why...

Why do all the little things seem so important? Why are they the things you want or worry about most? Why are they the things you snap about? Why is saying sorry afterwards so hard? Why is it hearing the 'it's okay' after the sorry so important?


Why do I overanalyse?

rabbit bag

It's so cute.

I'm flying away to Perth on Thursday night so I can go and sleep on my cousin's floor. He's turning 21 and I promised I'd be there. So come rain, hail or viral illness I will be there for his birthday shindig on Saturday. Aren't I fantastic?

new post

It's been a while since I've bothered blogging. A lot has probably happened since I last posted something, but chances are that if you're reading this you'll already know that. The most significant occurrence as of late would be that I am now employed. Unfortunately, whilst employment comes with many benefits (the most obvious being money) it also poses many dilemmas on which I must deliberate. I am currently torn, as most people who suddenly find themselves with an income are, about what to do with it - whether to save it sensibly, or recklessly spend it. If you have any advice about whether or not to be financially responsible (or even what I should spend it on (within reason)) please say so.

Also, whilst on the topic of finances, I found this interesting method of storing financial documents.

'The jars hanging from the ceiling in the showroom ... are filled with their old financial statements.'

credit: The Selby

devastate me

This was an entry in the 2008 PNAN Youth Arts Festival, a competition of sorts which centres around drugs and alcohol.

I'm not sure why I like it so much. In fact I'm not sure if I do at all. But it managed to completely captivate me.

blah blah blah

'sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me.'

If you've spent any time in some sort of school system, you will know just how inaccurate this little mantra is. As children we are all fed the same phrase, essentially teaching us to pretend that the mean words and people aren't there. But as you get older, the verbal sticks and stones grow more accurate and often more painful - and less forgivable as a result. Today I discovered the true extent of just how hurtful and frightening words can be. Of course this wasn't surprising, but it was distressing nonetheless.

fixed gear

Some people have too much time on their hands. click.

My problem is I haven't got enough, but I act as if I do.

snippets

At the moment, I am enamoured of short stories. Something about their succinct nature, and novel approach to plot is incredibly satisfying. This current fascination is, unsurprisingly, the product of my literature studies. Over the course of the semester I have been introduce to two anthologies of short stories: Dubliners by James Joyce and after the quake by Haruki Murakami (although, I suppose the names are reversed in Japan). However, this morning I stumbled across a grim little tale by Saki called Sredni Vashtar.

Read it. Let me know what you think.