No Place Like Home… —

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They say there is no place like home… but what if you have no clue as to where home is?

It used to be quite simple for me. Home was where my dog was, but due to time, the universe and me all being complete and utter assholes my buddy is no longer with me. She passed away last November, and after that it felt like I could never go home again. (since I’m not really down with suicide and I don’t really think I’m cut out for a quest like Orpheus was)  I had and still have no idea where home is anymore, or even what it is. With my buddy gone, I didn’t want to talk to my friends anymore, I ignored my family, and for the first few days after she died I cared not to get dressed, fed or showered.

From the moment my mom called to tell me she wasn’t there anymore, the flood gates opened. I spend days crying, staying in bed, having Vodka for breakfast and Gin for Lunch. All I could do was shed my tears and watch Community. It wasn’t until the umpteenth day of gut wrenching pain that I finally managed to kick myself out of the house to the coffee shop to do some writing; but instead of putting words on paper I sat behind my computer and wept. The “cool” kids in the coffee shop quietly drifted away as they saw me pour small bottles of Whiskey and Malibu in my coffee and wipe my nose on my sleeve. Clearly there are some car wrecks people don’t care to stare at; one of them is me drinking and crying covered in snot and tears.

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Embracing the Messiness — Also, I might have Dissociative Identity Disorder

Endless Rewrite

I don’t have many flaws; I’m beautiful, smart, compassionate, have a massive vocabulary and I can eat a giant bucket of KFC without ever getting sick. People look at me and think: “That girl just has it all. Style, flair, wit and enough sex appeal to make Brad Pitt pick up a phone in the middle of the night and give her a call.” I know this because I can also read people’s mind with surprising accuracy. It’s hard to believe but I really am that amazing.

When you take a minute think about it, you realize how impressive it is that in the face of my own flawless perfection I’ve managed to remain such a humble soul. I’m not a person who writes blogs to tell the entire world how amazing I am, nor do I feel the need to send a dozen tweets into the webosphere every single time I sneeze rainbows and fart roses.

Instead of becoming an intolerable douche bag, I like to think I’ve kept myself grounded, honest and approachable. One of the ways I do that, is by trying to blend in. For instance, sometimes I pretend to make a mistake so everyone else doesn’t feel so intimidated by my greatness. Like this one time when I was six I cut my own hair and let’s just say I could have done a better job at it. And the other day, I pretended to not be able to do maths in my head because I mix up the numbers and they make no sense because who decided 1+1=2 anyway?

Oh, and there was this one time… Never mind, I won’t go into that, because you possibly just had dinner and I don’t want to make you feel sick.

But let’s be honest, for a minute – weren’t you honest already, Janneke. You incredible beacon of humanity, you shining light of perfection, you Goddess of humility and decency?  – First of all, I don’t appreciate your sarcasm. It’s not very becoming on someone who doesn’t really exist and I’m making up as I’m typing this.

What, I meant every single word I said. I’m sure that if you are ever less than perfect, it is only on purpose to make us ‘lesser people’ not feel so insignificant.

Exactly. I’m glad you get me. It’s almost like you are part of me and also read everything I said above.

I did and I am. And I am here to tell you that you have problem and should see a doctor.

Enough about you, let’s talk about me some more.

But if I’m only pretending that I am far from perfect, I am very good at it. I am arrogant, selfish and I don’t think I can actually eat a bucket of KFC without being violently ill. In fact, my own imperfection keeps me up at night. I always feel like I should be better, different, kinder and less guarded. I’m pretty sure there are quite a few indicators in my childhood as to why that is, but that’s not the point right now.

The point it that I constantly have this need to be better. Not so much better than everyone else, because let’s face it, there are few opinions and people I care more about than my own and myself.

No, I feel like I should be better than I am… Which is a fucking pain in my ass. Because I’ll spend forever going over everything I said and did and how I should have said and could’ve done it better. I know this is the same for every person, and it is how we learn. But I have a harder time letting things go. In some cases it will take me years to get over insignificant mistakes. I will feel this dumb shame and doubt in disproportionate amounts long after the fact, which is just silly.

On some levels I guess it makes me actually be a better person and act with some more respect and kindness. Even though I sometimes like to have some peace from myself and my constant feeling I should be better somehow; I don’t think it is always such a bad think to chastise yourself and try to be a better, kinder, more open-minded person.

Except when I’m writing; because all of the sudden the endless analyzing and perfectionism becomes the worst fucking habit to have.

Don’t you think it’s good to be critical and strive for the best, Janneke?

Thanks for interrupting me, you dick. But to answer your question… Sure it is, but it’s just not very helpful to jump right into self-loathing and doubt when you’re just one page in to a story or a script. Things evolve organically after a long process of writing and re-writing, and I sometimes expect things to be perfect right from the start. Which pushes me time and again in the habit to start rewriting when there is barely anything to rewrite. I will start sculpting the fine lines, without ever hewing out the general shape of the thing.

And this is an almost impossible way to work, because without knowing the general shape, how do you know where the fine lines and details actually go? You can’t build a cathedral without first setting up a solid foundation (and everything I do of course has the grandeur and beauty and eternity similar to Cathédrale de Chartres)

So, while you may feel like you are making things better by just jumping in straight away, going back and fixing every single issue, you just end up going in smaller and smaller circles until you run into yourself, screaming and shouting and wondering why you are so incompetent. — Almost as though you are talking to yourself on your own blog? —

Almost like that.

Except here I don’t care. I can do whatever I want. I can talk to myself, I can talk to imaginary readers, I can pretend to be anyone and anything. It doesn’t matter. These blogs help me unwind, that is the only point there is to them. I don’t care too much about them. Here I have nothing to prove, not to myself and not to the world. These posts just exist. I barely rewrite them. I just type, press send and never look back. They are like mindless scribbles and sketches build from words. They are often a mess, either structurally or just poorly worded…and let’s not even start talking about the content… :)

That people enjoy them in spite of that is a giant compliment, and it does give me enormous joy. I’m not being callous when I say that I don’t care about this blog. I mean that I don’t care about it as much as I care about my actual writing projects. But for better or worse, this blog is helping me grow and develop myself. It has helped me find and improve my natural writing voice, taught me how to write jokes and how to come up with better metaphors and mostly it has helped me to not care so much about every single word I write.

Perfection is in the whole, not in every single nuance. You can have some rough edges and poorly structured sentences, as long as it all adds up to something interesting (and if not, at least I have plenty of pictures of upside down dogs and baby pandas to keep you entertained. Because in the end nothing is better than that and cats in cardigans)

So these days, I find it much easier to write on my actual projects, because I just don’t care so much about it being perfect right now. I am more interested in setting up the broad strokes first. In fact, I am much more interested in finishing something for a change, without becoming discouraged or hating myself for being such a failure.

And while I’m now 20,000 words into a story that is barely holding together at the seams; because I’m making things up as I go along, I am desperately trying to accept it the way it is and defy the temptation to rewrite. Every inch of my body and mind is begging me to do it, to just brush up the logical fallacies, I’ll promise to leave the grammatical errors and spelling mistakes aside (some of them are hilarious. I might share them some day), I’m not giving in to the feeling.

Yes, I may have a character recalling something in chapter 1, which is impossible because I kill him off in chapter 3. It doesn’t really matter. Because in the long run, the story isn’t about him. And it’s an easy fix. I know it is there, and once I am done I’ll go back to it and fix it. It’s not part of the narrative, so for now I’m ignoring it and just typing away.

I’m somewhere at a pace between 500 and a 1000 words a day, and so far I’m only speeding up; because I have embraced the messiness, and decided that whatever happens, things will be fine. There will be a rewrite at some point, when I know what the story exactly is. For now, I’ll just let my hands do the typing, write without judgement, and let the words pour out of me.

They might be terrible words, but they aren’t meant to be Shakespeare (because I don’t think I can be both that poetic and boring at the same time). They are rough, ugly and messy, but they are mine.

And if they are anything like me, one day they will pretend to be absolutely perfect.

Ted & Jann — I’ll be watching a TED Talk a Day

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I decided that it was time to do something cool again. By ‘Something Cool’ I mean something dumb and uninteresting that I will totally blow out of proportion and rave about for weeks before realizing it is pretty boring and no one cares and forgetting all about it.

I was thinking about watching every single movie on the Sight & Sound critics list. Which would be fun, but honestly if I have to see Citizen Kane one fucking more time this decade I will kill someone. And mostly I feared it would interfere with my writing (which is going fucking amazing, thank you for asking), so I shelved that idea for a while. I do want to do it at some point, or at least watch a bunch of more classics, because there are so many amazing movies I haven’t seen. Which is fine- you can’t see everything-, but I don’t really know how I can justify not having seen Ran when I have seen about 2 movies starring Paris Hilton. So some day, I shall commit to making myself feel slightly less culturally illiterate.

For now however I have committed to something slightly less time consuming yet equally awesome….

For the next six months I’ll be watching one TED talk a day. Why? I don’t know. Because I can. Because it’s never a bad thing to learn something new. Because there is this large vat of resources I’m leaving untapped. Because I’m too lazy to read a book. Because I have nothing better to do. Because I there is so much stuff out there I don’t know about. Because I think it’ll be fun. Does it matter? I don’t think it does. I’m doing it, and as the self-promoting narcissist I am, I’ll be chronicling it too.

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So swing by there or just the TED website if you have 20 minutes to spare. I’m going to try to have as broad and random a spectrum of topics and not limit myself to shit I find interesting (since I’m pretty sure there are not that many TED talks about Brad Pitt and unicorns out there). But if you don’t, cool too, because I’m not really doing it for you. I’m just sharing it on the off chance you find it interesting too. And I’m completely open for suggestions. So if you feel there is this awesome talk I’m missing, send me a tweet at @JannekeRood. If you don’t have Twitter, you should probably sort your life out because you’re failing at Internet (yea, Grandma I’m looking at you!).

I finally figured out what I want to do with my life — and became a Panda Philantropist. (You’re welcome)

You're welcome, Pandas.

You’re welcome, Pandas.

There is a certain kind of melancholy that creeps into your soul when you spend too much time in hospitals and surrounded by sick people.

The colour scheme of hospitals and doctors’ offices is something that just doesn’t make sense on any kind of level. It is cold and clinical, with hints of inappropriate attempts at homeliness. I don’t know who designs hospital rooms for a living, but it must be someone with serious schizophrenic tendencies.

Hospitals are not a place of healing, they are a place of dying where they occasionally manage to successfully re-enact parts of Frankenstein and save a life. And this is strangely enough not something I like to be confronted with all that much. (I know, I’m weird that way) The doctors use language that is designed to feel cold and detached from what’s actually going on. They speak their metaphores, euphemisms and meoisis in calm and soothing voices, taking as the edge off the message whole at the same time telling you absolutely nothing at all. Because in the end, it’s you that gets to make all the tough calls.

I would pay a lot of imaginary money to a doctor that just says things like they are. “Hey mate, you’re going to die. Which is going be tough, but you’re an asshole anyways, and better me than you I guess. But while you’re still alive I shall do my best to sedate all common sense out of you, so the end won’t seem so bad or scary.” or “Well, just so you know… the spider children that have been bred under your skin are going to come out of their eggs and crawl to your heart at a slow but agonizing pace. We will be here every step of the way, but to be honest, there is pretty much fuck all we can do.”

How great would that be?!

Ok. perhaps not. Perhaps sometimes a white lie is better than the truth, at least in life and dead cases. But in my case, where it’s probably not life and dead, -just me having “ordinary” blinding headaches and “casual” small seizures- I just wonder how many ways, shapes and forms they can come up with to tell me I have to be patient and they don’t know anything yet. Because in case you haven’t met me, I’m not the most patient person to begin with. Also, now that I’m writing this I realize that whomever decided on the double meaning to the word patient, had one hell of a sense if irony.

Judging by the pace they are going at, I assume I’m not in any immediate danger of brain damage. I sneakily suspect that I’m fine and they are making me sick by giving me medication just so they can study my awesome brain some bit more. (it’s not delusional when it’s true). But sitting in their fucking depressing waiting rooms, some times it’s hard to not wonder what it would be like if they told you you’re going to die. What would you do, if you knew your time was limited and there was only so much left you can do.

And while contemplating this morbid notion, I realized something truly fundamental and life-altering:

All I really want out of this life is to hug a Panda bear.
Simple as that.

I see myself as a person that has all these goals and things she would like to see and do before she dies. But when I truly think about it, I will die a fucking happy camper if I can just hug a panda bear. There will be no regrets, no complaining. I will have fulfilled my life’s goal.

It looks like the most comfortable, soothing thing in the world. This big, fluffy bear that will put it’s giant paws around you and breathe in your neck. And you just sit there for a few minutes, hugging the goddamn shit out of the bear. If I don’t die from happiness on the spot, I think I would be very tranquil after that. (chances are I will die in the next week after that, being bloody murdered by one of you, fed up with my never ending story about my awesome panda bear hug)

And after our hug we will slide down the slide together and we will have ten thousand kinds of fun. Jokingly I will try to eat a piece of bamboo, but my teeth are totally not made to do that… And we will roll around on the floor, laughing our panda laughs because it is so funny. And I will offer them my Vodka in exchange, but the Pandas will all be like: No dude, we don’t drink. And then I will probably get bored and leave. But not before we all come together in a group (because I will be the Jane Goodall of Pandas at this point except it only takes me an hour because I don’t fancy crapping in a bucket for a year or so and Pandas know I am awesome) and hug our massive panda bear group hug. And we will all be better human beings than before. Except the Pandas, because they are already the best thing on the planet.

I’m willing to overlook the fact that these vegetarian bears probably smell like shit and and that hugging me is probably not their life’s goal- and that it in fact probably annoys the fucking hell out of them…. I won’t care, I will just keep hugging Ling Ling and Yao because let’s face it… this is about me.

Since I have realised how much I want to hug a Panda, I don’t care about my life goals anymore. I don’t care if I ever road trip across the US of A or if I ever ride the trans-siberian railway or if I travel Mongolia on horseback. Do not give a fuck. I hope I finish my novel and screenplay, but if I don’t. Don’t care all that much. I hope I get a cocktail named after me and get married and divorced, but if it never happens. So fucking what?

All I think about is how I just really want to hug a panda bear- everything else has become completely and utterly inconsequential.

Because what can be greater than putting your life and all your sorrows in the hands of this giant happy bear and just sitting there, finally at one with the universe??

I honestly do not know.

Look at that. (If you can think of something that’s better, don’t tell me because I’ll assume you’re a psychopath for not thinking that hugging Panda’s is the greatest goal a human being can ever hope to achieve. )

 

PS.

Also, even though I had zero money this month (or ever), I decided to drink 2 cups of coffee less so I could adopt a fucking Panda. And since none of you gave me anything for my birthday this year (thanks for that), I think you should do the same. Because if Panda’s die before I do, I shall be very upset with you all and I shall haunt you all from beyond the grave.

(How will I do that when I don’t believe in ghosts or the afterlife, you ask?? Well, right now I have a lot of spare time on my hands, and while I could spend that time writing and doing other useful thing such as organizing my sock drawer and googling all the dreadful diseases I potentially have…. I’d rather spend all of that time writing you angry emails that will automatically be send to you at predetermined time after my sad departure, just so all y’all know better than to ignore my birthday wishes)

So be smart and cool, adopt a fucking Panda Bear please. Dickheads.

(UK) https://support.wwf.org.uk/adopt-a-panda

(NL) http://www.wnf.nl/nl/shop_fun/adopteer_een_dier/index.cfm?act=adoptie.dier&dier=77

(US) http://gifts.worldwildlife.org/gift-center/gifts/Species-Adoptions/Panda.aspx?sc=AWY1302WC92

The art of moving on

When I was about 8 years old I won a cap from Donald Duck magazine. It was the first thing I ever won, and it was amazing. The cap was Donald’s face, and on it there was this little pouch you could put some money in. When my brothers, my friend Hans and I went to the swimming pool, I had to change in the girls’ locker room all alone. Being a shy and awkward little girl, this threw me off so much, that in my haste to not lose my companions, I left the cap with 10 guilders in it in the locker room.

To this day I still think about this cap with regret.

Recently, my boyfriend upgraded his title to ex-boyfriend. Guess he decided his life was definitely better without me in it. (The joke is on him, because I make everything 16% more awesome by just showing up. Fact!)  I like to say it didn’t hurt, but since I take human stupidity, global warming and what Peter Jackson did to the Hobbit personal, imagine how I feel about someone leaving me I wanted to spend at least some part of my life with.

I don’t just handle it badly, I take it horrifically unwell. If you ever want to lose all you respect you had for me, date me for a while and then break up with me. Rejection is a strange land, and I don’t get the rules.

I know I’m not completely alone in that. Most people don’t handle break-ups very well. Human beings as a species are ill-trained in dealing with loss. Excluding elephants, we are the only species on the planet that create magical ceremonies around the end of things. Just so it makes the passing seem slightly more bearable. I guess it gives us the feeling we have some control over the situation. That life, in itself, is not some uncontrollable force set out to piss on your shoes and laugh whilst doing that.

And while breaking up is merely the death of a relationship, it comes with its own rules and ceremonies as well. And because I am so terrible at getting over shit, I have set up a few ground rules. So, while all my instincts may be wrong, there’s always something to fall back on and I got amazingly great at breakups by the sheer force of my resolve to not give them the enjoyment of my pain.

In fact, I got it down to a science. Or an Art form even..

Is that possible, you ask?

Yes. Do I ever not deliver on my promises? I’m pretty sure I’m a genius, and I’ve seen my own brain now and it’s pretty big….. so listen and learn.

Breakups…. 9 times our of 10, you see them coming. So make sure the other guy gets the rules. Be fucking, gut wrenchingly clear that if shit is going to go down… it will go down your way or the highway (which may be the only time, those two are the exact same thing).

My boyfriend broke up with me over Facebook. I guess he would have liked to have a platform to say how sorry he was. And he could have picked up the phone, but he didn’t. And now I’ve changed my phone number, deleted him from my Facebook, blocked him in whatsapp. In this day and age, that pretty much means he has no way of reaching me. He can try and email me, but all that will happens is that he gets a pointedly worded email as an auto response. His email will directly go into my trash. I don’t care about what he has to say because there’s no point.

Don’t listen to Adele, Duffy or fucking Mumford & sons. Things aren’t that bad. Not so bad you have to go down that road.

-Don’t torture yourself with all the good times. Those are gone. I can spend hours thinking about how he held me in the middle of the street when I couldn’t stop crying because my dog had just died… Or how I woke him after the first night I stayed over, at 6AM because it had been snowing and we took a walk through the empty park. But whatever, those days are long gone.

– So instead, I’m just fucking angry. Remember all the shit they pulled, and then some. Beautiful memories are for later. But for now, just hate them with the fury of a thousand suns. I make fucking lists… Like remember that time he ruined your birthday because he was so fucking depressed he could barely get out of bed. Or that time you nearly drank his pee because he pissed in a bottle rather than like a normal human being and you spend and hour hurling over the sink trying to get the smell of ammonia out of your nose. Remember all the times he could not bother to call you or text you back, but managed to update his Facebook status with some menial comment about whatever made him look cool. Yea, that guy… Not worth your pain.

– Don’t blame yourself. Not yet. You may have been the worst person ever and lessons must be learned. But that’s for later….  for now. You’re not the one doing the breaking up. You are the one being dumped. Which immediately gives you the moral high ground. So, whatever made them decide you are not for them… That’s because there is something wrong with them, not with you.

And since they are wrong and fucked up…Don’t talk to them. Not until you can look them square in the eyes and go… What the fuck did I ever see in you. Which may be quicker than you think. Thanks to the fact that every thing wrong in your life, is now all of the sudden their fault.

– Even if they want to talk to you, remember they have no claim on your time anymore. They lost that the moment they said goodbye. They may want to explain and make themselves feels great about leaving you. Fuck them. Their reasons may be as legit as they come. Not your problem. You don’t need to hear how he met the love of his life 3 days ago, or how his ex really is the one and you just helped him realize that. They don’t get to explain themselves. It doesn’t matter. In the end, what it comes down to is that they don’t want to be with you. Accept that. That is all the reason you need. You don’t need to hear anything to doubt or hate yourself. Trust me. You’re fine.

Don’t cry. — When I was at the height of being sick, I cried over everything. I couldn’t leave the house. Bawling. Couldn’t open a jar. Tear fest. Forgot to charge my phone. End of the world. Then one day, I decided it was silly. I was wasting my tears. (Like baby eggs, you only get so many in a lifetime. Don’t waste them) I made a deal with myself. If it wasn’t as bad as my dog dying of Cancer, it wasn’t worth my tears. And while writing this, I might be fighting them back… But I sure as hell won’t waste one, on a person who can barely do me the honors of breaking up with me. So don’t cry. They’re not crying over you. Smile instead. It feels better.

Stay busy. Sitting at home alone, crawling in bed, stuffing your face with junk food (or in my case, solitary drinking) may seem appealing… But it only leads to self loathing. And you’ll get fat, which means you’ll have to go to the gym… And if there is anything more depressing than going to the gym… I don’t know what it is. So instead, go out. Have fun. Make new friends. Joke around. Life is too fucking short to be sad.

Set a goal, or do something productively with yourself. Get a hobby, go on holiday, make a plan to do something you’ve always wanted to do. Because there’s two ways you can do it, you can get bitter or you can try and make the best of it. You decide which is more awesome.

Take care of yourself. Drinking is always my first escape. Unless when I’m not drinking. Getting high is a great option too. But know when to stop. If you find yourself with a heroin needle stuck in your arm in an alley six months from now, you have gone too far.  Don’t forget to eat and sleep. Because

Know that things will get better some day, and you’ll not remember the pain and suffering you’ve gone through. So hang on to the lists you’ve made. Whenever you think you may want to be friends again. Read those goddamn lists, and decide if they’re worth it. In most cases, they are not. Or you’re just a better person than I am.

Get back all your stuff. It may seem like a tempting option to leave something precious back, so you have to see him one last time. And you’ll end up standing with your crap in front of his house, when he’s all cool and distant because he is fucking over you.

So if I could, I’d take everything that even has a smidgen of my DNA on it with me. I am fucking thorough. Not just your clothes, but letters, presents you gave him, presents he gave you, art work… Anything. Take it all back. Give back what is his as well. You don’t want him to come round knocking for it. Even when you really secretly do want that. Close that door as firmly as possible. Nail it shut, then bolt it, and poor it in cement, then bury it. But definitely make sure you have everything back. Especially the personal stuff. Lock them away in a box, with a note. One day when you’re dead and gone, the curator for the museum dedicated to you will open it up and be all like. Wow… What a treasure. And they will find a letter from you to them, completely tarnishing your ex’s reputation. So he’ll go down in the memory of the planet as a bunch of fucking assholes. He who laughs last is a fucking winner.

Tell your friends. Than shut the fuck up about it. Because you can go on for hours, and days and months about how much you’re hurting and how miserable you feel. But in the end, your ex will still be controlling your life from beyond the metaphorical grave of your relationship. You think they are crying and feeling miserable? No fucking way. So don’t do it. Suck it up. And shut the fuck up. It’ll be over a lot sooner that way.

Oh, but it’s OK to write bitter blog posts about it, Janneke? Yes, because I can do whatever the fuck I want. And if you want to comment or judge, I invite you to start your own blog and piss and whine about it there.

Greetings from Rock Bottom — Population: 1

rockbottom

Somewhere last week someone told me the immortal line “Things always have to get worse before they get better”. I made a joke whether he had a death wish for me, because that seemed like possibly the only way things could get any worse. Part of me meant it.

The day before that, I had my MRI, and after the excitement of seeing my own brain had faded (Yes, it was awesome. And yes. I took pictures.) I had what can only be described as a full-on nuclear meltdown. One minute I was walking down the street, minding my own business; the next minute there was this explosion of emotion and I couldn’t stop leaking hot, salty water out of my eyeballs. It dawned on me that I just had my brain scanned for tumors and what not. Which is bad enough as it is, but I also realised that if they don’t find anything, I just may have to accept the fact that I am fucking crazy. And I honestly don’t know which option I fear more.

And in that moment, I though I had hit rock bottom. Things couldn’t really get much worse than this; I had a dead dog, stupid break-up, crazy brains and dumb health issues all weighing me down. The way I saw it, there were few ways my life could get much worse. At some point only the extremely cataclysmic still registers. And after being hit one shit storm after another, it seemed I had reached that point.

I think it is safe to say that I take things slightly more dramatically than is probably good for me. It is one of the big downsides to being me. Everyone always calls me tough, but I am only tough because actually feeling stuff is way too draining. But as much as I like to keep stuff out, some things just get stuck in my brain. It’s like a story that I tell myself, and naturally I bring it to its most dramatic conclusion. So for the next few days, as far as I was concerned, I probably was dying. (my fingers are still crossed for an Apocalypse)

I still don’t have my results, so for all I know, I really might be. But I am not nearly as fatalistic as I was a week ago. So what happened?

Well, for one, I really hit rock bottom.

The rest of the week, I couldn’t eat. If I tried, I would just throw up. I couldn’t sleep. The only way I could fall asleep was with a podcast or audiobook on, so my mind would be preoccupied with that. Nevertheless an hour or 2 later I’d be wide awake again, and even less able to get some rest. I partly blame me and my boyfriend finally breaking up for that. We all know how well I deal with failure. But trust me that it’s not easy falling asleep thinking about how you would look with no hair, or what you would wear to your own fucking funeral. Especially when you have no big ole dog to cuddle, with a soft fur to bury your face in.

To top it off, my hormones were just raging through my body. I felt like my nerves were shredded in a way I have never, in my life, felt before. I was this walking open wound.  spend most Friday just fighting off the blues. I was incredibly apathetic and I really was convinced I had hit rock bottom. But in one furious act of defiance, I decided I should leave the house and go out. Have fun with some friends and not be all gloomy watching Community in bed. So, I got dressed and left my house. Applause.

I don’t think I had walked 20 meters when not despair but dizzying gravity dragged me down. I hit my head, and fell on the street. And as I was lying there, bleeding out of my head… I knew I had finally reached it for real.

Rock Bottom.

And that was probably the most liberating moment I have had in a very long time. After months of feeling shitty, being sick and trying so fucking hard to be happy and healthy, I knew things couldn’t get any worse. And that now that I was there, it didn’t actually seem all that bad. And I just felt the greatest sense of relieve. This was it. The worst it could possibly get.

No matter what will happen, I will be fine. I will start climbing back up again. It may be a long and hard road, but hell… It’s not the first time I’ve had to do it and I’m pretty sure it won’t be the last time. So, you know… I had training. And I’m already better than most at it. I’m a fucking emotional mountaineer, and I will reach that peak where I am fucking deliriously happy again.

For now, I am content to stay at rock bottom, because I don’t have the strength yet to climb back up. (besides, I’m writing like crazy and there is nothing better for writing than feeling shitty) There’s still doctor’s results on the horizon and one way or another I will have to deal with them. I will have to deal with the fact that whatever they are, I am struggling to get to work and make it through a full day. I have to deal with the fact that yet another relationship went down the drain, because I am way too much to handle for normal people. I have to deal with the fact that I miss my dog so much, I don’t even know how to go back home again because she was my home. I have to deal with the fact that since she died, I haven’t spoken to any of my friends and the consequent fact that perhaps that makes me a selfish asshole (Although I think it makes me awesome, because I don’t want them to have to listen to me complain all the time. (instead I do that here) Hey guys, if you’re reading this. I’m in emotional Iraq at the moment. I’ll talk to you when I’m fucking happy again.)

But I will deal with all of that. In fact, just knowing that the unmoving soil of rock bottom is directly underneath me supporting my weight, has helped me. I am no longer staring back at the train wreck (aka my life) behind me. I crawled out of that, and now I am just sitting here. Looking at the wonderful things I have ahead of me. But since that will be a long climb back up, I’ll just be sitting here for a while, chilling out, enjoying the view, waiting for any news from the doctor so I can decide which path to take.

And while someone said that saying you’re at Rock Bottom is negative and not in line with all my positivity talk (BTW, go fuck yourself. You come sit here, and then we’ll talk) I wholeheartedly disagree with him. There is nothing wrong with acknowledging where you are, how you got there, and trying to make sure you get yourself out of that situation. I am not being a negative Nancy here, I’m being a fucking realist. Also, my name is not Nancy, so it makes no sense anyway.

My life could be a lot better right now, and knowing that will help me make it better. I can blindly shut my eyes and start screaming that everything is great. But that is, in my book, the definition of crazy (although, I am the lady that worries she is actually crazy… so what do I know).

But to be honest; people should try accepting where they are at. Which is exactly what I am trying to do. This is my life right now. It may not be great. — no wait… That line should say– It may not be great yet… But it will be.

Because it really will be great again. It’s inevitable. And to be honest, some things really are great already. And I doubt that 6 months from now, any of these concerns and struggles I am having still seem valid. They rarely do (although, I will still miss my little buddy.) If there is one thing I know about myself is that I am full of hope. To me; Schrödinger’s cat is not so much about Quantum physics, but a test about whether you are a positive or a negative person (or a real scientist who can say both (or neither) and thinks my interpretation of the cat conundrum is dumb). To me, when you open up the box; the cat is still alive (possibly angry) and will land on her paws.

I know I will be fine. Always. Sure, it’ll be a struggle sometimes, but in the end, things work out. Even if it is only for a little while. I read way too many fairy tales and saw way too many Disney films to believe otherwise.

So, for now I will sit here at the bottom of the Universe until I know how to move upwards again. And for all I know; I really might be crazy thinking that rock bottom is not the worst place to be. (But then I think of Belgium, and I know I am right. Imagine having to live there) To me, it’s a comforting thought, knowing you cannot fall any further.

And at least for once in my life I know exactly where I am.
(and since Google Maps went off my phone that truly never happens indeed. So yay!)

Positivity! — Or, how I stopped worrying and learned to love the bomb.

live-life-like-a-rock-star-thumb24035357I was reminded I am still the sole contributor to this largely abandoned blog. When I say abandoned, I mean by abandoned by me. Because I just had a look at my stats and surprisingly I get more visitors when I’m not actually doing any writing. (I use the word ‘surprisingly’ with some sense of irony here) Perhaps I should take the hint. Perhaps all y’all should have cared just a bit more and I wouldn’t have stopped writing in the first place.

But anyways, a kind gentleman had lifted an image from my site and send me a message saying he had done so. First of all, this man clearly does not know how the Internet works. You don’t go around telling people you stole the stuff they stole before you. That’s just a stunning and courteous breach of Internet policy. (Thank you sir who will never read this, it made my day)

But he had ‘borrowed’ the image from a post I wrote about a year ago, when this year was just about to begin. It was about my resolutions for the year 2012. Reading it back now, I was struck by a few things. First of all, I am pretty goddamn awesome. And in case you take this statement seriously… This morning I was having a shower and the thought that crossed my mind was: “They should really make a Spotify for movies.”

Yes. (remind me of this moment whenever I unleash my untamed douchebaggery or other forms of disgusting, self-delusional bragging on this world)

But what struck me most was how much and how little I have changed at the same time. I guess that is normal and I am not some demigod (I shall still believe I am, of course. Reality is overrated). I am still the same person, with the same horrifically annoying character flaws… But the way I deal with them and have learned from them have changed tremendously… or so I like to believe at least. (Yea, delusion piled upon delusion. See, I’m still exactly the same person…)

I’ve been here in London for over a year now. I would love to say it was a great year. And in some ways it really has been. I broadened my horizons (whilst never leaving the safe confines of Western Europe. One step at a time people), fell in love in a very big way, wrote a ton of words, threw them out and started over, met some amazing people, seen some amazing things. But it has also been a very tumultuous year, and especially the last few months have been quite– shall I say– shitty.

One where I met my limitations head on, and lost. One where I managed to drive myself down a path of despair and depression that I am just now coming out of. One where I lost the love of my life, my little buddy, and I couldn’t even be there to shepherd her out of this world. One where I have seen the inside of a hospital more than I ever have in my life.

A year where I nearly gave up.

Well, that sounds horribly depressing, suicidal and defeatist, you say. Don’t start calling me asking me if I want to talk about it. I said nearly. I was not listening to Adele songs with a razor near my wrists. I did not seek out any cliff to dive off, nor did I take a nap on a train track. I am way too lazy for that. Besides, I was really looking forward to the Hobbit coming out (If only I’d known the disappointment I was in for…)

But there is more than one way to stop living. When every day you sit on the sofa, unable to move, unable to do anything. That’s not really living. I just gave up. I gave up on fighting, on feeling good, being happy, I gave up on doing anything at all with my life. I had some great excuses, I had M.E. (poor, poor me…) I was sad and pathetic and nothing ever went my way. (Yea, fuck you Universe. I still blame you… Because, why take responsibility for your own life and happiness when you can blame an invisible entity)

Well, fucking whoop-di-doo. I am a white, middle-class girl in her twenties. I don’t know fucking shit about suffering. The only way I would be better off is if I had a penis or I was the heir to a fortune 500 company. I was not born in Africa or China or the slums of India or Detroit. I can buy food every day and still invest in a bottle of Vodka or a pair of new jeans. I have a roof over my head. I have clean drinking water and supposedly free health care. I don’t know fucking shit about what it is to live the hard life (I have not listened to nearly enough gangsta rap to understand that).

So… I was a bit tired and a bit depressed. It happens. What shouldn’t happen though, is that it is OK to just roll over and give up. I have said this before, but now climbing out of the valley of misery I marched myself into… I need to remind myself for once and all that it is not OK to feel sorry for myself. It’s not cool to sit at home and watch TV series all day long (even when they are awesome shows… Kudos to American Network television… without you, I would have been realising this so much sooner, but you kept me nicely wrapped up in a state of obedient submission… but hey! At least it was entertaining…)

One of my friends asked me if she should start going on anti-depressants. I said I had nothing against it. I don’t. I’m not on them, but I wish I had been a few months ago. I may have not gone down the road I did. The thing is, if you feel like shit… You forget that that is not normal after a while. Because you’ve been shitty and struggling for such a long time it becomes the status quo.

Things (or you) need to collapse before you snap out of it.

For me, it was going back home and realising why I had left in the first place. It was my boyfriend turning into an angry mess because I had literally driven him to the brink of going insane himself. It was me feeling slightly more healthy and capable of leaving the house without getting dizzy all the time. It was moving into a new house where I had some room to be myself. It was finally starting to write again and actually sticking with it to such an extend it is actually moving in a real direction.

I started to slowly smile again, and some days I really meant it. I started to make jokes again and see the humour in things. I managed to find the courage to leave the house and hang out with friends. (yes, I needed courage for that. Don’t email me. I am well aware I am quite pathetic. Don’t need you telling me.) I went back to work, and started to feel a bit more useful. I faced the fact that I have issues and in some ways need to change; either myself or my life. But I also accepted that in some ways I am pretty amazing and that I should not change myself for any other reason than that I want to, and I certainly should not doubt myself or give up on myself. I started to have fun again, and long for adventure and new things. And not because I wanted to run away from the bullshit I created.. But because new things are fun and exciting.

I started to do better.

And then the thing I’ve been fearing for 6 years or so happened.

My dog died. (See… white people problems)

I think every one who knows me, knows what she meant to me and how big a part of me she was. She was more than a friend. In some ways, being away from her drove me insane. Every day I felt torn that I was not near her. I missed her. I love my friends, but I can talk to them on the phone (or skype if they ever manage to find out how that works). My dog never had that luxury. So every day I was in London, I felt I was betraying her.

And then, the day after my 26th Birthday, my little stalker passed away and I could not be there for her.

I still feel guilty about that. I still feel so sad. Sad beyond words.

But I did not break.

I did what every sane person would do. I drank. I started drinking vodka for breakfast, then I had some more for lunch. Dinner was Vodka, and then I had a nice hot coco with Malibu for bedtime. It was the best thing ever!! (Well, except that my dog was dead… but you know what I mean)  I don’t want to say I endorse drinking your pain away. But fuck yes!! I had been cutting myself off from every kind of substance or fun in the hopes I wouldn’t be so tired anymore. For months and months. I worked, went to the gym, and went home to sleep or watch TV. I was healthy beyond reason in some ways. But I was just focused on that. Being healthy. As if that fucking makes anything better?!

Yes, in some ways it does I guess. But even if I’d been healthy, at some point I had fucked myself over so bad, I would have found something else to be in tears over.  I am not a brave trooper. I whine and complain and piss and moan. (Hey mom, aren’t you proud of me!?) I wish I were a soldier, and could take it. But I am not. I am very disappointed with myself in some ways. But that was the way it was. Perhaps next time, I shall be cool and not complain so much… (haha!)

I have been trying to do just that, the last few weeks. I am taking the pain created by this dog-shaped hole in my heart, and I am bending it into a positive outlet. Tears are all nice and well, and taste funny when you lick them off your face… But they don’t help much. So instead of crying and complaining, I am writing. It may be the shittiest thing I’ve ever written. I don’t know. I am convinced it is. Because you know… It may as well be. I really don’t care. It is making me happy and feel like I have a goal again. And that is more important than anything else.

I am not yet healthy, and in some scary ways farther from it than I was before I went home. But I don’t care about that either. I am not going down the road of complaining and feeling sorry for myself again. I am not going to let it scare me into a submissive stupour.

Because I drove myself crazy thinking of how OK I wasn’t.

When in reality, I was OK. In fact, I didn’t realise how good my life was. I was loved, cared for, had a job, awesome friends, a boyfriend who tried his best to help me, an equally supportive family, a seemingly immortal dog… I had (and have) a pretty good life. And the fact that I was just feeling sorry for myself, that just makes me a fucking asshole.

Yes, a really cool asshole, but an asshole nevertheless.

So, I am not going down that lane again… at least, not without putting up a really big fight. I don’t complain or whine about my health. In fact, I try to not discuss it if I can help it. (In case anyone is wondering or worried. I am fine, still not dead.) Every day I set myself a goal. Write a thousand words. Smile like you mean it. Read something you find interesting (and remember it). Leave the house and see or do new stuff. And most importantly, stop being so fucking neurotic, you psycho nutcase.

Which were pretty much my New Years resolutions for 2012. So while I may think they are the dumbest things ever, maybe I did manage this year to actually fulfill them, and stick with them. It may have been a goddamn hard road. But I learned a lot. I may even have become a slightly better person (although I am still completely determined to become the Ultimate evil Overlord, of course.. But one with a heart of gold. Possibly literally. I’ll keep it in my bookcase. Yes. This must happen. Friends, in case you wonder what I want for my Birthday. I want a heart of Gold. It has to be pure gold. Make it happen. You are already a month late with gifting me something so I think a heart of pure Gold is not too much to ask for.)

Ha, who had thought new years resolutions are a real thing.

But since apparently they are (because I said so.) I should make some for 2013. (I already have of course… But let’s pretend that you are watching history in the making)

For 2013 there’s only 3 things I shall do.

First of all, I shall drink. With every opportunity, I shall drink and toast to being alive. Because drinking is awesome and it makes people seem more pretty. It’s pretty much the only cool thing about growing up, well, that and sex and being able to see whatever movie you want… So if you’re not doing some drinking, and some sex and some having fun… you might as well give up. Being a grown up is dumb, but seeing as we cannot be kids forever, take what the fuck you can get! And drink! And smile! And buy new shoes… because being to decide what you want to wear all by yourself is pretty awesome too (Yes mom, no one likes to wear fucking corduroy trousers. Goddamn it)

Oh, and while I’m at it. I shall smoke more, and do whatever the fuck makes me happy. Because there is no point in living a healthy life when you feel like crap. So, I shall do whatever I feel like. And I encourage everyone to do the same thing. If fucking Mick Jagger is still alive… There is no point in living a healthy life. Be a rock star and have some fun, people!

Secondly, I shall write. But aren’t you already doing that, you ask? Yes, I am. Fuck you for interrupting me! But I shall write some bit more and continue writing. 1000 words a day, at least. And I have decided I should attempt to write one blog post a week. Don’t read them. They shall be boring as fuck. But they shall be there. Because they amuse me… And that’s all I care about. Well, there might be some pictures of baby cats and chinchillas and such… Because I like those too. But yea. I shall write. Because I am possibly the most interesting person on the planet… and I would hate to rob my words of wisdom and insight (such as… Hey, I suck, Let’s drink) from you.

The last thing is something I attempt at every year, and I guess I am not alone in that…

I send my evil twin, Wez, a X-mas card saying that I genuinely hope that the new year is one of little personal growth and much fun. Because it seems both of us are condemned to grow through misery rather than experience. And as much as I like to be old and Wise someday, right now I’d rather be young and stupid. (Which is where the drinking comes in, because nothing brings out the stupid as alcohol)

So, once again, we will make it our goal to not be nihilistic cynics this year. 2013 is the year of Positivity!

Positivity and Happiness.

Yes!!

Because you can let all the bad shit get you down… But the only one you’re harming is yourself. And at some point you’re gonna have to accept that you will be fine. No matter what happens, you will be fine.

You will be fine.
2013 will be fine.

And I will definitely be fine.

Happy fucking new year, douchebags.

2011 — The Year I Forgot to Remember

I’m sure some highbrow writer once wrote something very quotable about how the past inevitably leads up to the future. I would quote that here right now were it not for 2 simple reasons.

  1. I spent most of my time reading comic books or watching movies so I don’t know any quotes apart from Yipeekayay Motherfucker and all the dialogue from the Lord of the Rings.
  2. I can’t be bothered to google it because I will feel like a pretentious git (hipster), quoting something I haven’t actually read.

So, imagine that here there is a very inspirational quote about time that will tie in beautifully with the rest of this post. You did it? Great! Let’s move on.

Like the invisible quote probably says; without the past there is no future. Except the asshole who made that up probably did not have my memory. From a single shot of a movie I can determine whether I’ve seen it or not, I remember almost everything I’ve ever read, but it took me up to 11 years to memorize my full name; my birthday took me even longer. If I try to think about what I did the past year…I hit a giant blank.

Mostly I remember the city lights reflecting off the canals of Amsterdam at night, I remember the sun on my skin, I remember the taste of coffee and bagels, I remember playing with my dog for hours, I remember writing a lot, I remember I wasn’t always too happy, I remember one friend coming home and another one leaving, and I remember I finally saw Orson Welles’ A Touch of Evil

But the events that happened, something of a narrative outline of the year… Couldn’t say. And this worries me, because it means that most of my time is lost. I’m not saying like Jack Dawson in Titanic (I just wanted to quote something I did see): To Make each moment count. That’s just stupid. I think if we would do that, most of us would fry our brains.

But where the fuck did my life go if all I can remember is riding my bike through Amsterdam staring at the light hitting the water (good times though)? There must have been more significant moments that I can’t remember simply because I am not wired that way. The giant bag of proteins in my head just refuses to store those moments somewhere I can access them, and this annoys me. But since I am already in the business of altering the make up of my brain (See last post) I can probably add: ‘Get a working memory!’ to my to-do list as well.

So, this is totally not where I was going to go with this post. I was going to say… 2011 happened, get over it. All I remember is watching a bunch of terrible movies and worrying that as a species we were getting more and more stupid. (This, FYI, is a genuine concern of mine. I have some concerns that some day either dolphins or monkeys or crows might take over the planet and this is not the part that concerns me. It is that they might do a much better job of it than we are doing at the moment). And the same will apply for 2012. It will happen, and I will most likely forget to remember what happened that year as well.

Ad Infinitum and then you die. By then it won’t really matter what you remember, because memory shapes your reaction to things to come… And I am a firm believer that dying really is the end station. I hope that by then I’ll be kinda done with this whole thing called living (unless the singularity happens and I can upload my consciousness into one awesome super-cyborg and I will never forget anything again). But for now I am very much alive and they still haven’t put a computer chip in my brain (Should probably add that one to the bucket list as well), so for now I worry about forgetting stuff I shouldn’t because I don’t want to miss out. Also, I don’t want to have to redo experiences just because I buried them to deep in my temporal lobe and cannot locate them anymore. That seems like a giant waste of time.

And I think it is kinda sad that I can tell you exactly which movie I saw where, but have a hard time remembering what I did on my birthday last year… (Anyone. What did I do? — Oh wait, I remember. Struik? Or was that the year before….. See. I’m lost. I remember Wez’ not being there. Dinner at Cote Ouest and that’s it.) But what sucks for me is probably great for you, so that now you don’t have to read me go on and on about my year which was probably just as mundane and insignificant as yours.

Instead, I’ll just tell you what were the most revelatory and brilliant things I’ve discovered and seen this past year… and do with that what you want. I’m sure none of these lists are accurate and I forgot a bunch of things… so I’ll probably add things to it over time.

Top 5 movies (New Releases) in no particular order because they are all so damn great!

  • Never let me go
  • Senna
  • Drive
  • The Tree of Life
  • Super 8
  • (special mention) Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows pt 2.

Top 5 Classic Movies through the years of cinematic history seen in 2011

  • Orson Welles’ A Touch of Evil
  • The Lady Eve
  • North by Northwest (and everything else by Hitchcock)
  • The Goonies (Because it will always make the List)
  • Zombieland
  • (Special Mention) Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark

Top 2 movies I wish I’d never seen (or wished I could stab my eyes out while watching them)

  • Cars 2
  • The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn pt 1

Best New Television Series that is in fact in its third season, but I only just saw it this year

  • Community

Top 2 Television series I abandoned but couldn’t stay away from because they are too damn good

  • The West Wing
  • Fringe

Hey, whadda you know… I read some books this year as well and these were all pretty good

  • Snuff by Terry Pratchett
  • Boomerang by Michael Lewis
  • Bambi vs. Godzilla by David Mamet
  • Scenes of a Revolution by Mark Harris
  • The Moral Landscape by Sam Harris
  • Hitch-22 by Christopher Hitchens
  • Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson
  • The Stand by Stephen King
  • De Profundis by Oscar Wilde
  • The Hero with a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell
  • (special Mention) A study in Emerald by Neil Gaiman

And for Good Measure, here are some graphic novels one cannot live without:

  • Habibi by Craig Thompson
  • Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: The graphic Novel by Jane Austen, Seth Grahame-Smith and Tony Lee
  • Fables by Bill Willingham and some other guys
  • Y: the Last Man by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra
  • Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa

So, that’s part of what I read and saw last year. Get cracking folks  because you don’t want to miss out… Except you should probably stay away from the Tree of Life, unless you are really really into cinema or Brad Pitt (Who isn’t into Brad Pitt btw? Men want to be him, girls want to be him… everyone wants to be Brad and who can blame them?!)

Even Brad Pitt wants to be Brad Pitt

 

New Year’s Resolutions — Or: The bullshit Idea that I will really change myself starting… now

Sometimes I find it disconcerting how much I can sound like Calvin

Sometimes I find it disconcerting how much I can sound like Calvin

I generally don’t do New Year’s resolutions. I hardly see the point of making up a bunch of stuff I should change just because it is a New Year. This is not to say I never make a resolution to do something. I just think it is stupid to wait to a rather random point on the time continuum to change what should be changed.

If it is a problem and it’s bothering you. Change it. If it is not so pressing it can wait to the first of January, it will probably be not that pressing then either. This is why most of New Year’s resolutions fail catastrophically. Change that is necessary will not wait for anything. You can make it wait, delay it, but that will only mean that it will later come crashing down on you full force. Change happens whether you like or not. And I don’t think it will ever wait for a date that is more convenient for you. Change is somewhat of an anti-social bitch in that way.

But that is not to say there are no benefits to really deciding to take some positive action in your life, perhaps in the parts that are less pressing. I remember the month Wez’ and I stopped saying negative statements, and realized we were so much happier. ( We couldn’t keep it up for longer than a month… but I still blame Robin Thicke and his crazy dance moves for that) And I doubt surveying your life and goals you have yet to reach is ever a bad idea (well, perhaps don’t do that last part on your deathbed. Dying with regrets on your mind probably isn’t the greatest way to go).

And I know there are plenty of things I want to do in my life. I still want to go to outer space, for instance (Sometimes I wonder if I set myself up for failure or just dare to dream big). I still want to live in New York for a couple of months. I want to run the marathon and learn how to cook like a pro. And I really want a puppy and dress it in a superhero costume. These are all on my bucket list, which can now be found on this website. These things are all, of course, plans that will take some time and in many ways a lot of scientific progress. (After all, it’s not like I’ll learn to cook before they’ll find a way to implant a chip into my brain that will tell me how).

But there is one thing I really would like to happen; and that is to get rid of all those barriers of my own making. These inhibitions that I’ve created for myself that seem to make no sense. I don’t know why I limit myself so much, but I do. I still find it very difficult to relax and stop judging myself. And this is a bad thing for obvious reasons. Mostly, because I fear it will drive me to some day become either an alcoholic or a schizophrenic. This is why from time to time I stop drinking and stop being crazy. The not drinking is slightly easier than the not being crazy for some reason… But neither are very hard… So I figure stopping to be so goddamn limiting must be equally doable. :)

So, this year. I will actively work to become less self-aware and stop over-thinking everything. It will be really hard to shut down my brain, but I like the challenge. It will be fun. For a long time I’ve been living in a small box of my own making, and I think it’s time to leave it… or at least break out a wall so it becomes a little more spacious. I have no idea how I will do it, but I guess I’ve already been doing it and only becoming aware of it now. I started it when I decided to move to London, and from here on out I’ll just need to figure out how to keep on moving forward.

I think one of the ways to do it is is to just get out of my comfort zone more often. I know I have some slight OCD tendencies, and that is a safety net I shouldn’t need. So, I’m going to try new thing. I’m not sure what they are… As long as they are fun. And they should be fun to write about, so you can enjoy this journey as well.

This month, I’ve decided I’m going to go to a shooting range to shoot with guns… It probably won’t break me out of my shell, but it will be a boatload of fun…

Because You are never Too  Young to Learn that Guns are Fun

Because You are never Too Young to Learn that Guns are Fun

Getting Ready for the End Times — 2012, Here we Come!

I was going to write an update, but then I realized that it’s almost 2012 and we might die any minute now. I’m not sure why, but apparently the Mayans (you know them? Those people who had invented the wheel, but couldn’t quite figure out what to use it for) decided that 2012 was the end for life on earth. Or the entire universe… I’m a bit hazy on the details. Anyhow, End Times. Yea!

The Apocalypse is apparently upon us. And it would be a mighty shame if the last thing I do is write to you what a ridiculous (yet cool) year 2011 was for me personally, economically, mentally and of course, cinema-wise. I’ve seen plenty of lists naming the best moments, movies and worst haircuts of 2011, and I think my lists are way more awesome. (Minus the terrible haircuts. I don’t do terrible hair)

But I’ll spare you my opinion for now. I’m going to get some coffee before the apocalypse hits. I have a feeling that it might be slightly harder to come by that holy hot black liquid after we’re vaporized by a cosmic ray storm, a radiation shower, a rain of comets or just the wrath of some lousy god. also, I saw on Twitter that some dude in Asia just died of a new strain of the Bird Flu, so a virus that will wipe out all of human life might be a possibility also.
(And Now Twitter is down. What does that tell you…. First sign of the Apocalypse?)

Don’t say I didn’t warn you…

So, let me just wish you all a very happy 2012 for as long as it lasts. :)
I hope you all remember my words of warning and try to cram in as much luck, love and life as humanly possible. Also, find time to spend with your friends and family and if possible, save a puppy somewhere. According to our Mayan friends it could be over any second, and it be a shame if your last thoughts were: “Damn, I did not enjoy this ride at all. Also… I think I left the stove on.”

Well. I’m off for my last ever cup of coffee ever (although I’m keeping my fingers crossed that -unlikely as it may be- the Mayans just got really confused and fudged the dates up) so you bet I’m going to enjoy it!