuffed zebra. Each time I have been there since, I have placed another trinket, like a TAZO’s collecters coin, or a plastic cow with her calf. And each time, the zebra is there, a little more brown, a little more mouldy, a little more decrepid. But there, to give me reassurance, that someone, at least, is watching over my Daddy. Last time we went, though, the zebra was gone. So were a few of the other things. Perhaps they re-mulched the garden. Perhaps it was blown away by strong winds. Despite the fact that it was probablyan accident, I felt terribly violated. I felt a new, stinging sensation of loss.

You may remember, not so long ago, that I told you his Death Day was on Pete’s Birthday, the 20th of June. I was wrong. How wrong is that? Forgetting your own Fathers’ Death Date? New level of selfi-obsessed, negligent carelessness over here, people.

When I was younger I went to a therapist. We had many a session, which usually included me crying into her pillow, eating her chocolates, and whinging about pathetic little things that have affected me. For $100 a session, I hardly thought it was worth it. But in our last session, she got me to write a letter to my Daddy. Now, many people have said to do the same often enough in the years that followed, and I have, many times. But this first letter, written under the all-seeing eye of the therapist, is the one I will remember. I still have it, tucked away in my drawer, as a reminder of all the pain and hardships I have overcome, and a motivation, proving that I am capable of anything.

I guess, if I could say anything to my Daddy just one last time, it would be that i’m sorry, about all the things I have done to disgrace you, and all the things I am bound to do in life, to add to that list. And finally, that I forgive you. And this is especially true and important, as I forgive very few these days. Very few.

Messages and Mates

I have this thing where I cannot delete messages on my phone. It’s nutty, I know. But the other day, I was crying. Just crying, feeling worthless, I wrote a whole page in my journal about it. So I picked up my phone. I scrolled through the “contacts” list, and deleted about 20 numbers. Some of them ex-friends, whom I never intened on speaking to again. Some of them just randoms, who i promised to give them a call. Anyway, it was pretty damn cleansing, to say the least. So I opened up my inbox. 83 messages. Now, most of them were nice messages, designed to make me feel better. Some of them were promses made to me, that I could document. Some were just “Hey, watcha doin?”. I deleted all but 15 of them. I still liked the idea of having messages to keep me happy.

Here are a couple;

“Best friend forever I’ll never forget our good times, luv ya, tarn, sleep well x o x” Tarnie

“Thanks ____, I love you soo much, you’re such a champ” Rachel, after I helped her through her break-up.

I only kept a few of them, but I realized, looking back through them, that I kept messages from those that mattered most to me. I guess, subconciously, it wasn’t just the context of the message that mattered, but more who it was that sent it to me.

I only have a few friends in the world, a subject on which I have written a post before. I wish to update that list, if I may;

Anushka- We are so different, that there is no need to compete. We are living proof that opposites do attract. As much as we are on opposite ends of the country, we are so much alike that it’s quite frightening. I can see myself, 85 and in a little cottage drinking tea, with Anushka right beside me. We are just those types of people, you know?

Tarnie- I’ve known this girl since before I was born. We see each other once every two years, if we’re lucky, but when we get together we talk like we’ve never been apart. There’s a bond between Tarnie and I, which states, without words, that we will be friends untill the day we die.

Andy- Andy’s about to move across the world. When I think about it now, I don’t know alot about Andy. I’ve never been to his house, I’ve met his Mum once, and I don’t even know what his favourite colour is. But that said, he has always been there, the sensilbe, strong one, the lighthearted one, the one to bring me down a peg or two if my ego got too big. i have so much fun when it’s just me, Andy and Anushka. The times we spent together will remain in my heart forever.

Pete- He’s my boyfriend. I love him to peices, but, that said, we may break up tommorw and I’ll have nothing more to say. The point is, everyone says “you’ll always remember your firt love”. The times me and Pete spend together, they’re like something out of a love story. You know, the flashback bit, where the couple is laughing nd play fighting and stuff? That’s us, except a little less lovey-dovey and without the corny music. I love him to bits and I would practically die without his company.

I have a few other mates, but really, these guys are the ones who matter most. The ones I would call, “my friends”. These guys are the world to me, and I love them forever for it.

No Way In Hell

I got the job…. And I turned it down. I guess I lost sight of what was really important. I wanted a new job so much, I didn’t see how good I’ve already got it. I know it sounds so silly, and i know I sound like such a big hypocrit, but I wanted change so badly that I just didn’t see how good I already have it. I guess it sounds so silly to talk that way about Maccas, but to me, it’s the truth.

The newsagents was horrible. I guess I should have known what to expect, judging from the interview with the crazy manager, but the one time my instinct is correct, the one time I cease to listen. They made me chop up magazines ALL day. I got there at 2pm, and, even though the “trial” was supposed to finish at 4, I was there till a quarter to 6. Uk. Other than chopping up magazines, I had to (major excitement here folks), stack magazines, throw magazines in the bin, top up the drinks fridge, with the used by dates in order (w.t.f.), and, most enjoyable of all, vaccuum. Now, I’m unsure whether I have told you this previously, or you have gathered it from my older posts, but I am not, I repeat not, manually skilled. In the slightest.

There’s a little T.V. in my brothers’ room, and it’s “portable”, so you can just lift the whole thing into another room. Pete and I were lifting it, and I staggered and tripped from the weight, and it fell on my leg. I hate hanging out washing because it hurts my arms so badly. Vaccuuming? No way. Mum thinks I’m just pretty damn lazy (this is more than true, but still…), but I refuse the manual side of things, ever.

*Cears Throat. The Newsagents. It sucked! I was sooo bored, and I was only there for 4 hours!!! Plus, get this. I was standing there, chopping magazines, when Pete and Maco walked in. I couldn’t control myself. I burst out laughing. Pete, who’s hair is black, fully black, night black, had put peroxide tips in it. Hahahahahaha! So anyway, the crazy manager lady comes over and says “boys, it’s her first day stop distracting her”. They were like, right…. And left me all alone in my own private hell. Then, about an hour later, there I was, still chopping magazines, when some Aboriginal guy comes up and play-punches me, “Hey!!” I almost died. Jesse. He moved way down south not so long ago, to be with his aunts and uncles and that. I had no idea he was back for a holiday. More importantly, I had no idea why he was talking to me. To put it bluntly, I barely know the guy. He went out with Christy for a while (Grr… she’s a very touchy subject at the moment), until he moved and left her hanging. Apart from that, we’d never talked. But he’s a nice guy. Really nice. And pretty hot too. Anyway, he got kicked out too. ???

I was physically and emotionally in pain. Boredom was threatening to send me into a coma. So, at almost 6.00,I asked if I could leave, saying some bullshit about a doctors appt.

I almost forgot. The icing on the cake of death? Apart from the fact, of course, that it was a trial and I didn’t get paid.

They made me wear pink.