|
|
|
|
|
[ angry <- mood ]
I'm tired of living a lie, and I don't care who knows about it.
My week has been hell. My grandfather is dying back home. I knew that when I said goodbye to him last November that I would never see him again. It's not sad that someone past their prime has to die, it's sad that he has to die miserably. His quality of life has been terrible for the last ten years and it is heartbreaking to watch a good man suffer. Good men shouldn't die miserably. They should die comfortably, happily, and much loved. Not miserably. I can't bear to phone home and ask how he is doing.
Yesterday an online acquaintance told me that he was ready to kill himself and if I could please let his family and friends know that he'd like a green funeral. I've no clue if he will attempt to kill himself, and I did my best to convince him not to go through with it. Before he logged off he wanted to tell me that, since my early days as a niche internet 'celebrity', he has always admired, respected, and envied me. I think the phrase 'look up to' even slipped in, which is a godawful thought. Who on god's green earth should ever look up to me for anything I've ever done?
What's even worse is that he confided he was envious of my relationship with Adam. I didn't feel right in telling a suicidal man that almost everything he believes about me is a lie, but I also can't deal with such heinously misplaced idolatry.
It's a lie, guys. It's all a downright fucking lie.
For god's sake.
Most of you know that Adam nearly died last year, and it was all my fault. We've been on the rocks for two years now, been through separation, been through all kinds of unimaginable hell. I asked a year ago: where does it all go from here? How do you move past it? My brilliant idea was to come back to Canada with him when he said 'I'm leaving, bye'. Because that will solve everything, right?
And here we are, 6 months later, asking the same questions: How do you get past it all?
It feels like an irreparable cut, not just some hidden stain on a carpet underneath a piece of furniture somewhere. It's extremely visible.
Yeah yeah, I wrote good entries about love and junk. I put up a good front. I'm a good little actress. I've spent so much time trying to convince myself of it all. I want everyone to be pleased with me. I want my family to not be disappointed in me, his family. Him. I want to do the 'right' thing, the 'moral' thing.
It was about this time last year that I sat in a bathtub in Kevin's bathroom and contemplated just killing myself outright while I was home alone. I'm home alone now as well, and while I'm thankfully no longer suicidal, the same questions I asked in that bathtub are popping up now: 'Who am I living for?'. Who AM I living for? 'WHAT am I living for?' A sense of duty? A need to please others? A fear of failure? Is that what I'm reducing my life to?
If you read this and feel the need to tell me I'm a special and amazing snowflake, fuck off. It's horseshit. I'd rather you just tell me what you think you'd do in my situation. Or what you think I'm doing wrong.
Anything but bullshit platitudes, please.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Who am I?
A clump of bitten fingernails. A half-truth. A dilemna.
I want to go home. I miss home. And I hate home.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[ cheerful <- mood ]
Here's my fave shot by Mac Swift of me:
Dontcha love my new chubby cheeks?
Now that I've posted a peekture: I need some help. You guys know any sites that are great for cooking and recipes? I'm looking for fancy, not so run-of-the-mill fare that I can try my hand at. Pictures are a bonus. Any type of food is fine, hell even if its vegan or vegetarian, as long as it sounds kinda awesome, I will try it!
Just getting bored with the current repertoire. I'm making chicken soup from scratch right now (Adam is sick) and the process reminded me that I need new things to try!
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
[ bouncy <- mood ]
I will post more later! Much thanks to Mac Swift for the time and effort he put into these!
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
[ accomplished <- mood ]
Today I took the plunge and worked with a new photographer. I was extremely nervous about the whole thing, mainly because I think it's a case of 'the mind willing, but the flesh is.... uh.... fleshy'. I've definitely put on weight since coming to Calgary and don't feel like the perfect piece of artist's clay right now.
The experience, however, was wonderful. I got to work with a funny, interesting, and talented photographer, and a fun and daring make-up artist. I brought a few pieces of 'wardrobe' for them to sift through, sat in my little chair and said 'just go nuts'. It was great fun; I was corsetted, had chains thrown around my neck, was sprayed until saturation with a water bottle, had more vaseline on my face than one should ever have, and I stood half naked on a stool (pretty scary considering I'm 5'7" and scared of heights... that was a lot of... height).
The whole thing has motivated me to try and get active again. Maybe my days as a face and body aren't over yet? Maybe there's still a lot more fun to be had in the picture game?
I'll post pictures once the talented Mr Mac Swift has e-mailed me a few!
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
[ restless <- mood || music -> Depeche Mode - World in my Eyes ]
I've been spending the last few weeks obsessively trawling through mounds of royalty free stock photography. I'm getting fed up with searching for 'the perfect shot' to use in my works. I need a muse, and I'm tired of being in all of my work. I'm getting old (rofl) and I'm tired of obsessing about my appearance. I just want to eat icecream and watch other girls starve themselves for the sake of 'art'.
Share your thoughts. What would you do in my position?
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
[ complacent <- mood ]
I had a great night. I hung out with, like, 13 awesome people. We ate naughty food and laughed about lactation.
I quit my guild. I had been wanting to do that for so long. I feel liberated. Like I dumped an abusive boyfriend.
I have a beautiful little girl. She's small, fuzzy, has a grey coat, and she nibbles my earlobes. I want to name her Szary. But so far the name hasn't stuck to her yet. I am amazed with how infuriating and soothing she is. And pretty much at the same time.
During the course of this short journal entry, I had to remove her twice from my keyboard.
But I love her so much.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
It's not that they imitate us, it's that we're starting to imitate them.
I've been 'working with animals' lately *chortle*. It makes a nice break from naked and decrepit figures. I sense that the change in my work comes from a change in my lifestyle. I feel healthy and at peace, it's bringing out the zen or some shit.
In other news, we bought a car. A 1990 prelude in gorgeous condition. We're been having daydreams of pimping it out and turning it into a hobby car. We both love Hondas, and the prelude is our favourite.
Right, off to molest bunnies in photoshop.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
kinetic_lair_szeretlek
Originally uploaded by zofia_szeretlek
I've been up all night, fidgeting, drinking hot chocolate, creating composites for a new piece of art, and reading feminist literature. I suppose you might say I'm a busy bee for an insomniac, but none of it is exhausting enough to help me to doze off.
Eventually I landed upon old live journal entries, in particular this one made me smile. A self-satisfied smile, but still a smile. I remember wanting nothing more than to be back amongst people who love me, even if there were only a handful of them. The alienation I felt at 25 years of ages was crushing: why am I trying so hard to fit in to places in which I jut out awkwardly? Why am I without my friends?
It is so good to see them every week now. To play games with them, eat fast food with them, scribble asinine shit on their facebook pages, go on trips with them, eat doughnuts at the farmers market with them, bum their cigarettes from them, invent exciting but insane product concepts with them, and laugh and cry with them.
I love my Calgary friends. Thanks for not judging me harshly, ridiculing me, or backstabbing me. It is good to remember what real friendship is about.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[ amused <- mood || music -> Dimmu Borgir - The Chosen Legacy ]
Well, I went and saw Dimmu Borgir at the U of C last night, and holy fuck was it awesome. Also nice to see Behemoth opening for them, though I'm not sure they bring the same level of fun and crowd interaction as Dimmu does. They are, however, a bunch of blood soaked, long-haired, muscle-clad Polish guys, and that just screams 'virile baby-making machine' to a lot of girls, I am sure.
Dimmu Borgir were amazing live, I am grateful to have seen them perform. I was absolutely blown away by how awesome Vortex sounded live. His voice was so intoxicatingly beautiful. I braved standing right next to the speakers (seriously, I'm getting too old to keep doing that) and got to be a few metres away from the guy to watch him bellow out his lyrics. Fucking awesome to watch the choir boy from hell perform, I am glad I picked that side of the hall.
I lost count of how many silly creepy faces Galder pulled at front row audience members. That's why he's so damn fun. His antics put the biggest smile on my face. When you watch him perform, you get the feeling that he's enjoying himself too much for it to be his 'job'.
Shagrath's vocals were awesome, but he gave the impression that he was exhausted. I had a profile view of him as he walked over to his water bottles and several times his face seemed to say 'god, can I get through this?'. Not that I blame him, he put on a good show and he's allowed feel overwhelmed by his work, most of us wouldn't last five seconds what he does to his vocal chords year in year out.
Also, he wore a skirt, as I'd hoped. Much fucking love.
Didn't see much of Mustis and Silenoz.
The track listing was pretty good. A dedication of 'A Succubus in Rapture' was made for the ladies, heh. The crowd, predictably, went batshit insane for 'Puritania', I could even feel myself frothing at the mouth.
All in all, I had a buttload of fun. Adam and I didn't make off with any merch though, none of it appealed. Ah well. When they return, we will be there again, that's a promise!
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
For those of you who play wow, this isn't interesting. Heck, even if you DO play it's not all that exciting, but this is my personal journal and, well, I wanted to congratulate myself on my recent job(s) well done.
I tanked Karazhan for the first time the other day! Things went relatively smoothly considering it as my first attempt at raid tanking and my fourth overall attempt at tanking at all.
I usually raid heal; I'm a flash-o-light spammin' hard ass, but one day after SSC I just decided to re-spec and give it a whirl, having amassed a small amount of 'tanking' gear that no one ever wanted and thus was defaulted to any other plate wearer. It was also nice to break out of the 'chicks only heal' stereotype.
How is tanking 10 man and 5 man content? About as stressful as healing 25 man content, so not that difficult at all. And it's extremely fun. Am I great? Hell no. Will I get better? Most probably.
I'll be broke for a while: changing from holy to protection spec once a week isn't a cheap endeavor, but I think it's worth it to explore my hybrid class and all of its possibilities.
And, I swear to god, as one of the only chicks I know who can actually 'l2pee' and challenge the awful 'girl gamer' stereotype that floats around, I am not content with mastering healing and DPS roles, I'm in the mood to prove that you can have it all: a vagina *and* teh mad skillz.
What is your main role?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[ in love <- mood ]
I've a bone to pick with the Western notion of love, the explosive gooiness of chivalric love that has been played to us over and over again like some broken record. I've got to get it off of my chest because, after all these years of being misled, I have finally discovered the truth about true love.
We've mixed ourselves a deadly cocktail in the last few decades; we've combined chivalry, love, romantic passion, and consumerist culture into the clusterfuck known as 'serial monogamy'. We've taken our intimate relationships with people and turned them into a commodity, but like a cell phone or a cocktail dress we've just got to fucking upgrade the damn thing every season. We jump into the warm liquid centre of romantic lust, dissolve our ego boundaries with another human being for 5, 6 months, perhaps even up to a year, and then when the cocaine high of looking into another person's eyes begins to lose its lustre, we get scared. Movies, poets, books and stupid bands with horrendous names tell us that this feeling should 'last' and that if it does not, we must not be in 'love', and our partner needs to be upgraded to a more 'suitable' version.
I have been guilty of this ridiculous thought process. I'm ashamed of my actions in the past two years; I thought that the increasing number of arguments between Adam and I meant that it was 'over'; surely if we're not in that constantly giddy and passionate state, there is no hope? I took 'love' to be like a 'fix'; I was addicted to a mythical drug, and when I didn't like the sobering reality that a mature and true relationship involves a 'coming down' state in which our respective individuality will become dominant, I wanted to run. The cocaine high was a lot less confrontational, much more exciting, and fully endorsed by our culture.
Nothing good came of what I did, but I am extremely thankful for the lessons it taught me. I discovered that 'falling in love' is more or less just objectifying another human being; turning someone into a piece of chocolate cake or a cigarette, and needing a 'fix' of them or else anxiety wells up. The dissolution of ego boundaries is not as good a time as we like to think. The analogy to it being like a drug is particularly salient for me; I knew somewhere, deep down, that the person I 'fell for' was not right for me, that his values differed greatly from my own, and yet I was posessive about my 'stash' and in the depths of my self-loathing I would go and inhale him. The cycle went on and on until, groggily, I snapped out of it and checked into emotional rehab.
If it sounds as though I blame anyone for my actions, let me assure you I do not. I take full responsibility for what I did. What I write here, though, is something that I hope will help anyone else struggling to find 'true love' in a series of intense and short relationships that never end well because their expectations are simply too high.
If all of this seems obvious to some of you, then you are truly lucky. I wish it had seemed so to me. I know that there are some people close to me, ahead of me in years, who still seem to be chasing that elusive high.
So what is 'true love'? Glad you asked. It's not a 'one size fits all' definition but it's a damn better solution to all the previous notions I have held.
'Love', in my mind, is the ultimate companionship. Like a cat or a dog but the cuddles are warmer, and the talking part is really delightful. Being in love with Adam is something truly spectacular. He is my best friend, my Tristan to my Isolde, my 'business partner', and my family all rolled into one. The honeymoon might be over, but now that the ego boundaries are back up, I actually feel a lot less insecure. All of my layers have come off and Adam is the only person in the world to have truly accepted all parts of me. No dizzying and lustful high can match that. From this mutual acceptance of each other, I can grow.
And it will be meaningful growth. We are not 'one'. We are not a bullshit cliche. We are two people sharing a life, hopefully a lifetime, together. There's nothing braver and tougher than that, and I aspire to it, as does he. There will be arguments, hard times, times without romance, times without naked romping.
But there will be something real.
Happy Valentine's Day to all of you. I have placed the champagne flutes and strawberries in the fridge to celebrate my epiphanies. I hope you enjoy your day with the person who really loves you.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[ music -> Depeche Mode - A question of time ]
Today I am swelling with pride in my Country, something that I have been unable to do for the longest time. I looked at the above photo and felt as though a huge burden had been lifted from those of us who, for many years, signed petitions and voiced our anger at parliament for refusing to start the reconciliation process. It is not just Indigenous Australians who can celebrate this landmark event, but also those of us who wanted to express these opinions and had our voices drowned out by an ignorant and arrogant view of history.
In my mind there have always been five very good reasons to say sorry, and I will pen them down for those who are still harboring the attitude that the PM does not 'speak for them'.
1. Saying 'sorry' in Western Culture is more than just an admission of guilt, it is a complex phrase that encompasses emotions of empathy, compassion, and unity. It is customary for us to use this word in situations where we are clearly not in any wrong; for example, when presented with the news that a person has died, the words 'I am sorry' are given to the grieving loved ones. Such a gesture is not meant to take blame, but to reach out to another human being and to acknowledge their suffering. Kevin Rudd is saying 'sorry' to an entire generation that has endured profound suffering. For us not to acknowledge this pain is small-minded and heartless, and I would not even consider myself a human being, let alone a proud Australian, if I were to ignore the suffering of the stolen generation.
2. Saying 'sorry' is the first step needed for reconcilation in this country. From reconciliation, Indigenous Australia and white Australia can collectively move forward and forge new relations, new enterprise, and new goals. An acknowledgment of past hurts is critical to stopping the current ones: the obliteration of over 6,000 Aboriginal languages and other cultural artefacts can be addressed and hopefully halted, perhaps even reversed! Education on BOTH sides of Australian society will improve; white Australian children will truly understand the darker side of Australian history, something that we cannot hide from them any longer. Saying 'sorry' marks the beginning of the mending of race relations in this country, and with the world climate the way it stands, there couldn't be a better time for us to light up a beacon of hope and march it into the damn ground for all others to see.
3. You cannot have your cake AND eat it, too; saying sorry is the grown-up way of taking the good with the bad. A lot of Australians are all too enthusiastic to enjoy the victories and achievements of others Australians from generations past and present. Mentions of ANZAC day, Aussies winning Oscars, or local sporting stars making it big on the international scene have people foaming at the mouth about how great we are as a nation, despite most of us not being in the slightest bit a contributor to these great achievements. And when the wrongs of our past come under the microscope, and our dirty laundry is finally aired out for all the world to see, people are quick to mouth off about not having anything to do these wrongs. Saying 'sorry' allows you to take pride in being Australian without being a hypocrite, embrace this gesture, as it propels us forward, not backward.
4. Saying 'sorry' will positively raise our profile across the globe, and after the 11 Howard years, a fresh profile is sorely needed; if Australians truly believe themselves to be harbingers of human rights and peace in the Asia Pacific region, then the time has come for us all to step up to the plate and deliver. As an example, in the past decade there has been a growing resentment toward Japan for its refusal to acknowledge the conduct of Japanese soldiers during the second world war. It is extremely disappointing to see self-righteous and moralistic diatribe about Japan's conduct coming from the mouths of people who refuse to say 'sorry'. What was done to the descendants of white Australians is no more awful than what amounts to two centuries of genocide in our own backyard. If you want to smugly admonish the Japanese for refusing to print the truth in their high school text books, the time has come for this nation then to say 'sorry'.
5. Saying 'sorry' will make it difficult for the actions of the past to be repeated. How can we acknowledge someone's pain and then wilfilly inflict it on them once more? The Federal governments of past have tacitly watched as church institutions and state governments constructed policies and enviroments that would 'breed out' the Indigenous 'problem'. Saying 'sorry' is a cause to proudly step up to; no longer will we be tacit in the genocide of our fellow Australians.
I cannot force anyone to 'feel' sorry, nor to say it, but I can give them good reasons to do so. It started when I was in High school and the petition came my way: I argued with friends about the merits of the gesture, even though my opinion made me 'uncool'. We're moving away from pauline Hanson-esque ignorance and perhaps some of their minds have changed in the 11 or so years we've been seperated. I hope that wherever they are, they at least feel something about this important day.
My apologies for the wall-of-text and the lengthiness of my post at 5:30AM, this is an issue that has finally become resolved for me and though I no longer call Australia 'home' I can rest easy knowing that some things might finally change.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
ETA: ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) zastrazzi is like my sex shop superman! He flew over after work and delivered me a bottle of Black Beauty latex polish just so that the festivities could go on! We also hung out a bit and were sociable, despite Adam enjoying his raid and paying us little to no attention. Ah, WoW committments! It would be funny to call me an 'Everquest Wife' except that I'm just as addicted and would probably sell my own child for another month's playtime.
I guess the moral of this story is, don't ask me to babysit.
It's a monday night, foks. What are you going to do tonight while I'm sliding down the stairwell in rubber?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
It's -30 degrees out. I walked downtown with Adam to visit a sex shop that DIDN'T HAVE ANY LATEX POLISH OMFG. So Adam risked his ears falling off for nothing (I had earmuffs, I'm clever, you see)
Needless to say, I am hugely pissed off.
If any of my Calgary friends:
a) Have some latex shine I could use on my catsuit, I would appreciate it immensely. We were going to take hawt pix tonight in the stairwell before my scheduled ten arena games in WoW (yeah, I'm a 'tard, bite me) and now we have to call it all off!
b) Know a decent sex shop that is well stocked and would be willing to take me out for a small excursion then... uh.... pretty please?
That is all. GRRRRR.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
[ music -> VAST - Take me with you ]
Well, Adam seems to be of the opinion that we'll have hosting in the next few days. Perhaps this is the motivation I need to actually rework my website. *gasp*. Not to mention clean up the backlog od other work-related tasks...
In vanity news, I am rocking shiny, long, jet black hair and I love it. It matches everything in my wardrobe, as a matter of fact, it is so shiny that I will need to dust off my latex catsuit and grab some rubber shine to cavort around and show off how 'dark and spooky' I've become. Oooh!
Also, it seems I will be in Prague in a few month's time, hopefully taking pictures of cemetaries and trying to get by with a handful of czech phrases.
God I can't wait to get lost in a European city.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
