Siobhan's Random Ramblings

Beat Boy

2012-02-27T23:57:00.003+13:00

I've written this before. An old boss once told me, "In the battle between the heart and the head, the heart wins eventually."
Well, I know where my heart is right now.
Honesty is always the best policy so I told the truth and saw its effect in someone's eyes.
Where I was over the moon five days ago, I'm feeling very low now.
Too much going on, too little in my head.
Maybe I'm not so intelligent after all.
I don't know whether to take a chance and risk a lot or play it safe and maybe it'll all work out for the best.
But my gosh.
My gosh.
Your hugs.

Talk smack

2012-02-27T10:00:00.004+13:00

Last time I went crazy, a boy told me to take a week off from everyone. To just have a me week. Not talk to ANYONE for a week. No communication.
I wish I could smash my cellphone and just run for a week.
I'm not myself, and myself isn't me.
My brain is muddled and I'm all over the place.

I said what I meant and I meant what I said

2012-02-26T15:06:00.001+13:00

Makybe

2012-02-24T13:29:00.001+13:00

My door swung open and when I turned she was standing by the stair railing.
My head pounded slightly and my skin felt hot. She looked vacantly at me with those dark-rimmed eyes.
"Don't get lost in the dark again."
Before I could reply the floorboards gave way beneath her and she was gone.

Coping Mechanism

2012-02-23T19:10:00.006+13:00

When my parents helped me move down (Thanks, team) to Dunedin a week or so ago, my Dad was determined to see Cargill's Castle. He's kind of like me, in that he can become pretty fixated on something if he likes it (In my case, see; Wizard of Oz, Bellydance, Graffiti, UrbEx). He said he'd last seen the castle when he was 10 or so. It is essentially a ruins now, and the farmer that used to own it (Not sure how he inherited it) had begun to knock down the ballroom when a group bought it off him to form a trust. Construction of the Castle had begun in 1876, and apparently it had several fires over the years and was no longer safe, one night part of a wall just collapsed.
Over the years it was used a bar and cabaret, an Evangelical Christian centre and an art gallery- all of which failed.
It is still not open to the public because it is structurally unsafe, and the trust only recently paid off the loan they got to even buy the Castle. There's no way to get in without entering private property.

Heh.

A very awesome place, unfortunately you're in full view of the farmer's place when you're right in front of the Castle. Which you only realise when you're taking photos and your mother starts frantically signalling to you before sprinting off and you have to leap a fence with her.

The Other Side

2012-02-23T19:06:00.004+13:00

Don't make promises you won't keep, don't get yourself in too deep, sober up before you go to sleep, and always, always use the bath at a stranger's house.

Au fait, vous n'avez pas besoin de faire rien

2012-02-22T13:45:00.001+13:00

Sous ta caresse

2012-02-21T02:32:00.002+13:00

You know what I think?
I think, if you have to analyse someone, and find out from their friends what they like, in order to make yourself fit them, you're doing it wrong.
I think that if you like someone, you should be you, because no one is youer than you.
That's what I think.

You're my blue heaven

2012-02-20T01:15:00.002+13:00

C'est payé, balayé, oublié

2012-02-18T03:14:00.006+13:00

Continued from Part 8 - Today's Empires, Tomorrow's Ashes

---------------------------

My name is Nina. That is how the majority of my acquaintances and friends know me. Nina, the younger sister. Nina, the wonderful grandaughter. Nina, the student. Nina, the big drinker.
But four nights a week, my name is Sofia Vivant.

I didn’t ever plan to become Sofia. It just happened, really. But like a lot of things in life that just fall into place, it could possibly be one of the best things that ever happened to me.

I started burlesque out of interest really. I did conservative burlesque for fun to begin with. But well, when you've gone 90, why not go 10 more?
I never expected or planned to go professional. In our society, we constantly see sirens and sex kittens all over the big screen, on television- we even read about them.

And most women hate them.

We call them sluts, whores- any derogatory term you can think of. And yet we admire the air of confidence that Satine exudes in Moulin Rouge. The ease with which Dita von Teese can undress herself.

And when you can do it? Well, you begin to impress yourself.

I suppose I just wanted to feel sexy. To feel feminine.

I think I continued with it to feel like, if I wanted to, I could seduce anyone I wanted. That I was powerful enough that I could have whoever I wanted, and it wouldn’t matter who I’d already lost.

They say that sexiness isn’t so often learned as much as being inherent behaviour.

Well, maybe I had this all along.

---------------------------

The curtains part and the lights go up as the big band starts. Cheers and wolf whistles make their way down to my ears as my legs land astride on the beat.
I perform one little kick before bringing my feet together and bust shimmying with a cheeky smile and a wink in the direction of the very receptive audience.

The shimmies always get the hollers.

This is one of my more saucy numbers, and it’s to a song everyone knows, with lyrics I can work with.
It’s the kind of routine that makes the women envious and the men drool.

And then I notice him.

A familiar face watching me, his mouth hanging open as I walk my fingers down the front of my stocking to catch the finger of my glove under the toe of my high heel.

I feign a shocked looked at him as I flick the now-removed glove in his direction- wide-eyed and open mouthed. A look that pretends as if being on stage beckons me to do things that I would never normally do.

A group of unfamiliar faces slap him on the back and laugh, never taking their eyes off me as I undo my underbust corset, however.

He doesn’t know what to think. That’s understandable. Most people don’t when they recognise me. You see it ticking over in their minds, “Hey, isn’t that Nina? You know, Nina! The one that did so well at high school!”
I know they assume I’m some sort of stripper. Some sort of prostitute. The majority of women who work in my area argue that this is an art form.
I’d agree with that too.

But I’ll admit, I don’t mind feeling lusted after.

The music crescendos, and I turn to walk off, my sequinned bra leaving my chest only as I turn away from the crowd. With a flick of my wrist it ends up offstage, and by the sound of the crowd, someone's caught it.

Maybe he feels shocked now, but I know this will give him something to think about when he lays awake tonight.
There’s no way he’ll forget the image of me strutting away from him in nothing but ruby red heels and ruffled panties.

My name is Sofia Vivant, and I always leave an impression.

THE END.

-------------------------------

Part 1 - Don't Fall Down Now, 'Cause You'll Never Get Up
Part 2 - What a Lovely Way to Burn
Part 3 - Pronails
Part 4 - Idealistic in Vision, Tactless in Expression
Part 5 - Glory Glory
Part 6 - Jet Pack
Part 7 - Snake Charmer

Today's Empires, Tomorrow's Ashes

2012-02-18T02:58:00.005+13:00

Continued from Snake Charmer (Part 7).

-----------------------------

“I’m just…” Matt tried to finish the sentence but couldn’t.
Joe nodded in a way that he presumed came across as understanding and sympathetic. He couldn’t stop tapping his right foot as he had another mouthful of his pint.
“It’s fucked up. That’s all it is.” Matt slapped his hands down on the table and then grabbed his own pint, taking a long drink from it.
“What a slut,” commented Nick, hardly taking his eyes off the screen above Matt’s head. League was on, after all.

Joe winced at that. He glanced around the bar nervously, not wanting to talk about Nina any more. Nina hadn’t texted him since that night, and it seemed she was avoiding all the other guys as well. Nina had spoken to Matt that night and not once since.

“Mmm,” nodded Matt. Once upon a time he would have never even wanted to use that kind of language in regard to Nina. But with what she’d told him, he felt he had no grounds on which to argue with Nick.
The ads came on and a washed up cricketer endorsing a hair growth product beamed down at them from the screen. This was Nick’s cue to come back to earth.

“What’d she even say to you?” He asked.

Nick didn’t know much about Nina- not as much as Joe or Matt knew, anyway- but the way he treated women was enough to suggest that he’d have no issue with treating Nina as less than a person now.

Matt sighed loudly, “She was pretty drunk at the time. I got to that chick’s place where she was and she told me she’d gone down on some guy at the party.”

Joe swallowed and clenched his jaw.

“Guess it’s over then, aye mate?” Nick replied, before his eyes quickly snapped back to the television.

Matt looked down into his beer. “Guess so.”

-----------------------------

Nina knew she’d screwed up. She woke up in the morning with a sick feeling in her stomach and an awful taste in her mouth. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had enough to drink to forget all of the previous night’s events. Or perhaps fortunately.

She didn’t know how it worked for others, but drinking made her horny. She’d never been anyone other than herself, so how would she ever know how it worked for others? She’d just been on the deck with Joe, and she couldn’t help but look at his broad shoulders. His big hands. How tall he was. And there was no one else around, no Matt, no…… But that wasn’t an excuse.

She got out of bed and dragged herself to the shower. She turned on the water and turned the temperature to cool. She couldn’t stand being any hotter after a night of drinking. Drinking made her feel like she was on fire for the entire following day.

Nina had already known what it felt like to screw things up. Those mornings when she’d woken up and hated herself. When she couldn’t face someone or something for weeks, even months. But this- this was beyond screwing up. This was too far. If she’d stuck with Matt, at least then she would have been able to hang out with Joe. With all of their friends.
But with one reckless, lustful act, she’d lost them all. She couldn't face any of them again.

And that could take a very long time to deal with without a lot of distraction.

-----------------------------

Part 1 - Don't Fall Down Now, 'Cause You'll Never Get Up
Part 2 - What a Lovely Way to Burn
Part 3 - Pronails
Part 4 - Idealistic in Vision, Tactless in Expression
Part 5 - Glory Glory
Part 6 - Jet Pack
Part 7 - Snake Charmer

Snake Charmer

2012-02-18T02:46:00.005+13:00

Continued from Jet Pack (Part 6)
-----------------------------

It was rare for Joe to find himself at a house party. Sure, he went to the odd one that Nina threw, but he was a man’s man. He liked beer, he liked sports, and he liked pubs. He was not the kind of guy to go to a party where women acted like whores and men acted like idiots. Especially if there was shit music playing.
But here he was, at a party where he knew hardly anyone, looking around for a girl that wasn’t his own. Matt had been invited, but he had work ‘til late. He’d turn up eventually, and Nina had asked Joe to come earlier to keep her company.
“I don’t want to be alone with a whole lot of drunk, sleazy guys!” she’d told him.

When Joe had pulled up, he took a few hasty swigs from the bourbon bottle that had been under his passenger seat. He knew Nina well enough, and once in a blue moon they’d hung out, but the idea of being at a party with just Nina made him nervous.

He grabbed his alcohol and phone, and slowly walked up the drive to the party, attempting to look as relaxed as possible.

-----------------------------

Nina happened to look out the window as Joe was walking up the path. She smiled a little at his swagger, then stumbled back to the kitchen through the crowds of people, pouring him a very stiff vodka mix.

-----------------------------

Joe didn’t really know how it happened. After an incredibly strong drink forced upon him by Nina- it was really a giant shot, rather than a drink- He and Nina had gone up to the deck outside to escape the stuffy atmosphere indoors. They’d been leaning on the hand railing talking about rugby, when all of a sudden Nina had grabbed him.
He hadn’t seen it coming, and if he had he might have considered stopping it.

Might have.

As Nina pulled him in and her lips kissed his, he noticed a lot about Nina that he’d never had the chance to before. She was a lot shorter than him, which wasn’t too uncommon a situation for Joe, being 6 foot 4.
She smelled good. Really good. Joe wasn’t good at identifying scents, but if he had to describe how Nina smelled, it was like some kind of fruit. Tangy but sweet. He wasn’t too good at being descriptive either.

She put her hands on his waist and held him tight, her fingers pressing into the skin beneath his shirt. He felt her pull his pelvis against hers, and could do nothing to stop himself getting harder against her.

With what happened next, Joe could have easily decided right then that Nina was crazy.
But he never did quite work Nina out.

Maybe it was the strong mix of alcohol in his system, or the shock of being kissed by such soft lips- maybe he’d even inhaled too much of Nina’s perfume. But Joe didn’t stop Nina immediately. They were drunker than they’d ever been together, and later he would find it hard to recall when exactly they had stopped.
Probably after she’d swallowed.

She reached for the button on his jeans, all the while still kissing him. Maybe if she’d removed her lips from his and given him time to think, he would have stopped her.
Maybe.

But she kept kissing him as she unzipped his jeans, as she moved her hand lower. Her lips migrated slowly down as well, caressing his neck gently but firmly. He certainly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up then.
Nina kissed lower and lower before she knelt down on the decking, still damp from the rain earlier than evening.

Joe briefly panicked about the openness of the whole situation; only a door separating them from the others inside, and nothing but the dark hiding them from any watching eyes outside. But Nina quickly took him in her mouth- and then he wasn’t thinking with his brain any longer.

Jet Pack

2012-02-18T02:19:00.005+13:00

Continued from Glory Glory (Part 5)
--------------------------------

It had been another late Saturday night- well, really, another early Sunday morning. When it came to four o’clock Joe, Matt and Nina had been the only ones still around, so they’d headed back to Matt’s to crash.
It had been a crazier night than usual- tequila shots had made their way into the rounds that evening, not just the usual bourbon for Nina and beer for the boys.

As a wise man had once told Joe, “Tequila. Still a bad idea.”

The night was blurry, as had been the vision of their ‘sober’ driver. Joe remembered Nina laughing hysterically as Nick did 140 down the motorway after he’d picked them up.
“I’ve gotta get to this girl!” Nick had yelled when his driving speed had been questioned.

He’d thrown them all out of the car the second he could, and just about hit a cat as he completed the world’s fastest U-turn to make his way to this mystery girl.

Matt and Joe had clamoured their way through bushes to make the walk home “more exciting” while Nina had strode the normal way to Matt’s and managed to beat them by about five minutes.

She looked them up and down and laughed as Matt and Joe walked up the steps, dripping and muddy from their “adventure.”

It was at about this time that Matt’s stomach had decided it didn’t agree with the peculiar mix of toxins in his body. While he threw up in the bushes outside, Nina called sweetly out the window and asked if he wanted any bacon. She took the gagging sound as a no.

Joe drunkenly poured two bourbons as Nina served up their bacon.
“Drunk bacon is the best kind of bacon,” she slurred between bites.
Joe laughed and nodded. He tried to keep his head relatively still while he looked at her.

He liked Nina’s eyes. When she smiled, her smile reached them. She was smiling at him now and saying something about tequila.
Her laugh was loud, but not shrill. He laughed with her, too drunk to comprehend what she was saying.

They finished their drinks and went their separate ways to bed.

--------------------------------

Matt jumped out of Joe’s car and headed to work, looking a little worse for wear.
“Thanks for the ride, man.” He kissed Nina before she took his place in the passenger seat.

“What time are you heading into town?” she asked Joe once she’d closed the door.
Joe glanced out the window at Matt crossing the road and tried to reply as casually as possible.
“Oh, well if you wanna go, we could just go now and I could take you home after.”
For the first time, Nina noticed that he wasn’t looking at her when he was speaking to her. More importantly, she felt her heart skip a beat.
“Yeah, sounds good. But only if that’s all right with you, of course.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.”
As the car pulled away from the kerb, Joe was all too aware of the fact that Matt thought Joe was dropping Nina straight home.

--------------------------------

As Nina flicked through the CDs in the alternative section, she glanced up to look at Joe who was sifting through the rock section. Their eyes briefly met and she looked down again. She kept her eyes down, fingers still flicking through the albums, trying to look intensely interested.
For a long time she’d thought Joe was incredibly attractive. Not that Matt wasn’t, of course. But Joe was so- masculine. Not that Matt wasn’t. Maybe she didn’t really know what it was that drew her to Joe. All she knew was that when she was under the influence and sitting next to Joe, her leg would often rest against his and he would make no motion to move it.

Joe looked down quickly and kept searching through the rows of CDs in front of him. He kept thinking of that night when he’d got out of bed and found Nina in his kitchen. Drinking a glass of water in her boxers and a tight shirt. That shirt fit her so well.
She’d jumped when he’d cleared his throat.
“Did I wake you?” she’d asked quietly. He shook his head.
“Nah, just needed some water.”
She’d nodded in reply and they had talked for about twenty minutes before she wandered back to the spare room where Matt was sleeping. He’d walked behind her and saw her little smile and wave as she shut the door.

Joe walked slowly over to where Nina was standing now. She was leaning over, still flicking through the rows of CDs. He half wished she wasn’t wearing tight jeans.

--------------------------------

Joe had managed to last many months without slipping up. No flirtatious remarks to Nina, excepting a few far-fetched jokes about running away without Matt. No unnecessary touching except when she initiated it- congratulatory hugs when they won in pool, her leaning on him when she sat next to him. But when she turned the situation around, things started to move, slowly but surely, towards a certain level of chaos.

Joe had texted Nina early in the evening. She’d replied quickly and soon joined him at a bar- without Matt. Matt was insistent on a night in, but Joe happened to know that Nina had wanted to go out.
When didn’t she?
So she joined Nick and Joe for a few casual drinks at their local. They went through a few rounds, mainly talking and watching sport- Nick keeping his eye on the local ‘talent’ in the bar, Joe and Nina laughing about previous weekends out.

But when Nick had to call it a night due to an early start the next morning, Joe and Nina were beyond intoxicated.

After Nina has collapsed on the floor from laughter when Joe missed an easy shot in pool, the well-built bouncers ushered them out.

Nina walked balancing on the edge of the sidewalk the way a child would, one foot carefully after the other, swaying from side to side. Joe moved beside her and offered his shoulder for her to rest her hand on.

“You’re hot, Joe.”

Joe’s heart stopped. If he hadn’t been so drunk, he would have felt the hairs on his arms and neck stand up.

She laughed when she saw the dubious look he gave her.

“Joe! I’m not hitting on you! I’m just saying, you deserve a nice woman. You’re damn hot, and you’ll get a hot girl,” she grinned genuinely, showing all her teeth as she said it.
Joe smiled at this point, and shook his head as he spoke, “You have no idea how glad I am that we’re drunk!”

Joe walked her to the taxi and she waved and laughed as he tripped onto the kerb after walking backward without taking his eyes off her.

He turned and strolled down the dimly-lit street toward his house, the streetlights casting amber shadows on the footpath.

She thought he was hot.

Trying to keep up above

2012-02-18T01:54:00.003+13:00

I often get myself in too deep.
But not this time.
Not this year.
This year will be crazy and marvellous.
Ten papers, a job, a lot of dance, hopefully some travel at the end of the year... Best I save every penny.
And when I start going under, I'll just remember that I'll manage to resurface eventually.

I can't keep from falling asleep

2012-02-14T13:39:00.002+13:00

I move tomorrow. It feels like I've been away from study for well over four months, but at the same time it's very peculiar to be going back tomorrow.
I need a job, I still want to dance...
There's too much I want to do.
But, nevermind.
I'll do it all anyway.

Rocks in my hair

2012-02-12T11:37:00.004+13:00

My parents came home at 10pm last night, drunk, to find Fraser, Jared and I drunk.
Before we went for a drunken swim, It arose that we'd all go to this wedding today as a family of punks.
I hope this explains a lot.

Glory, Glory

2012-02-10T18:01:00.004+13:00

Continued from Part 4.

“I just don’t understand why you’d want to,” Matt sliced the mushrooms slightly violently, looking down and avoiding Nina’s eyes.

She looked uncomfortable- rare for Nina, who usually intimidated him when they fought.

“I don’t know,” she started, leaning on the counter in front of him.

That was Nina’s problem, he thought. She never knew.

“I guess I’d feel like I’d been to all these classes, met all these people, learned all these routines- and then just walked away.”

When Nina started her ‘conservative burlesque’ classes, she’d told him there was no way she’d be performing in the amateur night it culminated in.

“Maybe I’ll just help set up,” she’d told him initially, “I’d never do a routine. I think it’s sleazy- no matter how often they try and tell us it’s conservative.”

Conservative had turned out to mean that the girls always wore at least full briefs and a bra- something Matt wasn’t too keen on Nina stripping down to in front of an audience of perverted ‘friends and family’ of the performers.

“Maybe I’d do it if it was only open to friends and family, instead of the public,” she’d then told him a week or so later.
And now here she was, asking him how he felt about her getting up for a group routine. She constantly told him that she wouldn’t perform if he didn’t want her to, and he constantly told her he wouldn’t feel comfortable with her performing. So why did she keep asking?

“Nina,” he began as he practically threw the mushrooms into the pasta sauce, “I really don’t think that people will judge you for not performing in a burlesque show.”
He turned to face her, and looked her in the eyes for the first time in ten minutes.
“Pretty sure it’d be the other way round.”

“But I wouldn’t do a solo routine,” she rubbed the bridge of her nose- a nervous twitch she’d developed to hide herself a little whenever she felt uncomfortable- “I’d only do a group routine, and we don’t take off any more than boas, gloves and hats in those.”

He turned back to the pot and started stirring the sauce. Nina came along side him and started adding in herbs. Dinner always tasted better when Nina helped cook.

“I just don’t get how you’ve changed your mind so quickly. Six weeks ago you told me you’d never perform and that it was sleazy, now you’re wanting to get up there. You’re not acting like yourself!”

She turned to look at him. “So you don’t want me to?”

“Bloody hell, Nina, that’s what I’ve been telling you!” Matt rarely raised his voice when he spoke to Nina, but sometimes she seemed to take forever to get through to. Or perhaps she just refused to listen.

She stood silently for a moment while the sauce simmered quietly next to them.

“All right,” she began slowly, “You’re right.”

Matt was slightly taken aback by those two words.

“It wouldn’t be like me. I would be going against my own morals.”

Matt murmured something even he didn’t understand, and went back to cooking while Nina poured two bourbons.

Idealistic in Vision, Tactless in Expression

2012-02-10T13:55:00.005+13:00

Continued from Part 3.

Joe rolled over and looked at the clock.

3:17.

He'd awoken from an unsettling dream. Something about Nina that he shouldn't have dreamed. He knew he didn't choose to dream it, but it's hard not to feel guilty when your subconscious is spontaneously acting out betrayals you'd rather pretend were impossible.

He covered his face with his hands and rubbed his forehead. He was in a cold sweat and not awake enough to be thinking rationally.

It was December and everyone was around a lot more now. Barbecues every week, going out to bars to play a bit of pool at night, swimming during the day, sport on the weekend. But this also meant Nina was around a lot more.

Maybe this is why he dreamed about her. His subconscious was just getting confused after seeing her more. She was the only girl he ever really saw, after all.
What made it worse was Nina was sleeping right down the hall.

Joe had the house to himself for a few nights, so the boys had come over for a few drinks and to watch a bit of cricket. But of course, the boys included Nina.
Some of the guys didn’t know Nina as well as Matt and Joe did- well, no one probably knew Nina as well as Matt did- but none of them ever complained when Nina came around.

Just a few weekends ago she’d only met Nick for the first time, and an hour later the two of them were drinking bourbon together and doing shots of Midori in the kitchen.

Joe sat up and gulped from the glass of water next to his bed. He listened carefully in the dark to see if there was any noise in the house that might have woken him up.
He waited a few seconds and decided there was nothing.

Once he’d woken in the night at Matt’s house and thought he’d heard Nina moan, then felt instantly perverted for even being awake.

He rested his hands on his knees and leant his head in his palms. His eyes were beginning to droop again.

Matt never seemed to get jealous of Nina hanging out with the guys. One night she’d spent a whole flat warming just talking to Joe. He was incredibly drunk at the time, and hardly remembered their conversation- something about annoying teenage girls, and he vaguely remembered singing Wagon Wheel with her.
Matt just laughed about it the next day and that was that.

Joe lay down and sprawled out.

He heard a cough from the kitchen and felt instantly awake again.

Maybe he’d just go to the kitchen and get more water.

---------------------------
Continued in Part 5.

Dreamcatcher

2012-02-10T12:13:00.004+13:00

I had the strangest dream last night. I tend to have really long, weird dreams every time I dream (which is often). It's usually like I'm just living another (odd) day while I sleep. But my dream last night was different because it felt like it could be one of those dreams that could be interpreted as having some sort of deep meaning.
I don't really believe that dreams are particularly representative of anything. Often I can link every bizarre, twisted thing that occurred in my dream to something that happened in the previous day.
I couldn't to begin with, but now I think I'm finding some links for last night's dream.

I dreamed that I was still at my first year dorm, and I had to play football in this huge arena for everyone to watch. I think I've dreamed of this arena before- it was kind of similar to a Greek arena. I was filling in for some girl who looked like Darla from The Little Rascals (yeah, I know), and I had to pretend to be her.
But we were playing football in an ice skating rink, and I cannot ice skate! Once we got down to the rink, though, they said we didn't have to use skates, and I looked around and everyone was just wearing street shoes.

I went in and slipped a bit at first, and used some strange mix of moving crouched down low and walking on my hands and knees. I'm pretty sure it was snowing within the rink, and the walls were just like the ones at a normal ice skating rink- waist height barriers around the edge I suppose.

But the ice melted really fast from the body heat of all the players- we were playing 11-a-side football on a 'court' that was the size of a netball court. Suddenly the water was at about ankle height so I stood up. At this point we were all still warming up, or getting used to the conditions or something.

All of a sudden the water was up to my neck and I doing breaststroke to get to the centre line.

The water went down again and there were dark, damp wooden planks with wee gaps between them for the floor. Not like plain planks, but stained wood that you'd have on a decking. There was moss growing on some of them, and the climate was suddenly very similar to that of a rainforest- humid, warm, and I'm pretty sure I heard birdsong.

The game began, and my team (which I barely remember, but I know had a couple of very tall guys) pretty much all ran to the other team's half trying to attack. I eventually hung back because no one else would defend. There was suddenly a big net all the way around the court and one right in the middle that separated both halves, with only a gap big enough for a football to fit through at the bottom.

Then I noticed that there were suddenly multiple balls in play. It had been that they were sitting off to the side, but some girl in the opposition had suddenly decided they were part of the match. I tried to kick some their way to my teammates, but most got caught in the bottom of the net.

Someone from the other team scored an awesome goal, that somehow fit through the side of the net in the middle, and flew straight into the right corner of our net. I moved into goalie after that.

Then I noticed we had shadecloths above us like the ones they often have at playgrounds, and there were two balls stuck on top. I jumped really high and and hit them out, and a huge amout of water spilled out with them onto the court.

Suddenly the court wasn't rectangular anymore, it had a kink in the centre line, so if I was in goal I couldn't see the other goal at the other end because they were around a corner.

The arena disappeared and the court was just on a hill. I kicked a few balls and they rolled out of the nets and down the road. I'm pretty sure the road was Pitt Street in Dunedin, or led onto it.

I left the court and ran after them down the road, and decided I wouldn't go back, and in my mind I drew some really profound moral from all of this.

And I can't remember the moral!

I remember visualising a diamond ring (or maybe it was a ring like the one Alfalfa gives Darla in The Little Rascals) lying on the wooden planks on the court, and the moral was something to do with that.

I feel like it was something close to, "Money isn't everything."

But that's not quite it....

Once I was a Savage but the Savage is dead

2012-02-09T17:13:00.011+13:00

Whenever they pull something down, you forget what it was like when it was still there.

------------------------------------

-------------------------------

I've lived around this area my whole life. I was working in The Tin Palace the other day and someone asked what used to be next door before the earthquakes.

I couldn't remember.

Swagger of Thieves

2012-02-09T02:33:00.004+13:00

I do love this song.

If I had money

2012-02-07T12:01:00.000+13:00

The things I would do with it...

Pronails

2012-02-06T12:40:00.006+13:00

Continued from Part 2. Read Part 1 here.
----------------

Joe tried not to let his eyes track from the ball back to Nina.

It wasn’t a particularly sunny day- very muggy and warm, but not looking like the sweltering summer’s day it should. Whenever they were all drunk, Nina begged to go to the beach. No matter what time of the day or night it was. One night she’d even been convinced that she was sober enough to drive them all there- she wasn’t.

It turned out Nina liked to think of the seawater as a hangover cure as well.
They’d all moved too slowly that morning to catch the sun, so there they were, under the clouds.

When they’d arrived, the three of them had walked to the water’s edge to try and make their way out to swim. Of course, it was at that moment that a cool breeze chose to whip up and Matt and Joe hastily backed out. Their beaches were cold at the best of times.
So now Joe and Matt just passed a rugby ball back and forth while Nina stripped down and rubbed sunscreen into her toned body.
Not that Joe noticed, of course.

When every inch of curves had been sufficiently covered- she’d told Matt that she always at least wore sunscreen on her décolletage, even if it was a rainy day- She made her way back to the water.

Matt laughed as Nina’s squeal and sharp intake of breath reached his ears. Joe let a small smile show on his face then tried to shift his focus to something else.

“You gonna watch West Ham play Milwall this Saturday?”

Matt shrugged, “Yeah, I would, but they don’t play championship on Sky and those freeview sites suck,”

Joe saw Nina duck under the water out of the corner of his eye.

“It’ll be good once they’re back in the EPL again,” Matt continued, throwing a spiral pass that Joe nearly missed.

“Mmm.” Was all that came out of Joe’s mouth.

-------------------------

Joe was just glad she’d put her dress back on before she sat in the front seat. Even now her bikini was mostly visible, peeking over the top of the very low-cut front.
It wasn’t that she made him uncomfortable- it was that the effect she had on him made him, well… Feel a certain discomfort when he couldn’t act on his unspoken desires.

“How have your shins been? Are you going to play cricket this weekend?”

Nina’s tone of voice certainly seemed comfortable with him. He knew she thought of him as just a friend, and he would never do anything to cross that line. Matt was one of his best mates, why would he give that up for- what would he even give that up for?

Nina absent-mindedly rubbed the skin just beneath her collarbone.
Bullshit he didn’t know what he’d give that up for.

“Nah, I could hardly walk a couple of days ago. Might have to give it a bit.” He glanced at her legs as he shifted gear.

They talked about music and sport for the rest of the short ride to her place.
She talked a lot, but he didn’t mind. It was better than awkward silences or letting his mind wander.

“Thanks, Joe. Seeya Saturday!” she slammed the car door so hard it almost hurt his ears, and he gave her a wave as she walked up the steps to her house.

Her dress was way too short.

Make that an extraordinary discomfort.

-----------------------
Read Part 4 here.

What a Lovely Way to Burn

2012-02-06T03:19:00.003+13:00

Continued from Part 1.
-------------------------

Nina and Matt’s relationship had progressed a lot faster than any normal person would have expected, but it never felt like they moved too fast. Two weeks in, Matt had already told her he loved her. He believed he’d loved her before they even officially got together. The night she first slept in his bed, his poor mother had been shocked- Unlike Nina, he still lived at home, but he felt no need to inform his mother that he was bringing someone else home.

Six months later, they hardly spent a night apart. They were inseparable, and even Matt’s friends went to all of Nina’s flat parties. One night Joe and Tim had even squeezed into the same bed as Matt and Nina. Alex had to sleep on the floor.

Matt spent more time at her university events than his own. Half of his friends didn’t even go to university, yet they knew hers well thanks to all the gigs and parties.

However, Nina sometimes got sick of being one of the boys. She was, after all, Matt’s girlfriend- even if she was also his mate. She built up an extensive collection of lingerie, and made sure to wear shorter skirts if it was only Matt around.

So when she saw an ad for what they called ‘1940s style conservative burlesque,’ she thought, “Why not?”

-----------------------

“He gives me fever,”

Matt’s eyes followed Nina’s hips as they moved to the music. She clicked her fingers perfectly in time and just looked all-round smouldering. When she winked at him halfway through the song his heart skipped a beat- it hadn’t done that in a while now.
He’d questioned her sudden interest in what he considered nothing more than stripping, but watching her move her body like that while wearing suspenders and a corset had changed his mind.

“Fever with his kisses, fever when he holds me tight...”

He didn’t really understand what the feather boa was, let alone why she needed it, but at the moment he only wished it was his hand sliding up her leg rather than those feathers.

“What a lovely way to burn…”

He didn’t like high heels, and had laughed when she’d walked in wearing them, but he certainly wasn’t looking at her feet anymore. As the music ended she let her boa drop to the ground and giggled as she sat down on his knee.
“What did you think?” she smiled as she asked but was secretly incredibly nervous.
“Yeah, it was good,” he said quietly before kissing her and pulling her closer. He was a man of few words and she had learned to take his actions as being more meaningful than his speech.

Nina didn’t know what it was, but she felt some sort of power performing to that sort of music. Like her body conducted the music, and whoever watched would be entranced. Like she was in total control of the voyeur- the General over the lieutenant.
Something about it made her feel instantly sexy, and when she was dressed to the nines, she didn’t need to be Nina anymore. She wasn’t one of the boys.

She was a burlesque dancer.

--------------
Read Part 3 here.

Yeah, that

2012-02-05T22:23:00.000+13:00

Don't Fall Down Now 'Cause You'll Never Get Up

2012-02-05T13:30:00.009+13:00

Joe knew next to nothing about her when he met her. He didn't really even have any expectations about who she was or what she looked like beforehand. Just a hazy female-shaped figure in his mind.

All he knew was that his once innocent friend was now texting some girl in class, and actually considering going to the senior formal.

Not that it bothered him.
Good for him, if Matt had a girl then that was fine.
What did bother Joe was that he had nothing going on. Not a single girl since he was fourteen- and they could hardly be counted. He just wondered when he'd meet a girl he actually liked.

----------------------

Joe decided early on that Nina lived fast.
The night he met her she drank two thirds of a bottle of Jager. He left town early that night but he heard Matt had to carry her to the taxi.
She didn't dress like any of the other girls in town that night, and he didn't think he'd ever see that spirit-drinking girl in heels. Matt later told him she took a swing at a bouncer.

Joe could have also decided right then that Nina was crazy.
That she was destined to go off the rails and destroy herself. But first impressions often change, and so did this one.

----------------------

Joe poured more bourbon into his glass as he leant on the bar in Nina's kitchen. She was trying something less strong that evening, and opted for some drink he'd never seen before that smelled a bit like Gin. He'd only been there an hour or two but already they were beginning to slur their words.

"But you know, the area I've always wanted to get into will never be that open to me," she continued.
"My careers advisor back at high school told me that I could never expect more than a minimum salary because I'm a woman."

Joe laughed, out of shock more than anything. He didn't look at Nina like she was a girl- A woman, maybe, but she could easily be one of the boys.
She was easy enough to talk to, she watched sport with them, she played pool and she could give them all a run for their money fitness-wise. And in the drinking stakes.

"That's pretty shit," he replied.

"Yeah, so I don't feel particularly optimistic about any of my study," she shrugged.

He took another swig of his drink.
"But you like what you study, don't you?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "And I guess that's what matters for now."

They drank and talked about everything and anything until Matt came home. Everytime Joe spoke to Nina, something came up that he never knew or expected. Like her sociopath ex-boyfriend. Joe had offered to punch him for Nina and she'd just laughed and thanked him. Or the fact that she believed in God. She could answer pretty much any historical question he had relating to Jesus. Or that her first album she owned was a pop band that didn't even sing words in their hit single.

Her life seemed all over the place- a little bit like God had thrown together a whole lot of traits, memories and personalities that didn't really make sense together. Her history might have been hard to piece together, but she seemed easier to understand than most women.

Joe easily forgot that Matt was Nina's boyfriend.
She was just one of the boys when they all hung out- then suddenly Matt would grab her and Joe would feel stunned for a second.

Continued in Part 2.

Even the name says fun

2012-02-01T23:12:00.001+13:00

Watch these in order and chuckle with me.

And another thing

2012-02-01T21:35:00.001+13:00

You know who you are, don't you? You're Mr. Wickham and you know it.

I'll end it here because I'm trying to stop using expletives.

Swimming when you should be running

2012-01-11T10:50:00.013+13:00

"I just want to get away with you for a while." Sarah looked genuinely sad as she made her plea.
The conversation about their present life apart from each other led to them planning their future togetherness. A week of uninterrupted 'them' time up North. Sun filled beaches culminating in sun-kissed bodies; long, breathtaking walks resulting in a satisfied tiredness; sleeping under the stars so they could feel one with nature and one with each other.

*

"I just want to get away with you for a while!" Kirstie looked genuinely mad as she made her announcement with her hands placed firmly on her hips.
The conversation about their drifting apart led to her planning a time for them to be happy together. A week down South. Gorgeous beaches a backdrop for gorgeous photos; Kayaking to sort out the wobbly bits on her thirty year old arms (and the larger bits around his thirty year old stomach); champagne under the stars so they could forget about the rest of the world.

*

David and Sarah were excited to begin. Three long months had preceded this time. With Sarah finally home and with a tight budget, they were ready to set off into the great outdoors. But after a six hour drive they realised that the outdoors was just that- Great.
Arriving at the beginning of the track, the weather continued to turn as it had all day- sunny to cloudy, cloudy to overcast, and now overcast to rainy.
After a photo they set off anyway; images of sun-kissed bodies diminishing, but they didn't need tans to be happy.

"Baby, there's no fly."
Sarah's jaw dropped and she just stared at David, stunned.
The rain had gotten much heaver in the last hour of their tramp, and as they'd desecended down into the first camp they'd established that they'd need to erect the tent as quickly as possibly to avoid anything else getting drenched.
"Baby?"
"Put up the tent." Sarah replied.
"We can't sleep in this, Sarah, we'll get soaked."
She sat there stunned, while David ran to get them an Aquataxi out of the place.

"She is not impressesed at all," commented the Aquataxi driver as Sarah ignored the offer of his hand to help her board the boat.
David put his arm around her as she stared out to sea, the dream of their perfect holiday away crushed.

She cried on his shoulder in the shower, washing any traces of their failed trip away off their bodies.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he whispered as he helped her peel off her extra layers- she'd been too upset to bother taking anything off before she got in the shower.
Once they were dry and in the car he asked her what she wanted to do.
She looked out the window at the rain for a moment before answering.
"Let's just buy a tent and go back tomorrow. We're here to tramp, let's go tramping."

They'd forgiven each other by bedtime that night, and were please to hold each other indoors while their packs dried.

*

The following day, Kirstie and Liam were stressed at the start. After an easy flight on which she'd had not one but two glasses of champagne, she'd demanded they go lingerie shopping. Liam had reasoned with her- if they missed their departure time, that was it. The boat took their bags and tent for them, and dropped the two of them off at the first camp, saving them a four hour walk.
They set off kayaking from there.
Liam was pleased for some peace and quiet. It was raining hard and only appeared to be getting heavier- if that was even possible. Thankfully for him the rain drowned out her Aussie accented voice from time to time. The waves crashed upon the rocks beside them and he was able to appreciate every curve and shape in the coastline.

*

Sarah and David set out again from the same camp at the same time. The rain hadn't ceased over night, but they we're feeling more positive after a good nights sleep and with everything they owned bagged in black plastic. Surely the rain couldn't get any heavier, right?

*

Sarah, David, Kirstie and Liam stood on the beach in the torrential rain waiting for the Aquataxi to arrive.
"I think you've made the right decision," Kirstie told an unsure Sarah & David, "If we'd stayed in that leaky tent I would've killed him," she gestured to Liam.

Sarah and David had arrived to find the camp empty- everyone had deserted the place hours before except Liam and Kirstie.
It had rained constantly for eight hours. And everytime David commented, "Well, at least it can't get any worse," it did.
The track began to fall away, the river merged into the track, they walked through waterfalls that hadn't existed until 2 hours prior, and lo and behold- the rain got heavier.
When they'd finally gotten to the second camp, a lone tent was standing- With Kirstie and Sarah far away from it, under the shelter of the kitchen unit.

"If you want to stay, I will," Sarah told David earnestly.
"All our clothes are dry, we could even set the tent up in the kitchen area,"
While they grappled with this idea for a long time, eventually they decided otherwise.

Sarah, David, Kirstie and Liam drank a bottle of wine in the rain on the beach while they waited for the taxi to arrive.

*

Kirstie and Liam were lucky to find accommodation immediately. Liam wouldn't have minded roughing it in a leaky tent, but he couldn't stand Kirstie's whining anymore, so he was over the moon to have found somewhere.
"Let's go to a winery tomorrow," Kirstie called from the bathroom as she applied her face mask.

*

Sarah and David drove for 2 and a half hours. They tried backpackers, hotels, bed and breakfasts- and found nothing. Finally they would up at a motel in the middle of nowhere, miles away from where they'd started. It wasn't cheap, but they couldn't keep looking at 10 o'clock at night in small towns.
Sarah rested her head on David's chest in the uncomfortable motel bed and cried quietly.
Their long awaited holiday hadn't turned out as planned, but on this rollercoaster of emotion beneath the torrential rains of another moon, they'd figured something out amidst the tears, laughter, smiles and anger.
"I love you."

Let's get wasted

2012-01-08T18:25:00.000+13:00

So ridiculously mad and upset. Came home to find someone had put a 1.5kg bottle of water on top of my canvas and ruined it.
Who the hell would do something that stupid?

Brains

2012-01-05T12:18:00.004+13:00

Started a new painting the other day, wooo!
And she's gonna be a big'un. Probably the most complex one yet.
And I'm starting another today. Can never have too many paintings on the go.
Hopefully I'll finish one of my many stories that are on the go sometime soon, eh?
I'm even gonna post for 10thDoM this time round.
It will be absolute rubbish, but I'll write anyway.
I even went for a run today. Just need to sort out that damn room and all will be right in the world.
Now, I'm off to teach myself a fan veil dance.
Hope everyone's new years are going just swell.

P.S.
This is my favourite song at the moment, being a Boosh fan at all.
You should all come over and watch the Boosh with me, and we'll eat toasted marshmallows between chocolate Digestives.

Earthquake Commission

2011-12-27T20:15:00.012+13:00

The Earthquake Commission (EQC) was something that was supposed to help Christchurch recover.
A friend earlier this year (Who had been away on a trip, and is now entirely 'over' New Zealand, and prefers Europe and Europeans....) told me that he was sick of everyone complaining about EQC. That if everyone stopped calling and asking for their houses to be checked and let the 'assessors' get on with their jobs, everything would be done faster.

The first earthquake, a 7.1, occured on September the 4th, at 4:35am, 2010.

I know some people whose houses still hadn't been assessed, at all, two months ago.

I just didn't argue with this guy at the time. When people are stubborn, they're stubborn.

But when I came home in July this year, my parents were beginning to meltdown.

EQC had inspected our fridge, spa, and pool. They had decided that yes, all had been broken by the earthquakes, and they would send out letters so that insurance could be claimed.

Now, this fridge has been around since I was little, but it is in no way cheap to get a new one- these fridges cost seven and a half grand.

When the letter still hadn't arrived about the fridge, my parents rang, only to be told "There's no way an earthquake could have broken your fridge." My parents argued that the guy who checked it out had definitely said it was the earthquake. After ringing them for about five months, they finally sent out the letter.

And then there's the commercial property they own down the road. Mum had rung the earthquake helpline and was told to get engineers in to look at the property and she would be reimbursed. $800 later and after being told there was more than $100,000 worth of damage to the building, she rang them again only to be told, "What are you talking about? We would never tell you to get independent engineers in!"

EQC then sent in engineers, who confirmed that there was more than $100,000 worth of damage.

And then everything changed again and they sent in their own 'assessors.'
Now, the majority of the time, these 'assessors' have no prior experience. They are not engineers, and more than once I have had friends tell me how they would refuse to enter their houses, saying they can see everything from the outside.
I can tell you now, that's bullshit.

A woman I worked with didn't get her house red stickered for about four months, because the 'assessors' would look at the outside, and refuse to enter so she could show them how much the house had dropped, how much structural damage there was.

In the recent movie, When a City Falls, a worker from EQC is standing outside a house looking severely damaged and very likely to fall, and asks the homeowner, "And would you rate the damage as minor or major?"

I suppose I best explain the sticker system.
When a building is assessed here, it is given either a red, yellow or green sticker. Red means the building is absolutely unsafe, yellow means 'restricted use' (I think the landlord can go in to grab essentials, but no one else is allowed in except engineers and assessors; these buildings are waiting for repairs) and green means the building is fine.

We also have a coloured zoning system to evaluate the land.
A lot of Christchurch is built on old swampland, so everytime there's an earthquake, liquefaction appears in those areas. The land that is unable to be rebuilt on is zoned as red. There are white and orange zones, which both mean it hasn't been decided if the zone is red or green yet, (the majority of Lyttelton is white zone- I have no idea what the difference between white and orange is) and of course, green means the land is fine to rebuild on.
If you land is zoned red, you can choose to be paid out so you can move elsewhere. If your land is green zone, but you still get all that liquefaction, you're screwed. No one will buy your house, so you're stuck.

A few weeks ago one of my girlfriends had a knock on her door. There were two men in orange vests, and they said, "We just need to take a photo of this on your door."
She said, "You're joking. We've been red stickered?"
She was red stickered in late November. The men told her that she should have been informed three days prior to them turning up, and that they need to evacuate that very day because of potential rockfall.
Not only this, they told her that her house was red stickered because of the earthquake in February.
They had been living beneath unsafe rocks for eight months before the EQC got around to doing anything about it.

One of my guy friends is living in one of the worst affected areas in the Eastern suburbs. I've driven to his place a few times this year. His house and land was bad enough after September 2010, but now it's so bad that you literally have to drive at a maximum of 10km/hr down his street to protect your suspension.
There is liquefaction every single time there is an earthquake, and the road is so warped. There are so many potholes, the council just fills them in with dirt and everytime it rains, the dirt washes away and there they are again.
But what is awful, is his situation with the zoning.
Every single property on his street is zoned red, except his house. This means they can't be paid out and move on- they either have to try and sell a property that will be the only one in a very badly damaged street, or just live in a deserted area with terrible roads and liquefaction problems.
It's much easier to afford the latter.

My neighbours live in a house that is basically stilts.
They had engineers come in (sent by EQC) who told them that their house wasn't safe.
Then last week, EQC 'assessors' came back in and said the house was totally fine.
Our neighbour said, "You're telling me, that a trained engineer is wrong about this house being unsafe?"
The woman said, "Look, I've been doing this for a year."
He kicked her off the property.

The Media, Earthquakes and the Sixth Sense

2011-12-24T07:14:00.005+13:00

Photos to come as soon as I manage to find the card reader in this mess.
This morning I am incredibly tired. A night of aftershocks leaves you largely sleepless. Multiple times in the night I've grabbed and hugged my dog- more for my sake than hers, most likely.
I finally fell asleep about 1am, even as some relatively big aftershocks were still going on. I woke up around 4am and I remember sleepily reasoning that 4am is a bad hour for earthquakes, and feeling more frightened.

Yesterday I experienced something really strange. When I got home and sat on the lawn with my family for three hours, I kept thinking that I'd pinched nerves in my arms as I was leaning on them. My arms kept quivering. It didn't take long to realise that actually, the ground just never stopped trembling. Dad and I were talking about it late last night, and he called it 'angry earth.'

When I got home from work we watched the TV.

I've grown to really hate the media over the last year and three months.

After September, I received heaps of texts asking if we were okay, because the news had said Lyttelton was badly hit. Every chimney had come down on my street, and the main street buildings weren't looking too great, but it certainly wasn't as bad as we were led to believe.

But the reports after February were the straw that broke the camel's back.
People were dying in our central business district, and you should have seen the disgusting way in which the reporters behaved.
I watched these from Dunedin, and I just wanted to get on the first flight up there to punch some of those journalists in the face.
I remember one reporter in particular, almost running around the square with his cameraman to point out all the damage. He almost excitedly pointed out a woman trapped in the spire of the Christchurch Cathedral- halfway in and out a window.
You watched and you thought, "WHY DON'T YOU DO SOMETHING TO HELP THEN?"
I know some people will say, "Well, they couldn't do anything to help her without risking their own lives."
But they could have done something for others. My Uncle carried multiple dead bodies out of shops in Cashel Mall. Many people helped others that were injured. Some just comforted people around them.

I remember rescuers pulling a woman out of a building, she was bleeding, and the first thing the stupid camera crew did was thrust a microphone in her face.

All the while in Dunedin I was told over and over again that the quake was centred in Lyttelton, and that I should fear the worst.

After each earthquake, our networks get very overloaded. It is almost impossible to get a call through to anyone, and even still a text message won't send for about twenty minutes. My mum rang me immediately after before everything jammed and said there had been a huge earthquake much bigger than the September one. My mother tends to exaggerate, so to be honest, I didn't believe her.

But then we watched the TV. And that was very scary indeed.

Especially when a bigger earthquake hit not long after. All the while, this stupid, tactless boy (who likes to think he knows everything) sat there and said over and over, "Oh, Lyttelton is flattened. There's nothing left. It was definitely the worst hit. There have been hundreds and hundreds of deaths."
I really wanted to punch him.

The morning of the February 22nd earthquake, my Mum woke up and thought, "Today."
I don't know how she knew, she just did.
And after the first one hit, her friend Nel rang her, and she said to Nel on the phone, "I've gotta go to the house up the back and take everything down off the walls before for the big one hits."
So she went up to the rental property and lay down all the vases, wall hangings and paintings. And she was right.

Generally, earthquakes aren't supposed to happen like that. Well, that's what were told. There's 'supposed' to be a big one, then increasingly smaller aftershocks. But twice now we've had a big one, then a bigger one.

Last night, Dad told me that all of the 22nd, and all of yesterday, he'd been walking around very carefully. He said he woke up the last two days and thought, "Earthquake weather."
Now I know that sounds bizarre to associate weather with earthquakes- but he was right.

When I was at the mall yesterday, and we were told the first one was a 5.9 (It was later changed to a 5.8, then upgraded to a 6.0. Also only 8km deep, situated 20km Noretheast of Lyttelton) Anna turned to me and said, "I feel like that's not big enough, and there will be a bigger one." I told her not to be silly. Then 80 minutes later, just after I got home, a 6.0 (Later revised to a 6.2, only 6km deep) hit.

The fact that until yesterday, it had been six months since the last big earthquake didn't comfort me when I came home. I knew what I was in for. In fact, when you don't have the aftershocks, you get suspicious. When they're fewer and far between, you presume they're building up to another big one. That seems to be what happens anyway.

In less than 24hours, I've started to return to how I was before I moved. I hear the earthquakes before they arrive, and subsequently sit bolt upright before anything even starts shaking. However, I'm much more on edge.

Fraser has been telling me this all year. Apparently I'm much mroe frightened of them.
I'd say he's right after seeing how I reacted at the mall yesterday. I think I was the only one really visibly distraught while we all sat outside in the carpark.

It's Christmas Eve, but I intend to update about this again. I haven't even started to get into the details about EQC.

Shaken, not stirred

2011-12-23T15:32:00.000+13:00

This morning in the car, on my way to get my haircut, I decided I would finally write about the earthquakes.
I've written about them before, but only in brief.
I then tried to figure out what made me change my mind; what made me want to write about it after not wanting to for so long.
And I decided that it must have come down to a conversation with Helen the other night.

I told her a little about everything that is still going on, our sticker system, our almost entirely inefficient and untrained earthquake commission.

When I drove through the tunnel this morning, like I do most mornings, I wondered what I would do if the tunnel collapsed. If the exit was suddenly barred. Would there be enough air to survive? Why aren't there oxygen canisters in there? (Although, our tunnel is carved into basalt, so we're told if the tunnel collapsed, it would have to be an incredibly big earthquake... Somehow that's not actually too comforting.)

When I got to Riccarton mall for my haircut today, I parked three blocks away from the mall, because I keep hearing rumours that it isn't safe. There was no way I was parking 4 storeys up in a building that has cracks through the entire stairwell.

When I got to work at Eastgate mall I forgot about earthquakes.

I was in a surprisingly good mood for someone who has to work the evening shift. I'd been at work for half an hour when the ground started shaking.

I've been in big eartquakes before. I was in the 7.1. I've been in numerous 5s, I don't know how many 6s. In fact, Christchurchians have been through thousands of earthquakes.

Today at work was the biggest earthquake I have felt in a while.

Something that people who aren't as well acquainted with earthquakes might not realise is that there a few different kinds of earthquakes.

There are the 'rolling' earthquakes. The ones that just come from behind you and roll out in front. These often come from out Darfield way. A few weeks ago I was at my bellydance teacher's house, and her husband told me how he had been out building somewhere near Motukarara. One day there was a large earthquake (I believe this was the June one) and they heard a roar. The roar approached them then sped off into the distance. One of his work colleagues turned around and said, "It sounds like a monster!".
Paige's husband said it was odd to hear something like that from a grown man, but it was true. It was the sound of the earthquake approaching them, rolling under them, and roaring towards Banks Peninsula and the city.

Then after the February earthquakes, we became more familiar with the 'violent' earthquakes. The ones that just jump up and down, cause a lot of rockfall around the hills, and generally just jolt you. These are generally the Lyttelton, or Banks Peninsula earthquakes. So because they are situated almost directly underneath me sometimes, they feel entirely different and very scary.

But today felt different. Today felt very much like a side to side motion.
At Te Papa (The museum of New Zealand in Wellington,) there is (and has been for a long time) a 'house' that you can go into and press a button to feel what it's like to be in an earthquake. I remember going into it when I was little, and not really thinking too much of it- I'd never felt an earthquake.
Then earlier this year I went to Wellington again, and my friend and I (who had both been in the September 4th 7.1 before moving away in February) tried the house out again.
To me, it didn't feel like an earthquake at all. The house just moved from side to side, not up or down, and didn't feel like it was bending or rolling. The house just sort of jerked from side to side while the ground lay flat.

You wouldn't believe how many people actually see the ground roll like it's liquid after an earthquake. When I jumped out of bed in the middle of the night in the 7.1, the ground literally came up to meet me and jolted my back out of alignment.

But today, even in a state of shock at the mall, the ground felt surprisingly stable.
It just went from side to side, side to side.
I got lower to the ground and widened my base of support, but I didn't fall. There was suddenly a whole lot of smashed glass beside us, and I remember someone screaming something about getting out, then Anna told me to grab my bag.

I sat down on the ground once I made it outside because I was very shaky. A lot of people didn't look too scared, and I can totally understand why. Before I moved, I'd become so desensitized to the earthquakes. My friend once said to me, "I won't get out of bed for less than a 5.5."
And it's true! That's how people get here.

I didn't feel upset so much as angry. I was very angry that this had happened again. A year and three months on, you don't expect to hear people yelling at you to move away from buildings again.
Especially two days before Christmas.

Scratch on the door

2011-12-11T02:11:00.004+13:00

There was a pull in my quads as I climbed the hill.
It was dark, and the wind was a blustery nor'wester, regularly obscuring my vision with masses of my own hair.
I saw a dark figure in the middle of the road where it plateaued, and realised it was her.
Her ankles looked raw from the metal fastened around them, and the chalk-like sweets sat around her toes.
"What do you think you're doing?" she smiled sincerely.
My brow furrowed as I reached where she had been standing, only to find she was further away again.

"I'm walking." I finally answered.

She opened the door for me at the top of the steps and I saw a tear in her wings.

"Don't dream of it," she called after me.

I am Man; Hear me withdraw

2011-12-04T00:22:00.005+13:00

Men are different to women.
Shocking, I know.
I thought I'd blow your minds by starting with a fact that is incredibly hard to get your head around.

The differences can lead to sexes not understanding each other; but I suppose we all love a bit of mystery.

Of course, not all men are entirely unlike women, and not all women are entirely unlike men, but in general there are some stereotypical differences.

See women, when they're upset, what they essentially want is a mind reader.
They want their partner to know what's wrong (Read: What they've done wrong).
They want their partner to know what to say, how to say it, and how to make everything all right.

But of course, the male standing there can tend to be a little dumbfounded and at a loss for what to do.

Because men like their caves.
When men are upset, they like to withdraw.

When women want their partner to know exactly how their feeling, men want to go inside their caves.

But when a man enters his cave, woman follows to the entrance.
She stands there and shouts into the darkness, "What's wrong?"

But man doesn't want what woman wants; Man wants time to think. Woman wants everything to be better instantly.

Sometimes it can be frustrating when you can't recognise the differences.

People need to point the finger less and embrace our differences.

The Tree

2011-11-20T18:56:00.002+13:00

He grimaced across the table at her while she spoke.

She didn't babble about her life as she had in days gone by. Her words were controlled, spoken with a certain amount of enthusiasm, masking a knowing smirk.
She talked about her course, her papers, her work; safe subjects.

How's the boyfriend?
"How's your family?" he asked, stirring his coffee with a plastic spoon.
He hated coffee.

She smiled again and chatted on. Politely, eloquently, with a certain strength she never used to possess.

Have you fucked him?
"Has much happened with you recently?"
She laughed. An almost haughty laugh. Pretentious, perhaps. No, that wasn't it. Condscending. He'd never had as extensive a vocabulary as her.

She talked about her housemates, their flat, their oh-so-lovely landlord, her hilarious sportsmen friends. Nothing real. All superficial.

What's he like in bed?
He cleared his throat uncomfortably,
"You'll have to meet Rachel sometime."

He watched her unblinkingly for a few seconds. Stared intently while she giggled down into her herbal tea and she pulled out the teabag.

She looked up at him through her long unpainted eyelashes.
As far as appearances went, she was fairly similar.
Maybe her waist was a little wider, her cups a little fuller. But the same face, the same eyes. No make-up, casual clothing that hugged her figure.

But she looked different. Felt different.
Her shoulders didn't hunch anymore. They were drawn back. Her posture was somewhere between that of a cadet's and a ballerina's.

She didn't say anything, just stirred her tea and chuckled.

He felt his face growing red.
Partially from embarassment, partially from anger.

She glanced at her watch.
"I've really got to go," she smiled and shrugged, as if there was nothing to be done about it.

He clenched the side of his chair, and was about to throw a seething remark across the table, but she was already pushing her chair back in and throwing her hair over her shoulder.

She strutted away, the smile on her face growing bigger by the second.

He threw his chair away from the table to the shock of the other patrons, and shouted after her, "I hope you think of me when he makes you scream!"

But the door had already banged shut behind her.

Sunday Ramblings

2011-10-30T14:38:00.004+13:00

Sunday always seems to be the dandiest day to waffle on about what's happening in the life of Siobhan. (I just spelled my name with a V then. I know that would be phonetically correct, but really, I've been writing my name for quite some time now...)
Usually Sundays tend to be sunny and dandy, but today it's rather overcast, and it's either spitting or the flatmate in the room above me in dangling washing out her window, I'm not entirely sure.

I'm really looking forward to going home.
It's crazy that almost a whole year has gone, it feels like I only started here yesterday. That kinda scares me a little. I'm a quarter of the way through my degree, and occasionally I wonder if perhaps I should actually be doing human nutrition. I don't want to change too late and be stuck here for yonks.
I just don't know. Anyone who knows me knows that I am terrible at making decisions. I love studying physical education, but I'm also very interested in nutrition, and I feel like I'd prefer a job in dietetics. But then I'd have to take a whole lot more complicated science-y papers, and sometimes I wonder if perhaps I'll end up actually using my Bachelor of Arts that I'm also doing.
Hmm, I say.
And then there's the dilemma of whether I should do summer school. It'd be nice to get a paper out of the way before next year, but then I also lose six weeks of summer in Christchurch in exchange for sixs weeks of.... a lame excuse for summer in chilly Dunedin.

Je ne sais pas.

I'm really excited to go back to work.
It's been very strange not having a permanent job this past year. For the last few years I've had two jobs at once. I like working, it's cool to be able to do something and not worry about doing it wrong. Just talk, work, and earn cash.

I can't wait to swim! And cook! And bake! And paint! And write!

When I get home I have about two weeks before I start work, so this time instead of being at a loss for what to do with myself, I will sew and paint and write like there's no tomorrow.

There's so much to look forward to, but first I have to get this last exam out of the way! I'm hoping I'll have some really productive study days this week.

I hope everyone's Sundays are splendid.

P.S. I get to see this wonderful Missy when I go home!

You're like Pelican Fly

2011-10-29T00:24:00.004+13:00

Un homme tend un billet de 500€.
Il dit :« Qui aimerait avoir ce billet ? »
Les mains se lèvent. Il chiffonne ce billet et demande : « Vous le voulez toujours ? »
Les mains se lèvent encore. Il jette le billet froissé par terre, saute dessus à pieds joints et dit : « Vous le voulez toujours ? »
Et encore, les gens lèvent leurs mains.
Il dit : «Mes amis,vous venez d'apprendre une leçon! Peu importe ce que je fais avec ce billet, vous le voulez toujours, car sa valeur n'a pas changé. Il vaut toujours 500€. Plusieurs fois dans votre vie, vous serez froissés, rejetés par les gens et les événements. Vous aurez l'impression que vous ne valez plus rien, mais votre valeur n'aura pas changé aux yeux des personnes qui vous aiment vraiment.»

A man is holding a 500 euro note.
He says, "Who would like this note?"
Everyone raises their hands. He crumples up the note and asks, "Do you still want it?"
Their hands go up again. He throws the crumpled note on the ground, jumps on it with his feet together and says, "Do you still want it?"
And again, everyone raises their hands.
He says, "My friends, you have just learned a lesson! Whatever I do with this note, you will still want it, because it's value hasn't changed. It is always worth five hundred euros. Several times in your life, you will be crumpled, rejected by people and crushed by things that happen to you. You will have the impression that you are no longer worth anything, but your value will never change in the eyes of the people who truly love you."

Crazy Sundays

2011-10-24T02:31:00.001+13:00

My goodness I am on top of the world.
That was the most ridiculous, stressful game ever.
I honestly just about threw up from nerves during the second half.
I was shaking after the game!
Town is going off!
I wish I could have been there at the final.
Just seeing the All Blacks smiles.
Awwww.
I love them too much.

Life's a movie

2011-10-16T13:11:00.003+13:00

I feel my happy to melancholic post ratio is all out of whack.
So I'll have you all know, today is a beautifully sunny day in Dunedin.
I look out the window and see sunshine and beautiful trees, and I shall have a dandy run this evening.
I hope everyone else's Sundays are just as swell.

So long and thanks for all the shoes

2011-10-15T02:17:00.003+13:00

I am a slow mover.

I set my alarm much earlier than I need to, because I know that not only will it take me an age to actually get out of bed, but once I am up, I'll probably just sit in front of my heater and zone out for a while until I'm slightly less asleep.

I am a slow mover.

I take a long time to make decisions, and sometimes I leave them too late.
Sometimes I've considered them well and truly, and the fact that I made no move is for the best.

When I moved here, it scared me just how fast everyone else moved.
In their days, their studies, their relationships.

I for one, am glad I move slowly.

I'm glad I consider decisions long and hard, even if sometimes in the end the choice that comes out is to do nothing, or something totally compulsive.

If it weren't for moving slowly, I don't think I'd be the person I am today.
I think I would regret a lot more.

I don't ever want to be just another teenager, jumping in to everything without thing.

Sure, I love spontaneity, but it has its time and place.

I intend to move slowly until I am well and truly ready to begin to speed my life along.

Willow Manor Ball 2011

2011-10-13T22:37:00.007+13:00

There's a shindig going on over at Tess' place, and it looked so amazing that I thought I'd just have to join in!
This is my first year at the Willow Manor Ball, but thankfully she's served up a tray of Last Word cocktails as some liquid courage, and they sound divine; I'm making them asap!
Last Word Cocktail
2 oz gin,
1 oz green chartreuse
1/2 oz maraschino
1/2 fresh cut squeezed lime
shake
add a fresh bing cherry...for cuteness

Now I had a lot of trouble choosing my dress for the Willow Manor Ball, but no trouble choosing my shoes (Which I am actually intending to buy ASAP)

Now for those of you who aren't aware, I have a borderline obsession with the Wizard of Oz (And for those of you who do know, I just had a brilliant idea for another painting this week, hopefully it'll be started this time next month.)

And so I thought with such perfect Dorothy shoes, I had to bring along my little dog too.
Voila, my date;

And it wasn't easy to find anything to match the amazing shoes.
Really.
Anything.
So I'm going au naturel.

Not really;

Found here.

A bit of clash, but hey, there's some red in there, and I once said I was Queen of the Clash.

I hope to have a word with Anthony Hopkins later in the evening, I feel as though we'd have a lot in common.

Someone said Nigella's hanging around somewhere; I'll be sure to get a recipe off her for Phoebe.

The party is starting to go off, I best get back to the dancing, the Last Word Cocktails are kicking in.

Anyway, skip on over to Willow Manor and join the fun, or admire the madness.

That old pair of jeans

2011-10-12T01:09:00.000+13:00

I do a lot of thinking when I'm running.
There isn't much else to do when you're running really, especially if you're running alone.
While I was out running today, I was thinking about writing, and writing about running.
I've never really written about running. Occasionally I'll write about my injuries, or wanting to get fitter, but not really the actually act of running.
I wouldn't know where to start.
Which is strange, for someone who knows running so well.
Maybe it's because not many other people understand running.
So many people say they hate it (You don't hate it, you're just unfit, if you were trained, perhaps it would be a different story.)
And I get that, I do.
Whenever I've been out for an injury and I have to try and get back into it, it's hell.
The cold wind rushes past you, your ears and lungs burn, you try not to concentrate on your breathing but it just gets worse.
But once you're a little more conditioned, something about it becomes great.
Your thought process slows down as you fatigue and keep pushing yourself, but you almost think clearer; you think about the important things.

I've used running for many things. Running for me has been an anti-depressant, a punishment, a relaxant, a means of control, a way of strengthening myself physically and mentally, a coping mechanism, a way to socialise, a hangover cure, a way to challenge myself and just as something to enjoy.

I guess there's something about getting out there and smashing myself.
That's why it's destressing for me.
It's masochistic, I guess.
Running until it's hard to breathe, your chest burns and your diaphragm hates you, until your legs get heavy but you just push harder.

And there's just something awesome about being fit.

I look forward to running a lot over the holidays, and entering many races.

Inner Workings

2011-10-11T00:21:00.002+13:00

Because we should all feel like this every once in a while.

Eyes that burn like cigarettes

2011-10-11T00:06:00.012+13:00

(Now they are)

All photos taken by yours truly. Except the last one. Because that would just be silly.

The Dreamer

2011-09-30T18:42:00.003+13:00

Chlorine makes me tired and sore.
I went for a swim today to give the old legs a break from running, and on my last length (which was supposed to be a sprint, too) I got the worst cramp in my calf. I usually only get cramp in my calf in the middle of the night and it wakes me up, this is the first time it's ever happened while exercising. I had to swim back to the side just using my arms and one leg, as it still hadn't eased off.
This was almost seven hours ago and I'm still limping!
I'm all melancholic these past fews days, it's silly.
What's the difference between a poem and a story?
I found the most amazing heels online today- bright red glitter ones, like Dorothy's!
I don't think they're very me, but I love anything Oz related so much that I have to get them.
Speaking of which, I'm dying to watch the Wizard of Oz again.
I've had quite a few severe heart palpitations the past few days, not particularly fun.
I'm avoiding study, and I think I'm done editing my piece of writing, but it's twenty times more depressing now.
I don't want to look at it ever again.
I did draw a beautiful picture of a kidney though.
I'm currently colouring in a couple of nephrons.
That's almost as arty as I get these days, drawing body parts for study.
No matter, only a month till I go home.
Oh, wait.
That means my exams are soon.
Which also means I'm screwed.
Dandy.

Fakie

2011-09-26T23:45:00.004+13:00

My story was published in the University of Otago student magazine, the Critic today. I was a tad shocked!

When the plane came in she said she was crashing

2011-09-23T01:14:00.003+12:00

My eyelids are closing again, but whenever I get into bed, they won't close.
I'm going to return to my roots of old fashioned rambling for this post, be warned.

This whole year has disappeared in a blink. It's bizarre. I don't know where I am or what's going on.
I don't know what to do with my life, but I like living day by day.

It's hard to live two lives in two different places.
It's hard to remember they're not entirely separate sometimes.
Seeing the two together sometimes feels like someones jumped off Mars.

I've been training a lot again. I will be a weapon again.

Sometimes all I want is to creep around in the dead of the night and paint things.

My favourite place in the world is being torn down.

I had a dream last week, I was walking through it, and it was broken, breaking, crumbling. Walls, rooms, bricks were missing.

And then that morning I got a text, "I have some bad news, baby."

Apparently there's not much left.

Dad and I were going to go there in the snow. But it started snowing too hard. We said we'd go the next day, but it snowed even more.

I would have loved to have seen it in the snow.

Sometimes I can't handle people assuming that I'm unintelligent just because of the subjects I study at university.
Sometimes I think I need to drop all my sciences and study arts.
Sometimes I think I need to drop all my arts and study sciences.
Sometimes I don't think.

That last part isn't true.

I need to pack now.

What a lovely way to burn

2011-09-20T22:38:00.004+12:00

I've been low on sleep recently, and I think it might be catching up to me.
I stayed up till 3:30am paint on the weekend, I couldn't sleep till about 2:30 last night, and my little mind is just disintegrating.
My head is fuzzy, and my brain has up and left me.

I tried to practice bellydancing tonight, but my memory was just gone!

I couldn't believe it, to be honest. Dances that I've performed plenty of times had just slipped my mind.

I really hope it's due to tiredness or stress, and that once I've slept well it'll all come back to me. I've had a lot of nightmares recently too. One was recurring, one came true. Hm.

I've actually been half-considering starting a blog to post about bellydance for a little while now. To say I'm passionate about it would be an understatement, and in November (when the craziness of exams are over,) I intend to make a whoooole lot of outfits.

My next show probably won't be till November either, too much to do, too much to think, too much I leave till the last minute. (As some of you well know... heh...)

Okay, I might rest my head in the hopes that my mind and memory will crawl back in through my ears whilst I sleep.

Et Voilà!

2011-09-19T23:32:00.003+12:00

I went to the fancy exhibition opening tonight. Invite only, artists and their friends, nibbles and beverages. Ha!
There was some absolutely amaaaaazing artwork. I even bought a piece, and there's a couple more pieces I want to buy.
I tried not to look at mine, a friend took this photo for me, I was too nervous to be near it!
It was quite exciting though, seeing people looking at mine and talking about it.
I almost didn't enter it, because I thought no one would like it, but it's there now, and I'm glad.

I really should get onto some Uni work sometime, eh?

If you know what to look for

2011-09-18T18:54:00.001+12:00

If you keep your eyes peeled... You might just spot someone I love...

Velvet

2011-09-17T21:25:00.003+12:00

I stayed up far too late last night finishing a piece of art, but it's done! And now going to be exhibited this coming week as part of the Otago University Art Week. (Unfortunately, I forgot to take a photo, but I shall take one on Monday and put it up for all to see.)
It's a bit plain, could probably have used a little something else if I didn't have a million other things to do, but I like it.

You'll just have to wait to see it and decide for yourself.

So at 3am, I finally closed my window (really had to air out the place, I was using spray paint for this piece, so there's a clue) and went to sleep, setting my alarm for the bright and early time of 11am.

I have never slept so deeply. (Hopefully not due to the paint fumes.)

And then, bam.

I wake up to a dubstep version of Harry Potter, followed by sirens and people yelling, "It's Carnival Day, everybody!"

I assumed that the noise was coming from The Boat (a rather raucous flat) across the road, but then the lovely noise marched right into my hallway.

All at the gorgeous time of 7am!

I opened my door to find streamers and lollies thrown everywhere, then promptly went back to sleep, pretending I could not hear dubstep (and reopening my window, and the spray paint smell wasn't totally gone.)

So when I finally did get up at 9.30, there was a huge bouncy castle outside and a candy floss machine!

So cute. I missed bouncy castles!

Oh, and the name of my art piece; And Your Little Dog, Too.

Bet you can guess the theme of it, eh?

Tongue

2011-09-15T23:54:00.001+12:00

Nailed it.
Just so ya know.

Leroy is my mojo man

2011-09-14T10:33:00.003+12:00

In two and a half hours, I have my gymnastics performance.

I'm not sure if I wrote, or if any of you remember, but one of the compulsory papers in the School of Physical Education at the University of Otago is Movement Education.
This involves two hours of gymnastics a week, and two hours of dance!

Before this year, I had never really done gymnastics, and because I'm afraid of everything (read: falling) I've dreaded it a lot this year.
Everything we are doing in this performance I am capable of.

But I have never felt so nervous! Not even for my first ever bellydance performance, or my biggest one, to a crowd of a couple thousand in July.

I feel sick, so if people could radiate messages of goodness, pray for me, anything, I would feel a little better.

I'll be doing an assisted backflip, handstands, dive rolls over vaults, trust falls, and having people flip over me. Nothing too major, but a little scary for a little Siobhan.

WISH ME LUCK!

Fever

2011-09-12T23:32:00.000+12:00

"Remember me and smile, for it's better to forget than to remember me and cry."
— Dr. Seuss

Nobody's real but they're willing to let you go

2011-09-08T00:43:00.000+12:00

Everything is a horse.

Losing a friend

2011-09-07T20:00:00.003+12:00

I wish I could put into words how I feel.
I know what I want to express, but when I try and write it down, I trail off.
I lose it.
I kill it.
I shut it down.

In reality, it's not so much how I feel.
It's how I felt, with a side of how I feel.

There are some things you just cannot write fiction about.

Maybe if I try harder.

I made no mistake, I made my decision, and upon making it, you proved over and over again that it was the correct one.

I learned that day that I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions.
That I do not need to depend on anyone.
That I do not deserve to be broken down.
That I am not destined to be a prisoner.
And that if I want diamonds, I shouldn't settle for coal.

Infected

2011-09-07T01:04:00.006+12:00

It started with an itch.

Right between her fingers, just on the webbing.

It traveled up her body, burrowing in, infesting her mind, her thoughts, her emotions.

As the water fell over her in the shower, she tried to scrub it off.
Tried to scare it off.
Tried to forget about it.
Tried to kill it.

It traveled to her stomach, nestling in, making itself at home, making her sick.

She sat in the corner of the shower as the water ran down her back, huddled in a ball, but not too tightly, avoiding movement or pressure that could bring it all to the surface.

It kept her awake at night.

The intense itch hiding beneath her skin; if she scratched it, it would get worse, but she couldn't ignore it.

The sickness would creep up on her when she was making tea, when she thought she remembered it all, when she thought of the present.

She knew she had to do something; get it checked, get it fixed, forget about it, be forgiven, tell someone, confess anything.

This itch was an itch that couldn't be fixed with ointment or lotions or potions.
This itch was an itch that could be scratched raw and continue to exist.

She wished she'd never let the itch into her life.

I am young and I'm alive

2011-09-05T17:23:00.001+12:00

Ohhhhh, life, life, life, life, life.

I wish my life was this song

2011-09-02T15:52:00.002+12:00

Actually, this video.

Don't shake me

2011-08-23T01:00:00.003+12:00

This isn't insomnia, this is procrastination.

Let that one slide, yeah?

2011-08-21T15:56:00.012+12:00

I never actually got round to blogging that there was even more snow last week!
Fraser was quite pleased, as I was visiting him for one night, but that one night turned into three.

I was pretty pleased to be able to see Lyttelton under snow- all the residents said they'd never seen anything like it. Fraser was pleased too, as with the last snow he'd been snowed in Dunedin with me (not that that was a problem).

Snow couches - get 'em while they're hot

Lyttelton Hills

Earthquake damage in the snow

My favourite Missy, mid-frolic

You try and tell me she isn't adorable!

The snow couch after another day of snow.

Loaded Gun Complex

2011-08-20T02:27:00.001+12:00

There was a knock, knock, knock at my door.
The door swung open, and she told me she remembered my dream, even though nothing was familiar to me.
I told her that something was there, but I was not exactly sure what.
She laughed and threw popcorn around the room.

Things you didn't know about Siobhan #5

2011-08-17T00:15:00.002+12:00

When I told you, "It doesn't matter how I look, I have no one to impress," I wasn't actually lying.
I don't make an effort with my appearance when I'm interested in someone, just to see if it changes their opinion of me.

(He gets the effort now that we're in love.)

Cheekah Bow Bow

2011-08-11T16:40:00.003+12:00

I'll hold my tongue, and refrain from telling everyone how it really went down, because if I ever let myself sink to your level, I'd have to jump off a building.

Heartbreaker

2011-08-10T19:53:00.000+12:00

Still unsure as to what coffee means.
Will keep you posted.

Lust for Life

2011-08-07T18:31:00.004+12:00

This is a post for the Tenth Daughter of Memory.

She was a flower-killer.

A saviour, a prophet, and a fighter.
A flash across the sky that you doubted you ever saw.
The girl next door that had a penchant for axes, with the lumberjack father from the forget-me-not state.
From the home of the gods where the air was thinner.
Something about her didn’t quite add up; the sugar and spice and all things slightly poisonous. If it was an act, no one could tell. But real life was far more brutal than any playwright could convey. And everyone knows the leading role will be struck down eventually.
And if she didn’t die at the hands of her lovers, surely exposure would get her up that high. After all, a more appropriate cliché would be that life is a battlefield.
No amount of enlightenment or fortune cookies could solve the puzzle that she embodied.

In some stories she might have played only a minor role; the victim or the killer, take your pick.

But in this story, she has no choice but to be imposing; victim or killer.

Quickly changeable and sometimes in no certain or sensible order.
Perhaps the countdown should have given it all away. The white horses left at a gallop that day. Every little fight with her was simply a dress rehearsal for how it would all end. The well-read, innocent ones always turn out to be the most twisted, after all.
Maybe she cracked when she realised that life on earth could never quite measure up to her ethereal ideas of perfection; if you can’t join ‘em, beat ‘em.

And when she couldn’t just sit there swaying in the wind any longer, she uprooted herself and swore to change things. ‘Cause when you can’t get no satisfaction from what you’ve got, you’re bound to go hunting. And hunting was something she just happened to be missing. It became clearer when she substituted her tea and toast for tea and cigarettes for breakfast.

She started to lose her morals; stealing from the poor in spirit was no worse than stealing from the rich. It’s easier to lose conscience and consciousness without sustenance and with vodka.
And when you’re amoral and drunk on anger, there’s no stopping the fire breathing monster. Every asshole’s out to get you when you’ve misplaced your mind and let your emotions take over.
And so the obscenities came out.
The nursery character cum The Bride.
She portrayed the chaos of the three days lost. The carnage that ensued, and the knowledge that led to death.

The anger, violence, sex; all the immorality escalated faster than the amount of inane poetry on the internet.
The love letters went out the window and she fired at herself and others at random. Her lips lied in some ways but spoke truth in others.
She didn’t answer the knocking at the door because she was far too entwined in other activities. The target was on her but she was too loud and angry to notice.
She’d been afraid of what might have happened had she been born attractive, had the celestial beings burdened her with beauty. But the way things had begun hurtling along, there wasn’t much chance it could have been any stormier had she been born gorgeous.

The friends she didn’t believe existed began shouting the truth at her, but everything bounced off and she screamed back.

At least some of her sins had been legalised in the eyes of the state a few years ago.

As her hatred spread, so did the rumours.
The knocking persisted, but the mental and emotional starvation to which she subjected herself rendered her senses less than perfect.
It didn’t matter to her that the second draft of her nature might not have fit what The Heavenly Being might have planned.
Poseidon might have had power over the mermaids, but her God was far away and she didn’t recognise his voice.

She was a patriot to nothing in the cruel world she found herself in.
He hadn’t come back for people like her, she was sure of that.

And now that she’d let herself become an animal, she felt there was no going back.
She’d become everything she’d been terrified of on those hazy nights that people were assigned to ‘look after her.’
Adam and Eve had cursed her, after all; how could she resist temptation when they’d already fired the fatal bullets?
She was dead already anyway; what was a little adultery going to do?
The two-faced serpent’s deception was clearly working then.
But the lies were the only thing that stopped the ache.
She was bruising herself over and over again; not for pleasure, but just so she could feel something. The guardians watched over her and shook their heads; they’d seen this all before.

The signs became more obvious, more violent, more out of place, and yet she ignored them. Every little crime she committed was like a kick in the face of her God.
But even Hercules could no longer hold her back.
She was in too deep to notice those in close proximity of her were assembling themselves for an intervention. Too caught up in her own ideas of excitement and pleasure to mind that she was wrong in the eyes of her God.
Maybe if she’d seen his face in human form and the pain in his eyes, she’d understand.
Maybe if she had visited the grave and wept in the days following.
Maybe she could have seen it all anyway if she hadn’t been out flirting with death.
But she’d been forever stopping and starting in her walk towards life.
She’d always promised that one day it would be alright, one day she would make it right; but now any chance of a future was being blown to pieces.
She couldn’t stand being wrong, so what difference was it if she was completely twisted?
And so she sealed her own fate, trading the double edged sword for a knife that wouldn’t stand a chance.
Oil and water could never mix, and so the oil made way for more water.
All the while, her scaly friend edging her on.
All her premeditated sins began to worry her even less, they became just like the accidental crimes.
She cried out and wondered why she wasn’t being saved, when her troubles were staring her in the face all along.
Blindly, she continued to chase desires of the flesh.

The less successful she became at blocking out her guilt, the more she filled herself with to forget.
The doors to Valhalla were closing and she was running out of time.
The kingdom that had been prepared for her was now preparing to turn her away.
Too much life, too much ecstasy, too much earth was pulling her away from the heavens.

She was a flower killer.

The walking dead were waiting for a saviour.
It made no sense that she would trade in eternity for meaningless nights of writhing and sweat just to take off the edge.
It was a vicious cycle that could be broken if only she just cleaned out her ears and answered the fucking door.

With each harmful act she lost her religion.
And just as in Act One, Scene Three, her father cried for his lost daughter, and the one that had stolen her away.
But when she finally opened the door and shouted no, everything fell to pieces.
She became the reference to the fallen angel in obscure lines scrawled down by a poet drunk on wine and life.

And then it was showtime.

The weeds finally took a stranglehold on God’s roses, squeezing the life from their stems.
All the time spent rehearsing her apology was about to be shown as waste of precious time that could have been used begging for forgiveness a lot earlier on.
But finally, she was the star of the show.
This though, it wasn’t an act, and there wasn’t anything to break her fall onto the stage when she jumped.

“Sometimes I think I just need to take a bullet to the brain,” she slurred at the blurry figure in front of her.
The nearby church bells echoed three times as the witching hour fell upon them.
“Hey, come on, now” he scolded her as he tried his best to hold up the dejected, confused mess.
She mumbled something else as she collapsed onto his shoulder, “Seriously! You don’t mean that!” he yelled at her, scared to see her in such an unfamiliar state.

He tried to pick her up, but she protested until he took off his jersey and tied it around her waist to protect the dignity she mistakenly thought she still had while he carried her on his back.
The legs he’d so often traced with his eyes right up to the hem of her skirt were now wrapped around his waist.
He had a feeling that she’d need a grand display of love from the One up above for her to change back at all now.

He puzzled over what could have caused her rapid descent and crash into flames.
If the coke and sweat were anything to go by, adrenaline and fear fuelled her.

She used to have the kind of soul and body that would cause empires to fall to their knees, but her doubt and loneliness consumed her.

She bit and sucked his neck as he struggled up the hill, and even though she sent shivers down his spine he knew staying with her would be like taking a direct hit.

“You ever wonder what it’d be like to be on the same side of the wall as me at night?” she tried to whisper the words in a sultry way, but the overwhelming smell of spirits on her tongue made him turn his head away.
“You ever wonder what those guys talk about after their through with you?” he hissed back, forcefully jumping her further up his back as she began to slip.
“You’re hurting me,” she whimpered as they passed a concerned looking group of bystanders; clearly her approach wasn’t working as well as she’d planned for.
He considered dropping her outside the church at the bottom of the hill, but then even the priest might be tempted to rid the world of this disgrace of a girl.

Her soft lips kissed his neck again and he hoisted her up a little as he struggled up the steps.
“I want you,” the words dripped from her once innocent bubblegum lips.
His blood froze for a split second as the words reached him; clearly in her state she couldn’t care less about second date rules.

Whatever boat was meant to save her had clearly set sail long ago.
She tugged his hair gently and rested her head on his shoulder while his fingers tightened around her thighs.
Had she not been so drunk, he would have had to consider tranquillising her once he finally managed to get her home to avoid her desperate hands.
At least he knew he wouldn’t have to listen to her with someone else for another night in a row.

He had to let her down at the top of the hill, to give his legs and back a break, then subsequently helped her adjust her shirt to further protect her from any watching eyes.
“I set a church on fire once.”
“You’re a crazy bitch, you know that, right?” he pulled her hand towards the house.
She laughed drunkenly, “You know you should stay with me tonight, right?”

He fumbled with the keys and opened the front door, “You know that’s not going to end well.”
She tried and failed to maintain a sense of grace and sensuality as she fell through the front door, but she was no prima donna that night.
The amount of whisky in her system was enough for her to remember next to nothing in the morning, but at least she’d live even if she weren’t able to retell the tale.

He couldn’t even imagine the pain she was going to feel in her head the next day.
He drew her curtains once he opened her door, knowing that the slightest slither of sunlight would induce even more aching in the morning.

As he stepped back from the window her hands wrapped around his body from behind him, and moved down past his stomach.
He slipped out from her embrace quicker that her hazy mind could comprehend or register.

She looked confused, and he gestured to the thick, heavy book on her shelf, “What happened to you?”

She blinked for a moment then spun around angrily, knocking a three-quarter empty bottle of wine off her dresser, hardly even noticing it smash on the floor.
“Society happened to me,” she slurred.
“Life happened to me. Brazilians happened to me. Men happened to me. Sex happened to me.”

She gestured to the bottles on her dresser, “Temptation happened to me.”

She was a flower killer.

Things you didn't know about Siobhan #4

2011-08-05T16:30:00.001+12:00

I'm glad I was not born perfect.

My friend

2011-08-02T20:56:00.000+12:00

What does coffee mean?
I would really like to know.

I can hear it calling me back home

2011-07-28T00:15:00.004+12:00

She came to see me in the night.
I knew it was her because I could hear her chains clinking in the hallway.
"He's not giving up, you know." she told me as the sweets began to pile in front of my doorframe.
"He has no face to me," I mumbled.
She slipped under the door and dipped her toe in my thoughts, testing the waters of my dreams.
"Put it in your pocket." she whispered.
I woke up and it was snowing.
I never see butterflies in winter.

Trees of green

2011-07-27T09:21:00.011+12:00

I've never really lived in a town where there's been true snowfall before.
But the snow hit New Zealand quite hard over the weekend, and even my hometown had snow on the wharves!

To be honest, it was a bit sad to not be able to see that. Home never gets snow.
My man was snowed in here with me though, so that was a bonus!
Got to keep him for three more days than planned.

These pictures were all taken as I was walking home from my football game.
I'd woken up, gotten ready, looked out the window and saw it was snowing!
I thought, "Oh, she'll be right, it's not that bad."
On the way however, it turned into a bit of a blizzard, and needless to say the game was cancelled.

As for my man, I walked him down after to catch his ride home, only to find that the roads were shut so he was stuck with me a little while longer!

Sad and Proud

2011-07-24T22:19:00.001+12:00

It began exactly the same as it always did.
Same bar, same game, same drinks, same faces.

But the night was different, and for the first and final time, it would end different to usual.

No more drunken dancing, no tequila shots.

He followed her home this time, and they didn't talk as much as they had on previous nights like this one.

Things between them had changed rapidly from the night they met;
the tension between them escalating, the glances becoming more and more lingering, until it all reached a fever pitch- and ended abruptly on this very night.

"I'm gonna miss you, buddy." he lied.
She wasn't his buddy. She was fucking gorgeous and there was something about her that he found (almost) irresistible.

"It just feels so... strange that I'll never see you again," she lied.
It wasn't strange. It was awful and wrong, and she knew that this town would be full of stupid reminders.

"Come visit," he said, his eyes looking down into hers. "Do an exchange."

She half-smiled at him and said she might just do that, but really she knew that this was it.

It had all built up with such intensity and speed that in the end all it had done was collapse in on itself.

Perhaps years from now when everything was different and they were worlds away, they'd wish for the ending they wanted.

The one where everything happened as they wished and they couldn't bear to part.
The one where he'd kiss her goodnight on the porch and there would be no hiding it.
The one where she'd said yes everytime he'd asked to be with her.
The one where she'd come to see him off and he had to pull himself away from her.

But for now, this was a better ending.

He hugged her tightly at the door but pulled away before she did. She waved as he walked down her front path and out into the cold, rainy night.

After months of build-up and breaking down the barriers, that was all there was.

A coy wave from the door frame and a "Goodnight."

And that was how it ended.

When I'm done please hang me high

2011-07-23T17:45:00.002+12:00

"Everybody is a genius... but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid". - Albert Einstein

Bullet with butterfly wings

2011-07-19T22:14:00.002+12:00

I met a girl in the woods once.
She told me she was a butterfly.
Sweets fell from the chains around her ankles and they clinked as she walked.
She laughed about her panda eyes and said she hadn't been able to wash them off for the past sixteen years.
Her lilypad ears were bizarre but I thought nothing of it.
I was dreaming, after all.

Doing crystal meth will lift you up until you break

2011-07-17T23:49:00.001+12:00

"I hate everything."
- An angsty teenager.

Rambling

2011-07-14T01:43:00.002+12:00

I just met the friendliest possum in the world.
One thing you may or may not know about me, is that I'm afraid of cats.
So here I was, walking up the garden path, when I saw a cat wandering towards me. I quickly realised it wasn't a tabby, and therefore not the cat that lives at our college, and then noted that it seemed to waddle a lot more than a cat, have a bushier tail, and was approaching at speed.
Naturally, being afraid of cats, I stopped in my tracks.
I don't care if they're pests, possums are so cute!
So now, the cat that was really a possum, waddles up to me, and sits less than a metre away.
Neither of us move, as both of us are scared; him of my boots, I of his claws, though not as frightening as a cat's.
It took a minute or so for him to waddle around me, look at me a few times, hang around a bit more, then scamper off into the bushes as if he was pouncing on something.

I really miss my dog and my man.

We'll have bizarre celebrations

2011-07-09T10:35:00.012+12:00

I'm tired et je ne sais quoi dire.
I go back to Uni in two days, and I'm not looking forward to it, if only because I've finally got into the swing of relaxing.
I'll work harder this semester.
The bad thing is I don't have to work hard to get pretty good grades.
The paper I studied least for, I got an A+ in, but that's really only because languages (French) are my forté.
My other grades were pretty dandy, so I must remember to work a little more and get all A+s this semester.
I'm really only rambling for rambling's sake, but I think that's okay every once in a while.
I'm liking writing more that rambling, though.
Because who really cares when I write about what happens in my day to day life?
Not me, not you, not the rapist behind you.
Ahh, I don't remember what I was going to write about.

Oh, I had the Mud, Sweat and Tears race again last weekend. Mud, Sweat and Tears round two, I suppose.
I was a LOT less fit than last year, but still managed to come sixth, and only twenty seconds behind last year's time.
So hopefully I'll be fit and healthy and dandy till next year so I can just go ahead and win it, eh?

Thankfully the sun was out this year!

This meant that the mud crawl under barbed wire that took away my breath last year wasn't quite so bad, and I didn't get the needles-stabbing-in-my-legs kinda feeling either, which was dandy, and at no point this year did I think I would become hypothermic.
After all, it was apparently a toasty negative three degrees just before the race began... At 11am.

An incredulous look at the sombrero wearing man beside me- time wasting, Siobhan, time wasting!

Trying to remember how to run

Trench wading

What watermarks? Whatever do you mean?

There were a few extra obstacles this year along with the old ones, such as a 2.5m wall to scale. The trenches weren't waist deep this year, only ankle/calf, which makes me think that the only reason they were so deep last year is because it was raining before and during the race!

And looking ever so slightly less clean with my cup of soup and Fraser at the end.

Good, clean fun, and I'm looking forward to next year!

Let's pretend we don't exist

2011-07-01T21:54:00.000+12:00

Wagon Wheel

2011-06-24T00:25:00.005+12:00

They say that a good movie makes you feel something.

You know, when you watch something like Requiem for a Dream, and at the end the person next to you is actually asking you to hold them, and you swear you'll never watch it again and that you'll never take drugs.
But then, after you're over how awful the movie made you feel, you realise,
"Hey. It actually made an impact on me."
Which is saying something, when we can be so desensitized in this day and age.
So a few months later you're watching it with someone else who you recommended it to, and then they just hold you and make you promise them to never do anything like that.
Or you watch The Shawshank Redemption, and when he hangs himself from the roof, you just sob. And the person sitting next to you looks more than a little gobsmacked, and doesn't really know what to do with the staunch person next to them who has suddenly completely morphed into a vulnerable, sensitive, weeping child.

And they say a good book keeps you reading it.

You know, you're drawn in. The little cliffhangers at the end of end chapter make you think, "Oh, maybe just one more chapter before bed."
When the voice suddenly appears from nowhere and you're not quite sure who it belongs to yet.
When a secret is suddenly revealed that makes you gasp, and you want to know what sort of butterfly effect this is going to cause.
They leave you aching to read more, know more, and suddenly it's four hours before you need to get up for work.

And then we come to music, and good music seems to be a lot harder to define.

Maybe it's catchy, maybe it's all subjective, maybe it's flawlessly composed, maybe it speaks to you, maybe the lyrics are the work of a true poet.
Maybe it makes you want to dance, cry, sing, laugh, exercise.
Maybe it all depends on your mood.

But then, then we get to people.

And then 'good' becomes a very tricky word indeed.

Just because someone makes you feel something, doesn't mean they're 'good.'
It could mean they're manipulative, conniving, a flirt, or just plain scary.

And a 'good' person isn't necessarily going to keep you coming back for more.

No, just like the books you read, you might be hanging on to their every word and keeping your eyes peeled for them because they're exciting, dangerous, different, and unlike anything you've ever encountered.
Not because they're someone who is inherenty nice. (Although, that too could be the case.)

'Good' people seem even harder to define than 'good' music.

In the case of people, 'good' is most certainly subjective.

How many times have you found yourself saying, "He/She's honestly one of the nicest people you'll ever meet," only to be proven wrong?

Have you ever had someone die, and all you hear is people talking about how 'good' they were, and you sit there thinking, "Well, I loved them, but they weren't 'good.'

Or someone sits you down upon your first time in their house, and all of a sudden you hear them saying, "They were telling me that I had to believe in the notion of original sin, and I just couldn't accept that."

Or maybe you realise that maybe the way it all turned out was for the best. Maybe they were wonderful, but they weren't 'good.'

What's my point?
Are we all inherently evil?
Are we all innocent until society forces us to become guilty?

I have no idea.

I just want to know how we judge these things.

If you know what I mean

2011-06-22T18:30:00.006+12:00

Following on from Part II.

The night began where it always did, except they tried to avoid eye contact as she walked through the door.

But old habits die hard, and her eyes flickered to the corner where he was on her way to the bar.
Her eyes may have been hidden by the darkness, but unfortunately for him, the light in the corner did nothing to hide his.

He stole his eyes away again when she turned back from the bar, but followed her steps out of the corner of his vision to the other side of the room.

She watched the girls that touched his arms, that heckled him while he played pool, clinked their glasses against his.

He kept an eye on the men around the tabe she was at, the ones that made her laugh, the ones that bought her drinks.

He didn't smile like he usually did; didn't meet her gaze with that cheeky grin across the bar.

The problem was, he didn't know why he was so annoyed.
It hadn't even been a week since he'd seen her.
What did it matter if she didn't text him?

She just feared why he might have been annoyed.
It had been almost a week since she'd seen him.
Why hadn't he texted her?

She finally tore her gaze away from him, and back to her friends laughing around the table they sat at.

The night grew older, the drinks grew stronger, she became more relaxed and less afraid.

He forgot he was mad and let himself smile, let himself loosen up a little, and threw a lingering glance to the other side of the room every once in a while.

The music became louder, they grew drunker, and became more confident.

His phone vibrated in his pocket during a rather difficult shot on the table, and he forced himself to try and concentrate and sink the ball, but his thoughts (which were already fuzzy from bourbon) ran away on him, and he missed.
He drew the phone out of his pocket and the words lit up his screen and brought the smirk back to his face.
'Wanna dance?'

And so they found themselves on the dancefloor in front of the band, bellowing Wagon Wheel, but still only just being able to be heard amidst the crowds of people.

During a break in the song she leaned towards him and yelled in his ear,
"I thought you were mad,"
and all he replied was, "You just ask me next time, I'll always tell you."

Asleep at the Wheel

2011-06-22T18:25:00.002+12:00

At least when I'm depressed I have more to write about.

When it's Over

2011-06-22T13:09:00.009+12:00

Because you're worth it.
Because this is the recession and the only way to get out is to put more in.
Because retail therapy is the best kind of therapy and costs hardly any more than that therapist.
Because that 55 inch screen will look great at the foot of your bed just beside your 50 inch computer screen.
And if you don't believe it, I've seen it.
Because seeing is believing.
Because there's no real belief anymore.
Because it was a whole series of random chances.
Because you haven't talked to Him in a while.
Who even talks to Him out loud except for when they're scared anymore?
Except for the dead of the night when you're holding two children in your arms by the pool while the ground that you used to trust bucks and ripples and proves you that you can never trust anything anymore.
Except for when you're late and if you don't catch up soon you're going to be having a serious problem on your hands.
Except for when you're sitting in a room with a paper in front of you, watching the clock tick over and begging that you'll get this somehow.
Because who needs Him when you've got easy-pay, lay-by, higher purchase to slap it on day by day?
It's your life and it's now or never, not that you're going to consider the fact that you're not gonna live forever.
Because what can better hide your own faults that a brand new lipstick, or make you forget about your problems than a hilarious sitcom.
What better can make you forget and disguise and excuse your morals than a few shots of tequila, a dark club and a skirt the same length as your expensive lingerie.
Because everyone knows you're more who you really are when you're sober and on guard and reserved, than who you are when you let loose and don't give a damn about what anyone thinks, right?
Because you can be anyone or anything at anytime you want, you don't need consumerism, you preach while wearing your branded top-label shirt covered with the same Anarchist symbols as the rest of their overpriced range.
And when it's over?
Well, who needs to think about the end when you can ignore it so easily with that mainstream, auto-tuned, everything-sounds-the-same music pounding through those headphones.

Babe, I'm gonna leave you

2011-06-16T18:46:00.006+12:00

This is a post for The Tenth Daughter of Memory.

The pain came upon her slowly in the dark.
She wanted nothing more than for her head to be cut clean off; at least then it’d be over quicker.
He just felt like he needed to be in control, that was it.

She should’ve picked up on the signs in the brief overview of his history that he’d allowed her to see. The way he demanded everything to be done as he liked it.
His cool regard towards anything she was even remotely interested in.

He’d started off as something of a novelty.
The shy, ugly one that made her heart melt.
Unlike the loud, obnoxious ones for whom beauty was only skin deep.
And now here he was, the heart of gold that had transformed into something a lot more sinister.
He was the kind of man that didn’t reveal too much of himself too soon. He was that glass of nice chardonnay that simply made an impact on you with the first sip, and you didn’t realise until many mouthfuls later that you’d had far too much, and you’d regret it.

For someone who thought she was perfect, he was awfully good at picking on her imperfections.

Someone had once accused her of being with him only for his wealth, but the only thing that she got out of it all was a slightly increased feeling of self-worth for a brief few minutes in the dark.

They had an odd sort of companionship, really.

In public, they didn’t really ever seem to be appropriate, or enjoy whatever it was they were engaging in.
To be fair, it wasn’t much better behind closed doors and frosted windows; they were the love-hate relationship at its best.
Sadly, as she blossomed and took shape, he stayed boring as ever; ordinary old two eggs over easy for lunch when all she wanted was to try something exotic.

She still had three more rounds of truth to fire into him, yet he’d already heard enough to hurt her.

But she couldn’t lie any longer, and if the truth killed her, so be it.
She couldn’t continue hiding everything away, and eternal darkness was more appealing than this.
He left an unpleasant aftertaste in her mouth, and she was sick of getting drunk on memories to make up for the sickness in her stomach.

The problem was she’d never done this before; leaving him would be like leaping out of a plane without anything to slow the fall.
Hell, she’d hardly even worn three different shades of lipstick in her life.
How was she to know when it all began that some day she’d close her eyes in the shower and try not to vomit whenever he crossed her mind?
He’d always been an embarrassment to her, sadly.
The way he dressed, the way he acted when things didn't go his way, the sharp comments he threw at her friends.
He on the other hand, didn’t find her to be an embarrassment: Simply a disobedient young girl that didn’t come home when she should.

Perhaps it wasn’t so strange that dinner and a movie could lead to her lying on the concrete in the dark.
Even in her woozy state every aspect of him repulsed her as he stood over her body.
She knew he’d react badly, and this sort of reaction shouldn’t have taken her by surprise, but a punch to the back of the head isn’t even remotely similar to a real man’s way of dealing with things.
It was no surprise that she couldn’t make head or tail of her mixed-up thoughts.
Though, that was how it was most of the time with him: her confused state forced her to pretend that everything was alright until it all hit her in her fully awake state once again.

Sometimes she secretly wished she could ram the heels of those stilettos he liked her to wear in bed right through his flabby stomach. She’d find those shoes all the more beautiful if she could only do something like that with them.
Maybe if she’d done that sooner, it wouldn’t have been her that would need to be put back together after this cruel night.

She noticed as he grabbed her ankles that he too had red stains around his collar. Although his were more likely attributed to the wine she’d thrown in his face rather than the blood that was trickling down towards her neck.

He believed it was her breaking his heart that had caused him to hurt her.
She could have at least given him a second-second chance, he’d told her.
But she couldn’t help that she didn’t love him, and that a close friend had become a little closer during the times she needed to escape him the most.
She knew he couldn’t really love her now, but for some reason, for all his abusive ways, he didn’t have the guts to kill her.
He was only abusive when no one could see him, she supposed; if he risked leaving a trace, that was enough to scare him off.
Spies liked speculating about suspicious stains and marks, after all.
What the eyes of onlookers didn’t know, was that she’d take French toast over his French kisses any day.

The house was still black inside when he pulled her to the front door. The skin on her shoulders burned a little from being dragged up the path. Her long, thin fingers twitched slightly as she thought of punching him in the stomach, but that would require energy she didn’t have. It didn’t help that a couple of them felt broken from when she’d put out her hand awkwardly to break her fall.
She winced a little as he picked her up, carrying her through the doorway more like a groom would carry his bride than a psychopath would carry his hostage.

That was when she heard the voice.

“How about a beer, eh?”

He dropped her legs as he ripped his pocket knife out of his jeans, leaving her back arched over his left arm for a few seconds before he violently pulled her against him.
She managed a whimper as the figure stepped out into the sliver of light provided by the open door, realising it was the one who had been the subject of this whole poisonous argument.
She predicted she’d be needing a neck rub when this whole thing was over. She was beginning to wonder if perhaps boring and stale wasn’t so bad after all in contrast to this.

She struggled to breathe as his grip tightened under her ribs, “How many months has this been going on then, huh?”
He might have tried to sound tough, but as she said, he was terrified whenever others could see him. The sweat she could feel pressing onto her back and neck was starting to show it.

The figure laughed, “You just don’t get it, do you? Nothing’s been ‘going on,’ Jack, we’re just two friends who know each other a lot better than you’ll ever know anyone.”
“Back the fuck off,” Jack spitted, as she slipped lower and was held in a headlock against his side.

The pain came upon her slowly in the dark.
She wanted nothing more than for her head to be cut clean off; at least then it’d be over quicker. He just felt like he needed to be in control, that was it.

I wish I could tell the whole world how you really are

2011-06-14T15:02:00.004+12:00

Revenge would be sweet for all the lies you've told and things you've done.
But my mother taught me very well how to play Radio Silence.

Peppermint nightmares

2011-06-09T15:02:00.002+12:00

I feel dead.
Particularly braindead.
I had my first final exam this morning, and it went really well, but after I just felt so.. dazed.
I feel numb and exhausted and deprived of hugs.
Everyone here is lovely but I'm used to hugs.
I don't get enough hugs around this place.
I die without hugs.
I need hugs.
Where are my hugs?
Hugs?

FUCK YOU BLOGGER

2011-06-08T23:22:00.001+12:00

AND YOUR NEVER KEEPING ME SIGNED IN AND NOT LETTING ME COMMENT ON CUTE POSTS ABOUT SQUIRRELS OR ON ANY OF THE TENTH DAUGHTER OF MEMORY POSTS.
WE ARE NO LONGER FRIENDS.

I'm nothing in between (You know you wouldn't want it any other way)

2011-06-07T11:34:00.003+12:00

There was a time when I used to blog about every little thing that happened in my life. Just the day to day ramblings, you know?

But sometime last year, I started posting a little fiction, and now my blog seems to be overrun with experimental writing or just plain crazy, middle of the night ramblings.

So I have final exams coming up, the first one in two days, and I've been trying a technique.

Now, I don't know if it works. I'm skeptical, but hell, I need all the help I can get.

So, I've been listening to my anatomy and physiology lectures while I sleep.
I know, I know, that's not gonna make me pass!

But I'm hoping, that on top of my study, it'll make things click a little easier.
Last night was the second night trying it, and I found it a little harder to sleep than the first.

The first night was Sunday, and I hadn't slept till 5am that morning, so I waited till 1am when I was feeling tired, put the headphones in, and tried not to think.
I slept relatively well, I woke up a couple of times and heard the lecturers chatting away, but I think that possibly I stir that much usually anyway, but was more aware of it because of the voices in my ears.
I also woke up once because the headphones had fallen out, but just pust them back in and slept again.

And so again last night, off to bed at 1.30am, but not feeling quite as tired as I hoped. Took a little longer to get to sleep, and when I stirred, I stayed awake for a couple of minutes longer.

What is interesting though, is what happened when I woke up both mornings.

On Monday morning, I woke just as a lecture on the nervous system was beginning, and the lecturer asked what the three layers of the meninges were. Dura mater, arachnoid mater, pia mater.
Now, I hadn't revised this at all, so I couldn't believe I remembered! And then, he asked a question about the cerebrospinal fluid, and bam, I knew the answer!

This morning, before I woke, I had a dream that I was walking through university with one of the boy from the School of Phys. Ed.
But I wasn't doing any of the talking, he was. I was just laughing and he 'mocked' one of my lecturers- repeating everything he said about immunology in the perfect scottish accent!
And then when I woke, I realised everything he'd been saying was in the lecture I woke up to!

I'm not saying I'm sold, but like I said, I need all the help I can get, and the mind is a powerful thing!

Watch the world die

2011-06-03T14:50:00.010+12:00

In the dark I sat up and saw the figure at the end of my bed.

I couldn't blink, couldn't scream, couldn't weep.

All I could ask was, "Who are you?"
And he said,

"I'm the forget-me-not state.
I'm the foreigner.
I'm the thought in the back of your mind.
I'm Stargirl.
I'm the one that carries you home at night.
I'm the liquid that intoxicates you.
I'm the confuser."

I heard him take a step closer.

"I'm the ambiguous answer.
I am the peck on your cheek on a frosty night.
I'm the accuser, I'm the hypocrite.
I'm the jailor, I'm the key.
I'm an addict, I'm an intellect.
I'm the runaway, I'm a disappearing act.
I'm the forbidden."

I blinked sleepily into the blackness and rubbed my eyes as I lay back down and he crept closer.
"Then who am I?"

Vulture

2011-06-03T02:25:00.002+12:00

I'm tired, but not so anxious.
I fear I'll be distressed in the morning though.
It's times like these I wish I was home.
With the one I love.
Everything calm.
Hopefully I can knuckle down for the next wee while.
I make no sense.
But I never expect anyone to understand my posts.

One of these days I swear I'm gonna get out

2011-06-02T08:35:00.005+12:00

He just couldn't get his head around her.

One minute, she loved him, the next, she was apologising again.
The stupid bitch. She drank too much. She knew it was all her fault that everything was falling apart.

Hell, he made sure she knew.

He didn't drink like she did. He liked to stay in control.
She had to sort herself out.
She was his, and if she continued the way she'd been acting...

Yet she insisted he was too jealous.
Well, who the fuck did she think she was?
She never got jealous when he talked to anyone. She never even seemed to show she cared until they were together at home.

Every other time it was, "I don't like making a fuss in public," or, "Jenna said she just wanted it to be a girls' night."

Her friends.

They were the worst.

They sowed the seeds in her head.
They were happy until her friends started making comments.
That he wasn't good for her. That she deserved better. All their snarky little comments were ruining everything.
They had no idea what was good for her.
They didn't know what she was like.
They didn't know how she needed to be treated.

She tried to leave him once before, but he made her see.
Made her see that she loved him.
That no one else would love her.
That she was damn lucky he even put up with her.

No other man would put up with her flirtatious personality.
He'd seen her smiling at other men. Laughing with them.
She even called a couple of them her 'best friends.'

Well, now that made no fucking sense.
She was supposed to love him.
He was her best friend.
He was the one she came to when she screwed everything up, when no one wanted her, when they didn't understand her.

He knew she wouldn't leave him.
She couldn't.
They were in love.

(If he had a drinking problem)

2011-06-02T00:17:00.002+12:00

I am far too easily distracted from the task at hand.

I need to sleep more.

Choose life.

2011-05-31T00:08:00.006+12:00

I think there comes a time in most people's lives when they realise what they want.
Or rather, what they need.
When it hits you that it's not the right relationship, that you don't like the drugs (even if they like you), that the late nights aren't worth the late mornings, that the spontaneity isn't as great as the stability.
Maybe you realise it several times over, maybe it hits you like a tonne of bricks, maybe it slowly sinks in.
When you know that the strobes and the dancing and the drinking aren't how you want it to be forever.
When you figure out the sick feeling in your stomach after being with them isn't normal.
When you realise you're in too deep and if you don't start swimming now, you'll be pulled to the bottom.
And when you've finally thrashed your way out, and you're lying there gasping for air, you can't figure out why everyone else just keeps sinking.

Things you didn't know about Siobhan #3

2011-05-31T00:08:00.001+12:00

I enjoy being chased but rarely being caught.

Things you didn't know about Siobhan #2

2011-05-28T17:08:00.000+12:00

Falling terrifies me.

With your feet in the air and your head on the ground

2011-05-27T11:49:00.003+12:00

Back to reality for just a moment.
I am so ridiculously stressed!
If you know me, you know I'm paranoid and easily worried.
I can't even figure out exactly what's stressing me.
Exams, assignments, money.
Life, I suppose?
Someone needs to teach me some breathing techniques.

If I was twenty-three

2011-05-26T18:55:00.004+12:00

She jumped back from the bar as two hands grabbed her waist from behind.
"Hey, you!"

She spun around to see him standing there.
Texas, they called him.
To be honest, she was surprised he remembered her, the only time they really ever met being when they watched a movie with.. someone else, and Texas had invited her to rest her legs over his.
She'd seen the way that he'd looked at Texas then.

"Hey, how are you?" she smiled, but without the aid of alcohol, and being in a bar swamped with men, it was hard to feel confident.

He replied to her in his thick accent, and she realised she still didn't know his real name.

He followed her back to the pool table with her friends and quizzed her on how things had been, talked about the game, showed off his text messages from a certain cheerleader he had his eyes on.

She longed to ask Texas if he'd heard from him, if he'd said anything, if he was ignoring her, did he know if he was busy?

But they just continued chatting away, about the game, who was winning, how was everything going, and then suddenly she had something she could grasp at.

"I still don't have that shell you stole from my room that night!" she smiled, a glint in her eye.

He laughed, "It's at his place still!"
"You'll have to get it for me then!"

He laughed again, and bumped his hip into hers, "You're gonna have to," he winked.

She attempted a laugh and carried on their conversation in between pool shots, but didn't really listen.
She didn't want to laugh. She wanted to grab him by the collar and ask where he was. Why he was gone. If he was gone. What was going on.

But she didn't of course. Only in the stories that she wrote in her head did these kind of things happen.

She knew she'd see Texas around again.
And maybe if she saw him again, there was hope that someone else would follow.

Black & White Cat

2011-05-24T12:00:00.005+12:00

This is a post for The Tenth Daughter of Memory.

She was afraid that the truth could be more damaging than the lie.
Sometimes it was as though the lies just seemed to come tumbling out faster than she could think.
It was perhaps the irrational fears that caused her to avoid the truth over and over.
The process of thinking and rethinking everything, trying to come to terms with it all, fear of decisions, fear of being indecisive, fear of doing nothing at all, or worse still, fear of doing it wrong.
Maybe what scared her the most was the thought that maybe, just maybe, she was lying to herself;
she wasn’t what she thought, and she certainly wasn’t what others thought her to be.
Maybe everything she believed and everything she said was nothing more than a worn-out promise that was no longer relevant.
She was the one-hit wonder; the catchy tune that changed forms rapidly, easily forgotten until a dimly-lit bar suddenly brought it all back to you.
She was the hideous red and yellow scarf in the back of your closet, the ugly reminder of the fact that there was a part of your life less fashionable that was better left forgotten.
But then perhaps she wasn’t the only one lying.
Maybe their own little white lies were swooping down on them aswell.
And like running uphill, eventually the stupidity of it all was going to catch up with them until everything burned and they couldn’t sustain their dishonest life any longer.
And then their own creations would be causing them to stop just short of their achievements without any help from those around them, (who just ran on fuelled by their so-called honest lives) leaving them with the taste of blood in their mouths and a feeling of exhaustion that wouldn’t even allow them to gasp, “This is awful.”
But for her the lies all started with that first kiss.
And they’d surely compounded by the time she had that second first kiss.
When all the little white lies had surely started to change form for the worse.
When she’d finally decided that life was worth truly living again, but hadn’t yet grasped the best way to end the life she was previously immersed in.
When she knew that all these bad habits had to stop, but realised that they’d done too much damage in this part of her life for there to be anything but a completely fresh beginning.
When all her heart’s whining for something more nourishing had suddenly become too much and she had to listen to herself.
When everything that had once appealed to her was becoming older, greyer and more repulsive every day.
The morning she woke up and realised that if there were anymore of this, the headaches would turn to migraines and she’d never sleep again, she knew for sure she had to do something.
After all, there was more than enough masculinity in her life. And even though her inbox was so easily erased, her conscience was not. But when even the half-truth finally left her lips the anger that was hurled back at her was ten-fold.
And then all she wanted was for the lights to turn out again so she could at least pretend that no one could see the slightest fragment of truth.
But all that hatred turned inward could amount to was a lot of emotional bullets fired at her already confused mind. And all the half-truths could do was yo-yo her state of mind back and forth, blue and confused, twisted and used, providing no more clarity than a total lie.
It wasn’t until after a drawn out battle with herself that the truth came out and she was able to nurse the wounds that she sustained.
The abrupt switch from a life built on lies to one founded on truths turned her male-driven life on its head. And the remains of such a life would leave her with more than a little bruising.
But as the bruising eased, and the time passed, she realised that the white lie she left behind which started off so innocent before progressively greying, had been in fact a lot muddier than she had ever previously let herself believe.
Behind the curtain, the lie wasn’t such a big reveal after all, just three dirty words that used to be truth; I love you.

The moment of truth

2011-05-20T11:58:00.007+12:00

This is a post for The Tenth Daughter of Memory.

He truly believed he wasn't doing anything wrong.

Or perhaps he was successfully convincing himself that he wasn't doing anything wrong.
After all, it was nothing physical.

Maybe he just had skewed morals.

"I miss you too," would be the reply he'd give through the receiver.
He'd get up early for the long-distance calls,
faithfully write back to the love letters from afar,
and schedule Skype dates around the chaos that was his life abroad.

But then, there was 'the other woman'.

Not that anything had really happened that could classify her as 'the other woman.'

She was just a friend, of course.

They'd meet up in their drunken hazes and dance together,
he'd text her whilst intoxicated then stumble over to her house with the excuse of borrowing a movie, shout her shots when they just happened to bump into each at the same time and place as usual, and look after her when things got a bit too much.

But then as the nights carried on and the memories became blurred, so did the line.

The joking turned to flirting, the smiling to gazing, the dancing became a little closer.
She occupied more and more of his thoughts until he found himself counting down until he'd see her again.

And when he told her he missed her too, he wasn't quite sure which girl was on the receiving end of his white lies anymore.

Things you didn't know about Siobhan #1

2011-05-20T11:50:00.003+12:00

I have recently developed a thing for North American accents.