Posts tagged my life.
today i woke up late, spoke to my mommy and daddy, cleaned my room, ate some granola, went for dinner with some of my favourite people, cheeky drink, lovely chat, then came home to watch downton abbey, and now i’m listening to classical music, in a clean, warm room, with scented candles, and a storm outside, and now i’m going to drink some peppermint tea, and read chuck palahniuk’s new book, and everything is just lovely on sundays.
i want to go to america. i want to go on an adventure. i want to travel the world and live in tiny grimy flats with floral curtains and look after stray cats and learn to drive a beat up little banger and be confused by different sides of the road. i want my passport to be the most valuable thing i own. i want to work temp jobs in bars in scandinavia and speak a handful of languages and read every book i can get my hands on. i want to teach and speak and swim in different oceans. i want to write stories. i want my memories to be a treasure trove and i want to meet a million people and love them and know them. i want to ask awkward questions and i want to struggle and fight and cry and sometimes feel so lonely it’s oppressive but i’m on the other side of the world and it doesn’t matter. i want to do things i never would’ve dared to do when i was 12. i want to make a life that would surprise little, miserable me. i want to avenge that sad little girl and give her something worth living for, prove that it’s a good thing she didn’t end it then. i want to surprise myself. that’s it. that’s the crux of it. i want to surprise myself. i want to admire myself. i want to fall in love with my own life.
going through my old, old photobucket from when i was fifteen is making me realise how much i miss drawing. i’m gonna buy some pencils tomorrow.
They will consider paying me quite a lot of money to work as an assistant manager in a store of my choosing throughout my postgraduate studies.
A place of work that will hire a part-time postgrad.
Sweet baby Jesus.
My aim is to include chapters that will draw on cultural, literary, theoretical, sociological, and psychological approaches to how fathers are represented in popular culture texts in North America and elsewhere. Contributors will query the role of the father in terms of patriarchy, masculinity, sexuality, maternity, and (post)feminism, critically assessing the ways that late-twentieth and early-twenty-first century paternal identities, conflicts, and desires are registered in popular culture, and how they impact, revise, reinforce, and or challenge our conceptions, expectations, and experiences of the modern family.
Supernatural, the North American monster-of-the-week horror show broadcast by CW since 2005, has gained a cult following through its brother protagonists and their battles with demons, both figurative and literal. The driving narrative is the absence of father figures - from Sam and Dean’s father John, to God, the Father, as the show traverses into theological territory in later seasons. In comparing the two primary examples of negligent patriarchal figures - John Winchester, and God - I will demonstrate the numerous parallels between the two storylines, as the show illustrates the ways in which Christian theology has shaped the role of the Father in Western media, and how this role is defined by written texts and documents. Both John and God are prefigured by and defined by texts - John’s journal of monsters exists on screen before the figure of John, as the estranged Sam and Dean are reunited, using the journal to uncover the mystery of their Father’s disappearance. In the same vein the disappearence of God, and the ensuing celestial battle, is represented through prophecy in the form of a series of in-show meta-fictional pulp novels written by prophet and popular author Chuck. The power of the written, documented word is emphasised by Chuck’s role as prophet, then as the Father, as he is later suggested to be the missing God figure. AND SO ON AND SO FORTH.
HOW DOES THIS CHALLENGE OR REINFORCE CULTURAL CONCEPTS OF MODERN FAMILIES?
i feel like my flatmate claims the living room. all i want to do is come home from work and chill out and he’s always playing videogames or dnd with a bunch of people, and i can’t do anything, i can’t watch telly, my only option is to either watch him do stuff or just go to my room, and i’m paying too much fucking money to not be able to use my own living room EVER.
i can’t wait to leave this house, but at the same time i don’t want to leave at all. this is such a small, safe space. i live with my flatmate and my boyfriend. and the idea of my boyfriend leaving horrifies me. he’s moving to london to start his career while i finish my degree, but the idea of staying in uni for a year without him is terrifying. who will i love? who will love me? who will look after me? who will make sure i eat and sleep and go to the doctors? who will phone nhs direct when i can’t move my neck in the morning, or make me tea when i’m sending production emails? who will kiss me and calm me down when i’m having an anxiety attack? i don’t think i can look after myself very well. i’m so frightened of being on my own.
i’m so worried my family hate me, or won’t forgive me for being so distant. i struggle calling them and keeping in contact because i don’t want to worry them with how down i am all the time. but then i get more down for feeling like such a shitty daughter/sister/granddaughter. i miss my family so much. i miss the smell of my house. i miss coming downstairs to find my sister watching tv at 7am having not slept. i miss sneaking out for a cigarette, heart pounding in case i’m caught. i miss the warm glow of my nanny and farvey’s house. i miss my nanny’s laugh and my farvey’s stories. i miss my dad’s soft voice. i miss my mum’s hugs. i miss my life. i miss my home. i miss going to mcdonalds with my family on a friday, for fuck’s sake. watching films together. i am so fed up. i haven’t been home for six months and it’s killing me.
i’m annoyed by my job. i don’t want to do shift runner training. i want my red shirt back. i want to go into work and spend 8 hours on a till, monotonous and safe and familiar and soul-destroying and then go home. i don’t like change, i don’t like making mistakes, i don’t want to be in a superior position to my friends, i never wanted to climb the hierarchy, but i desperately need the pay increase.
i’m not intelligent enough to get the grades on my course i want. i get the occasional first, but i’m paying too much money not to graduate with a first overall. i hate it.
i hate that i’m unfit, my body’s bulgy, my roots are showing, i’m getting spots, my diet’s poor, my money’s running out, and i don’t really feel like i have that many friends. i feel unsociable, and broken, and miserable, and just utterly down.
If you’re into Mumford and Sons-esque folksy happy stuff, listen to this song by my two future housemates and one of their brothers, and see clips from my university town in the video. If there’s anything guaranteed to make you fall in love with Falmouth and Penryn, it’s this. This is going to be the song I listen to when I cry myself to sleep with nostalgia when I finally have to leave. It makes me in love with my life here. And in the background of the poi spinners you can see the KFC I work for!
just took my earphones out only to see my flatmate prancing around shouting ‘i’m not just the god of madness, i’m the god of rituals!’
sitting in on dnd games is strangely comforting
We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.
So my dad’s “we’re keeping Darren Criss in the attic” joke has reached its conclusion today. He went up to the attic and we heard struggling and things falling over and he made some “get off me, this is against my human rights!” noises and he came into the living room as though he had something cupped in his hands (DC short jokes ftw). Then he gave imaginary Darren to me and I set him free, and he kept pretending to heard him back when he tried to run away, then he pretended to step on him.
I DONT LIKE THIS JOKE WHERE DID THIS COME FROM!?
I asked them to make up a different ending where he went home safely (cos I’m a massive child) and my sister said that tiny Chris Colfer clung to the back of a car like in Toy Story and saved his one true love. Then they hitched a ride back to America where they make tiny, tiny Glee.
my family <3
A 72, the highest mark I’ve ever had on an essay :D …Unfortunately, it was a formative essay, and thus doesn’t contribute to my overall grade, but regardless it brought me a realisation: essays are like dough - you should never overwork them.
Every time I spend hours labouring over each individual word, agonising over each paragraph, bashing myself over the head with tomes of critical theory, I always get lower marks. Every time I just sit down and write in one go, one fell swoop, an outpouring of ideas, I get high marks. Every time I squish together mounds of critical theorists, I get second classes and criticism. Every time I go off the wall and come up with my own interpretations, ideas, and arguments, I pass high.
In other words, the best way for me to write is just to relax. To do my research for a week, then just sit down in one night and write it all out in one go. Don’t think too much, don’t let anxiety eat me up - just pour it all out onto the page.
Today I’m sending off applications for an internship, a council seat, and an officer position, and Tuesday morning I start training for work! Life is nice. Might go to the local bookshop tonight for an international literature spoken word evening. Woooo.
yesterday i had a soul destroying seminar on waiting for godot, a wonderful postmodern presentation by a friend on the same topic, and a rather badass lecture on victorian art and architecture. i sat in the library with my buddy and talked about sylvia plath and ted hughes, and had pictures taken for a prospectus. then i waved my friend off at the station, and went shopping with my boy. there is no satisfaction greater than full freezer, fridge, and cupboard. honestly, the joy of knowing tons of fresh, delicious food awaits you is immeasurable. my boy boiled sushi rice, which is now wrapped in the fridge waiting for tonight’s sushi-fest! and i made us couscous, nacho burgers and salad, which was awesome, and he got ben and jerry’s oh my apple pie for ONE POUND FUCKING FIFTY because it’s being discontinued. such a bittersweet feeling. so we ate delicious food and the finest icecream while watching zombieland, and then we snuggled, and this morning i had pate and green tea for breakfast, now i’m going to have a hot shower and head to a university challenge audition, and then after i’m hitting up either a christmas festival in truro or a book release party in falmouth.
SO MANY THINGS TO DO. SO MUCH JOY. LIFE IS BLOOMING WITH HAPPINESS.
tomorrow i have to pick up my marked essays and exam transcripts, which makes me feel a bit queasy, but they will provide tons of feedback to make the essays due next month the finest essays i’ve ever written. honestly, i am going to work my ass off. i’m going to get a first. and if i don’t i’m gonna kill everyone i know.
And I have to figure out whether I want to write about the use of the colour ‘white’ in Joyce’s Portrait and how it’s infused with his political and cultural beliefs, or masculinity and homosociality in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. DECISIONS, DECISIONS.
But first I’m gonna shower, tidy my room, and buy a massive bottle of cola.
VIVA LA REVOLUTION!
Or I could do ivory in HoD. Or eyes in Joyce. There are really just too many options.