Word Thief.

I need to find some. I think I know what's going to happen. But I need to think on it.

Also, to make my plan for the year stick I've set aside a few pages in the moleskine. It's only got a few headings and note here and there. So whatever's there, it has to be added to, and then stick to it. I dunno. It'll be longitudinal and I'll scan it in. Maybe monthly?

I don't think I've ever been this frustrated in my life.

I've always been hideously lazy, but this term I am really taking the piss. Not only have I constantly left all my work til the last minute, I have been so inactive in making my own life go anyway. 

I think the problem boils down to the procrastinating nature in me: if I put something off, I feel I will never have to do it. Right now, I've been looking at my bedroom for the past 2 weeks, wondering when I will tidy it. I always have some pathetic excuse for why I am not doing something: I have to clean the dishes. I have to read this book. I have to watch this entire series of shitty american tv. I have to learn how to sort myself out. 

I promise that in the new year, I will make my life go somewhere. I don't have the foggiest what I want to do in life. I know I want to live in Paris for a while, and I know I want to work in fashion photography, but it feels as though I am merely setting myself up for inevitable failure. I have an excuse for why I won't allow myself to reach for anything as well: by setting myself up for failure, I am never disappointed. Not in people, myself, or any situation at hand. I think this mentality shocks some of those I live with, and now I'm shocking myself. When did I become so defeatist? When did I feel so bloody old? I'm nineteen, for god's sake.

I am unattached, with no desire for a boyfriend (in that sense, I am incredibly lucky. I just do not want anyone in my life, because now is the time for me to try to be selfish). I have no job (I fear, anyway). I have 12 hours of university a week, and I can't even make that. I am inherently lazy (relatively speaking, I'm not. I have a job when I have been able to have one. I do not fanny about the place doing fuck all throughout the summer like some of my friends did). All in all, I should have a lot going for me.

I think I need to get out of England. It's my only option. To drop out of university, to get a job, learn to dance, grow plants, and live. I am not living right now. This half state I am in, when a night with American TV is what I look forward to, it not living. I have this life. I should use it. I should ignore my family (right?) and concentrate on living. No, concentrate on Being. I am a human, but I am not being. And there is no sense in that. I am doing the term a disservice. I am an embarrassment to myself. I shall change. I promise. 

I think I shall now call this The Lighthouse Effect. First, a brief explanation on the aforementioned "this".

The "this" is the feelings you get when you hear, smell, think or recall something in conversation. But for me, "this" is that overwhelming sensation that the world is stopping as you're remembering a specific moment in life, in a past life (not all that Karma past life, but a life you once had a few years ago when you were a different person). And this "This" (capitalisation seems to work better) is so completely painful and awful and bittersweet and tainted with a terrible nostalgia. 

The Lighthouse Effect comes from the fact the most vivid "This" is when I sort of noticed the pattern of the Effect happening, when I was listening to The Lighthouse by Interpol. And everything for me stopped. (I swear to God if they play that when I see them with Von Matterhorn I will cry and he will tell me to man up). 

But yes. I've been having that. I wish I had the sense like Nobuyoshi to take photographs of everything. Because some of those moments are completely and utterly beautiful (I'm sure they could be recreated to become some stunning footage) and I feel annoyed that they wont ever happen again. It's like mourning a memory (is that even possible? Is it even normal?). 

I am an awful person with too many issues with too simple a thing.

I was last weighed before the end of May. And then I got weighed 3 months later, and magically 4kg has appeared on me. I shall not stand for this. Cue food diary. 

I have a friend that was asking me about love today. And it got me thinking, a lot.

I know nothing of love. I am one of those people who can talk and talk but honestly, I have no idea what’s going on. He was being very ambiguous (yet passionate), and it made me realise, I have potentially missed out on the greatest part of being young. I have a year and 26 days until my youth is behind me (at least my teen years) and I have never, I do not think, been in love. And here is why I think that.

There have only ever been 2 great infatuations, shall we call them, in my life. One was a very good friend of mine, and it went on for about 3 or so years, where not much happened and I was something ridiculous like 14. In hindsight, it was simply a very long crush. The second infatuation, was the (only) boyfriend. It was a 9 month rollercoaster of complete lies and bollocks and what I thought at the time was love. Contemplating my cynicism, I’ve begun to wonder whether I can ever or will ever be able to call anything from my past Love.

The sad truth of the world is that all relationships must end. They can end because someone moved, someone changed, someone lied or someone died, but they still end. Only, if they end on bad terms, I begin to think negatively about them, so to as make myself “get over it”. And once that happens, the whole thing gets disregarded as pathetic, and the feelings ans “not real”, so that as time goes by, I begin to regard the whole thing as a farce and a little bit terrible. And all the while I am truly convinced that I am making my own destiny, and that I am choosing how to feel about everything and that I am coming out on top.

Except, I can’t know if that’s true. By reclassifying what feelings are to me, I am forgetting what I can call an honest, beautiful moment and turning into a lie. And as time goes by, the lie grows, and the relationship is more worse and more poetic as everyday goes by, and then I don’t know if I was ever in love, because those situations were lies, and the relationships were lies, and Love Cannot Be A Lie.

Maybe controlling your own destiny isn’t what it’s about. Maybe Love really is throwing yourself at the mercy of someone else’s mind and emotions and exposing yourself to the elements.

My God, I feel like Hamlet.

Life is strange. Okay, I know I don't get any awards for saying that, cause let's face it, we all know life is strange, but it really feels it right now. Today has been a day of waking up late and feeling funny (odd funny, not ha ha funny). I've just been thinking back to the not so long ago past and re-evaluating where I stand (some people would call this reminiscing but I think otherwise. It's self evaluation, and I think it's good for you - or me at least).

I've come to realise that I'm losing friends all over again, but this time I'm beyond giving a shit. The loss of Mr Third Party was always going to affect a really close knit friendship group, and I lost a lot of friends through that (it feels like yesterday, but it was two years ago, mad or what?). I'm still debating whether they could ever have been classed as friends. Are they meant to leave so suddenly after something goes wrong? But I'm straying from the point. I lost about 20 people I could talk to and hang out with in the space of 6 months. That sucked.

Now, I'm still losing people. And this time I like to think it's not all my fault. There is only so much you can try to be kind and loving to a person for them to continually humiliate and embarrass and belittle you. And now that I haven't spoken to them in a fair while, I don't miss them. I feel awful for admitting it, but I do not miss them. I am happier without them. I don't have the dread that the next time I see them it will be bloody awful and I'm just waiting to be the butt of some joke or insult they can say just to look great in front of everyone. There's only so much crap you can take from a person, no matter how much you love them and how long you've known them and how often they've been there for you. Cause they always find a way to turn it around for a new joke.

Fuck this shit. I am my own person. I can stay away from them. I can take time off.

I think I need to learn to fall in love with life again. I'm finding it so hard.