All work and no play makes Lucy a dull girl.

It's safe to assume that I'm pretty dull right now. With final exams for the semester just around the corner, play time will transcend into the negative realm.

"Negative" - what a fitting word! This isn't a new observation, merely a repetition, but: In the grand scheme of things, I'm quite a negative person. I am constantly doubting my ability to do anything substantial with my life, let alone do anything at all. I guess these feelings are especially prevalent around exam time... The utter frustration that I feel when I get a practice exam question wrong is, well, excruciating. I see people around me succeeding with the same questions without half the study and application I invest in my work. Truth be told, it makes me feel inadequate. Yes, I do better than just scrape through these assessment pieces. It's not the issue of passing. It's the issue of, why the hell is it taking me so much longer to learn these concepts?

Sometimes I doubt if I'm even on the right career path. Is Accountancy the right way to go? Perhaps the reason why I'm having a hard time learning these concepts is because this isn't the right vocation to me. When I left school I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, so I jumped at business because I thought I was marginally good at it at school. I always thought Journalism would be a good way to go, but I somehow convinced myself that my writing wasn't up to standard.

Hm, I think I need to get my priorities sorted.

Now I'm going to add a video which I think is really fitting to what I'm saying. No, it's not that "I must be Emo" video... It's "I quit being miserable" by YouTube's babyporridge.
Here it is:


Take care, readers!

Compiling a bucket list...

I'll be honest: I'm just a dirty, rotten idea-stealer. The concept of a "Bucket List" is one that has been around for a while. I liked the idea, so I'm writing one now.
Capisce?

Also, aren't numbered lists just so attractive? If your answer was negative, I will change your opinion in just a few short minutes.

Here goes...

1. Travel to Lichtenstein, just because I like the name of the place.
2. Learn another language. (Unfortunately, being quite proficient in Gangster is not achievement enough. )
   
3. Grow a beard. (Great for comedic value... Now the somewhat hypothetical 'stroking' of the beard when deep in thought would become a reality.)
   
4. See more live tennis.
5. Invent something revolutionary.
6. Go to Egypt and slide down the pyramids on a broken cardboard box. (It's been done on dirt hills, why not the giant ones?)
   
7. Have children. (I wasn't given these massive child-bearing hips for nothing, man!)
8. Collect classic novels from all parts of the world and build my own personal library.
   
9. Cook the perfect meal.
   
10. Live happily ever after with the man I love. (Refer to my post about male fictional characters and my warped perceptions of romantic reality. I think this will help in explaining why this item will never be crossed off my list.)

That's the list for the present. I will, no doubt, update this list over the span of my life.

To paraphrase the Umbilical Brothers, if you're gonna die, you have to die 'artistically'. If you could choose the way you kicked the bucket, how would you kick said bucket?

My choice: Impalement on the Eiffel Tower. Maybe it will be a freak sky-diving accident that puts me there. Maybe I have to scale the architectural masterpiece and lodge the tip into my stomach. In any case, it would be a cool way to go.

What do you think?

I can't say my writing has improved.

Oh be still, my beating heart.

Yeah...

So here's the run-down of today's post. This is a little snippet from that fan-fiction I wrote back in high school. It's a bit shit, but I never guaranteed anyone that any of the postings on this blog would be even industrial toilet-paper quality.

Also, note how my name is markedly different to the girl character's name in this story. 'Lucie' and 'Lucy' are soooo different, I really don't know where the comparison comes from...

Why am I showing you? I don't know, really. Run along now...


--~--
Marat was lounging in the afternoon sun on a rather uncomfortable chair in his hotel room when a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Lucie stood grinning expectantly at him when he opened the door.

'Lucie... Hi,' he said, allowing her in. She stepped into the room, turning around to face him once the door was closed with the same look on her face.

'Hello Marat.' Her face resumed the look once again.

'Uhh...' Marat started, scratching his head absent mindedly with his injured arm. 'As much as it is great to see you, I wonder why you are here?' he enquired, glancing down at the mangled clump of paper she held at her chest. 'What's that?'

Lucie thrust it into his stomach before walking back a few steps. He squinted at the blotched ink that held his thoughts from a week ago.

'Heidi found this amongst my washing,' Lucie explained.

'Oh, did she?' Marat flicked his eyes up to her face.

'Yeah,' Lucie said. There was a slight pause. 'Well, what do you think?' she asked impatiently.

Marat said nothing, instead concentrating on paper.

'Marat...' Lucie said warningly. 'Do you intend on answering me soon?'

'Are you sure -' He started.

'YES! Of course I'm sure,' Lucie interrupted, thinking she knew what the question was.

'No, no... I was going to ask you whether you're sure my writing looks like that,' he said. Lucie's face lost all emotion.

'What do you mean?'

'Oh, I mean -' Marat tried to keep a straight face, but then became immersed in a fit of laughter. Lucie shot him a dirty look. 'I'm sorry, that was too funny.'

'You won't be laughing if you do that again. I will rip your stitches out,' Lucie said threateningly looking down at his side. 'How are the stitches going?'

Marat lifted up his shirt to show her. 'Sore,' he said truthfully.

' -And your arm?'

'Also sore, but I'll survive,' he replied. 'Just wait a second, I'll be back,' he left the lounge room to get something from his bedroom.

Lucie sat down on the nearest chair to wait, but was standing again five seconds later as Marat carried in a bouquet of tulips and something behind his back.

'Now, since I'm a man of style -' Marat began, but Lucie cut across him.

'Pfft. Style?' she poked her tongue out.

'Gosh, you have an argument for everything,' he laughed. 'Still, since we're going on my opinion today...'

Lucie smiled sweetly.

'The giving of tulips equates to style,' Marat explained.

'What does the giving of a ring equate to then?'

'Who said I was giving you a ring?'

Lucie narrowed her eyes. 'Stitches,' she warned.

'Okay, okay,' Marat said, handing the tulips to Lucie. He proceeded to open the ring box that he had hidden behind his back and showed her the engagement band. 'The giving of a ring, in this case, equates to a proposition.'

'Which would be?' Lucie asked, still pretending to be coy, through her grin was growing bigger.

'Lucie, I'm supposed to be asking the questions,' he said and cleared his throat. 'Lucie Mediva, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?'

Lucie tried to laugh, but instead a tear seeped down her cheek.

'Going back on this idea of your opinion as the only one that matters today,' she began, 'what would you recommend I say?'

'Well, I'm hoping you'll say ”yes”.'
--~--

- That is the end of the excerpt.

In conclusion:

My writing at 15 > Stephanie Meyer's writing.

Giving my body a sense of independence.

This is one of those rare occasions where I am inspired to write a blog, even though I'm only writing this to get away from doing other things. The inspiration has to come from somewhere I guess.

It's Friday morning. I think I woke up a great deal too early today. I'm feeling pretty damn tired, but it might just be my body complaining about a lack of caffeine in it. I haven't had any coffee for a few days, and my sugar consumption is at an all-time low.

You see, I've made a deal with myself that I'll cut out the crap and actually start eating decently. My body isn't liking the lack of sugar at all. In fact, it's telling my brain that I should be perpetually cranky at the world without a justifiable reason. My face shall remain fixed in a snarl until my body stops acting like a petulant child and accepts that it must not become friends with sugar again. Sure, sugar's a bit of a laugh, but he's not long-term relationship material. --- Perhaps, sugar can come around to visit on rare occasions though?
Body: 'Okay, deal. I still hate you Lucy.'
Lucy: 'Wait, are you not part of me now? Since when has self-loathing ever led to anything constructive?'
Body: 'No, I've detached myself from you. We're totally separate now.'
Lucy: '... Okay, if that works for you then.'
Body: 'Oh, it does.'
...

Internal battles are just fun, aren't they?



Anyway, I've wasted enough time trying to compose this failure of a post.

I'll sign off with the universally-known truth:

I don't need sugar; I'm already sweet enough without it.