Careless Whisper, George Michael. Alternatively, watch the cover by Rufus Wainwright and Ben Folds, and watch out for incredible harmonising at about 3 minutes. "We could have been so good together, we could have made this last forever, but noooooooo one's gonna dance with meeee"... Musical orgasm.
Hatter's told me to write about something that makes me happy - I want to, I honestly do, and I will do it, but there's something I need to get off my chest first.
Remember the one I messed up with a few days ago? Well, if I killed whatever there obviously wasn't before then it's safe to assume I kicked the grave nice and hard today. There's no point going into great detail, but apart from anything else, the saying "don't fuck with the irredeemable" [okay, I just made that up, but there's probably something like that] has finally been knocked into my stupid, stupid brain, because I'm evidently incapable of not meddling in everything I shouldn't be. And I mean that in most ways you can interpret it.
I woke up at 6, ready to throw up all over the place and, in the hours between going back to bed for 5 minutes and waking up again realising I'd missed school, I had the first proper, vivid dream I'd had in such a long time. It was... weirdly refreshing. It was nice, too. I dreamed that I found an enormous paper scroll, like that tapestry of that battle... What's it called? I just remember the picture of the soldier, probably of enormous significance, with an arrow in his eye. Yeah. It was like that in shape, but much longer, and rolled up and given to me as a present, and there was a variety of different places sewn into it, just really lovely fantasy places, and I transported myself into the scroll and just hung around in them. It was so nice.
I just said to mum, "Dreamland is so much more pleasant than reality". She argues that reality is more interesting. I can deal with boring, just take me to a place where everything I touch doesn't turn to shit. That's what I'm afraid is going to happen, in the future; it annoys me so much that I don't know where I'm going, or what I'm going to do. Mum pointed me to psalm 119, verse 105: "Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path." I don't know where I'll end up, but maybe I don't need to know, she said, largely in response to my ranting about the bastard lit essay in for tomorrow, and my frustrated realisation that, in the grand scheme of things, my essay doesn't matter. In 10 years, 20 years, however long it takes for me to establish my own life, I'm not going to think back to the time I analysed the ways in which Virginia Woolf presents gender inequality in A Room Of One's Own. It's boring, whatever I write will have been done before, any new ideas I come up with are inevitably old, it's pointless. Mum was basically saying that, no, it's not important in the long run, but for today it's a stepping stone - "Your word is a lamp for my feet", - even if I can't see any further than where I'm going to put my feet next, it's still a step in the right direction [I trust, seen as it's a writing task and that's ultimately what I want to do with my life], and so it's a good thing - right? Right. And so I finish off this post and try not to cry over the time I could have used to complete the damn essay. Admiring the view is all well and good, but if you never put one foot in front of the other, you can't expect to get anywhere. I think that's what I've been doing too much of lately. Waiting for someone to come along and give me a piggyback to where I need to be, when I need to learn to walk alone.
Listen to as much Rufus Wainwright as you possibly can. I've got Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk on repeat right now. And his cover of Hallelujah is the best. He's made of velvet.
Quote of the Day: He's not the Messiah, he's a very naughty boy! [Life of Brian]
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