Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Yesterday I got.

Yesterday I got to the bus stop 45 minutes early so I sat and read. It was rainy and windy but I was fairly nicely bundled up in my coat. I had a diet coke.

I read Olalla, by Robert Louis Stevenson. Before reading it, I was not a fan of his at all. I have of course read both Treasure Island and The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, and they were such let downs for me. Olalla, on the other hand, I loved. The plot and the language were much better constructed, and the characters were considerably less annoying.

The day was perfect for reading this kind of text. It was gray and over-cast, but I didn't find it depressing. It was beautiful. The air was fresh and clean.

The one thing that upset me was the sheer amount of cigarette butts all over the ground around me. Smoking is a disgusting habit - I've always felt like this - but what saddened me the most was that it brought up a memory I'd forgotten; I smoked a cigarette on Saturday night while under the influence.

Why do I drink? Nothing good ever comes of it. I always regret things I've done on a big night out. One day soon I'm certain that I'm going to do something terrible and irreversible after consuming alcohol. Will this thought stop me from drinking? I am 100% certain that it will not. Aren't I ridiculous?

Well, I am what I am.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Just a quickie.

Just a quickie to say that I am totally addicted to freerice.com.

It's non-profit website where you answer questions on your choice of subjects. For every correct answer, 10 grains of rice are donated to the United Nations World Food Program to help end hunger.

It's such an easy way for people to make a difference :)

So what are you waiting for? Go go go!!

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

I am so.

I am so so tired but feeling very content right now. I don't know why.

I woke up very early this morning to get to school on time. I'm not a morning person at all and I need at least an hour and a half to start functioning properly.

It was pitch black when I woke - like the middle of the night. And then when I went out to the bus stop it looked like this:

It was really very pretty. Oh, and the photo is really bad quality cause I took it on my phone ;)

What was the point of this post again?... Oh well, off I go. Lalala.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

I am no writer.

I am no writer. A writer can convey emotions through words.

A writer would be able to say that she wants to die - in some ways - but that in others she knows life goes on, and that death solves nothing.

A writer would scribble down the fact that she hates that she is no longer in control; that she doesn't know what's going to happen in the future and that that's what hurts the most.

She would say she doesn't know how she feels.

She would describe a knot in her stomach and a lump in her throat and a weight on her heart that she doesn't understand.

A writer would jot down that she cries not for unrequited love, but because she's not sure what love is, if she's had it, if she's lost it, if she'll find it or even if it exists at all.

But I am no writer. I'm just a girl.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Nothing to be done.

Nothing to be done when hopes are dashed.

When something keeps you going and then something goes away, it's just a matter of finding something new, right?

But what if you don't want anything different, because what you had before was perfect?

What do you do then?

What happens to a person who can not maintain hope?

Monday, October 5, 2009

New concept.

New concept for a piece of writing I'm working on - a script.

It's silly, really, that I should begin something new when I already have something else that's rather large in the works. I suppose that's just the way I am. I've had this idea festering away inside my tiny brain for at least a month, and I finally decided that I just had to get it out.

It's a play with two main players. There are a couple of minor characters too, but they have about one line each, if any. The main characters names are Paloma (a prostitute) and Duane (one of her clients). It's written mostly in dramatic monologues and is set in Paloma's apartment, and the street outside it.

I don't really feel comfortable revealing much more on the internet. Not that many people read this... But I suppose you can never be too careful.

However, I will leave any unknown readers with this:

It's a preliminary design for the stage that I quickly whipped up on paint, earlier today.