digging a hole, but the walls are caving in, behind me

[The Fear You Won't Fall - Joshua Radin]

Once upon a time, there was a girl. She had been told, ever since she had been a very little girl, that she would find Prince Charming one day.

And so she sat in her little world, and dreamed long dreams of love and fairytale happiness; a world of pumpkin coaches, white weddings, sunlit kisses and a Prince who loved her more than anything in the world.

But the years went by, and Prince Charming showed no sign of making a dramatic entrance.

She even stopped dreaming about him.

Tired of waiting, the girl forgot about Prince Charming for a while, turning her attention instead to Two-faced Tom. She tried to make him into Prince Charming – and he was, for a while. But he soon got bored of being her good and sweet and kind Prince, and turned right back into the Two-faced Tom he really was, and the girl had her heart broken.

She wandered, lost and lonely and forgotten, till Clueless Colin found her. She thought she could love him as he seemed to love her, but after months of confusing herself (and him, poor chap), she woke up one morning and realised that she couldn’t.

And that lying, cheating and pretending were the ways of Two-faced Tom, not hers.

The next night, she dreamt of Prince Charming. But not the perfect Prince Charming of her naive, youthful dreams.

She wasn’t a little girl any more, you see.

But she knew now that while perfect Prince Charming was only in her storybooks, convincing herself to settle down for anything less than what she wanted was wrong.

She only wanted what she wanted. And that was what she dreamed of.

Because after all, if we stop dreaming of what we want, how will we ever know it when it finds its way to us?

the days before all faded to black and white

I miss the days when we used to live with each other, drive each other crazy, laugh at everything and nothing, make more noise than everyone else wherever we were.

I miss the days we were quiet, the arguments, the endless coffee-drinking and food-eating, shopping trips to cheap stores.

I miss when we bitched and gossiped for hours on the phone.

I miss eating maggi loaded with cheese and watching endless re-runs of Friends.

I miss having dogs around.

I miss sleepovers where somebody always fell asleep before we got through the first movie.

I miss our collective hating/loving of various men.

I miss planning surprise birthday parties, making last minute changes to plans, fighting over where to go, who to call, what to wear.

Nobody knows all that you know about me, the good, the bad, the petty, the lonely, the disgustingly detailed, the cunningly concealed, the awfully alliterative and still, gives me as much as you do.

my gift is my song and this one’s for you

[Your Song - Elton John]

Another weekend gone, another week approaching. I’m ridiculously behind on my reading but ha, when one has lots of work to do, one must blog. It’s one of those rules for procrastination that I seem to live by.

I thought I’d have lots to say, but I don’t, unfortunately.

I’m momentarily happy. And that’s the best kind, isn’t it? :)

he never ever saw it coming at all

[from Hero, by Regina Spektor]

So I’ve decided that using lines from songs I happen to be listening to as titles for blog posts that I’m writing could be borderline copyright infringement, so I shall acknowledge them from now on before someone slaps a fee on me.

I’m so TIRED of this constant ‘penduluming’ between two extremes that I’ve been doing. One day I wake up thinking yay, I know what (and who) I want. Then it goes blank and I’m sitting around confused and convinced I’m totally and utterly alone and will stay that way forever. What, what, what is wrong with me?

Isn’t it possible to know, just to know without a single doubt that this is where you want to be, this is whom you want with you, this is exactly what you pictured for yourself? Must everything always be a question of settling for something that just happens to be there? That happenstance is the only absolute?

Ugh.

Where have all the heroes gone?

Sidenote: I googled ‘hero’ for images and what did I find? Superhero costumes and figurines, guitars and stupid fucking anime. This is what we consider heroism is this mundane, utterly fucked up century.

you’re a carousel, you’re a wishing well

I feel unaccountably happy every time I listen to this song (‘Everything’ by Michael Buble).

Friday afternoon. Tomorrow’s a busy day, what with one job interview and one general ‘how to make money online’ meeting. Hopefully, from the following week, I will be engaged in more than one scheme through which I will finance my laptop. At twenty years of age, I’ve begun to feel more and more guilty at having to spend my parents’ money on things that have nothing to do with them.

And here’s an abstraction:

Now and then, between those frisson-laded phases of madness and obsession and fixation upon one object, one person outside of oneself for all the most intense sensations of happiness and sadness, you fall into a languorous exploration of things that have nothing (and yet, everything) to do with your immediate emotions. The kind of sanguine contentment that you feel, in this period, feels more relatively valuable to your life than any previously longed for and experienced intensity.

Spending long, lazy days filled with reading and conversation, lunches and dinners with friends who are long past superficial concerns of politesse, conversations to nowhere on the phone and advertisement-worthy evenings with family all the while knowing that your path in life (for the next year, at least) is secure: in the midst of so much, could you feel anything but happy and content, as if nothing could be lacking?