Are you feeling fine? Yes, I feel just fine!

My brain is going a bazillion miles an hour. I have anxiety jitters and it's not really helping my flute fingers.

So, AnnaHyde. Deep breaths. Calm down. Everything is going to be all right.

Incidentally, if I entirely fuck up my audition tomorrow, I will need a hell of a lot of chocolate and booze.
xx

stream-of-consciousness time!

You know it's kind of funny the way this happens:

I've been having my little Teenage Angst issues, for, whatever, however long. That's not the important part.

Three weeks ago I was sitting exams. I walked out of one and for no real reason I felt this total bliss. Nothing was particularly special about that moment. The weather was nice, it had been all week; the exam didn't go well, but it didn't go badly; the same pictures of horses lined the underpass that echoed every footstep back. But still: bliss. Out of nowhere, like my brain had gotten confused about which chemicals to release (we'realljustatoms,afterall). And it didn't matter, because I was small and my legs were bare and there was something peppy on the radio.

And then the day went by and everything was ordinary again. I don't know why I was surprised.

And then life went on! And exams finished, and I forgot to reenrol, and I want to change into a double degree, but I need to find time to work; and I wasn't stressed, but all the fuss and bother was just draining, and Teen Angst reared his cheeky face again.

And I couldn't sleep at 5am, so I listened to Rachmaninoff, and whoever was playing it - don't, I don't know anything about music - played it like it was the apocalypse, like I've never heard it before. And then I listened to Le Onde, and as I did...the god I believe in doesn't have a name, but I swear it was like the a cloud had broken; that first bird brave enough to peep out after a deluge and trill, just to confirm and to celebrate that the world, at least, hasn't gone anywhere.

And I think everything is going to be okay.
I think maybe everything is going to be okay.
Because, after all, I am just one (very small) girl,
And the earth is just one (very small) world,
And our sun is one very small sun.
We're all just falling, of course;
we're all falling towards the earth,
and the earth is falling towards the sun,
and the sun is falling towards the centre of the (very small) galaxy.
They say there's a black hole there. They say that it's supermassive.
And the galaxies - they're rushing apart
Not for a lack of love, of course
but because space is expanding, still
The furthest we've been - we've been to the moon. That's not far, in the scheme of things,
but we've been to the moon! Think:
we're ants crossing the Sahara.
To people in aeroplanes, maybe we're nothing special, maybe our journey isn't great.
But we went to the moon,
we came in peace
for ALL mankind.
(And here, a tangent.
The irony of this being written during the Cold War isn't lost, but look:
On Christmas Day 1914, troops in trenches laid down their arms and exchanged gifts.
Apollo 13 almost ended in disaster,
so the Russians stopped transmitting on their frequencies so there wouldn't be any interference...and they offered their ships to retrieve the astronauts.
Three. Three men. Americans.
In the middle of the Cold War, they did what they could for three Americans.
One of their emergency landing sites for the Soyuz was North America.
A man is not his country, though a country is made up of men;
it's the little things.)
Our greatest troubles are miniscule,
but our greatest achievements are still great,
and isn't that wonderful?

I'm going to close my eyes now, but I'd just like to say, because it bears repeating:
I think everything is going to be okay.

AnnaHyde's Patented Top Ten List of Sad Songs.

I like making lists. I mean I like makings lists of anything. When I can't sleep, I make lists of songs starting with every letter of the alphabet. I also like writing things out. And then rewriting them. And then writing them again in swirly writing. I also enjoy filling out forms.
But that's besides the point.
The point being that I made a list today, and this is it, and it is my list of top ten sad songs, because sometimes you need to have a little weep, and it's nice to be accompanied by heartfelt indie music when this happens.

(11. = Bonus.) Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want - The Smiths
Okay, so I know I said ten. But then I saw that I'd put this on my bigger list of sad songs and I didn't want to leave it out. Because I love Morrissey and the Smiths to death. And because when I'm feeling bitter and disatisfied and unsuccessful and down Morrissey is always there to tell me I'm RIGHT to feel bitter and disatisfied and unsuccessful and down, and that it's ACTUALLY OKAY. Then he tells me to have a couple of glasses of wine and to get my sparkly dancin' shoes on and to thrash around my room.
Do I sound crazy now? yes. Oh well. Anyway, I love this song. For the astute 80's John Hughes film buffs in the readers of this blog, you will also remember that there was a lovely version of this song covered by The Dream Academy in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" which was awesome. There is also another cover of it by She & Him which is quite good.
Anyway, in short, Morrissey and I are tight.

10. Just Like Honey - The Jesus and Mary Chain
Ooh, my dad just brought me a glass of wine over! How nice. But right now my mum is shrieking because she got chili in a cut on her hand. Ah well, family insane etc.
The first time I heard this song was in my favourite film, "Lost In Translation". I would give you the list of why I love said film so much (combination of Sofia Coppola, Giovanni Ribisi, Bill Murray and Scarlett Johanssen before she became vapid and soulless, plus many shots of bright lights and dry humour and Tokyo and ridiculous shiny things and beautiful filmography and--) but it would go on wayyyy too long. But this was the perfect end to the film, is the thing, and it is a perfect goodbye song. It makes me sad, but kind of accepting, like going through the grieving process: I lost the song, I mourned the loss of the song, I got angry that the song was taken from me and etc. etc. until I reached acceptance that the song was gone.
Except it wasn't really, I'm pretty sure you can still download it illegally from limewire or whatever shit you kids are using these days.

9. Peer Pressure - Jon Brion
Another song from a film. Sorry. I usually link the two together. And then I wish my life was like a movie. And I was always dreamily dishevelled somewhere in a whimsical European town, flirting with men with alluring accents.
Somehow, I don't think this will ever happen to me. On the off chance that I do one day get to Europe, I am pretty sure I will stumble through it in a drunken haze meeting distasteful travellers with less-than-alluring accents and getting rained on.
Whatever. This song was part of the soundtrack to "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" my SECOND favourite film. It's sooooo simple and it's so sweet and Jon Brion is an amazing composer, but I always want to respell his name. Shouldn't there be a "h" in there, and possibly we could exchange that "o" for an "a"? I'mma just-sayin'.
Oh, which reminds me actually, I need to post Jon to my OTHER collaborative blog "Schubert Was a Babe" which is written by a bunch of talented musical young whipper snappers who like to crush on (occasionally dead) classical composers--- OH HELLO CROSS PROMOTION.
HAHAHAHAHA, I hate myself. Sorry.

8. Hey Jupiter - Tori Amos
So sad. SO SAD. I am not entirely sure what this song is about to be honest. I think it might be about a relationship break up, but it talks about masochists and muddy boots and magazines and WHAT TORI WHAT?!?! But of course, if you've ever seen Tori perform live, or seen her interviewed or ANYTHING you will note that she is batshit crazy. WONDERFULLY so. Look up her "Cornflake Girls" dance on Youtube, you will not be disappointed.

7. Fast Car - Tracy Chapman
I think I first heard this song when I was maybe eight or something, and my mum only had a copy of it on vinyl, and I pretty much fell in love with it straight away. I love Tracy Chapman, and I refuse to be ashamed of this fact because she is awesome, and her voice is awesome, and I love her.
Anyway, this is like the most depressing thing ever, about a girl falling in love with a guy and he has a FAST CAR (no surprises there) and they like driving in said fast car and anyway, they eventually live in a shelter together and have a family and she has to work to support their family and he becomes an alcoholic and she kicks him out and YEAH. So it's sad and stuff. You know. Anyway, my mum just ran through the house with a steak grilling pan yelling "NEW PAN, FANCY NEW PAN!"
Help. Me.

6. Pictures of You - The Cure/Angie Hart
Okay, I know and I hear you scream that it was the Cure's song first and the Cure is better and blah blah blah, and okay, I agree: the Cure is infinitely better than Angie Hart. But if we're looking at this from a sad song perspective, I like Angie's version of this song better.
So shut up, and go and cry your scene little eyes out, I don't care what you think.
Anyway, Angie Hart's version is completely different to the original, because it only has piano accompaniment (ooh, don't I feel like a music student)and this makes it infinitely sadder. Also it was used on that ad for TAC with the victims of car crashes. So I guess that made it sad too.
Anyway, if you ignore the fact that Angie used to sing that godawful song in the 90's in the godawful band Frente, then everything is cool.

5. Casimir Pulaski Day - Sufjan Stevens
So basically, this is the story of a boy loving a girl who has bone cancer and dies. Um. Clearly the saddest plotline ever. When I listen to this I kind of want to break things in a frenzy of teenage angst and yell "WHYYYYY? WHY DO YOU RUIN YOUNG LOVE, UNIVERSE, WHY??!?!?!" But it is typically very Sufjan and very sweet and full of acoustic guitar and lots of "la la la"-ing, and anyway. Pretty much any song Sufjan ever writes is okay with me. When a man writes music that good, and gets up on stage with a banjo in a scout uniform and giant sparkly eagle wings, who can really resist?

4. Atmosphere - Joy Division
Ohhhhhh Ian Curtis. You were a bit of a jerk, but we still loved you and why'd you go and die so young?
Um. So like, every song by Joy Division is kind of depressing. But this one particularly. And it has some nice synth going on so it gets extra bonus points. Extra SYNTH bonus points. Yeah. For those of you who do not know, Joy Division were also named after a German Brothel during the second world war. FUN FACT. Ian Curtis also killed himself while listening to Iggy Pop. Why? Who knows. You'd probably have to ask him OH WAIT A SECOND.

3. Rootless Tree - Damien Rice
Okay, so this also fits the criteria of "extremely angry songs", but when I am sad I am usually a little angry too, so that's okay. And when I say that it is an angry song, I mean that the whole chorus is basically Damien screaming "FUCK YOU!" over and over.
Uhhhh... I kind of like songs with swearing in them.
Anyway, but it is really good for getting angry to AND being sad too, and Damien is basically my favourite Irish, rarely-sober, angsty, sometimes-in-love-sometimes-not singer. I love him. I kind of want his children.

2. Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley
Enough said. Also fits into the category of "musicians who died too young." Also, if you don't feel something when listening to this, you have no soul.
1. Sleep - Eric Whitacre
Ohhhhhh Eric. This piece is so beautiful. It was originally composed for choir, I think, but my high school wind band played this back in the day and it was awesome. It has all these crazy dissonances and wow. Wow. The thing is, it's not even technically a sad piece. The words are genuinely about trying to fall asleep. Well done Eric.
Anyway, Eric Whitacre originally wanted to be a rockstar until one day he had an epiphany and went: "OH ACTUALLY I WILL BE A REALLY GOOD COMPOSER. YEAH" and thus, a composer he became.
In short, get the choral version, do it. It is so beautiful you will weep beautiful tears of beauty and... uh. stuff.

Anyway. I've been writing for forever now, and I am sure you are sick of reading.
So I'MMA GONNA GO DRINK MY WINE NOW.
Have fun.

xx

Nothing.

The fabric of your flesh - pure as a wedding dress.

I got these pretty pictures just for you, because I think you're pretty special.

And no, I'm not from Canada, eh.

So I have this conversation with people sometimes.
Actually, more than sometimes. I have this conversation a LOT. With strangers, and acquaintances, and parents of friends, and that guy sitting opposite me on the tram, and that teacher who took me for a class once, and the girl serving me at LOTF and the customer at my work and SO MANY PEOPLE I HAVE LOST COUNT. It goes something like this:
Anonymous Person: "Where does your unusual accent come from?"
Me: "Ha. It's funny you ask because, I don't know."
Anonymous Person: "You... don't know?"
Me: "No. I've never been out of the country, my parents were born in Australia, I've always lived in Melbourne..."
Anonymous Person: "Really? How strange, I thought you sounded Canadian."

THIS HAPPENS ALL THE TIME.
So please don't ask. I can't answer your question. I'm really sorry that my vowels are too high. I'm really sorry that I pronounce things weirdly. I'm sorry that I have a strange twang to my voice. I'm sorry I can't explain why I have a weird twang to my voice.
BUT I CAN'T CHANGE IT SO THERE.

Not that there's anything wrong with being Canadian. I always get asked if I'm Canadian first, followed by English, followed by American. I am not so fond of the American suggestion, because I worry that maybe I sound like I should be running a turkey farm out in Utah with my mormon family. And I'm not entirely sure that would be a good thing.
But actually, I am quite fond of Canada. And Canadians.
Here is my list of cool Canadians, just for kicks:
-Jim Carrey
-Tegan And Sara
-Barenaked Ladies
-Leonard Cohen
-Brendan Fraser (and I hear you scoff at this one, but if you've ever seen the movie "Crash", you will understand how awesome he is.)
-Jack Kerouac.... I love you more than life itself.

So actually, I feel okay about being mistaken as Canadian. They are a pretty cool bunch of people.
Except let's just forget the seal clubbing.
Also about Keanu Reeves and William Shatner.
Thanks.

Anna xx

I just dropped like $80 I don't have on books I know the plots of *sigh*

Why hello there, denizens of the internet. I haven't written in a while - well, that's a lie, I haven't posted in a while. How've you been? I hope this finds you well. Personally I (finally) find myself unburdened by the stresses of exams. I think I think I think I pulled it out and passed three out of four, and that's good enough for me.

I don't know about you but I find I write best seeing the sunrise from the wrong side. Just drifting off to sleep. This morning, though, I woke up and I looked through my notebook and I had scrawled in big, ornate letters "REVOLUTION GIRL STYLE NOW" - that's not mine - opposite "I'M SO FUCKING FUTURE". That's not mine, either. I don't remember writing either one. Underneath them both I have an honestly totally terrible attempt at creepypasta that I want to revisit: creepy? It doesn't have to be dark and wet and slithery to be unsettling. I scrapped everything except for one sentence ("They smile wide, to the molars.") now I just have to figure out what to do with it. I hate that, being on a hot streak and then going back to edit and realising that you have nothing of consequence. So here, I'm dumping half-finished TERRIBLY PRETENTIOUS PROSE because loling at bad writing? ALWAYS FUN. But, um, this is going to get long, is there any way to truncate this? Someone internet-savvy, hit me up ok?

Here is a poem, to start off the festivities. It's John Masefield's. It's called Sea-Fever.

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

That was nice. Now for the lulz:

This is on a page marked {SLOW ME DOWN}. I hope you enjoy? Oh, here-

P.V.C. is my favortie plastic, because its nice and shiny.

Oh Hai Dere.
I am in a BUBBLY mood today for a number of reasons which shall be presented here in a GOBSMACKINGLY.BLAND.FORMAT for you:

A) I have finally finished my incredibly mundane//irrelevant//idiotic history subject about certain Myths, Legends and History (tm) today with the completion of my exam. This was a very hilarious situation because, in not going to many lectures or Tutes (due to the mediocrity described above), i prepared an entirely different essay than i was asked and was forced to pull my amazing BS skills. Apparently Arthur was an important historical figure and should be taken seriously because he MAY have actually been a Roman soldier. Which one you may ask? That is a question for another day exam, when you're older.

B) It is ma Birfdaiii tomorrow, a concept i haven't actually realised until now. Riiiiigggghhhhhtttt now. Which means my incredible idea to collect hard rubbish over the past few months in an attempt to create a large lounge-room setting in my backyard (which already had a television and some form of lamp already) is finally going to come to fruition on Friday. This also means i have an excuse to make alotta mixtapes tonight in preparation. Which also means that i can have mixtapebeer. Which also means dance muzzzik and beers. If only a babe was involved my day would be perfect.

C) Kenickie just keep putting me in an incredibly good mood (For those who don't already know, you will find the answer to WHY next week in my new blog @ Awaitingtheapocalypse.blogspot.com in which i'll be writing an analysis i've been preparing, it has pictures, and babes, and shows how much time i have on my hands. Its going to be awesome guyz).

D) I got my falls ticket which solidifies the idea that new years will involve (GET READY FOR THE DOUBLE DOT POINT GUYS!!):

D1) Music
D2) Babes
D3) KAKI-FUCKING-KING
D4) Gud tiems
D5) Week long road trip with good friends.

E) After months of not wanting to, i finally look forward to getting up in the mornings again :)


Can't you feel the love? You feel it. I know you do. My lovely internets. Same time//same place.

Maybe I didn't like to hear, but I still can't believe Speed Racer is dead.

So I want to be this girl.
Judging by my HappyFunTimesPartyDrinkPersonality recently, I probably often am this girl, except not as well dressed.
Anyway, my mum is trying to work out whether or not to sort of accidentally overdose my dog, but she doesn't know if she's had her medicine or not but has she? Who knows and actually--ANYWAY I HAVE TO GO. Bye.

xx

Well that's just plain unfortunate.

Hi.
It's Monday. Tomorrow I have a flute recital and on Wednesday I have a written exam on social theory which I know nothing about, and thus, HERE I AM WRITING A NEW BLOG POST. I use my time effectively.
Anyway, how are you? I hope you're excellent.
I got five hours sleep last night and woke up this morning and went to work, where I made a double strength coffee that didn't even hit the sides. I didn't even feel anything. No caffeine buzz, no nothing. I feel that my caffeine tolerance might be getting higher, which is probably a bad thing, because I hear that too much caffeine makes you infertile.
However, after working with children for a year, I feel this is not a great loss, really.
Today a prep boy came in, greeted me with a "Hello, Darling", promptly became highly offended when I forgot what he wanted on his toast, and then sat with an Etch-a-Sketch for half an hour, whizzing the thing that cleans the screen back and forth with a sound like ripping velcro, over and over again, until I yelled "ENOUGH!!!" really loudly and made everyone jump. I feel like an evil dictator, leading my tribe of highly irritating tiny people. Who can't take orders. And only exist between the hours of 7am and 9am on Monday and Tuesday mornings.
Sigh.
Anyway. So I have this social theory exam on wednesday, and I have no idea how I am going to pass it. And I don't mean that in the joking sense, I actually mean that I have not attended more than a third of the lectures and I have no idea why I chose the subject in the first place. Somehow I've been averaging B+'s on my essays though, but I don't think that's so much due to intelligence as it is to being able to bullshit. I am an arts student. We don't do anything other than drink a lot, consume a whole bunch of caffeine, bullshit our way through university and occasionally have existential crises.
(Hangovers this year: Approx. 7 or 8, Daily Caffeine Consumption: Approx. 2 - 4 strong cups, Wanky Self-Important Essays of Bullshitting: All essays completed, Existential Crises: 1 or 2, but I'm sure that will move up to three around the new year.)
Anyway, I started studying for it two days ago, and I am kind of ready to concuss myself with something blunt and heavy.
The reasons for this:
"The Mirror Stage as Formative of the 'I' Function as revealed in Psychoanalytic Experience." - essentially "look-I-can-see-my-reflection-but-I-kind-of-hate-it-but-actually-I-have-to-like-it-so-okay-then" but in about a billion more words.
"White Self-Racialisation as Identity Fetishism" - In short: people are racist and crap.
"Reclaiming Auschwitz" - Self-explanatory and immensely depressing.
"A Child is Being Mutilated: Law's Fantasies of Female Genital Mutilation." - At this point, I want to gouge my own eyes out in horror and despair for humanity.
ARGHRGRHGRHGRHGRHRGHRGRHGRHR.
So there we have a nice soup of self-hatred, hatred-of-others, child abuse, genocide and sexual abuse. Remind me why I chose this subject?
So my weekend was basically trying to reread about a million texts and take notes on them. And each one is more depressing than the previous.

Anyway. In other news, I keep getting really innappropriate songs stuck in my head recently and then realising I am singing them quietly in public places.
Most recent choices have been Tori Amos' "Professional Widow": "Slag pit, stag shit - honey bring it close to my lips. Starfucker, just like my daddy, selling his baby..." and so on and so forth. And of course, some Kanye "Gold Digger": "Now I ain't sayin' she a gold digger, but she ain't messin' with no broke niggers." And some JT thrown in: "She looks like a model, except she got a little more ass."
I feel like a dirty, whorey misogynist and I don't even know how that works.
Anyway, on that note, happy Monday, and I hope your week is less full of social theory papers and more full of Awesomeness.
Yeah.
Anna xx

Stick Making: A Complete Course

So uhmmm... Hai.
On the topic of micro-blogging-ness:

http://www.everyoneismental.blogpsot.com/

Click the link, no really. DO it.


WHAT.

xx

P.s, this is all the time I can afford to spare to you, audient.

P.p.s It's not that I don't value our time together, but ohgodimpendingexamdoom.

P.p.p.s Speak to you all soon.

...?

THEADORE DESCHANEL is rather bored and so is having a bit of fun with this...

ZOOEY TIME.

What's that? You want to see some Zooey? Oh ok sure, no problem.

Here we have the beautiful Zooey Deschanel looking beautiful.









Here's Zooey with a necklace. And it's heart shaped. That's kind of cool don't you think? I do.












Hey look! Now she has an umbrella! But it's not raining? Ah well she is Zooey after all so it doesn't really matter.












Hmm. I'm not sure what exactly she is doing here. But I like it.












ZOOEY PLUS POOCH.












From now on I am only eaten frozen yogurt. Nothing else. Because Zooey wishes it.













There, don't you just feel warm and fuzzy inside now? I know I do.

He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky...

So ahhh, I left my window open in my room again.
There are approximately 432569496349835609 moths in my room. They seem to be attracted by the glow of my laptop... which is consequently on my lap. I am like a giant lamp post right now, oh, and did I mention I sort of have a mild fear of moths? Not a super intense one. I just get a little girlishly squeemish, but anyway, hush hush...
This lovely situation made me think of my favourite poem. And how it makes me feel incredibly tiny. And just generally morose. And silly for worrying about the silly tiny things I worry about, and how insignifigant it all really is. And it just makes me feel gosh darn sorry for moths. They have forever been branded as the ugly butterfly. But who says colours are always preferable. So I guess I pity the things I fear. And respect a little... but anyway. Here's to some pretty reading, *Cheers*.

The Man-moth (Elizabeth Bishop)



Here, above,
cracks in the buldings are filled with battered moonlight.
The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.
It lies at his feet like a circle for a doll to stand on,
and he makes an inverted pin, the point magnetized to the moon.
He does not see the moon; he observes only her vast properties,
feeling the queer light on his hands, neither warm nor cold,
of a temperature impossible to records in thermometers.

But when the Man-Moth
pays his rare, although occasional, visits to the surface,
the moon looks rather different to him. He emerges
from an opening under the edge of one of the sidewalks
and nervously begins to scale the faces of the buildings.
He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky,
proving the sky quite useless for protection.
He trembles, but must investigate as high as he can climb.

Up the façades,
his shadow dragging like a photographer's cloth behind him
he climbs fearfully, thinking that this time he will manage
to push his small head through that round clean opening
and be forced through, as from a tube, in black scrolls on the light.
(Man, standing below him, has no such illusions.)
But what the Man-Moth fears most he must do, although
he fails, of course, and falls back scared but quite unhurt.

Then he returns
to the pale subways of cement he calls his home. He flits,
he flutters, and cannot get aboard the silent trains
fast enough to suit him. The doors close swiftly.
The Man-Moth always seats himself facing the wrong way
and the train starts at once at its full, terrible speed,
without a shift in gears or a gradation of any sort.
He cannot tell the rate at which he travels backwards.

Each night he must
be carried through artificial tunnels and dream recurrent dreams.
Just as the ties recur beneath his train, these underlie
his rushing brain. He does not dare look out the window,
for the third rail, the unbroken draught of poison,
runs there beside him. He regards it as a disease
he has inherited the susceptibility to. He has to keep
his hands in his pockets, as others must wear mufflers.

If you catch him,
hold up a flashlight to his eye. It's all dark pupil,
an entire night itself, whose haired horizon tightens
as he stares back, and closes up the eye. Then from the lids
one tear, his only possession, like the bee's sting, slips.
Slyly he palms it, and if you're not paying attention
he'll swallow it. However, if you watch, he'll hand it over,
cool as from underground springs and pure enough to drink.'


In conclusion:
- The moon is always a little out of reach, but it doesn't mean you can't try climbing to it every day.
- Just because you fear something, doesn't mean you have to close your window and not let it in.
- But seriously, I'm closing my window. Moths. Everywhere.

Speak soon
xx

EVERYTHING IS BETTER IN PICTURES

EVERYTHING IS BETTER IN CAPS TOO.
Here are my likes and dislikes for the week, in pictures, just because it's prettier.

LIKES:

1. Geeks. Who like books. And cult TV shows. And music. And bursting into song and dance at inappropriate times.


2. Bubbles. Just because. And I really want to go to a park in a tutu and blow bubbles and take photos and someone come with me? Thanks. Much appreciated. (I'm serious though).


3. Caffeine. Oh, my one true love. Without you, where would I be? Asleep, probably. Maybe less twitchy too, BUT WHATEVER, IT'S NOT REALLY A PROBLEM.

This photo is so utterly relevant to me, I die a bit inside.

4. Impending music festivals.



5. Ridiculous Asian kitsch.



6. Driving too fast through Doncaster at night Pigstilts and MykillDOOMwater while playing "Deceptacon" loudly and dancing, and then eating sundaes and stuff.


7. Dumplings. With G. And Girl on the Run.


8. SUMMER SUMMER DANCING SUMMER WARM WEATHER LOUD NOISES SUMMER SUMMER.




DISLIKES:

1. Connex. And generally, public transport. On the line I travel on - let's call it the "Shurstbridge line"... yeah... that'll do - the automated speaker woman doesn't work. She regularly says: "Now arriving at Gre-", or: "SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH----elberg." I have never arrived at "Gre-". I also don't know what an "-elberg" is. Also, a small woman sat on my the other day, and didn't seem to think that was inappropriate or anything. She just sat on half my lap. I guess I can't blame Connex for that but I REALLY, REALLY WANT TO.


2. Irritating bogans who play their crap music too loudly in their crap cars, and then honk at you and whistle for NO REASON EXCEPT THAT THEY ARE RUBBISH AT LIFE.
Does that often work for them? Do they pick up by doing this? Do they get some kind of dizzying high from it? I DO NOT KNOW, BUT I EXPECT NOT, AND IT MAKES ME WANT TO STICK A PEN THROUGH MY TEMPLE.
Also, this is the only picture I could come up with for this last bit.


Anyway. That's all.
Oh, except I have these last two pictures and I like you.



"Au Revoir."


Anna. xx