You've got me all mixed up inside,
These thoughts keep entering my mind,
I know these struggles all too well,
Guess I'm just one to kiss and tell
-Back Ted N-Ted, "The Mirror"
So. I did something stupid the other day.
If you’ve read this closely, or maybe even at all, you might have tried to guess but I haven’t done what you think. That would be more stupid. The other ironic thing would be that not even someone that read my blog would have thought of what I was thinking of then at all. Anyways.
A while ago, I went through an odd stage where I thought I was in love and around four months later, meaning now, I reached the point where I decided I’d tell my friends, or maybe just one of them, because it’s what teenage girls do. I’m not the sort of person that tells my friends everything I feel, just everything but this.
The situation it came out wasn’t really ideal, my friend and I were in a crowded place outside the canteen when she exclaimed, “Oh my God, it’s -insertnamehere-!”.
Her sister, Jemima, two years younger than us, had no idea what was going on but was passing and yelled, "-insertnamehere-!"
Rosie looked at me and her eyes lit up a little. "Wait, I know who -insertnamehere- is! Omigosh, what happened?!"
And then various more complex rumours began to circulate round the group of about ten of us, like gossip does. It's the kind I'd never been the subject of before, and I probably should have known it would happen. It was an experiment, and I didn't like it much. Lucky, none of them will have an oppurtunity to tell -insertnamehere-.
Now things are a mess. Over the last two days, it's developed and no-one understands, several people are mad at me because they feel like I owe them some kind of explanation for things that aren't to do with them. But I know how they feel.
I didn't think I'd feel like this. I thought I'd maybe just tell my best friend, who I should tell if anyone, and have time and space to explain it thoroughly and maybe cry a little and I'd feel better. That's not how it worked out. Suddenly everyone thinks things are a lot bigger than they area. My friendship group is dealing with bulimia and light sexual harrassment at the moment; it seemed like the time to tell someone my big thing. Now people think I'm pregnant and all sorts of things.
That's the only time I'll involve myself with teenagegirlytype behavior. I've learnt my lesson now, and I definitely won't use song lyrics to talk about my feelings because it's super-lame. There won't be blog posts like this again. Or situations I hope.
Goodnight xx
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
Friday, 24 September 2010
multiple personality disorder: a strange kind
If ever you read something on the internet, maybe somewhere like wordpress or livejournal, some forums, possibly even fanfiction.net, vaguely dark or sexual or violent that's written by someone named Beth Barrow, it's probably mine. Let me explain.
I first combined the internet and writing when I was younger and for around a year, I frequented fanfiction.net. Stupidly, around this time I thought it was a good idea to talk to my parents about the stuff I wrote and I didn't realise there'd be times when I didn't want them to read things. Although it's unlikely, I know people can Google me now and occasionally find things, and that is bad, sometimes, so I'm doing what everyone on the NaNo forums seems to do; I want a pen name.
When I was a child, every time my friend and I went on a day out with our mums, I would demand that we change our names for the day. I was the sort of child that liked to imagine things, to make everyday situations more like something else - there was a phase when I was about seven where I would call my coat my cloak, for two years of primary school I kept a diary of things that were just absolute lies, signing it at the end of every entry with the name Lyra. I can't remember all the names I'd had over the years, but I recall being Marina one time we went to a farm, demanding my friend Charlotte name herself Aqua. If we went to Cadbury's World, my name was Lola for the day. I was Laura, then later Melanie, after a phase I went through where I was a fan of a girl band called All Angel's, who I later realised were very Christian based. Aged eight, I once went camping and made friends with a girl who spent a whole two days believing I was named Lulu.
We all told lies when we were children. Mine were just less purposeful.
The idea of a pen name or maybe, for now at least, seems like a good idea. I won't tell you what it's going to be because that would ruin the pen name idea. Soon, I will start to write things which will appear on the blog and they will be kept under my real name, which although I'm pretty sure nobody reads this, I don't want to take any chances. If I make an account on a website I've never been to before, under a username or pseudonym, or what they actually call them, I can be free to write about anything I feel like. It doesn't matter if I say stupid things, or mess up. It's not like it's me, anyway.
I feel tired today. I have to go to the same food festival twice this weekend. A few days ago I sat down to write a blog, then realised a lot of blood was exiting my foot. That's all I have to say right now.
Lizzie
I first combined the internet and writing when I was younger and for around a year, I frequented fanfiction.net. Stupidly, around this time I thought it was a good idea to talk to my parents about the stuff I wrote and I didn't realise there'd be times when I didn't want them to read things. Although it's unlikely, I know people can Google me now and occasionally find things, and that is bad, sometimes, so I'm doing what everyone on the NaNo forums seems to do; I want a pen name.
When I was a child, every time my friend and I went on a day out with our mums, I would demand that we change our names for the day. I was the sort of child that liked to imagine things, to make everyday situations more like something else - there was a phase when I was about seven where I would call my coat my cloak, for two years of primary school I kept a diary of things that were just absolute lies, signing it at the end of every entry with the name Lyra. I can't remember all the names I'd had over the years, but I recall being Marina one time we went to a farm, demanding my friend Charlotte name herself Aqua. If we went to Cadbury's World, my name was Lola for the day. I was Laura, then later Melanie, after a phase I went through where I was a fan of a girl band called All Angel's, who I later realised were very Christian based. Aged eight, I once went camping and made friends with a girl who spent a whole two days believing I was named Lulu.
We all told lies when we were children. Mine were just less purposeful.
The idea of a pen name or maybe, for now at least, seems like a good idea. I won't tell you what it's going to be because that would ruin the pen name idea. Soon, I will start to write things which will appear on the blog and they will be kept under my real name, which although I'm pretty sure nobody reads this, I don't want to take any chances. If I make an account on a website I've never been to before, under a username or pseudonym, or what they actually call them, I can be free to write about anything I feel like. It doesn't matter if I say stupid things, or mess up. It's not like it's me, anyway.
I feel tired today. I have to go to the same food festival twice this weekend. A few days ago I sat down to write a blog, then realised a lot of blood was exiting my foot. That's all I have to say right now.
Lizzie
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
When Things Go Wrong: a letter to my 20 year old self
Dear Lizzie,
Is that still your name anymore? So far I've been a Beth, an Elizabeth, a Lizzie and recently I've been thinking of becoming a Beth again, when I leave school and appear somewhere where I can change my name because people don't know me, but it's easier to become something else when you're five, and there aren't twitter accounts or organ donor cards or email addresses.
I have so many things to ask you.
Do you have a job? I'm guessing you're maybe still at university in the last year, but it depends how long you're doing what it takes to do whatever you've decided to do. That was a mouthful, even though I typed it.
I feel oddly sheepish writing to you, because you're a grown woman and clearly, I am not. I don't completley like the taste of coffee yet, I still worry about things like my hair for longer than I will have to when I'm you, and I've not done half the awesome things that I hope we're going to.
I'm scared to think too much about what you do. It's because I honestly don't know how things are going to turn out - I think I'm not naive enough to believe I'll ever be a writer, not in the way that people like Neil Gaiman are, because right now I don't have the concentration, and spend time worrying about the future, I think, amoungst other things.
Are there really complex iPhones now, and do you have one? That would be awesome. Do you not get spots any more? What colour is your duvet sheet? Where do you live? Are you in contact with all your extended family, cousins and stuffs? Is anyone dead that's alive now, did any of your friends from school marry and have children? 20's young, I know, but it happens.
According to a mock Wikipedia page I wrote about by 32 year old self (a rainy day), by 2018 Guitar Heroes or whatever it'll be called should be pretty succesful, and you should have left university and living in London, in a flat with Poppy for a while, with maybe a cat, drinking a lot of Costa and on the brink of being published and wonderful, a novel that's yet to exist or be thought about much. Something in my mind says that somewhere, this is being read by a scruffy, overweight budding accountant/Tesco employee, blushing in a bedsit, but I have no idea what I can achieve. Something in the middle, at least.
I'm publishing this to my blog which no-one reads, so I don't want to use names, but there's someone who's only a small part in your life right now who you (I should say I) think about a lot and won't be involved with until you're/I'm/we're at least thirty, according to the Wikipedia page, but it felt like something I should mention. I'm sure it won't happen. He is far away and unlikely. Still, an important chapter of the stuff I think about right now.
Are you still in contact with any friends from school? Poppy, I hope, and Becky and Emily Rhodes. Maybe Kathryn. Possibly even Alison, I don't know why. Emily-Marie will make an effort. Of the others, I'm doubtful. I hope that high school won't seem as big a deal as it does now to you.
There should be something to summarize, because I need to go to bed now, but as usual, there's no point for me to make. I'm talking about things I don't understand, but please do something useful, or that I'd want. I'll remember what I was like now then, when I'm you. Remember all of the things I thought I wanted to do, and the Wikipedia page of hopefullnes.
I have to wake up at 06:30 tomorrow, to finish my Media Studies homework.
Lizzie
Is that still your name anymore? So far I've been a Beth, an Elizabeth, a Lizzie and recently I've been thinking of becoming a Beth again, when I leave school and appear somewhere where I can change my name because people don't know me, but it's easier to become something else when you're five, and there aren't twitter accounts or organ donor cards or email addresses.
I have so many things to ask you.
Do you have a job? I'm guessing you're maybe still at university in the last year, but it depends how long you're doing what it takes to do whatever you've decided to do. That was a mouthful, even though I typed it.
I feel oddly sheepish writing to you, because you're a grown woman and clearly, I am not. I don't completley like the taste of coffee yet, I still worry about things like my hair for longer than I will have to when I'm you, and I've not done half the awesome things that I hope we're going to.
I'm scared to think too much about what you do. It's because I honestly don't know how things are going to turn out - I think I'm not naive enough to believe I'll ever be a writer, not in the way that people like Neil Gaiman are, because right now I don't have the concentration, and spend time worrying about the future, I think, amoungst other things.
Are there really complex iPhones now, and do you have one? That would be awesome. Do you not get spots any more? What colour is your duvet sheet? Where do you live? Are you in contact with all your extended family, cousins and stuffs? Is anyone dead that's alive now, did any of your friends from school marry and have children? 20's young, I know, but it happens.
According to a mock Wikipedia page I wrote about by 32 year old self (a rainy day), by 2018 Guitar Heroes or whatever it'll be called should be pretty succesful, and you should have left university and living in London, in a flat with Poppy for a while, with maybe a cat, drinking a lot of Costa and on the brink of being published and wonderful, a novel that's yet to exist or be thought about much. Something in my mind says that somewhere, this is being read by a scruffy, overweight budding accountant/Tesco employee, blushing in a bedsit, but I have no idea what I can achieve. Something in the middle, at least.
I'm publishing this to my blog which no-one reads, so I don't want to use names, but there's someone who's only a small part in your life right now who you (I should say I) think about a lot and won't be involved with until you're/I'm/we're at least thirty, according to the Wikipedia page, but it felt like something I should mention. I'm sure it won't happen. He is far away and unlikely. Still, an important chapter of the stuff I think about right now.
Are you still in contact with any friends from school? Poppy, I hope, and Becky and Emily Rhodes. Maybe Kathryn. Possibly even Alison, I don't know why. Emily-Marie will make an effort. Of the others, I'm doubtful. I hope that high school won't seem as big a deal as it does now to you.
There should be something to summarize, because I need to go to bed now, but as usual, there's no point for me to make. I'm talking about things I don't understand, but please do something useful, or that I'd want. I'll remember what I was like now then, when I'm you. Remember all of the things I thought I wanted to do, and the Wikipedia page of hopefullnes.
I have to wake up at 06:30 tomorrow, to finish my Media Studies homework.
Lizzie
Thursday, 9 September 2010
I eat to fill the time, not my stomach. + a purpose?
I started reading a book today, whilst I was in the bath. It's called The Blue Eyed Boy and sort of lit-fic/psychological thriller-y, about serial killers and music and the internet and blogging and I like it a lot, partly because it made me think that if I end up writing novels When I Grow Up then it's the sort of thing I want to write. It's by Joanne Harris, who wrote another book I love called The Lollipop Shoes.
When I decided to get out of the bath, I sat up too quickly and gasped, though more in my head, because of the sudden pain that had manifested in the right of my stomach. I couldn't move for a while and felt a bit panicky, then found a towel and hobbled to my room and googled the symptoms of appendicitus (sp?) which it seems I don't have.
One of the symptoms of appendicitis I found was loss of appetite, which I semi ticked because I realised that the piece of chocolate I was eating didn't taste good at all, and tasted in my mouth slightly like cardboard. Then I thought about food for a while, and it made me think about how much I actually eat.
I started to write that about two and a half hours ago, then left it when I went downstairs and ate dinner. I fell asleep flat out in front of How I Met Your Mother, and woke up as the credits rolled, slightly confused.
When I came upstairs, I brushed my teeth and hair, came back to my computer and read one of my friends' tumblr blog for a while, which is about music and I'd say his musical taste is in the top five of people I know (if we're counting internet peoples?)
That's not The Point. The Point is that my blog has no purpose at all, I just have too much to say and nowhere to say it.
Really, that's all I have to say. I've run out. But what I think I'm trying to say is, expect things more interesting, or enlightening, or fun, or worthful (worthful = a word?) in the future. I'll try to come up with something. I always do.
But now, I'm going to sleep, maybe for a few days if nothing interrupts me. um... watch this space?
When I decided to get out of the bath, I sat up too quickly and gasped, though more in my head, because of the sudden pain that had manifested in the right of my stomach. I couldn't move for a while and felt a bit panicky, then found a towel and hobbled to my room and googled the symptoms of appendicitus (sp?) which it seems I don't have.
One of the symptoms of appendicitis I found was loss of appetite, which I semi ticked because I realised that the piece of chocolate I was eating didn't taste good at all, and tasted in my mouth slightly like cardboard. Then I thought about food for a while, and it made me think about how much I actually eat.
I started to write that about two and a half hours ago, then left it when I went downstairs and ate dinner. I fell asleep flat out in front of How I Met Your Mother, and woke up as the credits rolled, slightly confused.
When I came upstairs, I brushed my teeth and hair, came back to my computer and read one of my friends' tumblr blog for a while, which is about music and I'd say his musical taste is in the top five of people I know (if we're counting internet peoples?)
That's not The Point. The Point is that my blog has no purpose at all, I just have too much to say and nowhere to say it.
Really, that's all I have to say. I've run out. But what I think I'm trying to say is, expect things more interesting, or enlightening, or fun, or worthful (worthful = a word?) in the future. I'll try to come up with something. I always do.
But now, I'm going to sleep, maybe for a few days if nothing interrupts me. um... watch this space?
Monday, 30 August 2010
The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo - movie review
Every year I go on holiday with my parents, the resorts we stay at have a selection of the same kind of people. By the pool, of course, they read, and they all read the same things - my parents included. There's the same few editions of airport bought FHM magazines, copies of She and Elle and things, and always several of the same paperback novel that can be found on Waterstones chart shelf a few weeks before. This year, it was Stieg Larsson's The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.
Done with my novels and short story complimations (oh my god. Noctures by Kazuo Ishiguro. let's get on to that later), I had nothing to read on the journey home. On the 5 hour flight, I couldn't sleep and read most of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.
The first novel of the Millenium trilogy is pretty brilliant. It is violence, mystery, sex, Sweden, feminism, love. It's also a 'who-dunnit' novel, which for once I did work out part of the answer to, but there's a second huge twist at the end. One of the main things I loved about The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is that characters came alive in my mind, particularly Lisbeth Salander who I've talked about here before, and Mikael Blomkvist.
Last night, I watched the movie.
I wasn't expecting to love it and for it to be perfect, because that's never happened to me with a book's adaptation (Push/Precious is an exception). But there was a lot that annoyed me about The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.
I watched the movie with my mother, and it was avaliable in Swedish with subtitles or English and dubbed , which we argued over and ended up watching dubbed - she won.
Lisbeth was good, but the first thing I said was, "Mikael Blomkvist is all wrong". I'm not that sure how I pictured him in my head whilst I was reading the novel - I didn't have an idea for a while until I read a magazine that said George Clooney was considered for the part in the US movie adaptation, which suddenly seemed to fit. Not only did the slightly dead-eyed actor look nothing like I imagined Blomkvist, but the script failed to convey his personality, which despite being a hard-ass professional fianancial journalist/detective/crime fighter there was fun in. One of the things that was imporant to Blomkvist and Salander's relationship, and made Mikael a little more likeable, was the Elvis music mentioned, and the present Lisbeth buys for him at the end, which I think would have translated well to the screen.
Not only was Mikael's affair with Erika Berger, a huge plotpoint throughout all three books, pretty much unexplained and ignored, but Erika looked all wrong. In the version I'm casting in my head, she'd be played by Jaime Murray or perhaps Sarah Parish, and definitely would not be blonde or look like my exchange partner's mother. I started out not liking Erika but by the end of the second book, although small she was firmly in the place of my favourite character.
There were a few other issues. Martin Vanger wasn't slimy CEO-ish enough, he was old and fat and suspicious. Harriet shouldn't have been blonde. Miriam Wu, though we only saw her a second, was just right, though.
Aside from all that, most of the movie was spot on. The scenery - Hedeby Island and Stockholm were how I imagined, but not the Millenium offices.
I liked ranting about the movie here. More later on.
Lizzie
Done with my novels and short story complimations (oh my god. Noctures by Kazuo Ishiguro. let's get on to that later), I had nothing to read on the journey home. On the 5 hour flight, I couldn't sleep and read most of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.
The first novel of the Millenium trilogy is pretty brilliant. It is violence, mystery, sex, Sweden, feminism, love. It's also a 'who-dunnit' novel, which for once I did work out part of the answer to, but there's a second huge twist at the end. One of the main things I loved about The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is that characters came alive in my mind, particularly Lisbeth Salander who I've talked about here before, and Mikael Blomkvist.
Last night, I watched the movie.
I wasn't expecting to love it and for it to be perfect, because that's never happened to me with a book's adaptation (Push/Precious is an exception). But there was a lot that annoyed me about The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.
I watched the movie with my mother, and it was avaliable in Swedish with subtitles or English and dubbed , which we argued over and ended up watching dubbed - she won.
Lisbeth was good, but the first thing I said was, "Mikael Blomkvist is all wrong". I'm not that sure how I pictured him in my head whilst I was reading the novel - I didn't have an idea for a while until I read a magazine that said George Clooney was considered for the part in the US movie adaptation, which suddenly seemed to fit. Not only did the slightly dead-eyed actor look nothing like I imagined Blomkvist, but the script failed to convey his personality, which despite being a hard-ass professional fianancial journalist/detective/crime fighter there was fun in. One of the things that was imporant to Blomkvist and Salander's relationship, and made Mikael a little more likeable, was the Elvis music mentioned, and the present Lisbeth buys for him at the end, which I think would have translated well to the screen.
Not only was Mikael's affair with Erika Berger, a huge plotpoint throughout all three books, pretty much unexplained and ignored, but Erika looked all wrong. In the version I'm casting in my head, she'd be played by Jaime Murray or perhaps Sarah Parish, and definitely would not be blonde or look like my exchange partner's mother. I started out not liking Erika but by the end of the second book, although small she was firmly in the place of my favourite character.
There were a few other issues. Martin Vanger wasn't slimy CEO-ish enough, he was old and fat and suspicious. Harriet shouldn't have been blonde. Miriam Wu, though we only saw her a second, was just right, though.
Aside from all that, most of the movie was spot on. The scenery - Hedeby Island and Stockholm were how I imagined, but not the Millenium offices.
I liked ranting about the movie here. More later on.
Lizzie
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Having heroes, Lisbeth Salander and Who We All Really Are
I am the sort of person that has a lot of heroes.
Maybe it's a bad thing, or not. I think in some way pretty much all humans get inspired or influenced by other humans, usually not the ones around us but those far away. I always have a few, sometimes they change or stick arounnd a long while. I can name them from the top of my head, and most people that know me would probably say the same. Imogen Heap. Neil Gaiman. Amanda Palmer, Kina Grannis, Chris Corner.
Most of them are to do with music, oddly there's only one writer, but what these have in common I think is creativity and freedom. And travel a lot and have a lot of people that love them and care about what they think, and that at the moment is what I want the most, and I hope that I want that pretty much forever, and maybe even achieve it.
There are real people too. My best friend, because she is one of the most strong willed people I know, and can teach herself to do things like drink coffee or run a long way. Another of my friends, perhaps the most beautiful person I know for real and also most intelligent, who I envied for a while before I got comfrier with myself - that sounded tacky. My three online friends, who I'm collabowriting with, because each of them are geniuses.
I had a severe case of hero-influence when I was around 12/13, which was the time I was obsessed with the show Britannia High. There was a girl in it named Lola, who was bright and ditzy a dancer and unrealistically dumb, and for some reason I idolised her completley. I started buying yellow clothes. I acted stupid, on purpose. It was ridiculous.
A few months after that, and a little overlapping, came Stacie Monroe, who is still one of my favourite fictional characters of all-time; a sultry, sarcastic, independant rather kick-ass female con-artist in a group of testosterone fuelled males. The TV show she was in was called Hustle, and you should watch it because it is genius.
Recently, my father gave me a book called The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo - big deal at the moment, I'm sure you've heard of it - and told me to read it because the female heroine was excellent. It's true, I'm halfway through and it is pretty brilliant, Lisbeth Salander (violent, intelligent yet deemed socially incompetent bisexual computer hacker) is wonderful and inspiring, and one of those characters that you feel crackling off the page. Yes, the book make me want to buy a Netbook. But she didn't make my list of people that are wonderful, partly because she isn't real and partly because I don't really have it anymore.
The point I was trying to make here was that I don't think I do this anymore, which is good. Yes, "heroes" influence me because they prove to me that I'm not going to be an accountant. That there's a point in writing down the things that happen in my head, that I can dress how I want to, that "music is worthless unless it can make a complete stranger break down and cry", and that there's people that maybe feel the same as me and if I ever get there, we will all be friends and have picnics in Berlin.
cats.
Lizzie
Maybe it's a bad thing, or not. I think in some way pretty much all humans get inspired or influenced by other humans, usually not the ones around us but those far away. I always have a few, sometimes they change or stick arounnd a long while. I can name them from the top of my head, and most people that know me would probably say the same. Imogen Heap. Neil Gaiman. Amanda Palmer, Kina Grannis, Chris Corner.
Most of them are to do with music, oddly there's only one writer, but what these have in common I think is creativity and freedom. And travel a lot and have a lot of people that love them and care about what they think, and that at the moment is what I want the most, and I hope that I want that pretty much forever, and maybe even achieve it.
There are real people too. My best friend, because she is one of the most strong willed people I know, and can teach herself to do things like drink coffee or run a long way. Another of my friends, perhaps the most beautiful person I know for real and also most intelligent, who I envied for a while before I got comfrier with myself - that sounded tacky. My three online friends, who I'm collabowriting with, because each of them are geniuses.
I had a severe case of hero-influence when I was around 12/13, which was the time I was obsessed with the show Britannia High. There was a girl in it named Lola, who was bright and ditzy a dancer and unrealistically dumb, and for some reason I idolised her completley. I started buying yellow clothes. I acted stupid, on purpose. It was ridiculous.
A few months after that, and a little overlapping, came Stacie Monroe, who is still one of my favourite fictional characters of all-time; a sultry, sarcastic, independant rather kick-ass female con-artist in a group of testosterone fuelled males. The TV show she was in was called Hustle, and you should watch it because it is genius.
Recently, my father gave me a book called The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo - big deal at the moment, I'm sure you've heard of it - and told me to read it because the female heroine was excellent. It's true, I'm halfway through and it is pretty brilliant, Lisbeth Salander (violent, intelligent yet deemed socially incompetent bisexual computer hacker) is wonderful and inspiring, and one of those characters that you feel crackling off the page. Yes, the book make me want to buy a Netbook. But she didn't make my list of people that are wonderful, partly because she isn't real and partly because I don't really have it anymore.
The point I was trying to make here was that I don't think I do this anymore, which is good. Yes, "heroes" influence me because they prove to me that I'm not going to be an accountant. That there's a point in writing down the things that happen in my head, that I can dress how I want to, that "music is worthless unless it can make a complete stranger break down and cry", and that there's people that maybe feel the same as me and if I ever get there, we will all be friends and have picnics in Berlin.
cats.
Lizzie
Sunday, 15 August 2010
Love, and sandwiches (turkey breast, light mayonaise and cucumber on toasted hearty Italian, please)
One of the hundreds of things that annoys me about people my age (and there's lots, I'll write a list of them one day) is the way they use the world "love". Two of my friends are in relationships, as of recently, both with people they only met about a week before they started going out and already, apparently, they are in love. They all are.
Within hours, second only to changing their Facebook relationship status, it's screamed over their walls, latched onto their MSN name and at the end of every text. And yes, I'm inexperienced and my opinions are supported only by music and semi-famous people I don't know for real, but clearly they don't actually love this person? It's hard for me to understand how someone that's been in a relationship for an afternoon can believe they love someone, that they matter to them as much as their parents and siblings, and very close friends.
Recently, I battled inside my head with the feelings I had with someone and whether it was being in love. And I remembered an internet forum discussion about a similar thing, and someone saying something like "True love is like believeing you can find all your happiness in one person". And I thought, where is all my happiness? The answer was in writing, in hope that I'll do something useful one day and people will need me for something, and that I know on November 5th this year my best friend and I will go to London and see Imogen Heap.
The question came down to, would I rather the Imogen Heap tickets or a relationship with *insertnamehere*. I honestly had no idea. And that made me realise that if I had really been in love, it would be no contest.
That's what they all need to do.
Another thing that occured to me is that one of the main things I don't like about myself is that I don't really care what a stranger that stumbles on my blog thinks about me, but I care a lot what people at my school do. Recently, twice, I blurted out things I wished I could tell my friends about to two of my email penpals, both who live in America. Neither have replied yet.
Yesterday, I went to see a movie with my friends. I got the bus too early and had some time to kill, so got myself a Costa iced tea and a sandwich from Subway. Walking to the cinema with my sandwich, I saw some people I know, girls from my school that would be cheerleaders if we were American, and felt a sudden urge to hide my sandwich fast.
Why? I want to kick myself now. I care way too much what people think of me. I'm only painfully shy around people my own age that aren't my friends. Did I feel like I was a loser then because of my sandwich, or because I wasn't wearing half as much make-up then, or because I was alone?
I'm going to go now. But I'll come back soon, sooner than I did last time, with some more naked thinking and pointless theories about the world.
If you actually read this, I love you. (just realised that was really ironic). G'night.
Lizzie
Within hours, second only to changing their Facebook relationship status, it's screamed over their walls, latched onto their MSN name and at the end of every text. And yes, I'm inexperienced and my opinions are supported only by music and semi-famous people I don't know for real, but clearly they don't actually love this person? It's hard for me to understand how someone that's been in a relationship for an afternoon can believe they love someone, that they matter to them as much as their parents and siblings, and very close friends.
Recently, I battled inside my head with the feelings I had with someone and whether it was being in love. And I remembered an internet forum discussion about a similar thing, and someone saying something like "True love is like believeing you can find all your happiness in one person". And I thought, where is all my happiness? The answer was in writing, in hope that I'll do something useful one day and people will need me for something, and that I know on November 5th this year my best friend and I will go to London and see Imogen Heap.
The question came down to, would I rather the Imogen Heap tickets or a relationship with *insertnamehere*. I honestly had no idea. And that made me realise that if I had really been in love, it would be no contest.
That's what they all need to do.
Another thing that occured to me is that one of the main things I don't like about myself is that I don't really care what a stranger that stumbles on my blog thinks about me, but I care a lot what people at my school do. Recently, twice, I blurted out things I wished I could tell my friends about to two of my email penpals, both who live in America. Neither have replied yet.
Yesterday, I went to see a movie with my friends. I got the bus too early and had some time to kill, so got myself a Costa iced tea and a sandwich from Subway. Walking to the cinema with my sandwich, I saw some people I know, girls from my school that would be cheerleaders if we were American, and felt a sudden urge to hide my sandwich fast.
Why? I want to kick myself now. I care way too much what people think of me. I'm only painfully shy around people my own age that aren't my friends. Did I feel like I was a loser then because of my sandwich, or because I wasn't wearing half as much make-up then, or because I was alone?
I'm going to go now. But I'll come back soon, sooner than I did last time, with some more naked thinking and pointless theories about the world.
If you actually read this, I love you. (just realised that was really ironic). G'night.
Lizzie
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