Archive for September, 2008

Things I Love Edition

I’m in a particularly happy, sweet, sharing mood today, and before I inevitably get around to ruining this marshmallow cloud, here’s some happy stuff I love and rarely talk about because I fear it humanises me:

photo credit: Rupert Singleton



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My head has special needs. I have seen more specialists about my head than all my other body parts combined – and I am fairly average where body parts are concerned. Not satisfied with the all the psychiatric attention it receives, (oh, like you couldn’t figure out I was slightly unstable by yourselves?) it has discovered a new way to garner attention: it aches. So simple. It aches from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep. It aches through a haze of weed, it aches through the fog of whiskey. It aches through prescription pain killers, and through the over-the-counter ones as well. And it aches through all of these aides combined, although it was a little more fun. (The image makes sense after the jump, I swear.) (more…)

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I’ve never been one to fuss much about mess and general disorder, as long as I knew that what was underneath was reasonably clean. Granted, I’ve been living alone for the last few years and, like a pig, became comfortable in my own filth. I could tell you how long ago the deserted tea cup by the couch actually contained tea, the number of hours the dress draped artfully over the kitchen chair has left before it’s necessary to wash it, even where the very important piece of paper resides amongst the disorder. Despite all this slovenly behaviour, it was my mess, and my mess and I coexisted quite happily together; most importantly my toilet was always clean. Alas, that was then, and this is now.

Of late, I find myself in the somewhat awkward situation of co-habitation. Apart from the obvious readjustments one must undertake so as to make living with others bearable, I’ve found that I have started to slowly morph into my mother. Perhaps being alone meant that I was able to quash any domestic abilities that threatened to come to fore as there was no need to please or appease anyone but myself. It could be location, it could be situation, it could be some warped version of maturity. None of which, however, comes close to explaining why I’ve started turning into my mother. (more…)

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