My day today:
Period: WAKE UP, ASSHOLE, YOU GOT CRAMPS.
Period: How bout an entire chocolate cake for breakfast?
Period: How's that back pain? Feeling better? Let's fix that.
Period: Find a cookie as big as a house and eat it.
Period: Where's your Tic Tac box filled with paracetamol?
Period: Got things to do? Don't care. Sleep.
Period: For dinner you're eating an entire 12 pack bag of crisps.
Period: Breeze blows by. Instantly horny.
Period: You didn't like those brand new pair of panties, right?
Period: Yell at a puppy.
Wednesday, 24 October 2012
Tuesday, 16 October 2012
"I had the most amazing sex dream with Giancarlo Esposito last night. It all happened because I watched the new episode of Revolution. I just want him to man handle & be rough with me. Dude. That shit is hot. Why is he so hot? Dude had his shirt off in this episode… I just want him."
The e-mails I get from Adam are almost always sex related. Think he has a problem. Heh.
Thursday, 11 October 2012
Sliding Doors
Have you ever had one of those moments where something is just relevant to how you're feeling, a situation in your life, or even just your personality?
I watched 'Sliding Doors' last night.
Relevant to my life in that I feel like I am living two separate lives: one happy and one sad.
Maybe there is some truth to star-signs and all that jazz? It is said that a Gemini lives two lives at that same time that coincide with each other at random points. Same girl, different decisions.
The story goes a little something like this:
Both halves of the Gemini get fired.
One misses the train home, gets mugged, her boyfriend cheers her up, she works part time jobs as a sandwich delivery guy to support her boyfriend's novel-writing-career, gets pregnant, discovers her boyfriend is cheating on her and as she runs away she falls down a flight of stairs and ends up losing the baby.
At the same time...
The other half catches the train, meets a handsome stranger, discovers her boyfriend is cheating on her and leaves him, builds up a PR company, dates the handsome stranger and becomes pregnant but shortly after telling the stranger the good news she is ran over by a car and loses the baby.
In the hospital, the first half survives but the second half dies.
The cheating boyfriend is elated and the handsome stranger is heartbroken.
Their lives merge into one again.
The Gemini, in her hospital bed, tells her cheating boyfriend to leave. She is then discharged and takes an elevator to the ground floor where she meets the handsome stranger.
I watched 'Sliding Doors' last night.
Relevant to my life in that I feel like I am living two separate lives: one happy and one sad.
Maybe there is some truth to star-signs and all that jazz? It is said that a Gemini lives two lives at that same time that coincide with each other at random points. Same girl, different decisions.
The story goes a little something like this:
Both halves of the Gemini get fired.
One misses the train home, gets mugged, her boyfriend cheers her up, she works part time jobs as a sandwich delivery guy to support her boyfriend's novel-writing-career, gets pregnant, discovers her boyfriend is cheating on her and as she runs away she falls down a flight of stairs and ends up losing the baby.
At the same time...
The other half catches the train, meets a handsome stranger, discovers her boyfriend is cheating on her and leaves him, builds up a PR company, dates the handsome stranger and becomes pregnant but shortly after telling the stranger the good news she is ran over by a car and loses the baby.
In the hospital, the first half survives but the second half dies.
The cheating boyfriend is elated and the handsome stranger is heartbroken.
Their lives merge into one again.
The Gemini, in her hospital bed, tells her cheating boyfriend to leave. She is then discharged and takes an elevator to the ground floor where she meets the handsome stranger.
Monday, 8 October 2012
Final Exam by Claire Miller
Deep breath in, letting it out slowly.
"Come in."
Door opens. A young man's head pokes around the door.
"Erm...I have an appointment with Doctor Lawson...my exam..." He's so nervous; he must fear going to the doctors. I can't blame him.
"Ah, yes," I manage to smile smoothly. "You must be Anthony, am I correct?"
"Yeah. But everyone calls me Tony."
"Tony." My tongue feels too big for my mouth when I try out the abbreviation. "So you're getting out of here today, yes?"
"Yeah," Tony smiled shakily. "I can't wait to see my mum again. There's so much I need to tell her, and so much I need to catch up on. I want to tell her face to face how sorry I am, and I want to start afresh."
I swallow hard. "Right!" I clap my hands together, try to sound cheerful. "Shall we begin? We need to check you're fit and healthy before you're released. Prisons are nasty places after all." I presented a sample bottle. "First, I need a urine sample."
It gives me enough time to pull myself together. When he enters again with the bottle of dark liquid, I have pulled up my walls and mask that make me the obnoxious Doctor Lawson that people know.
"A bit on the dehydrated side," I note dryly when he hands me the sample. I hold it out ready for the nurse to take to the lab. "While we're waiting for those results..." I gestured towards the chair. The still blushing man obliged, taking a deep breath as he sat back in it. "I'm just going to run a few more tests. You don't mind needles do you?"
"No, not really."
"Good. So erm...what did you do?"
"What do you mean?"
"What do you think I meant?"
"Oh. Right. Erm...possession with intent to deal drugs."
I frowned. "What type?"
"Anything really. Started off as just a bit of weed, then coke...eventually spiralled out of control; was taking heroin twice a day. I was caught dealing weed in an attempt to make enough money to continue my habit." He sighed regretfully. "I caused my mum so much grief."
"I'm sure she understands you're sorry."
"Still, I need to tell her face to face. It's not the same on the phone." I hesitated, the wire in my hand hovering just above his skin. "Is...something the matter, Doctor?"
I steeled myself and stuck the needle in, securing it with a plaster. "Nothing," I told him, forcing a quick smile. "So, ah, how old are you?"
"24. Got banged up in here at 16. I'm surprised I'm actually coming out."
"Yeah, most Class B drug dealers get 14 years."
The lad's face fell. "Erm...I wasn't completely honest with you..."
I know. "What do you mean?"
"I...ah... I accidentally killed someone. A girl at my school." I feigned surprise, waited for him to continue. "The reason we got caught - me and some lads - when we were doing the deal...because someone brought a knife..." I watched him swallow thickly. "Gabby had fancied me for ages," he laughed. "She knew I was taking drugs, and was trying to make me go get help. I'd told her I don't know how many times to just piss off and leave me alone. I was so horrible to her, yet she still stuck by me, tried to help me. She must've known I was in trouble, so she found me that night, and..." He didn't need to finish.
My eyes travelled the length of the wire to where it was connected to a cold metal machine. I shook myself out of my trance. "Okay, let's get this show on the road." How sick.
"How long will this take?"
"Not long. Then you're free to go and explain yourself."
The wide grin made his eyes sparkle and my mask slip slightly. I took the remote in my sweaty palm without another word I pressed the button. The shock on his face before he slumped over his lap was understandable - he hadn't expected that.
My name is Doctor Paul Lawson, and I am a merciful executioner. And the ironic thing is I deserve to be in that chair, head lolled forward, since I am just as much of a murderer as the people I kill.
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
10 Honest Thoughts On Being Loved By A Skinny Boy
1.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says ‘No, you are beautiful.’
I wonder why I cannot be both.
He kisses me
hard.
2.
My college theater professor once told me
that despite my talent,
I would never be cast as a romantic lead.
We do plays that involve singing animals
and children with the ability to fly,
but apparently no one
has enough willing suspension of disbelief
to go with anyone loving a fat girl.
I daydream regularly
about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn.
3.
On the mornings I do not feel pretty,
while he is still asleep,
I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive,
for a punchline,
for other girls’ phone numbers.
4.
When we hold hands in public,
I wonder if he notices the looks —
like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk;
if he notices that my hands are now made of rope.
5.
Dear Cosmo: Fuck you.
I will not take sex tips from you
on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.
6.
He tells me he loves me with the lights on.
7.
I can cup his hip bone in my hand,
feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all.
He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful.
Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves.
8.
The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop
assumes we are just friends
and flirts over the counter.
I spend the next two weeks
mentally replacing myself with her
in all of our photographs.
When I admit this to him
we spend the evening taking new photos together.
He will not let me delete a single one of them.
9.
The phrase “Big girls need love too” can die in a fire.
Fucking me does not require an asterisk.
Loving me is not a fetish.
Finding me beautiful is not a novelty.
I am not a fucking novelty.
10.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says, ‘No. You are so much more’,
and kisses me
hard.
— by Rachel Wiley
Instead of sleeping, i'm sharing poems that I find interesting with no-one in particular
"Ten honest thoughts on being loved by a skinny boy" has got to be one of the most gutsiest pieces of literature I have ever read. It's almost Post Secrets-y. Hats off to Miss Wiley for publishing this to the world.
My favourite part of this poem is: "Fucking me does not require an asterisk, loving me is not a fetish, finding me beautiful is a novelty."
Monday, 1 October 2012
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