Sunday
sunday funday
have slept approx 16 hours in 2 weeks. whilst its a sign of a good life, the result is my eyes can barely focus and i'm bruising easier than a catholic choirboy. beeeddd please x
Friday
conversations with god.
the world already wanted me today before even opening an eye. it was mum. being an only child, guilt seeps in if proper and often communication is not kept in place, which can be hard as she's very skilled at revealing my states of intoxication/post-intoxication/coming down over the phoneline.
3 minutes in, she asked what sedatives i'd been on. its a talent. i think its largely due to her having been a perscription junkie for the last 40 years. i didn't develop a taste for tramadol and valium out of thin air! so that started things off well, and i eventually left the reciever face down on the pillow, the polyfibre a better audience for the lecture.
my bathroom is more a cupboard with a toilet in, but the small space allows even the smallest slice of winter sun to mimic a hockney pastel scene. it was an enjoyable difference this AM from the darkness and judgement taking place in the bedroom.
just begun to re-read less than zero. if you haven't read anything by brett easton ellis you're missing out, his depicition of youth is spot on. i read it first when i was 14, and although loved it then, it speaks more to me now having developed the same detachments clay has to life.
i have to touch my foot when i read sat upright (whats tht about?) so spent a few minutes perched on the bath lip, caressing naked toes whilst touring drug riddled LA circa 1985 with ellis as a respite from the maternal nagging. it was nice. returning the blackberry to my ear, i catch the end warning. "Do you understand me?"
it was difficult not to laugh, but i managed to suppress.
"yes mum."
x
3 minutes in, she asked what sedatives i'd been on. its a talent. i think its largely due to her having been a perscription junkie for the last 40 years. i didn't develop a taste for tramadol and valium out of thin air! so that started things off well, and i eventually left the reciever face down on the pillow, the polyfibre a better audience for the lecture.
my bathroom is more a cupboard with a toilet in, but the small space allows even the smallest slice of winter sun to mimic a hockney pastel scene. it was an enjoyable difference this AM from the darkness and judgement taking place in the bedroom.
just begun to re-read less than zero. if you haven't read anything by brett easton ellis you're missing out, his depicition of youth is spot on. i read it first when i was 14, and although loved it then, it speaks more to me now having developed the same detachments clay has to life.
i have to touch my foot when i read sat upright (whats tht about?) so spent a few minutes perched on the bath lip, caressing naked toes whilst touring drug riddled LA circa 1985 with ellis as a respite from the maternal nagging. it was nice. returning the blackberry to my ear, i catch the end warning. "Do you understand me?"
it was difficult not to laugh, but i managed to suppress.
"yes mum."
x
Thursday
FUCK IT
after spending the day with my close and personal friend Bret Easton Ellis, i've come to the conclusion that its my duty to go out. x
Monday
Wednesday
procrastination.
attempting to cut some of the flesh out of this beast of an essay. got up at 2 (don't judge, u wish u could laze long hours away under the duvet too), decided after a brief shower and a lean brunch would crack on with it, even tying hair in a bun complete with lodged pencil to appear studious. thats how the day should have gone. here is the truthful version of events:
stood under the hot water for over half an hour digesting the days agenda, danced in my pants for a solid hour, ate a cinammon bun, followed by alot of carb based products (regular readers will be aware of the shaky relationship i have with bready items), conversed with fellow slackers on facebook, sorted out a brief misunderstanding from last night and spent £879 in a fantasy asos shop.
so YEAH... its going well. could be worse i guess. oh wait i'm wearing a pink acrylic jumper with jumping rabbits on. SO NO IT COULDN'T GET ANY FUCKING WORSE. god.
its not due til monday, so should be fine. maybe. if it was regarding a relevant subject i'd be more inclined to spend time with it, but its not. i'd fare better writing a piece on why i'm convinced the contraceptive implant is a government device, which i am btw. paranoid state.
in a new placement with a scene and events magazine in manchester. its going well actually, they just seem to require alot from me. there is one small tiny upside though. TOMORROW I'M INTERVIEWING LYKKE LI!!!! those heathens amoungst you who remain ignorant, shes an amazing singer/songwriter from sweden about to drop her sophmore venture. levi's model too, bit fit. therefore, as well as trying to write a million and one pieces for uni, am trying to put together 6 articles for mag and decide what to wear to meet the swede electro beauty. note to self, pluck monobrow. knowing my luck, they'll say she's got flu or something.
watched some of my fave satc seaon last night with my assistant A. she's good btw, fell in the canal the other day though. lucky her pocket sized lover was on hand to drag her brown carcass out though, seeing as she can't swim. sport is a non-existent factor in the coventry education system; they're a bit preoccupied trying to install basic lessons such as the need for cutlery in the inbred generation currently haunting school corridors in and around the west mids. i went to a catholic school, so obvs we were just being taught how to please the priest and being punished for crying out. i'm still clueless with a soup spoon.
anyways, i digress. it was the series when carrie gets back with aiden, and they're engaged. in reality, no man would have sjp. she's so whiney and self obsessed. charlotte is barren and getting divorced, and carrie just moans about not wanting to get hitched to this beautiful, tall man. i would have gladly taken him off her boney man hands. defo cried a little. think i'm just exhausted from looking now. every option starts and ends the same, excitement and resignation . keep waiting to be suprised, but the larger part of my cynical mind tells the ever decreasing tiny hopeful chunk 'i told you so'. i did have a bruise on my forearm from my last endeavour, but as its faded, so have any ideas i had about me and him becoming an 'us'. maybe by gradutation i'll have become the tinman, and have to make some epic pilgrimage to oz to beg the wizard for a heart. or i'll go back on glue.
took some local pics last night, the one below is my fave. a converted steam mill, the victorian facade totally conceals thr art deco interiors. it looks quite bleak, but winter phototgrapjy is meant to yeah? x
stood under the hot water for over half an hour digesting the days agenda, danced in my pants for a solid hour, ate a cinammon bun, followed by alot of carb based products (regular readers will be aware of the shaky relationship i have with bready items), conversed with fellow slackers on facebook, sorted out a brief misunderstanding from last night and spent £879 in a fantasy asos shop.
so YEAH... its going well. could be worse i guess. oh wait i'm wearing a pink acrylic jumper with jumping rabbits on. SO NO IT COULDN'T GET ANY FUCKING WORSE. god.
its not due til monday, so should be fine. maybe. if it was regarding a relevant subject i'd be more inclined to spend time with it, but its not. i'd fare better writing a piece on why i'm convinced the contraceptive implant is a government device, which i am btw. paranoid state.
in a new placement with a scene and events magazine in manchester. its going well actually, they just seem to require alot from me. there is one small tiny upside though. TOMORROW I'M INTERVIEWING LYKKE LI!!!! those heathens amoungst you who remain ignorant, shes an amazing singer/songwriter from sweden about to drop her sophmore venture. levi's model too, bit fit. therefore, as well as trying to write a million and one pieces for uni, am trying to put together 6 articles for mag and decide what to wear to meet the swede electro beauty. note to self, pluck monobrow. knowing my luck, they'll say she's got flu or something.
watched some of my fave satc seaon last night with my assistant A. she's good btw, fell in the canal the other day though. lucky her pocket sized lover was on hand to drag her brown carcass out though, seeing as she can't swim. sport is a non-existent factor in the coventry education system; they're a bit preoccupied trying to install basic lessons such as the need for cutlery in the inbred generation currently haunting school corridors in and around the west mids. i went to a catholic school, so obvs we were just being taught how to please the priest and being punished for crying out. i'm still clueless with a soup spoon.
anyways, i digress. it was the series when carrie gets back with aiden, and they're engaged. in reality, no man would have sjp. she's so whiney and self obsessed. charlotte is barren and getting divorced, and carrie just moans about not wanting to get hitched to this beautiful, tall man. i would have gladly taken him off her boney man hands. defo cried a little. think i'm just exhausted from looking now. every option starts and ends the same, excitement and resignation . keep waiting to be suprised, but the larger part of my cynical mind tells the ever decreasing tiny hopeful chunk 'i told you so'. i did have a bruise on my forearm from my last endeavour, but as its faded, so have any ideas i had about me and him becoming an 'us'. maybe by gradutation i'll have become the tinman, and have to make some epic pilgrimage to oz to beg the wizard for a heart. or i'll go back on glue.
took some local pics last night, the one below is my fave. a converted steam mill, the victorian facade totally conceals thr art deco interiors. it looks quite bleak, but winter phototgrapjy is meant to yeah? x
p.s. if you get the chance, listen to james vincent mcmorrow. AMAZE!
Sunday
FML
my editor has suggested writing a piece this week about manchester student nights out, and, as i don't live there, offered to hand over some kitty for my 'research'....and i get tonsillitis. WAAAAAAAA. x
Friday
Luxury
I heard a wonderful rumour the other day that was actually true (a rarity these days). tesco has begun selling macarons de paris...these small delicates remind me of the life i should be living.
Currently, i buy crap i don't need, use £5 conditioner and eat cheap vegetables. I think its time to get back to trying to achieve luxury in everyday life. Primark should be shunned, and rather than purchase another naff dress, my funds can be reserved for cascades of feathers and ruffles and silk from outlets which smell like jo malone. underwear is another issue. cotton boy shorts are not the mark of high glamour.
i first acquired this love of oppulence as a small child, where mother, aka G-UNIT, would be surrounded by a cloud of coco chanel, her face smooth from all the prescription drugs. the time i spent in london in may also contributed. my boss had a £3000 burberry aviator, ate watercress for lunch and spent weekends hobnobbing on the scene and quaffing champagne. I NEED TO HAVE THIS LIFE.
even at the latest internship in manchester, my new editor confessed that whilst she sometimes struggled to pay the bills, her jimmy choos and stash of mulberry always stayed in place. hmmm. all this from a fondant sandwich. i think its because the wafer itself is obvi of french origin. those parisan bitches have luxury down to a tee. Stylist free, the long limbed and lovely stalk the capital's streets, poreless of course, with beautiful young artists hanging onto their every word. MON DIEU.
First steps, stop necking lambrini, moisturise everyday and invest in some kerastase hair goodies regardless of its £22 price tag. oh, and maybe assess the wardrobe. farewell cookie monster pants. x
Currently, i buy crap i don't need, use £5 conditioner and eat cheap vegetables. I think its time to get back to trying to achieve luxury in everyday life. Primark should be shunned, and rather than purchase another naff dress, my funds can be reserved for cascades of feathers and ruffles and silk from outlets which smell like jo malone. underwear is another issue. cotton boy shorts are not the mark of high glamour.
i first acquired this love of oppulence as a small child, where mother, aka G-UNIT, would be surrounded by a cloud of coco chanel, her face smooth from all the prescription drugs. the time i spent in london in may also contributed. my boss had a £3000 burberry aviator, ate watercress for lunch and spent weekends hobnobbing on the scene and quaffing champagne. I NEED TO HAVE THIS LIFE.
even at the latest internship in manchester, my new editor confessed that whilst she sometimes struggled to pay the bills, her jimmy choos and stash of mulberry always stayed in place. hmmm. all this from a fondant sandwich. i think its because the wafer itself is obvi of french origin. those parisan bitches have luxury down to a tee. Stylist free, the long limbed and lovely stalk the capital's streets, poreless of course, with beautiful young artists hanging onto their every word. MON DIEU.
First steps, stop necking lambrini, moisturise everyday and invest in some kerastase hair goodies regardless of its £22 price tag. oh, and maybe assess the wardrobe. farewell cookie monster pants. x
look, but don't eat.
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