Loose Ends.
I am oddly vibrant and awake this morning.
Usually, I regard mornings with a faint loathing as I stumble from bedroom to bathroom, then back to my bedroom to turn off the alarm, stagger over mounds of empty wine bottles towards my make up bag. If it's been a particularly restless (read: drunk) night, I'll just dip my face into the bag, shake my head around a few times and see what happens.
But it's not even 10am and I've already rearranged my bedroom in accordance with the ancient discipline of Fox Shui. It involves placing all of your furniture haphazardly around wet paintings and piles of half-filled sketchbooks, then reshuffling all your make up in such a way that it looks like you wear nothing but Mac, Rimmel and Jean Paul Galtier -- when in reality, it's covering an embarassing honeycomb of Collection2000 and the bronzer that came free with last month's Elle magazine.
Actually, I don't do that with my make up. But I've met people whom I wouldn't put it past.
At about 8am, I got out of bed with mum. No, hang on. I got out of bed the same time Mummy Foxy was getting out of hers. I then made a cup of tea and turned on the television.
I don't know why I do this. Because at this time in the morning, the choice is often GMTV or Big Brother. I can't stand watching people dodder around, having just rolled out of bed, slouch around in front of a couple of cameras with their tits half out and talk incessant shit that nobody cares about. And as for Big Brother...
So I have the whole day ahead of me and it's pissing down outside. So "luckily" I have my dissertation to keep me occupied. 6,500 words on why I hate celebrities. Well, actually the title is "How Can Fame Subvert and Extend Existing Ideas of Aesthetic Value?".
Neat, huh? My tutor and I came up with it after he asked me what my interests were outside of sculpting and drinking. He started reeling off books I should read, sources I should check out. Specifically, he was getting animated and lively when talking about gay culture, when I stopped him and, with a totally deadpan face, said "Um, what are you trying to say? That I'm a fucking queer?"
I swear I saw the words "GET ME MY LAWYER 'CAUSE I'M ABOUT TO GET SUED" flash across his eyes for a brief second, before he completely saw through me and we both cracked up.
So yes, it's looking to be a rather interesting subject and I already have lots to write about. Not here though, fortunately for you, you bored person reading my journal at this un-Cher*-ly hour.
Please allow me to squeeze in one last point before I go, though. That is, i find it amusing/tragic when I catch up with someone whom I haven't seen or spoken to in three years to find that they've been through no less than six relationships -- and I have been through precisely none.
Come on, boys. I'm a cheap piece of ass and you want it. Second thoughts, piss off.
-------------------------------------------
*Wherever possibly, from now on, I shall be referring to Cher in the place of God. I feel weird saying "For God's sake" and "Goddammit", because the name doesn't mean a thing to me.
Usually, I regard mornings with a faint loathing as I stumble from bedroom to bathroom, then back to my bedroom to turn off the alarm, stagger over mounds of empty wine bottles towards my make up bag. If it's been a particularly restless (read: drunk) night, I'll just dip my face into the bag, shake my head around a few times and see what happens.
But it's not even 10am and I've already rearranged my bedroom in accordance with the ancient discipline of Fox Shui. It involves placing all of your furniture haphazardly around wet paintings and piles of half-filled sketchbooks, then reshuffling all your make up in such a way that it looks like you wear nothing but Mac, Rimmel and Jean Paul Galtier -- when in reality, it's covering an embarassing honeycomb of Collection2000 and the bronzer that came free with last month's Elle magazine.
Actually, I don't do that with my make up. But I've met people whom I wouldn't put it past.
At about 8am, I got out of bed with mum. No, hang on. I got out of bed the same time Mummy Foxy was getting out of hers. I then made a cup of tea and turned on the television.
I don't know why I do this. Because at this time in the morning, the choice is often GMTV or Big Brother. I can't stand watching people dodder around, having just rolled out of bed, slouch around in front of a couple of cameras with their tits half out and talk incessant shit that nobody cares about. And as for Big Brother...
So I have the whole day ahead of me and it's pissing down outside. So "luckily" I have my dissertation to keep me occupied. 6,500 words on why I hate celebrities. Well, actually the title is "How Can Fame Subvert and Extend Existing Ideas of Aesthetic Value?".
Neat, huh? My tutor and I came up with it after he asked me what my interests were outside of sculpting and drinking. He started reeling off books I should read, sources I should check out. Specifically, he was getting animated and lively when talking about gay culture, when I stopped him and, with a totally deadpan face, said "Um, what are you trying to say? That I'm a fucking queer?"
I swear I saw the words "GET ME MY LAWYER 'CAUSE I'M ABOUT TO GET SUED" flash across his eyes for a brief second, before he completely saw through me and we both cracked up.
So yes, it's looking to be a rather interesting subject and I already have lots to write about. Not here though, fortunately for you, you bored person reading my journal at this un-Cher*-ly hour.
Please allow me to squeeze in one last point before I go, though. That is, i find it amusing/tragic when I catch up with someone whom I haven't seen or spoken to in three years to find that they've been through no less than six relationships -- and I have been through precisely none.
Come on, boys. I'm a cheap piece of ass and you want it. Second thoughts, piss off.
-------------------------------------------
*Wherever possibly, from now on, I shall be referring to Cher in the place of God. I feel weird saying "For God's sake" and "Goddammit", because the name doesn't mean a thing to me.