Falling

"I guess I've always been deeply terrified to really be someone's wife. Since I know from life one cannot love another, ever, really."

That's what Marilyn Monroe wrote after secretly reading a passage from her 3rd husbands diary. He wrote of how she was a disappointment to him and of how she embarassed him in front of his "clever" friends.
I believe the same, not because of being a disappoinment. No. But because I don't think it's possible to truly love someone who isn't your blood and/or best friend. There is no "in love", I believe. There is companionship, not wanting to be alone, lust, sensation, affection, passion, caring and yes love but not "in love". You can love your friends, your family, your boyfriend, your girlfriend, your wife, your dog, your children. People love games and drink and food; hotdogs and nachos! (No Lanelle, put them down.) People love people. People love things. It all seems to get used up. So there is no real love left. Tethered swimming I guess.

I've been pushed out. I'm outside a locked door that is to my own house, in the rain. And I guess I'm okay with that. I won't try to get back in, there's no point. People just get hurt. (How emo of me.) Don't take this the wrong way, I mean I'm not upset. Not one bit. It kind of makes me laugh at how fickle emotions are, bringing a smile to my newly pierced lip(which I hope doesn't make my lip fall off).

I don't think I'll emigrate to Scotland just yet. However I may go for a wee while. A holiday with the lads, hopefully. That would be awesome. I'll get them eating fried Scotch pies and drinking litres of whiskey whilst shouting "Och aye the noo" in no time. How very politically correct of me.
Maybe they'll beat my record of clearing 1 litre or gin, 3 ciders, 4 morgans and... I forget the rest (I wonder why?!)in two days. We'll see, it'll be a fun challenge that I'm sure they can beat.

"Do the revolution" man. Well why the hell not?!

up

So there's a man in a long black coat ( forgive me, but I definitely don't mean the song, sorry lads). He's wearing steampunk goggles, large PVC gloves and is staring at me. He is outside the kitchen window, and he just stares. He makes a move towards the window, slowly, thoughtfully. Hot steam is leaking out of his mask. Forward. One step. The body that I thought I owned is quaking. He sniffs. His hand reaches out and then black.
At least once a week I see this. It's fucking up my head and it's fucking up my sleeping patterns.


You go out, you drink, you fuck. Next day: you drink/work. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
For the past...I don't know how many months. Is this what student life is? No, really?
So, there's this person and this person. You know them, maybe even call them friends, heck why the fuck not? But they are practically meaningless in your life. And those who you do care an ounce of shit about are becoming vexatious to you. Because you see them every single fucking day!
So what is it I want then? I'm on the same path as Stevie, all I want to do is get happy. Not thrilled, not fantastic but just to be content. Well, it's hard. But a bottle of wine here and there seems to help, fucking seems to help, music helps, dancing helps, friends help, pubs help, money helps, people help.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

the

"Who do you love" by the lads seems like an appropriate song to be typing to, it's the beat.

I swear I have to use spell-check after every sentence just so I don't appear as an illiterate, ignorant beure. I just did it right there, it didn't correct me on "beure" so maybe this blog shit is working out. Finally, something.

I'm starting to think that change is a good thing. I used to stupidly think that it was a bad thing, I feared it. Spending all day asleep in bed because you're terrifed of what the next day would bring: change.
Yet now, a new start; everything completely new, it seems appealing to me. The whole "not knowing anyone". Yeah, of course I'm going to be horribly lonely and miserable for the first 3 months, but think of what'll happen after that. I'll be the new, "semi-exotic" thing. (An Irish girl living in Scotland, come on there has to be some appeal...drinking the men under the table, the accent-ish, and...
... feck it what else is there? ) Ah, it'll work.
So how do I break this to my parents? Well, my mam. You know the whole "Oh, I'm so proud of you because you're in university, you'll do well in life, blah-de-blah-de-blah." We get it mam, all of us 21st century college educates get it.

Imagine, I'd live on Haggis, well Scraggie because I think it tastes better. (Even though when I did try to cook it, it turned into little fire work explosions in the pan. It was only later that my Scottish dad told me that the only way to cook Scraggie is to boil it in the bag, like that rice shit with the Finnish-French guy in the add.) I'd live on alcoholic Ginger beer. Carlsberg that's 1.69 per pint in Dalkeith. Kilts. Sporrans. Cockburn street. Fireball whiskey. Fried food and gingers...eugh, no wait, no, just no.

Ah, but I would miss the lads an awful lot though.




Maybe...I should flip a coin. Leave it to chance.
No one can give out to me for that now, can they?

Walls

So my friend and I thought that it would be hilarious to start a blog with a “gomey” name, a way of keeping in touch. I guessed Roxx-ite sounded like a dub step remix of The Police's classic(with a splash of geology), therefore deeming it "cringe" enough. The only thing is that I haven't told him the name or given any link, so when he wants to perve or be nosey he's going to have to find it of his own accord. Serves him right I guess. I'll leave clues.

My friend told me that he accidentally purchased a E500 guitar, a silly mistake. Almost like accidentally sleeping with your ex-thingy with whom you had a messy break-up with...hypothetically speaking of course. Not one person has ever done a thing like that, no.

It made me wonder though of how careless people are with things: their money, heart, attention span, shoes, ipod (I lost mine in my house somewhere almost 6 months ago and still haven't found it, yes I've been looking, St. Anthony isn't working overtime let me tell you that).

We were sitting in the pub, all six of us and this is randomly said. I must say it did bring a glipse of laughter to the Guinness-drinking, ridiculously synical table. I mean, I've heard people spending money on "accidents" (take from that what you will, I ain't saying nothing to no one!) i.e. cleaning carpets after irresponsibly drink (spilling it), *inhale, breaking a friends mug and having to replace it because it was a present from and ex even though you argued your case of how bad it was to keep holding on to an old relationship, a joke of course. ( relax, now breath) But accidentally spending money? I'm sure it's much more common and that I'm just blowing it out of proportion, but it is funny.

Odessa by Caribou has been ruling my my fingers once I hit grooveshark, resulting with my two main friends to have acquired "cold water syndrome". They sigh, complain, try to dip their toe into it yet run away screaming before finally jumping in and embracing the fact that their going to get wet and cold but might aswell enjoy it. Dancing to "Odessa" at least three time a night, I mean. I believe it is time for me to find a new obsession, "Sail" by AWOLNATION perhaps, or "Palaces of Montezuma" by Grinderman. It's not what you'd call a "dancey" song though.

I don't know, this is weird. This blog thing. The only time I've been associated with one was when this guy gave out about me because I was his girlfriend for only two days. A lesson was learned; don't ask a tee-totaled mate to be your girlfriend. She will sober up and undo it before any serious damage is done. Well blog, we'll see how this goes.