Nostalgia.

My brother recently dropped off a heap of my belongings that I had him store for me while I travelled Europe. Five bags and four milk crates filled with pieces of nostalgia and an orangutan (I went through a faze, don't ask). I have to wonder why I've kept most of these things. So far, I've found three diaries that I wrote in between the ages of 12 and 20, a hundred little notes that were passed around the class room, old photos, a piece of my school uniform and feathers of my pet budgie that flew away neatly put into a jewellery case (creepy, I know). I've been lugging around these pieces from my past for some time now and I'm starting to feel like sooner or later I'm going to appear on the Dr Phil show with the topic, "Is holding onto your past and pet budgie feathers ruining your life?".

I found this one diary entry written when I was 11 years old going on 12 and I still remember that day. Although I can't remember exactly what we were fighting over, probably because it would of been so petty like Kara not letting me borrow her glitter pens and Megan siding with her. What bitches. Megan, Kara and I were probably the three most bitchest girls in Primary School and we were "best friends". I cringe to remember all the nasty and pathetic things I did around that age. I would have to say though, my biggest influence back then was Megan Provost. She was the girl who taught me how to swear, how to pull the finger and how to make little girls cry. And for the record, I was not "fucking Joel just for fun". I was 11 and the idea of even holding a boys hand made me want to vomit. Her dad had every right to ground her, what parent wants to read that his little girl knows about sexual intercourse and is already using crude slang for it? But then again, her parents did allow us watch Porky's with them.

Come to think of it, perhaps I'll hang onto these pieces from the past. Looking over them makes me feel better about myself. I've come a long way from being that bratty little pre-pubescent. I'll keep lugging them around until my future husband decides to send me to Dr Phil and I'm forced to burn them all on TV. Feathers and all.

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues.

The weekend has finally arrived! And weather wise, it hasn't kicked off to a good start. Clouds and rain. Yuck. I could be all emo and say that the weather is mimicking my mood, but that's not entirely true. I'm actually feeling a lot brighter. And I plan on having a great weekend. Last night my friend Pip from England arrived along with her friend Alexa. So I plan on taking them out and showing off all my lovely friends and the bright lights of Melbourne. Two house parties, a yard sale, football grand final (ew) and no doubt a stint at Carlton Club. And also my dear friend has arrived back after living in Japan for a few months! All of these things make me happy, although I'm not a fan of football. At all. Last years Grand Final resulted in me vomiting all over myself and Marcus. It was 8pm. Lovely Jo escorted me to the bathroom to clean me up where I was yelling, with a smile on my face, "I vomited on EVERYBODY!". In my mind I was convinced I had vomited wall to wall and covered all the patrons in the pub in my calamari vomit. And I was pleased about it. Jen = class. I did feel better to learn the next day that Marcus had vomited in the cab ride home the whole way. You can only imagine how we looked when we rock up to his parents house at 8:30pm covered in each other's vomit. This year will be different. I will avoid seafood and drinking endless jugs of beer at lunch time. Yep, this weekend is going to be good.

Sorry, where was I?

I once woke up with the clearest mind. I had an Epiphany at 7:30am. My eyes opened up and then it hit me suddenly. I knew exactly what I wanted and I was going to stop everything else I was doing that was ruining my chances of getting just that. This doesn't happen often. I usually wake up tired with a hazy mind or with a million things racing through my head. And it hasn't happened again since then. I have these dreams that star everyone in my life that in some way contribute to the events that are happening all around me. People who I love and people who I never want to see again. And they're usually so vivid that when I wake up I have to try to seperate the dream from the reality. And it sucks when the dream is happier. But I guess it's better to have happy dreams than nightmares. So each morning I've been hoping to wake up with that clear, rational mind, that even though it helped me to make my decision, it also left me kinda stranded. What if what I want can not be given? What do I do then? I guess we can only hope I wake up at 7:30am with another Epiphany.

*I've been trying to remember my point to this post. I can't be sure. Fleeting thoughts that make no sense.

Delicate.

I'm now drowning in Limbo. Suffocating. Stuck in some place I really don't want to be in and no one can get me out. Well, one can. But that's too much pressure so I must suffer alone a little bit longer. But how long can one punish themselves? How many tears can be shed? When for all I know I'm doing this in vain. To be so in love but so unhappy. It doesn't seem right. I've worked so hard and have come so far from where I first started. I've grown up and realised my flaws and have figured out ways to improve them. But then it's as if suddenly I forget all of that and crumble into this emotional mess as soon as I become confused and hurt and am unable to control myself. So what am I to do? I'm feeling so delicate and confused, I probably should stay indoors. And I really shouldn't be writing blog posts. Argh, my first emotional and girly post. I could just not click 'publish post' but....I won't. But I will continue to punish myself and live in a world full of confusion and heart ache, if it means gaining something very special in the end. Be strong. And not be so lame in the next post.

Untitled.

I started writing a story the other day. I figured since these past few months have been eventful and fucked up yet also happy that I could use my own life experiences, turn it into some sort of melodramatic, adolescent novel. With a few name changes here and there of course. Lauren Conrad and Nicole Richie did it, why can't I? Turns out writing it all down was a lot harder than I imagined. It's all too fresh still and if I write it down then I'm forced to face what has actually happened. I still haven't wrapped my head around it all and the drama still lives on. The novel will have to wait. At least until I come to some sort of conclusion.

7 days until applications are due. Still nothing. Shit.

Limbo.

I'm stuck in some sort of Limbo. It's possibly the worst place to ever be in. You haven't quite reached that happiness you're fighting for but you also haven't fallen completely rock botttom. Stuck in the middle and confused as all hell. Every next move you make is crucial to which direction you'll go next. Again, it's the worst. I'm fairly certain about what I want but it takes two (in my case anyway) to really gain that happy outcome. Being a very impatient person at times, I'm getting very ancy being stuck in Limbo. If Heaven is a cool place and Hell a hot place, then what temperature is Limbo? An average of 25 degrees? Slightly cloudy with the possiblity of rain? Do I carry an umberella or not? A jacket perhaps?! Bloody hell, the confusion you find yourself in Limbo is enough to throw yourself off a bridge! Erm, well perhaps not that drastic but ya know what I mean, it's frustrating. But like all great things, they take time. Time and patience and I reckon a light cardigan will suffice.