The other night, looking in the mirror, I had a revelation:
Yes, I may be heavier than the societally accepted ideal, but I'm lucky to be an hourglass shape with awesome curves. I'm happy with my body.
Then the following morning, faced with a closer inspection of dry skin etc., I decided I needed renovating from the ground up.
My body image, as I'm sure a lot of you will relate to, is like using a trampoline that is also a functional set of scales: I'm up and down way too often to get an accurate reading. Some days I feel like this:
Did somebody order a Manic Pixie Dream Girl?
And others, I feel like this:
Did somebody say fudge cake?
And that, as near as I can tell, is totally normal.
The thing is, beauty comes from healthiness and happiness. If you've got both of those, the rest is just taking care of yourself... I've been realising more and more lately that the 'healthiness' side of my life needs a lot of work. All pizza and no exercise makes Jack a fat boy. And Anna a lazy girl.
I don't want to be the slovenly kind of person who never does anything because it's too difficult.
Anyway, I've finally liberated my poor bike, which hasn't been ridden in a year and a half. It's been to Punk Bikes for some TLC, so I just need to get on that, in every sense! At least if I'm actually doing something, whatever shape and size I am, I won't have shame about it. Being ashamed of your body is ten times worse than having a few extra pounds.
The theory behind affirmations, or "Cosmic Ordering" as the Mighty Wizard Edmonds calls it, is that if you repeatedly state your desire for something, you'll be more likely to get it.
My personal theory is that if you repeatedly state your desire for something, you're more likely to work towards it, because otherwise you look like a putz.
I already go on about things I want a fair bit. I want a motorbike, I want to shave my hair, and so forth. Like Chekhov's Three Sisters, I go on about it while never working towards it, because I am pretty lame.
NONETHELESS. I'm going to publicly say something that has been creeping up on me for months:
I want to go to America. I want to stay there. I want to see different states, compare different kinds of American life, get a feel for the geography and the people.
I'm still trying to work out ways this can happen that don't basically boil down to "get a job and spend no unnecessary money for three years." I'm sort of waiting for an opportunity to present itself. I dunno.
Anyway, yes, I am stating this here and now so that one day, I can look back and go "oh yeah that's when I decided to come here."
Also, please please watch this. It kicks all kinds of ass. The song has been wheeling through my head for a week or so now, and the video is utterly captivating!
My romantic entanglements have, for the most part, ended before the other party became aware of their existence. It always goes the same way: inevitably, at some point, whatever poor guy I've been... not pursuing, as such, more... ogling with wilful intent, will have the following conversation with me.
Him: Let me tell you about this amazing new girl I met!
Me: Shoot (me).
Him: She's so nice, she's such a free spirit, she has awesome hair and she hovers three inches above the ground wherever she walks! All that is best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes, blah blah fuckitty blah (I'm paraphrasing here.)
This usually results in the following dichotomy.
Externally:
Internally:
This was my life in high school, and this has been my life for the year and a half since breaking up with my ex. For the past few months, I've again been staring at some oblivious dude, attempting to work out whether he was even single. Over Christmas, the matter was brought to a satisfactory conclusion when it was revealed that not only was he unattached, but that the lucky girl he'd had his eyes on was, in fact, me.
In the words of President Obama, "I got the sucker."
If you have been reading my blog for a long time, you might remember that I was obsessed with an alternate reality game called "The LOST Experience." Now, despite being left on a cripplingly cruel cliffhanger (RACHEL BLAKE, if you're out there, get in touch), it was one of the most exciting internetty things I was ever a part of.
Why mention it now? Well, I recently started watching Chuck. I've started watching from the beginning, and in the second episode, while spouting countless military secrets, Chuck mentions that Oceanic flight 815 - the same airline and flight number that crashed in Lost - was shot down! And that little part of my brain that catalogued and cross-referenced every slight hint at the truth flared into life again.
I felt the craving for an ARG. So I had a quick look around, and, what do you know? A new series called Alcatraz has put out a rabbit hole and a twitter account for the inquisitive. I won't link to the twitter account. You'll find it if you go looking.
I took these in October and forgot all about them until yesterday. After some amateur post-processing, I'm pretty happy with a few of them! The whole set is here, but I've posted my favourites below. I'd love to know what you think!
There is a plastic cup in my room. It is on the windowsill, catching drips. What these drips are doing in my room is anybody's guess; although the letting agency, before pawning our house off on another agency, got as far as deciding that it might be the guttering.
Yes, well done. It might.
I suppose it's damp, then, that's turning my wallpaper a mottled pattern of bleached and black in that corner, despite the best efforts of a dehumidifier my housemate's relatives have kindly lent us.
It makes me feel a rush of hopelessness whenever I pull soomething from my wardrobe and smell, or see, that it is going moldy. I can't afford to replace anything. Or pay my rent, actually, let alone cover bills and food. It's a miracle that I'm limping along as I am, despite sort of having two jobs (I have had no shifts at the first job in two months, and the second is unpaid(ish) for now).
My new year's eve was uneventful. I've been nocturnal and listless for a couple of weeks, and that meant I had no resolve to fight my unfortunate tendency to hide from parties. If I'm invited to one, I'll generally go, but if I'm invited to five on the same night, you can bet good money I'll be at home, in my room, by myself.
As was in fact the case.
It got bad.
I went on omegle.
All of this, basically, is my attempt at complete and brutal honesty. Some of you seem to be labouring under the misapprehension that I'm interesting, or even "awesome." Well I'm not. But you know what? I have been. And I can be. And, goddamnit, I will be. One way or another, I'll shift gears and change from someone who is surviving into someone who is thriving. I don't know if that means I'll be getting more money in (though, Lord knows, I do hope so), but at the very least I'll be living the way I want to. Trying new things, working on my meagre skills, playing to my strengths and the like.
At least I've been writing a lot of poetry in the last month. I was looking for one I could share with you, but I seem to have started dozens and not finished any, so you might have to wait. Or check out my idlescribe tumblr, that's an option too...
I was looking for blogs to recommend to you, ones that count as an inspiration, but my google reader seems to have had a panic attack and dropped all its proverbial biscuits, so I'll get back to you on that one.
The buildup to Christmas is a long one. Even at the start of December, I was celebrating Not-Christmas at a friend's house. I got a full stomach and a stocking full of chocolate to remember it by, not to mention a pretty severe crush.
After that, I went home for a couple of weeks, which was as it usually is, i.e., lovely with regards to seeing my family, and fairly horrendous in terms of staying in that house. I live in hope that one day my parents will see sense and chuck out 90% of their stuff.
I've felt very guilty about presents this year. The sad fact is, this year I don't have enough money to cover rent and bills, or even food for myself, so I can't treat everyone to the nice things they deserve. But, for some reason, people care enough to give me things, because it isn't really about reciprocity, so I'm told. They love me and want me to know that, so they give me gifts.
Oh man, let me tell you, this year for the first time I got a gift from someone I've never met! Someone in America! Paul, a guy I've known for probably a couple of years now, sent me the most epic, tricked-out, bells-and-whistles sonic screwdriver set I've ever seen. It's got me thinking about designing my own Doctor look to cosplay! Most people seem to go for a female interpretation of an existing Doctor's costume, but I'd want to start from scratch. My first instinct was to see if anyone from the Doctor Who costume department is on twitter, but no such luck.
This is going to be my first Christmas with friends. I've spent one away from home before, with my ex's family, but I've never dealt with the full mixed bag of celebrating Christmas with vegans, pagans, and people who've lost loved ones / are missing their kids, etc. But we're doing it. I'm a little bit proud of us for that. If we can get through it without drama, I'll be even more so.
I'll also be spending the day with my aforementioned crush (a poor word choice, but anything more accurate would give too much away, and it's early days yet). I wouldn't mention it unless I thought it was going to be important. Unless I thought he was going to be important. We'll see, I guess.
Anyway! I've wittered on long enough. I'll let you get back to all that important hall-decking. If I don't post again beforehand, have a very merry one indeed! See you soon for the traditional New Year navel-gazing.
It's been a crazy ten days or so, running around performing nonsensical errands for GISHWHES. It's over, now; the deadline has passed, and it's time to start thinking about what we're going to do with the unusual side-effects of our quests.
What, for example, are we going to do with a golden plunger? Will I keep the monkey hat? Should we disassemble the kale chandelier, or just chuck it? Do you want some barely-used candyfloss?
We didn't even take it that far. Some dedicated team actually launched a Christmas tree aloft with only helium balloons, and made the news in a few places in the process!
Anyway, as I've said, I'll share a few photos when we're given the all-clear.
The past few days have consisted of me being alternately grumpy and sad, interspersed with brief moments of Baileys.
Baileys makes everything better.
Please link me to something that'll cheer me up, I could really do with it.
Much love.
Wednesday, 23 November 2011
"Why did nobody ever tell me blogging was this much fun?!" my housemate exclaimed, leading me to do a tiny wriggle of shame. He's recently discovered it, and is of course taking to it like a duck to water, or a bird to flying, or an excitable child to getting jam all over things.
And I feel bad about neglecting you, because I really have no excuse not to. It's been like that period after a breakup when you still want to text your ex every little thought that crosses your mind. I've still wanted to blog about things - I performed poetry, it went well! My hair is purple now! I've been to some very fun parties (and one that... was less fun)! I discovered an amazing book, and did you know we have a new office? - but there's been a veil of awkwardness not dissimilar to the stomach-lurch of "oh, we're not together any more."
I don't know why this is. I certainly haven't broken up with my blog. But I have... I have kind of been cheating on it. Tumblr, with its two-click reblogging and bitesized reaction posts, is so much less demanding. All I have to do is respond to stuff! I don't need to digest, assess and recontextualise information in an engaging and thought-provoking way. I'm not saying Tumblr can't be used for that - it certainly can! - but in my experience, one simply doesn't have to try that hard, and it's making me lazy. I'm going to make a conscious effort to come here instead, and put a bit more work into making my blog of 6 years (blimey) what it deserves to be.
This stuff would never fly in a relationship. "I swear, baby, I'll make a conscious effort to prioritise you over my mistress!"
"Oh will the fuck you?"
This week, much of my time is going into GISHWHES, an international scavenger hunt that's being arranged by Misha Collins. I am in two minds about him. He plays Castiel on Supernatural, calls his twitter follows 'minions,' and has a face that I would like to put near or around my face. And yet. I will never, ever call him Overlord, as some of his fans do. Mostly I want to usurp his crown.
Misha Collins: only human
Yes, that's basically it: I consider him a worthy opponent.
The prize for GISHWHES is that Misha takes your group of ten worldwide scavenger hunters out for a spaghetti dinner in Rome. That's... well, I mean that's pretty cool. Once the deadline's passed and I can share them without breaking the rules, I'll upload a couple of the photos I took in pursuit of this prize.
I'm looking forward to having a bit of time off so I can make things. I want to write poetry, maybe get back into songwriting (my voice is finally 85% returned after a nasty cough), and basically begin to challenge myself creatively again. I've come up with a tentative, unformed plan to leave Cardiff in favour of America at some point, too. I've never had ambition before, so I'm not really sure what to do with it!
Here is a song from Jukebox the Ghost, because I like the video.
The following movie reviews are not what you might call professional, because sometimes I don't pay attention.
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy:
I really wanted to like this film. It's got Gary Oldman, Colin Firth, and Benedict Cumberbatch. What's not to like about that? It screams class and distinction, and I'm a cultured person who goes to the opera and everything, so I should like it, right?
Er, maybe.
It was very slow-paced, and the stiff upper lip mannerisms displayed by the main characters, while very in keeping with that time and world, serve to make the first half of the film drag severely. It's hard to engage emotionally when everyone on screen is doing their damnedest to act like feelings are for the little ladies. The saving grace of the first half was, in my opinion, a thoroughly enjoyable scene with Kathy Burke. I'd never seen her in a non-comedic role before, and was delighted and not a bit unnerved by her personable and slightly predatory character!
It did pick up towards the end, with Colin Firth getting to show off a bit more of his emotional range, but by the time the film finished I was left a bit unclear about what the whole endeavour had been for. My fault for going to the cinema while sleepy, I'm sure, but there it is.
Real Steel:
I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed this film. Oh, I know, I expected it to be rubbish too! I've heard the jokes: it's the movie adaptation of Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots, and so forth, but honestly I haven't grinned through so much of a film in a long, long time.
Charlie, played by Hugh Jackman, is believable and likeable while still being deeply flawed. His son, Max, played by the unbelievably talented Dakota Goyo, had me thinking "that kid is SO BOSS" throughout the entire thing. He was born in '99, can you believe that? Ugh what am I doing with my life. And, oh yes, Evangeline Lilly as Bailey. I've only seen Evie as Kate in Lost before now, and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that Bailey is much less annoying. I'm being unfair... she was amazing in this. Really.
There were moments - very very brief, unmentioned moments - that asked big questions. One shot of a robot facing itself in a mirror, motionless, sparked off so many questions that were never touched on, but the film is all the better for it. This is shameless fluff, and addressing machine sentience is a little out of its grasp. Well done them for not overreaching. Don't make the mistake of interpreting that as an insult: the thing about feel good movies is that they make people feel good! I left the cinema with my heart barfing regenbogen and pleading for a sequel. There will be one. I am delighted.
So what have we learned? That Anna is not cultured, and that Dakota Goyo has a bright future. Oh and regenbogen is German for rainbow.
