(no subject)
My feet feel like ouch. And I'm getting sick, which is quite bad. Damn being a damn singer, depending on damn good health.
Yes, and my physio said I have very flat feet, though I'm not entirely sure what I'm expected to do about that. Maybe I have to wear daggy shoe inserts. That would be funny.
I'm an angry beaver. Why a beaver? I don't know, it just seemed to fit. Hey, maybe because of that cartoon that used to be on, which, incidentally, was called ANGRY BEAVERS! Wow! Yeah, and I remember they used to call each other spoof heads or something similar, and my sister would complain that it was offensive and I didn't get why. Speaking of reminiscing, I walked past Gardenvale Primary, or whatever that school is that's near my house (I didn't go there, I went to the Catholic primary school that's also near my house because of my Nanna's violent Catholicism), and saw all the little, little kids running around the playground and it made me wish I was a little, little kid again. My prep memories smell like cheese and alfalfa sandwiches. Yes, that's right, the first thing I associate with prep memories is the smell of cheese and alfalfa sandwiches, oh, and the bag hooks that everyone had with the name tags next to them with your name written in prep teacher writing. Have you ever noticed how all prep teachers have exactly the same handwriting? My teacher in grade prep wasn't very nice, she wouldn't let me read books not on the reading list. They were too easy, and I told her that, but she still made me read them. I can only imagine it would have been worse for my sister, because she's a super genius and had taught herself to read and write at 3. That's right, three. She was on the news and all, my mum taped it. But no primary schools would take her then because she was too young. And when she was four, only Genazano would take her. So my sister went to Genazano for a year. Fancy that, I think to myself, someone in our family going somewhere as private as Genazano. We're common as muck, we clearly don't belong there. Well, I suppose Star of the Sea was private, but you know, it was so skanky and grotty and awful that I'm not sure if it counts. Mind you, they might all be like that. But we both hated Star all along, and incidentally both left half way through. And the principle offered us both scholarships to stay. And we neither of us could put up with that school for the sake of a scholarship. But maybe it should have been Abby that went to MacRob, and had a chance to actually feel talented and exceptional and appreciated for it. Oh, that reminds me, it's her 21st this year. I should probably start pulling out the embarrassing photos. We were looking through photos recently, trying to get all the ones of Lil together, and we noticed something awful. When we were little, people used to ask us all the time if we were twins, and we could never work out why. Well, now I see why. Sure, we looked pretty similar (actually, we look really amusing, like Swedish children of something, with white blonde hair and blue eyes), but the reason, I expect, that people thought we might be twins is that MY MOTHER DRESSED US THE SAME ALL THE TIME! WE HAD MATCHING OUTFITS! How evil is that? I mean, SHE says it was because she always had a dreadful fear of getting us different things and then having both of us like the same one and someone missing out and being upset, but even so.
I feel like crying.
Yes, and my physio said I have very flat feet, though I'm not entirely sure what I'm expected to do about that. Maybe I have to wear daggy shoe inserts. That would be funny.
I'm an angry beaver. Why a beaver? I don't know, it just seemed to fit. Hey, maybe because of that cartoon that used to be on, which, incidentally, was called ANGRY BEAVERS! Wow! Yeah, and I remember they used to call each other spoof heads or something similar, and my sister would complain that it was offensive and I didn't get why. Speaking of reminiscing, I walked past Gardenvale Primary, or whatever that school is that's near my house (I didn't go there, I went to the Catholic primary school that's also near my house because of my Nanna's violent Catholicism), and saw all the little, little kids running around the playground and it made me wish I was a little, little kid again. My prep memories smell like cheese and alfalfa sandwiches. Yes, that's right, the first thing I associate with prep memories is the smell of cheese and alfalfa sandwiches, oh, and the bag hooks that everyone had with the name tags next to them with your name written in prep teacher writing. Have you ever noticed how all prep teachers have exactly the same handwriting? My teacher in grade prep wasn't very nice, she wouldn't let me read books not on the reading list. They were too easy, and I told her that, but she still made me read them. I can only imagine it would have been worse for my sister, because she's a super genius and had taught herself to read and write at 3. That's right, three. She was on the news and all, my mum taped it. But no primary schools would take her then because she was too young. And when she was four, only Genazano would take her. So my sister went to Genazano for a year. Fancy that, I think to myself, someone in our family going somewhere as private as Genazano. We're common as muck, we clearly don't belong there. Well, I suppose Star of the Sea was private, but you know, it was so skanky and grotty and awful that I'm not sure if it counts. Mind you, they might all be like that. But we both hated Star all along, and incidentally both left half way through. And the principle offered us both scholarships to stay. And we neither of us could put up with that school for the sake of a scholarship. But maybe it should have been Abby that went to MacRob, and had a chance to actually feel talented and exceptional and appreciated for it. Oh, that reminds me, it's her 21st this year. I should probably start pulling out the embarrassing photos. We were looking through photos recently, trying to get all the ones of Lil together, and we noticed something awful. When we were little, people used to ask us all the time if we were twins, and we could never work out why. Well, now I see why. Sure, we looked pretty similar (actually, we look really amusing, like Swedish children of something, with white blonde hair and blue eyes), but the reason, I expect, that people thought we might be twins is that MY MOTHER DRESSED US THE SAME ALL THE TIME! WE HAD MATCHING OUTFITS! How evil is that? I mean, SHE says it was because she always had a dreadful fear of getting us different things and then having both of us like the same one and someone missing out and being upset, but even so.
I feel like crying.