2009 - the easiest sum up

The day of the year: 21st June, an evening of redemption.

The season of the year: autumn

The film of the year: Watchmen, Inglorious Basterds, Zweiohrküken

The book of the year: Fit For Life by Harvey Diamond, The Death Of Bunny Munro by Nick Cave, Desolation Angels by Jack Kerouac

The crush of the year: the usual...those I can never have

The regret of the year: that April ever happened. The worst month of the year.

The concert of the year: NIN at Hurricane Festival

The band of the year: NIN, KillWhitneyDead, Darkest Hour, Stabbing Westward, The Cure

The musician of the year: Bryan Adams

The song of the year: "hurt", "so far away", "on a day like today", "into the grey", "lullaby"

The new album of the year: "The eternal return" by Darkest Hour

The conversation of the year: 6 hours+ with Dan, haven't talked that much again since.

The friend of the year: that's tough

The arsehole of the year: that bassist


Something you learnt in 2009: healthy eating, to be nice to my mum sometimes, to control my hopes

Which doctor did you visit the most this year?: My dermatologist - once a month since 2007.

How was your birthday?: very quiet and not many people remembered, but I don't care, not as much as you care about your birthday

Your darkest hour in 2009: the night I wrote that 4000-word blog and the day I found out I didn't get the scholarship

The most unforgettable moment of 2009: Trent's arm around me, the moment of heart cleansing and that kiss (Note: those are three different things)

The most significant realisation: That I always rip my arse off for people, now I've stopped

The biggest burden of 2009: driving lessons, job hunting, family issues and this uncontrollable piece of wrath.

Did your plans work out?: to keep fit - yes. To go back to uni - no.

Your biggest accomplishment of 2009: driving license, part time job, writing "The bystanders" and "Laurie's Cottage Pie", keeping up my blog

Have you changed in the last 12 months?: I've become more detached and lack of sensitivity, I like it that way, makes things easier

Your new year's resolution: work hard and no one's gonna get in my way

My mind's on Hozomeen

Well this is not how I had imagined it to be. Sincerely. So wrong. All that. And this. The noise of the hoover. The affection of my dog. Just as bad as work is. In six fucking goddamn hours I only managed 75 pages with Kerouac. This is disgraceful. I fucking hate life at the moment. I just don’t seem to have a room.

It was agreed: NO PRESENTS at Christmas. Then all of a sudden my mum gave me money and my dad gave me and my sister UBS sticks. What the fuck is this? I don’t think you can even imagine how fucking pissed off I am. It has nothing to do with them being kind-hearted, ok? I am being cold-hearted! That is it! I hate guilty conscience! The only Christmas presents I bought was a new blanket for my dogs and that was it. I did think of buying things for my family, too, but thought I’d better not, as my mum would start moaning “It’s such a waste of money! Don’t buy us anything…!” Blah Blah! The best Christmas I had was 2006, where I was all by myself in a house in England. All my housemates had gone home to their home and I had the house to myself till the end of the year. I read over five books during those Christmas holidays. I never had so much time for myself; it was wonderful. Nowadays I can’t even finish a book halfway in one day. Constantly I hear the hoover, the sweeper or my dog scratching at the door. Whenever he wants attention and wants me to hold him, I don’t see him as my dog anymore, I see my future child. AND I HATE IT. God I hate it. No one on earth wants and needs so much attention other than children. This is more exhausting than work. Then you start to scream at them and ignore them. And at the end of the day you hate yourself for what you’ve done. Seriously. Guilty conscience. I do not need that. I do not want that. Not now. Not any time soon. If only the library was open.

I had a terrible, disgusting dream in which I was sitting next to an old man in a taxi. He needed to poop very badly but the taxi driver wouldn’t stop to let him out. So the old man decided to poop into a cardboard right in front of me. Why do I dream bullshit like that?

I think I know why.

I would like to suggest certain people not to make the effort to get to know me and to stop reading my blog. Your curiosity won’t ever be fed by me; especially not if you want everything. I offer shit; shit with truth on top. If you don't know what this all is about, then go.

I tried to sleep with lights off last night, but it was not possible. I used to feel so safe in the dark. In fact people say that it’s better not to see anything in your room, then you have nothing to be scared about, but I disagree, because this is what makes you most vulnerable, because you are unaware of what might be going on in the dark. Therefore I think blind people must be shitting their pants 24 hours a day. I know that having the lights on is not any better, but at least you get to see what might be there and what might be happening. You can defend yourself if necessary. I wouldn’t mind having the lights off if someone else was sleeping in my room. If I was ever to share a bed with someone again, I would insist on sleeping on the inside (having the wall on one side and him on the other). Seriously, the scariest and freakiest thing in the world is waking up on the edge of the bed and seeing someone standing next to your bed. If there could be a name for this sort of a phobia, I would call it “wakophobia”. It has nothing to do with East Asian pirates, but with shock after waking up.

I caught a little cold. I had the window open for too long whilst running on the treadmill. Now this is bad, because I was convinced that I wouldn’t catch a cold this winter due to the great amount of fruits that I consume. As I already said: fruits and broccoli aren’t enough. Share some happiness with me, will you.

Kerouac was an alcoholic. Why do I have a thing for alcoholics who are in the world of literature? Oh yes, they are uncontrollably honest and that is sexy. In fact, Kerouac’s right here next to me. We just finished chapter 69.

White ash

I regret something; something I didn’t do. I didn’t do it for the right reasons. This is why I have this urge to do something for the wrong reasons. Just once. Would you rather regret having done something or not having done something? – Of course. Isn’t it obvious? Sometimes when I look at his pictures and see how happy he is I automatically touch my forehead and wish I could rewind. It doesn’t mean that I am not happy for him now. I am happy for him now. But he and I could have been happy, too, maybe… Well, for at least a year or so? Sure. Why not. My regrets are primarily based on things that I didn’t do. Chances were there. I wasn’t. I was here being faithful. But my throbbing red organ was there.

We are five women at work. It’s tough. I never usually go to Christmas parties, but since we are just five people, it would have been somewhat conspicuous if I hadn’t gone. Two of them are married, one’s engaged and the other’s taken. They had nothing to talk about except their “men”. No, I wasn’t jealous. I just didn’t want to be part of their lives; I didn’t want to know anything about them. Those are people living lives I don’t ever want to live. (Watching Desperate Housewives is totally enough, thank you!)I just cannot talk to taken women…this is so bad. Why did they tell me about their sons? Then I find out I even went to school with one of their sons! It has nothing to do with their ages, because one of them is 19 (the youngest of all my work colleagues) and she was constantly telling everyone about her boyfriend and everyone was listening, even though she talks like a waterfall. Ok, maybe is has something to do with “age”, but primarily it is my inability to adapt. If I know I don’t fit in, then I don’t fit in – I won’t even try.

For God’s sake…when I say I’m pro-choice, then it has nothing to do with being strongly pro-abortion. Just because the people in the US have come up with this term doesn’t mean it has one closed-up meaning.

Do you know what pisses me off so much lately? – That I am so fucking slow. Me of all people. I am known to be the most hectic person: fast at making burgers, fast at the till, fast at unloading delivery and fast at getting everything done. And for some reason I don’t seem to be fast enough. I can’t be bothered anymore. What is life like in slow motion? I remember what it was like when I was eight. The dinner breaks at school used to last for hours, even though they were only twenty minutes after each second lesson. That was when I thought childhood would last forever. It would have been a good reason to kill myself back then. I guess I would have, if I hadn’t encountered the magic of writing stories; passing on my feelings to fiction characters and then making friends with them. If that sounds scary to you then you have no idea how difficult it is to make friends with yourself. You are your best friend and if you neglect yourself, then you are going to pay it back to yourself. And I am angry with myself, because I have no time for myself. The master of horror writing says that if you want to become a good writer you need to read and write for over four hours a day. What the fuck am I going to do…

The ashes of 2009 started to fall from the sky last week. First they melted and now they’re sticking on the ground. Walk on them and they will remain under your shoes. Bring the ashes home whereupon they will turn into dirty water. Wipe it off. Are you any happier now?

Grotesque thoughts on December 10th 2009

For minutes I’ve been looking at this picture of a downward spiral. After a while I got this feeling that the spiral was about to slap me hard in the face. It looks very scary, but I cannot help being curious. My mind is in a very dangerous state, where it is tempted to risk anything, anything that may cause thrill or excitement, but may end badly. The interest is there, but it does not mean that I’m going to submit myself to anything in particular. I’ve missed out way too much which is why I’m being haunted by those temptations. I don’t remember having made a pact with the devil, but he seems to know what I want. This must be the reason why each night I look under my bed before I go to sleep. I know, I am not a four year old anymore, but currently I am suffering from the fears of a four year old. It started this summer…you know the story. I always hated mind games played by people and now my own mind has started to play games with me. Sometimes I get the impression that I myself do not want to know anything about myself. Recently, I have been feeling this inner calmness which truly is scaring the hell out of me, because it’s so tense. The core of my body is ablaze and it has started to control my nerves. Often I close my eyes and I see the core, which is yellow, very bright yellow. I hate the colour yellow; therefore I don’t know why this colour is buried inside me at all. How do you call a person who is unable to get things done right and seems to be doing one mistake after the other? Give me one good word to describe that person. My performance at work is ragged. My boss describes me as stress free, but she doesn’t know that I get panic attacks right at the till when serving people. I get trouble breathing, trouble thinking straight. Nervousness, hectic and social anxiety are the reasons, but I am working anyway. And people don’t notice a single thing on the outside. They think I am orange juice on the inside, but the truth is – the core of my body is grease fire. For years I’ve been wondering how to extinguish it. The hole is still deep, it is still dark. I need to learn to breathe; even babies can do it. Fatigue told me that it was going to suit itself. But I chose to carry on working anyway, even though I am neglecting my creativity, my novel(s) and my own personal peace of mind. It feels like having enabled the self destruct button. All the things I am just don’t match. No, I cannot elaborate. I cannot define paradox in relation to me as a human being. I am too neutral and too prejudiced at the same time, it’s horrendous. Despite of my many misogynistic views, I stand by my own gender, but I also encourage men to stand up for themselves and to keep their pride, which is why certain women will hate me forever. (Taken women.) When these women feel threatened by me, I laugh. I am terrible like that. It’s just ridiculous. You are doomed to be free, so here you are for fuck’s sake… Give people room and privacy. No single minute should be wasted on jealousy or the fear that he or she might not love you anymore. In the worst case, you can always find something better to do. You want to choose to die like Hemingway, Woolf or Cobain? Whatever, but don’t do it at the wrong time and place and avoid dying like Socrates. Try some fun first before doing anything you’ll regret. Now you might say it’s terrible of me to talk like that, but I am pro-choice, so what do you want from me? I am not encouraging people to do anything. What I am saying is: Life is in your hands and so is death. That’s it. I’m wondering how many people are going to misunderstand me this time. Do you finally hate me now? I fucking hope so.

180°

Shall I be a complete arsehole to all of you?

I think I should.

Your choice whether to take it personally or not.

I always give people a choice.

Now

I choose to make ZERO effort.