Somone's Been Bitten By The Jealousy Bug..

Oh woe is me.

Here I am, on a Sunday morning, tucked away in bed with a heavy warm blanket and my Mac, while my throat swells, my limbs ache and my nose gets snifflier by the second. There's really not a lot I can do, especially from my bedroom with the kitchen being a good eight steps away. I might google some cold and flu remedies a little later. Honey and lemon tea, anyone? Or just pop some pills? That could work too.

But instead of trying to make myself well again, I lie here, sick and possibly contagious, and dig myself a grave, more or less. I dont know why I do it. I know it's only going to make me jealous and envious, and angry- especially now that I'm ill. But it has this magnetic pull and I just have to.

I'm viewing someone's blog. Her name is Chiara Ferragni, and she has quite possibly the most perfect life any being on this Earth could ever have to call their own.

First of all, she lives in Italy- Milan to be exact. She's twenty-three, she's a student and a popular fashion blogger. I'm also assuming she's a model, although nowhere on her blog does it say so.

She is tall with a slender and slim body. She has sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. And she's got freckles. I've always wanted freckles!

Also, she has an Italian boyfriend- who, by the looks of it, is also a photographer.

And to make the pain just that little bit more unbearable, this girl has the most amazing clothes I have seen in my life.

I dont know where she gets them from. Maybe because she's a fashion blogger she get's them free or something. Maybe she has connections. Maybe she models them. Or, maybe she's just a fucking millionaire and I can just add that onto the long list of reasons I have to hate this woman.

Okay, I dont really hate her. I just want to be her. And lying in my bed with an angry cold and a blocked nose doesn't make being me anymore enticing.

But seriously, take a look at some of her pictures and then tell me honestly you dont feel the same..

www.theblondesalad.com until I manage to get some photos up for you folks..

The Very Last Day of the Year.

Today is, as the title reads, the very last day of the year 2010. I'm not really celebrating as such, but I filled my day with enjoyable activities and tonight we're attending midnight service at church. Maybe not everyone's cup of tea, but I will say I'm pleased to be going to the house of the Lord on the very last day of what has been quite an overwhelming year. To thank Him for carrying me through what, like I said, was a very overwhelming year, and to pray for a much brighter, much more positive 2011, full of hope and, if I may ask for it, peace.
Tonight I will turn the page- no, I'll close the whole book- and start afresh on a new book, and on a new page.

2011 will be wonderful. Here's to new people, new relationships, new opportunities and new possibilities. Here's to fresh starts, fresh hope, miracles and happiness.
And here's to making everything already good, even better. Here's to better friendships, better relationships and better opportunities.
And, because of all of that- better happiness.

Oh yes. Tonight when the clock strikes 12 o'clock, I'm going to shut my eyes and brace myself for this whirlwind year ahead.
Oh yes, bring on 2011.

Spring Looks Like..

Spring looks like persistent sunshine tackling clouds, which, annoyingly are of equal persistence.
Spring looks like unnaturally bright flowers and grass as green as the fluorescent highlighter you used in high school. (Take that, water restrictions, our lawns are green anyway!)
Spring sounds like every man down the street pulling out the lawn mower to attack the jungle that winter turned his lawn into.
Spring looks like the ecstatic neighborhood dogs finally being walked after a harsh winter of kennel-hibernating.
Spring looks like pale, winter-abused people accepting any excuse to venture outside and absorb some much needed vitamin D.
Spring sounds like the guy in the ice-cream van playing his joyous melody, because like us, he just can't wait until Summer.

The Cry Of The Fallen.

Jesus, can you hear me?
Can you see these tears I cry?
My eyes are red from weeping
And my soul is feeling dry.

Jesus, are you watching
As I fight to stay afloat?
My troubles are like angry seas
Their waves abuse my boat.

Jesus, are you listening
As I lay awake at night?
Praying for an end to this
For you to set things right.

Jesus, are you here with me
When this cruel world gets me down?
When I am hurt and all alone
And no one is around.

Jesus, do you love me
Regardless of what I do wrong?
When I tell a lie and break your heart
Then praise your name in song.

Jesus, can you hear me, or have you been listening all along?

Making Like A Chameleon.

I need some change. Not change like coins (but if you want to know, I do actually require my $2 that shifty lady at the quick-stop bar at the train station conveniently dropped when handing my change back. She dropped it down the crack of that contraption that keeps the food warm. As a result, I am $2 poorer and very much unhappy-er.).
But no, I mean I need some change in my life. It's becoming repetitive and dreary and it isn't giving me much hope.
Or, maybe I don't need change, as such. Maybe I just need to get happy. Yes, I think that's it.

I attempted to get happy today actually. I heard of a vintage sale in the city, where nothing was over $10. That price alone makes me happy.
Long story short, it was a 45 minute train ride into the city, only to find out the sale wasn't in the store- it was in a warehouse a few kilometres past the city, in some residential suburb I'd never heard of.
But oh, the things I do for cheap yet classy fashion! I (along with three friends, I should add) made my way to this place, asking several different people, taking several different trams, walking several hundred miles (or so it felt), and ending up with several different blisters on my poor little feet at the end of the day.
It wasn't even as good as I'd hoped. There was lots of clothes, yes. And they were all $10 or less, but by the time we'd gotten there, I was just not in the mood. I couldn't be bothered looking around, and because I was in a horrid mood, $10 suddenly seemed far too much to be paying for a leather jacket or a pair of vintage Levi's.
We left after 20 minutes anyway. Although I did end up purchasing 2 skirts- a little denim one, and a high-waisted black leather pencil skirt. It's a little grungy. I like it.

So even though we did more walking than we did shopping, and got more blisters than we did clothes, it was an interesting day out. There are so many fascinating folk in the city, I tell you. I'm amazed every time I travel out!

Nevertheless, my attempt to get happy didn't really succeed as I'd hoped it would. I'm thinking tomorrows attempt will do a better job. I will be putting the Christmas tree up, and also putting down-payments on my Macbook and my SLR. Hurrah for the festive season!

I'll try to make like a Chameleon and get some change going. Or at least make like a 3-year-old and get some happy going.

I'll let you know how I go..

Like Alices' Mad Hatter, Such Are The Days of My Life.

When I meet God in heaven, I'm going to ask him why there are only twenty-four hours in a day. It's a beautiful world he's created, but really- only twenty-four hours in a day? How much is one supposed to accomplish in such little time?

I feel like that rabbit in Alice In Wonderland who was running down that rabbit hole with his little pocket watch. Everything is such a race these days, and there's no time of anything else! In fact, so true that is, that I'm squeezing in some blogging time in my science class. My teacher doesn't mind. She's using her computer too. Maybe she's blogging too.

How my hurried little heart yearns for the summer, where there is nothing to do but lounge and play as you please. Where one lazy warm day rolls right into the next, merely separated by a hot summery night. Where the only time you see teachers is at the shops, when they look like ordinary people, shopping for coffee and toilet paper like the rest of us.
When the only homework you do is counting how many flies you've whacked with the fly swatter, and how often you adjust the cooling system of your house.

But yesterday it rained so much that the garage flooded. Water started bubbling out of the drain instead of in, and I'm beginning to question this summers' intentions. Really, if you're only going to rain on us, please just roll on into autumn. I won't hate you for that long.

But until tomorrow afternoon, when 115 mentally and physically drained teenagers get their lives back, I should probably pay attention in class.

Maybe one day I'll need to know the molecular anatomy of an atom...

Journals- For The Things That Are Better Left Untold.

You know, every once in a while, someones got something very interesting to say. I want to hear more, and find out every detail. I want to listen and know.
And then sometimes there are interesting things that should never be spoken of. Ever. To anyone. And I know this, because I was the receiver of such news. It's not entirely pleasant. I'd be much happier if I didn't know. In fact, two days later, and I'm still incredibly unsettled.

Hearing it was like a horror movie. You want to watch, and find out what happens next. Yet at the same time, you want to shut your eyes and run away and never put that damn disc in the DVD player again! It's horrifying and revolting and suddenly, nothing is as it was before, because now you're just scarred for all eternity.

I tried not to let the person know I was so sickened and horrified. 1.) That would be rather rude, and I try to be as polite and courteous as possible at all times. 2.) I assure the person I would be 100% willing to listen, and not judge. And 3.) I was still a little curious, I must admit.

It wasn't one of those things that you just need to tell someone. It wasn't completely vital that I be told. But then again, I didn't really block my ears and shut my eyes, and drown the person out with the good old 'la la la la laa!'. I listen, and tried to hide my disgust and disbelief behind slightly glazed over eyes. I think some people should just write this type of stuff down in a diary and set it on fire. Just let it burn. And then never speak of it again. That's what diaries are for.

Try as I might, I'll never look at that person the same way again. I just can't. I don't dislike them. I have absolutely nothing against them. They will still be my friend, and I love them just as I did before, only with a little extra knowledge that still unsettles me.

I would share with you, this surprising, horrifying, disgusting story, but I have been sworn to secrecy and I am a strong believer that pinkie promises are not to be broken.