All 19 entries tagged Journal
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April 02, 2011
Dearest, well, you,
I have been lazy, although not entirely. I have been struggling over the last six months to write. It is not exactly out of laziness. I have been working hard on my degree and reading a plethora of exciting things. I have performed poetry and enjoyed pretending I can make music too. Yet it was all recycled stuff. I'd run out of new and interesting things to say, or even uninteresting things to say in an interesting way. I was full of cliche and lacklustre language. Poetry was a struggle and for a short while (forgive me poetry), I fell out of love with it.
This spell is over however, and I endeavour to return to this little slice of the web to regurgitate rhymes.
It's all quite intimidating watching friends get banking internships and Spring Weeks and post-grad jobs, and I think part of my silence was worry that my future is looking empty. I began to think practically and logically, something that does not come naturally to me and that generally makes me feel quite sick.
Farewell practicality. You do my nerves no good.
July 09, 2010
DISCLAIMER: This is not a short story. This actually happened and I had to write it down before I forgot. Please don't think me mentally disturbed, I found it weird too.
Last night I had a dream. Now, I know this is nothing unusual, especially since I dream every night and always remember them vividily. I think this means I don't sleep well or have a nervous disposition or have a secret desire to be an elephant. Something to that effect.
Anyway. Last night was different. In my dream (which was actually this morning more than last night), I gave birth. It hurt in my dream, and it was very real. Then I had a beautiful baby boy, who I felt love for, I actually felt unbelievable, chest-shattering love. My heart swelled and crushed me from inside out. I was impossibly happy. I left university, and sat around the dinner table in my parent's home, writing lists of possible eternal damnation for the little piece of me I rocked in my arms.
May I remind you, or simply myself, this was just a dream, because even now, a weird love is bubbling in my stomach.
I toyed with Zachary for ages. It is a name I have never considered (no, I am nowhere near birth, but we've all thought about it). "Zachary, yes maybe," I'd thought, but the name didn't fit. I looked down at my boy, my diluted and yet complete, perfect genes, and knew Zachary wasn't right. Now I am awake, I think it is a marvellous name, and have added it to my own mental list (which only contained Molly and Florence for a girl and Oliver for a boy, I'm pretty picky.)
It just fit. He wore it like a comfort blanket I'd knitted with my own fingers, which I then realised, within my dream, that I couldn't knit, and that I'd have to learn. When I awoke, I genuinely swore to myself I will learn to knit before I have a child.
I don't quite remember how it all ended, fizzling into 8am. That weird moment when you try to cling on to a dream, radio static that just keeps missing the station you want, and you know morning is coming, but just one more minute please.
Yet these minutes were years, my baby was 3, and I was teaching Blake to read in a shopping centre with a massive balcony, almost like the inside of Westfields, and Mr. Luck, my A Level Geography teacher was there, and I kept trying to blink him away because he made it less real. Stupidity was slipping in, stupidity in the shape of reality as the beckoning morning taunted me, and my distressed mind tried to clutch at anything from the factual cardboard boxes of my dusty brain, in the shape of a distorted shopping centre and a much adorded teacher. But Blake was as real as ever, as momentarily real as ever, beautiful.
I woke up and cried, not knowing at first why. I went downstairs and as soon as I put the kettle on the phone rang. It was my Mum at work, telling me they needed me to come in to do some odd jobs. I actually cried for the next 15 minutes. I was trying to convince myself all day it was because I was tired and didn't want to go to work and maybe it was just hayfever...
I actually missed a baby that didn't exist, I felt like I'd lost him and I was all to blame. I am highly concerned for my own well-being and well write a story about this soon.
July 07, 2010
- Crawl into a large hole
- Crawl into that hole laden down with books
- Stay sober in that hole
- Take enough supplies to be so intoxicated I don't remember ever being in said hole.
April 28, 2010
I fear it is far too ambitous to try and write 4000 words of poetry, near enough from scratch, in about 3 weeks. However, it is marvellously self-indulgant and justifies afternoon trips to the pub for 'poetic' inspiration. Alas, my liver disagrees.
March 16, 2010
It may only be a small Warwick based arts issue, but I am having a poem published in Term 3 Week 1 in INK. It's on this blog somewhere, called Visiting the Hospital.
It's a fabulous oppurtunity, the campus is certainly in need of more arts based publications promoting new writing, poetry, prose and the general lamb stew of imagination we have steaming on the Warwick campus.
Copies are 50p, I suggest everyone buys one to support our creative community as well as encouraging other such publications on campus.
(Also, I'm going to be in it, so of course you should buy a copy!)
March 07, 2010
A true friend stabs you in the front...
well that one felt like I was made to kneel with a bag over my head whilst you plunged a dagger into my kidneys.
February 27, 2010
I am itching to write this one poem that has haunted me for weeks. It's got it's claws into my shadow and I'm dragging it around with me when I shop for milk and take a shower. It's a jekyll on my back, a tumour on my soul. I shall take the scalpel and remove it before it becomes terminal.
February 23, 2010
Crunchy nut clusters
Tea with lots of sugar
Gavin and Stacey
Crosswords (the easy one, not those clever ones)
Making elaborate "CHANGE MY LIFE" plans and then only sticking to them for a day
Rearraging my room
Checking my online bank accounts in case I've accidentally been given money
And writing lists when I should be sleeping.