I wouldn't belong to any club that would have me as a member.

So there's this Creative Writing Club that my friend Krystal started ages back where she invites people over to her place and, allegedly, they talk about creative projects (not just writing but photography, songwriting, painting etc). I don't normally go but last time I did (and brought a new friend; Andrea) and it was splendid. Didn't really relate, whatsoever, to projects or pieces we had created. It was, however, very constructive in its own way.

For one, Julia made around five kinds of delicious treats (the most scrumptious, in my humble opinion, being vegan chocolate cheesecake. Then again, I wasn't around to try the fondue). We all just chatted, watched youtube videos and got to know each other (a unique gift of Krystal's being the ablity to put a whole lot of- mostly- strangers together in a room and get them chatting like friends in about three minutes). We didn't get to the writing stuff but I figure we have plenty of time for that. Because, yes, I really do plan to go again. I had a lovely evening (and this was it).





I guess I've been behaving a little out of character lately. Hannah, the I'm only when it happy when it rains girl, seems to be coping with an existent social life. I liked the other night because there was no drinking; no pretense; no pretend maturity or coolness (I know my use of the word 'coolness' indicates just how little 'cool' I possess myself). This is the sort of thing I want to spend my time doing, if I'm not going to do what was expected of me and become a hermit. There isn't really a punchline to this one, guys, just someone who thinks; If this is friendship, and being 'social', well, I guess I'll stay for cake.


What? You know what they say. That Hannah; she's a marshmallow.

Through my eyes, looks so pretty.

I had big plans this holidays. Picnics. Bike rides. Movies. Walks. Shopping. Okay, maybe not big plans but snack sized, at least. I hoped to do things involving sunscreen and summer dresses, popcorn and ticket stubs, sneakers and ... well, you get the picture. I also planned to study a little and take the pressure off when I got back to school.

If any of these things actually occurred in the last five days, I don't believe I was around to witness it. Why am I so incapable of actually doing something with my spare time? I seem to just bum around constantly. I get so little done. I know recreation isn't something that should be measured and achieved but somehow it ends up feeling like it is. It's like I'm failing at whimsy, or something.

So I've been making more plans. Ones written in pen, not skywriting that blows away with the next breeze. Come the next seven days, I'ma have something to actually report about "what I did on the holidays".

So don't go away, 'kay? I'll be right back.

No, Ted, brunch is not cool.

I bought Harry Potter glasses today. They're awe-wait for it-some and I heart them. I'm waiting for the lenses to be put into them so they should hit the streets on my oh-so-lucky nose in around seven days.

As you can probably tell by the above sentence, How I Met Your Mother is back. Back on TV, back in my life, back in my heart. Shouldn't make me this happy but it does. Some serious increases in production value contrast with the somewhat lacklustre acting performances of the cast in the first episode. Is okay, living vicariously through Barney and Robin is still easy.

Oh, and man, sexual orientation is a hot topic lately. So here's a recap of what I think. I don't agree with gay marriage purely because I don't agree with marriage. Thus I still love Ellen and rainbows so no need to kill me using only the extraordinary brute power of your political correctness.I do support whoever in my life, for whatever reason, decides their previously assumed sexual identity is no longer who they are. Love is love and my love for you is the same regardless of whom you fall in love with. I dislike Perez Hilton regardless of... anything, really.

Oh, oh, speaking of irrational loves (like that of HIMYM and Harry Potter glasses); I've recovered all of my old music. Well, most of it. Currently enjoying Avril and hating myself for it. Yep, my life rules.

She's one of those girls, nothing but trouble
Just one look and now you're seeing double...

Adios.

I don't know what's right and what's real.

I'm trying to write again. Like the old days (if you laughed hysterically at that, well, that's fair).

Sample 1 of my new attempts at writing:

tender hands caressed her eyes
tears simmered slyly, unmasking mute cries
They circled, sweating unrest
limbs held still; blistered; blessed
onto her They wrote a script
blood slithered out
as one, They sipped.

Can't think of a title yet. Hmph. Let me know your thoughts if you have any.

So far so great.

I hit a pedestrian. Or, more, a pedestrian hit me.

It all sounds rather Rory Gilmore but seriously; it wasn't my fault. I was riding in the rain which already spelled trouble. Plus, I was riding through the city which- not to invoke Macbeth but here I go- spelled double trouble. My brakes had already proved practically useless when cars crossed into the bicycle lane just for kicks (oh, how I adore those little two-tonne scamps!) so I was going pretty slowly to avoid, you know, dying.

I'm coming up on Melbourne Central where the traffic lights are problematic and the pedestrians jaywalk like nobody's business. And suddenly, despite his red light and my green one, a pedestrian steps out in front of me while looking in the opposite direction. Smack! I must have been thrown neck first into this guy because shortly afterward I started coughing and feeling like I couldn't breathe. Aside from my life threatening winding, though, I was pretty worried about him. But he was still standing and as soon as I asked him if he was okay he'd asked me about five times and was still going. We just reassured each other for about thirty seconds that we were both fine, whereupon he kept walking across the road and I sat there in the rain waiting for the green light to return to me, its passionately lonely former lover.

Once we were reunited, I continued riding and let the soreness set in after the adrenaline wore off. My life is so interesting and fun.

You just might need dynamite.

Been busy lately. Avoiding full sentences. Avoiding lots of stuff. But no longer.

I'm here. Present. Reporting for duty. Punching in. Whatever.

Every weekend has brought another party or three, which is loverly but sometimes one wants to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, unpause the DVD player and continue watching a Judy Garland movie. Lame? Perhaps, but it's me, it's what I do, and I miss it. I haven't been reading much lately, either, which sucks because I had so many big plans. I still have an unopened copy of Sylvia Plath's journals sitting beside my bed (bigger than a bible and something I'm far more likely to worship). And I never write anymore. Not poems, not autobiographical snippets, not short stories, nothing. This isn't exactly a ginormous loss to the world, I know, but it did wonders for my sanity. Online visits are fewer and fewer for me. I miss anyone I don't have a tutorial with or sit with at lunchtimes. Cooking doesn't seem to be happening; I ate a meal out of a packet the other day (*shudder* ...although it was quite alright as far as Indian food goes).

I'm being more who people want me to be; my family are stunned but ecstatic when I come home from a night out partying and drinking, friends are amused and intrigued by my newfound social life, I have more in common with people I meet. And yet... I don't feel like me. And in weird ways it shows. I don't go out at night; I have nothing to wear to clubs and parties. I don't go out to eat; I sit and drink tea or water and then grab a burger on the way home. I start talking excitedly with people about University and TV shows when I should be ordering a drink.

And I miss my place on the couch, and my mug, and my movie. And yet I don't return to them. Someone once called me an enigma. I wonder, were Winston Churchill to observe me, what he would say.