dear santa

i've been thinking about this whole thing. this whole, christmas thing. and quite frankly: i couldn't give a toss.
i don't care in the slightest if you leave me a lump of coal, refuse to bring me a thing, or simply fly past my house.
i just simply don't get it.

all that i've been lead to believe about this time of year seems based on some kind of religious event.
so, i ask: where do you fit in? how did you become a figure so revered?

i'm not a person of faith, so why should i make believe that i am?

it vexes me that such... such reverence is placed on such a creation of imagination (more so than not).
i'm not saying that you are pure imagination (i'm sure there is truth embedded in there somewhere, it's simply hidden),it's just that, in the form i've been subject to over these modern years, appears as nothing more than creation of a fertile mind.

and the idea of you creeping into my house at night, in these dark days, is far more frightening than any ghost story i've ever heard around a camp fire.

so, i'm not writing to you to ask for something i neither need, want nor desire. instead, i'm writing to express to you my thoughts and notions.
to question you as i question many things. perhpas, then, that is the gift i seek. it is not something i desire, or need, or want, it's merely a curiosty that requires quenching.

would you do that for me?
could you do that for me?
will you do that for me?


how do you say it?

so many times the moment has arrived and been let slip past for no other reason than cowardice.

strength could be the issue.

sobriety another.

personal belief.


and no i will not answer questions so don't bother asking (you know who you are).

you know, there are so many varied occasions when i wish i knew better how to express what i'm thinking to those close to me, or those i perceive as close.

this is one of many.

the opportunity arises and i falter.

this is normal?

for most?

a planned occasion was shot down in flames earlier.

nothing unusual there.

why is everything a struggle right now?

just fucking KISS ME GODDAMMIT!

make a fucking move!

stop messing with my fucking head.

i SHOULDN'T have these thoughts, but you were there before this.

and i've not moved on.

i should, it'll never be more than a fling.


just say it!

it'll eat you from the inside out if you don't

personal philosophy aside; just ASK!

stupid crossroads.

is it wrong to want someone to actually practice the words they spell out in something close to a promise?

i don't think i was built for this sort of existence.

where's the freedom?

til next....
~Kits~ (a partial thought leak)
an interesting fascination.
it's messing with my head, because i can't decipher where it stands in the scheme of my thoughts.
perhaps i've just grown attatched to my own work, you know, become really proud of what i've done.
i worked hard and created something jolly.
i took a small thing, and made it as big as it would go.
maybe that's it.
pride is doing it.
and i really am proud of the work i've done.
i think i deserve to be.


i've worked so hard to do everything, and most often been left unappreciated.
this time, i think it's different.
people are starting to appreciate the hard work and effort i put into things.
it's an odd sensation, pride.
i don't know how to handle it.
i'm taking it in my stride, and trying not to let it get the better of me.
i've seen what it can do to a lot of people, and i don't want to become an arrogant egotistical shit.
but i can't help but feel very proud when i stand back and look at my own work.

i was so moved by one moment that i was almost brought to tears.
that's quite a feat.
well done.
and thankyou.

til next....
~Kits~ (thoughts are a-dribblin')
i am so tired. this stupid job. i don't mind it so much, it's mindless and i can mostly turn my brain off in order to do it, which is nice, but it's the insane hours! getting home in the wee hours is not exactly my idea of a fulfilling day at work, nor is the getting to sleep at hours near dawn only to be awoken by the Sprog at an hour or so past dawn (it feels like an hour or so past dawn, but it's usually around 8am). I'm currently existing on about 5 or 6 hours of sleep per night, doing stuff during the day (rarely getting the chance to nana nap) and then working between 3 and 6 hour shifts at night EVERY night unless i tell them otherwise.

i'm so sick of this not getting enough sleep thing, that i've started applying for new jobs that are available DURING THE DAY! So if anyone out there has or knows of any decent paying ($18.50ph minimum) part time jobs, could you point them in my direction. upsell me like there's no tomorrow. tell them they HAVE to have me or else they'll go bankrupt, or something. just tell them i'm neccessary to their existence and that they barely survived before they employed me.

in other not so 'grrrr' news. i've been looking at my study options for next year. i've missed the first round of early year enrolments, and doubt i'll have had enough time to seriously decide which path to take in order to apply for second round, so i'm looking at mid year enrolments in a BSc. Finally (yes, an uppercase 'F'). deciding which subjects to study (with at least 2 of them almost guranteeing Pots being my tutor) is sooo difficult. i can't decide between getting involved in something i know i can get paid bucket loads for post doc, or something i know i can get paid a pretty damn decent amount for. do i want to be a geneticist or a pathologist? that is the question. i know the geneticist part is due mainly to the influence of Pots (who is a geneticist and statistician), and i've always had some kind of macabre interest in pathology. the whole cutting up things and dealing with goop is quite appealing. then there's the whole 'research' aspect of science (which tends to be where the 'bucket loads of money' part is). i'd like to be earning a slightly more than comfortable income in the future, and i want to be able to provide Monkey with a more than comfortable future (as well as a juicy trust fund), but i know i shouldn't make the dollars my main motivation for choosing my major. i still can't decide between the two. and when it comes to genetics, there are so many different aspects to that as well.

also, do i wanna just be a biol pleb and minion and be a lab tech or some such other menial position, or do i want to run a lab and be in charge of plebs doing research into all kinds of funky things. but really, do i want the pressure of writing grant applications?

do i even wanna go post grad? i don't really think there is much chocice there. if i want to be in a decent position, i need a PhD.

guh! i gotta stop looking at the big picture and refine my search somewhat: what subjects do i want to study. but first: what focus do i want to take? Genetics or Pathology.

i've also managed to refine my search for monologues down to three, with thanks to the inimitable [ profile] ghymoreid. I have Rumours monologue in Henry IV, Tamora's guilt trip from Titus Andronicus, and Lady Bracknells Algy monolgue from The Importance of Being Earnest(Oscar Wilde).

I'm now trying to decide whether i should do two Shakespeares of a contrasting nature (Rumour/Tamora), or if I should do one Shakespeare and one Wilde. If the latter be the case, then i have to decide which of the Bard pieces to use. I tell you what, things just don't like coming easy do they?

til next....
~Kits~ (brain melty)
out of boredom, i wandered to the dining room and picked up my guitar. the single most expensive item i've ever paid for with my own money. that which, hopefully, one day will be my major source of income. something i used to pick up for more than an hour every day. a 'toy' that has apparently fallen victim to the same creative sapping disease that's sucked my brain dry of all it's ability to use words expressively.

i've just spent perhaps ten minutes doodling. picking random notes here and there, strumming abstract chords in the hope of creating something new. some of the chords sounded really nice, incredibly abstract, and may eventually make their way into something i write. for the most part, it was a bland session. more of a warm up and practice so i don't forget how to play, or lose the layers of hardened skin on the ends of my fingers that have taken many years to cultivate. but mainly so that i stay limber. with my physically demanding job i risk losing the slenderness of my fingers and their flexibility, so i need to keep up the practice, or else i'll lose any hope of becoming a better musician.

but i can't focus. i can't sit and play non stop for an hour at a time. i used to be able to just sit and play set after set after set, every day, singing and playing because i enjoyed it. i loved the feel of the strings on my fingers, the sound that the guitar made, the strength hidden within the music. again, i'm finding myself lacking enough energy to even pick my guitar up. and when i do, everything i play sounds so lacklustre. the music sounds bored, old and played out. the strength has left it. even the words themselves, the very words that i have written and once sounded so beautiful to me, appear crusty and cliche.

what the hell is going on with me? everything i love and adore about myself is fading away and i don't know why. i dont' know how to stop it. i dont' even know where it's going. i dont' even know who to talk to to try and find it. everything is just slowly creeping out of the door and i can't seem to stop them from leaving.

fucking hell! when did i become so EMO?!?!???!!!

the more i write about it, the more i get it out, the closer i am to finding the problem and the solution. analysis. it's all about analysis. but sometimes i analyse too much....

til next....
~Kits~ (leaking)
i used to be able to write everyday. i used to be able to grab a notebook and a pen, find somewhere to sit and observe my surroundings and let the ink slowly scratch it's way across the pages. it would be so easy. words, thoughts and observations used to just slip right out. once upon a time i carried up of two notebooks, ALL OF THE TIME, in order to write various things. one would be for my short stories, the other would be for verse, poetry and song. i could write while watching television, or while taking notes at uni, or while rehearsing a play. not every single word was worth keeping, but i still have a record of them. nowadays, i'm lucky if i can find the energy to write my name on a scrap of paper, just to see if i remember how to use a pen. i've been carrying the same notebook with me for the better part of six months now, and i've barely used up more than ten pages. i'll sit at train stations, the pub, even at rehearsals with my pen at the ready and the book open to the next blank space, but virtually nothing will leak out. it's almost like i've lost the connection with my medium; lost my muse.

i think in the past i had a purpose for my scrawlings, and every once in a while, i regain that purpose and will spit out a few things that are worth keeping. but, for the most part, nothing i write is worth the chemical reaction that took place to make it. i also don't have the energy to sit and write everyday. i've tried. unsuccessfully. i've even tried using a different medium to perhaps bolster any creative urges i have, but even that ends up being a waste of time and electricity, and it's far too easy for me to delete what i create than it is with a pen and paper. a computer can erase any trace of the thought, and i don't like that idea all that much.

perhaps i'm tired. that would explain some of it. perhaps i've just run out of thougts and ideas for the time being. i do think, though, that my biggest problem is that i have no reason or purpose to write anymore. i have no muse. previously, the man i called 'my hero' was my muse, but he recently tumbled from my graces, and since then, i've not had any real care to make words work for me. and i'm saddened by this. words were the only way i could express myself. with words i could release the varied emotions i'd bottled up. it was a cleansing ritual. without the use of words, i'm more tense. i'm easily angered and my tolerance for everything is greatly reduced. i need to find the words again. i need to express again.

i need to find my muse. and that is going to be the toughest part.

til next....
~Kits~ (uh, okay)
blogging just doesn't have the 'wham' it used to.
i'm barely interested in reading other peoples these days, and can't really be bothered updating my own out of sheer laziness.
well, laziness and the fact that i'm not really at the computer all that much anymore.

it's just a voyeurism anyway. a self centered voyeurism.
  • let's talk about the bullshit i get up to in my daily happenings. i don't even care if you read it or not, i'm just so full of myself that i have to share EVERY SINGLE SMEGGING DETAIL (i'll admit that i've been guilty of this narcissism, but i only do it occassionally, and only when i'm feeling particularly full of it). there are some things you should just leave OUT of your blog. i mean that. REALLY.

  • then there's those who use their blogs to thrust their politics upon you (with a hint of the religious/non religious hankerings). sometimes these blogs are actually worth reading, because they are inciteful, witty and interesting. most of the time, however, they are not. i particularly despise the ones who use it as a platform to try and force people into believing in the same right wing/left wing/slightly off centre bullshit they do. yes, there are some things i'm passionate (or at least care) about, but i'm not inclined to say "HEY, YOU MUST TAKE NOTICE OF THIS OR I'LL KNOCK YOUR SMEGGING TEETH OUT OF YOUR HEAD!"

  • i rather 'like' the ones who come over all self important. oh, they certainly are very interesting to read, in actual fact. they're always posting about how much better they are than the other people they 'chat' with. i rather enjoy the ones who'll post transcripts of arguments they've had in whatever forum they were posting in that week, and brag about how much more 'mature' than their 'opponent' they are.
ah, whatever. i dont' really know where i'm heading with this.
as always, i've had an idea that's run out of steam less than half the way through.

i'm simply venting.
i'm not self important and i'm not forcing this onto anyone.
i'm just letting off steam.

i now have to go do a stocktake.

til next....
~Kits~ (more than just a farting brain)


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