[update for no good reason]

I'll be going to Rome next week.
Ermagherd I'm so exciteeed! It's gonna be, like, taw-tally awesooome ~
Ok let's cut the crap.
Anyways I'm happy to go there again, it's a fascinating city. Been there three times already and I found new fun places every time. Cool stuff.
I'm thinking of buying something at the Hard Rock Cafe this time but I'm not sure because I don't really collect that stuff, but it'd be cool anyway... I guess I'll just decide when I get there.
And thenn comes the matter of the postcards. Ugh. I should stop promising people that I'll send them a postcards from wherever I am.

And on Wednesday we're gonna have a reading of my play! Yes, my play. I wrote one, pretty short, though (4 scenes). For the Acting in English class. I hope they all like it and we'll include it in the showcase.

There's, like, nothing going on here. I have no idea what to write but I feel bad when I see that I haven't been updating lately - not that anybody cares except for me.

/P.

fuck you :) ♥

Whenever somebody annoys you:

Just smile and kill them in your head. Slowly and painfully.

I've been on a dextrose diet recently because I'm so tired. I can't fall asleep lately, no matter how I try. I hope it's not insomnia or anything.

So now I've been eating packet after packet of DextroEnergy and washing it down with coffee in the morning because I feel like I'm going to tip over any moment and fall asleep where I land.

Yeah, at least if it were like that I'd take a day off and have a good day's sleep but I've tried and it didn't work. I didn't drink any coffee, had a calming tisane instead and tried relaxing. Which resulted in me being dead tired and damn bored but no more. I just couldn't fall asleep.

So fuck you, scumbag brain, for making me grow jumpy and fidgety during class because my organizm can't handle all the sugar. Fuck you.

/P.

a friend's art

Just thought I might share this with you. God I'm jealous.

oh, please -.-

So, Mother comes home and cooks dinner. I am in the house, say hello and help her unpack the shoppping bags, then go to my room.
After 20minutes I smell something nice and come into the kitchen. Dinner is eaten and the dishes are in the dish-washer. I ask why nobody told me there was dinner on the table.
The answer, Ladies and Gentlemen: I didn't know you were home.
Really? I mean, really?

Then I see that there was chicken for dinner and ask who ate the chicken I bought this afternoon to make tomorrow for our guests.
The answer, Ladies and Gentlemen: I made it for dinner.
Okay.

Then I ask why she ate it without calling me. Note that I'm the only meateater in the house.
The answer, Ladies and Gentlemen: I thought you didn't like meat.
Oh, come on. Use some other excuse, will you? You've known me for all my life and you're trying to tell me you don't know that I like meat? Please.

People, before you make excuses, think twice who you're talking to and try to keep at least a moderate level of intelligence. Thank you.

/P.

amuse me

Is it wrong to pull off a vindictive-hurt-ex-girlfriend act à la 'i-will-find-you-in-the-happiest-moment-of-your-life-and-destroy-you-and-everyone-you-love' on an ex who seems to not understand that he is a closed chapter in my life?
Because hell, it was loads of fun saying it. I kind of kept sniggering into my spaghetti after that because it was so much fun. I hope he understands now, at least he's in shock for sure.
I get it. I'm a freak.
But on the fucking bright side, no more "I'm sorry but I'm a victim too". No more "I love you, but I'm not good enough and this Edward-Cullen-act is so convincing that I'm sure you'll forgive me". It did remind me of good old Eddie C. by the way. Too bad there's no Good Guy Jacob to the rescue. No Sir, no Ma'am.

I've become very bitter, I've noticed. Good. Makes me less liable to fall for the wrong person again. Because that's definitively not happening. Nu-uh.
And yes, you may think that I'm still not over the ex (which is the new name I've given D, just for the record) yet because I'm writing about this but I assure you, the only thing I feel for him now is... what, really? It's not compassion, but smething similar. Can't really explain it.

So, what does this mean?
It means that I'm going to continue putting up the self-confident act, which the self-ironic vanity and smiles and looking for a guy to wrap around my little finger (haha as if that would ever happen, jeez I'm going too far, I've been watching too many soaps for my own good)...
By the way, I just call it an an act for old times' sake. You know, the times of the masks and shit. Makes me sentimental, you know? Ha, as if you would.

/P.

PS: Helu, YD, heard you read this stuff. See you on Monday.

inspire me

I have been suffering of a lack of inpiration recently. All I can get to paper are depressing short stories about unrequited/irrational (isn't it always irrational anyway?) love with resulting death.
Ah, the daily problems of an aspiring writer... Yes, I have the audacity to call myself a writer. (Oh crap now I'm even starting to talk all poshy-pompous like those 'intellectual wordsmiths'.)
I like the word 'wordsmith', by the way. It gives the work of a writer a whole new meaning. I actually worked up something on that subject, though it's just a rough outline and terribly unrefined.
A writer must be mad to a certain degree to be able to write stories. He must be completely off his rocker to write good stories. Just think: How else should he/she be able to invent and also sustain so many characters and their habits and and and...?
Anyway, an exerpt from my work today, which hasn't been very satisfying:

I want to be a writer.
Why?
Because I have ideas. Loads and loads of ideas. It's like my head is just cramped with voices and happenings that are just waiting to be written down. Sometimes I think I might go mad because of them. I will go mad. Someday. Probably I'm mad already. You have to be if you want to be a writer.
You have to have the iron will of a tyrant so that you can create new worlds, empires, a new universe.
You have to have the gentle heart of a maiden to create stories of friendship and love.
You have to have the dark mind of a devil in order to create villains and evil of all kinds.
You have to have the naive thoughts of a child so you can create one utopia after the other.
Having so many characters in your head, so many ideas, so many things does make you go crazy, you know.

I want to be a writer.
Why?
Because I want to dispatch myself from reality and escape into my phantasies. What better way is there to spend your life in ignorant bliss?

And another one, just because I'm in the mood:
I make words come alive. The letters dance before your eyes and form stories.
They laugh, cry, shout, whisper... they tell you about far-away places and kings on golden thrones--- I create entire worlds.
I am a god.
My pen is my wand. I make magic happen on a mere piece of paper. My words open the door to a universe of phantasy. My phantasy. Your phantasy-
I am a writer.
My head is full of voices. They struggle to break free and when they do, they flood out of my hand in waterfalls of ink. They torment me. They keep talking to me, whispering into my ear at night. They urge me to let them out into the world.
I am a poor fool with no sleep to spare, haunted by my own creations. 


Ta-daaa.

/P.