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January 29 quizYeah, so heres what's going on: I wanted to update. I thought of doing a survey, then i thought; thats so conformist. But really a conformist would do it because everyone else is doing it, a non-conformist would not do it because they feel that everyone else is doing surveys, therefore whether or not I do it I am either conforming to being a conformist(conformer?) or conforming to the non-conformist category. It's not like I can be neither by doing only half a survey or some such as its like digging half a hole. As soon as you start digging, or start answering questions, its a hole, and its a survey that you've answered. Its an all or nothing type deal. As I want to update and kinda like the idea of these surveys, I'm doing it and you can either conform by reading it like some people or conform by choosing to be a non-conformist and not read it. Either way, you're conforming to something, so digest that you nincompoop (no, wait, I didn't mean that, come back!...come back!). Just to make it special, I'm making up my own. It's coming later, dont rush me.
January 25 BIG BOOK BROADCASTWas marvelling at the ambiguity of words the other evening when i was about to type "I'm a big book person" or something similar into msn. It occurred to me that the person on the other end if they had half an ounce of intelligence (or however you measure intelligence these days) would not really know how to take this statement. Did I mean:
a) "I like reading"
b) "I'm a person who likes reading big books"
c) "I'm a big person who reads books"
d) "I'm a big person from a book"
e) "I'm a person from a big book"
I'll let you guys and girls pick the one you want it to be..... January 19 Superfluous part 2See part one, if you haven't read it before you start this one, it might make more sense to you. On the other hand if you like things out of sequece, go ahead.
The next day had passed in a flurry of meetings, paperwork and appointments, all punctuated by thoughts of Graham. Do I really want to see him again? Over the years I'd heard that Graham had married, had children. If he now wanted to start a relationship with me, what would I do about it? I'd missed him so much and still harbour some anger and a sense of betrayal that he could just leave and not return. My mother and I had grown close after he left and she always told me that I was better off without him. After he'd called me I'd rung her on the phone to ask her opinion. "It's up to you," my mum had said, "but he'll only break your heart ." Now Thursday, here I sit on the tram and all I want to do is get off and head back to my nice, cosy, completely Graham-free apartment. But something is making me stay. The person next to me takes out some notepaper and begins to write. I am transported back in time. In the weeks after Graham left, I'd written countless letters to him; hurt, angry, pleading for him to come home, or all three, each letter unsent. I realise that on some level I have to see Graham again today. Maybe he'll offer some kind of apology, an explanation.
The tram stops, interrupting my reverie and I realise just befor the doors clang shut that we are at my stop . I leap out of my seat and clamber down the steps, narrowly avoiding colliding with a taxi. I make it relatively unscathed to the sidewalk, strewn here and there with bright yellow and orange leaves that have just fallen and been weighted down with mud and rainwater from the recent showers. Once I get to the park bench where we have arranged to meet I hesitate. It's eleven o'clock, the time we're supposed to meet but somehow I don't want him to arrive and find me waiting. I want to come across as aloof, not too eager to see him again. I want to perhaps... be a little late. Nonchalantly late. As I muse whether to go for a short walk just to kill some time, Graham arrives, out of breath and wearing a suit so crisp it has to be new. "S, sorry I'm late" he pants, giving me a hug. My arms remain resolutely by my side. " I was trying to be on time, honestly." Honestly, Graham? I think, what do you know about honesty? I try to think of something to say as he recovers his breath by my mind feels as sluggish and heavy as an old woollen jumper so instead I focus on a little boy walking his dog behind us.
"Um, so how's your mother?" asks Graham hesitantly punctuating the awkward silence, though somehow not improving upon it. "She's well thank you." I reply politely. Like you care. "And how's work?" I look at my watch. It's 11:15 am and I realise that unless I do something this stilted, polite conversation will continue. We are tallking as if we are no more than acquaintances so I decide to get to the point. "Why did you want to see me Graham?" I ask. " I, I was lonely, I suppose" he stammers, disconcerted by my forthrightness. " I wanted to see you, to talk to you. I missed being a part of your life. We need each other you and I, after all, don't you think?" Suddenly it strikes me just how pathetic this man before me is, with his freshly ironed shirt and shoes polished so well you could use them as a mirror. I realise that what he doesn't see is that instead of trying to impress me now, with a little effort years ago we would have both been a lot happier. But mum's right. He's incorrigible. Graham wont change and, I realise, I don't need him to. I don't need him at all. "That's where you're wrong dad," I reply, " you're superfluous...."
January 15 Superfluous part 1The following is a story written for English class and is purely fictional. Being as how i know most of u have a short attention span, and I'm not about to type pages at a time, we shall do this in installments, the forst being as follows:
A cloud of diesel fumes issuing from the exhaust of a passing truck catches my eye. Even as I watch, the grey vapour wafts towards the heavens, blending seamlessly with the sky, a grey as dark and heavy as wet cement, forgotten memories melding into the blanket of history. The traffic light changes, and the tram I'm on shudders and lurches into life, bearing me increasingly towards a destination that I'm not at all sure I want to arrive at.
My telephone rang yesterday, startling me with its shrill call as I was stepping out of the shower. I'd grabbed a towel and darted down the hallway to the kitchen, snatching up the old beige cordless just in time. "Hello? Hello?" I'd panted, out of breath from the sprint." Uh Grace? Gracie?" enquired the voice on the other end tentatively. My throat had constricted suddenly. I was stunned, speechless and absolutely floored. I would recognise that voice anywhere, and no one calls me Gracie... No one but Graham. It'd been a few seconds before I'd realised that he'd said something else. "Wh, What?" I'd asked shakily. "I said, can you meet me tomorrow?" Graham's voice repeated impatiently. On impulse I'd replied "No, I've got a meeting tomorrow" I didn't, but why should I make things easy for the bastard after how much he'd hurt me? "Well Thursday then," he'd tried again, "I want to see you." my curiosity had gotten the better of me and I'd reluctantly replied "fine." We arranged to meet on Thursday at the Botanical Gardens and he ended the conversation with "I love you." I didn't reply but replaced the reciever, still dazed. I'd stood there, staring at a space on the wall, seeing through the wall into all the past times we had together, exploring the city hand in hand on weekends, lunching on the High Street or if the weather was fine taking a picnic to the beach. I remebered the sharp pain that I'd felt the day when he'd walked out, as clear as yesterday I can hear the arguments, the fights, the deafening silence and then he'd walked out without a word and left no forwarding address. It was a while before I'd noticed that my hair still damp from the shower was creating an expanding wet patch on the carpet. I turned my mind to more immediate matters and continued getting ready for work. January 13 ORANGE CHEESE MAKES YOU FAT!OK so here's the thing. For a while now I've been doing stream-of-conscious style blogs as most of u will be aware, which has been fine- they're fun to do, and some seem to enjoy reading them, however they have produced a problem. Stream-of -conscious style writing feels like cheating. Yeah, I do put work and thought into them, but its not hard, like trying to come up with a new real-life topic every entry would be. I haven't been trying to come up with funny anecdotes about the little old lady that stuck up for my rights at the news-agency, or about my potentially arsehole-istic potential potential employer. I've been taking the easy way out and for now, perhaps its time to lay to rest the S.O.C's, temporarily of course, but lets put some more effort into it. Regular readers will have seen my return to true life blogging form in the shape of seagull mafioso's and to follow this up you'll now get the benefit of my opinions regarding food. Whether u like it or not. Being informed I mean, not food. Though you may not like food. You may be anorexic. Not that there's anything funny about that. MOVING ALONG.
So. I have come to the conclusion that America is making people fat. Look at it logically and theres no way that any intelligent person wont come to the same conclusion. (So there: you have to agree or you're not intelligent)
Australia is the second fattest nation, correct? After the good ol' US of A. Think about it: if one kid has chicken pox, then a little later another kid gets chicken pox, but a slightly milder case, you dont think, "oh both Johnny and Ichabod caught the same germs from somewhere they should have been staying away from" you think "bloody Johnny, he should have stayed home from school, now Ichabods got it!" Stands to reason America should get treated the same as little Johnny who may just have had a shorter incubation time for his strain: Obesity is an epidemic is what we keep being told, just they arent using the words in the proper context. It is a bad thing and its spreading. Whats being kept under wraps is exactly how this sneaky malcontent is infiltrating our shores. The US is the carrier of this disease. Isolate it before it's too late to save us all! ......Maybe instead of carping about AIDS Hanson should be adapting a new war cry " don't let Americans in: they've got fat!"
I think this scenario would please everyone; fat people get someone to blaim for said fatness" Im not fat because of the kilo of chips I just ate, I'm fat because they were American!" On second thoughts maybe the Americans would'nt be too happy to bear the blame for global fatness, though they can always blame Bush. he's happy to take the blame for anything his speechwriters tell him to. Better yet, turn off the auto-cue and watch him blink and smile for several minutes...........
DISCLAIMERE (pronounced with poncy French accent) If you read the preceding entry and you're fat for a reason beyond your control, I apologise. If you're American then you should be watching enough Letterman to be able to spot a bit of fun when u see it, although some of his stuff is getting a bit weak. |
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