So, so you think you can tell,
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field,
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
Did they get you to trade,
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
Did you exchange,
A walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
Wish You Were Here
Pink Floyd
Friday, March 10, 2006
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Freakin' Funny Ad
I stumbled across the above video (click to be taken to the link) while aimlessly surfing the internet today. Apparently the cat herding ad was played during the US Super Bowl a few years ago. I hadn't seen it before though. Mind you, that probably has something to do with not ever seeing the US Super Bowl because I'm an Aussie and all. Anyway, the ad is hilarious! Watch for the cowboy that is allergic to cats. I'd view the ad over and over again just for that. Too funny!
Monday, March 06, 2006
Self Harm Aftermath
The following is related to burning as a method of self harm, self injury or whatever you want to call it.
After a few short days, your blistery creation will eventually spring a leak. It will start weeping (hopefully) watery liquid (if it is not infected). This liquid runs! Everywhere! If you burnt your arm, it will run down the length of your forearm and around to the underside of your arm. The watery liquid will transfer to anything it touches, like a computer keyboard for example. It will drip everywhere.
At the same time, it will start to itch. Really itch! Although you know that you probably shouldn't, you will want to rip open the blister/s and scratch the living daylights out of the wound. You will try your hardest to resist the urge as you know that if it is an open wound, it runs the risk of getting affected. Not that you particularly care about the possible infection. You just don't want to have to bother about taking care of the wound or taking any more medication. You're on enough already.
So, you will sit there for ages desperately wanting to scratch but you are unable to. Intermittently, you will wipe the leakage from your arm and the computer keyboard or whatever else it has touched. You will seriously consider burning the area again. After all, it will stop the itching temporarily and to be brutally honest, it will feel good.
But it doesn't stop there. Your loved one will eventually notice the new wound no matter how much you tried to hide it from him/her. Initially you will be cautious about hiding it from them, but you will drop your guard. After all, the wound and scars become natural after a while. They are just "one of those things" and you don't consider their presence to be different. When your loved one finally notices the new wound, s/he will stare at it. Really stare at it! S/he will say something along the lines of, "Not again! You were doing so well." You will think to yourself, "Yeah, right! I was doing so well ... not."
By chance you leave the house (not that you want to but sometimes it can't be avoided), there will be at least one stranger that draws attention to your scars and current wound. This stranger will say something like, "Wow! What happened to your arms?" For a brief moment, you will be taken aback. "What?" you think to yourself. But then it suddenly dawns on you and you realise what they are referring to. You mutter some semi-prepared excuse about having a drunken cooking accident and getting burnt by cooking oil. After all, your previous experience has taught you to have some inane excuse prepared.
So, that's it. A day in the life of someone who has to burn. Fun, hey!
After a few short days, your blistery creation will eventually spring a leak. It will start weeping (hopefully) watery liquid (if it is not infected). This liquid runs! Everywhere! If you burnt your arm, it will run down the length of your forearm and around to the underside of your arm. The watery liquid will transfer to anything it touches, like a computer keyboard for example. It will drip everywhere.
At the same time, it will start to itch. Really itch! Although you know that you probably shouldn't, you will want to rip open the blister/s and scratch the living daylights out of the wound. You will try your hardest to resist the urge as you know that if it is an open wound, it runs the risk of getting affected. Not that you particularly care about the possible infection. You just don't want to have to bother about taking care of the wound or taking any more medication. You're on enough already.
So, you will sit there for ages desperately wanting to scratch but you are unable to. Intermittently, you will wipe the leakage from your arm and the computer keyboard or whatever else it has touched. You will seriously consider burning the area again. After all, it will stop the itching temporarily and to be brutally honest, it will feel good.
But it doesn't stop there. Your loved one will eventually notice the new wound no matter how much you tried to hide it from him/her. Initially you will be cautious about hiding it from them, but you will drop your guard. After all, the wound and scars become natural after a while. They are just "one of those things" and you don't consider their presence to be different. When your loved one finally notices the new wound, s/he will stare at it. Really stare at it! S/he will say something along the lines of, "Not again! You were doing so well." You will think to yourself, "Yeah, right! I was doing so well ... not."
By chance you leave the house (not that you want to but sometimes it can't be avoided), there will be at least one stranger that draws attention to your scars and current wound. This stranger will say something like, "Wow! What happened to your arms?" For a brief moment, you will be taken aback. "What?" you think to yourself. But then it suddenly dawns on you and you realise what they are referring to. You mutter some semi-prepared excuse about having a drunken cooking accident and getting burnt by cooking oil. After all, your previous experience has taught you to have some inane excuse prepared.
So, that's it. A day in the life of someone who has to burn. Fun, hey!
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Just Fucking Wonderful!
Warning! Strong language following!
I just received an email from my TAFE tutor. Essentially he has accused me of cheating in my last assignment. He thinks I used an authoring program to code the html. WTF!?!?!?!?!?! Fuck, it took me ages to code that shit by hand and ages pawing through books on how to achieve the desired result. And for gawd's sake, I am not a come-by-lately when it comes to creating and managing websites. I created and maintained my last workplace's site for fuck sake.
What else can possibly go wrong? Over the past couple of days I have been writing my "real" journal entries out in longhand because, well, they have been rather disturbing and probably better not published here on this blog. Can anything else happen to make this fucking depression worse? I'm almost at the end of my tether as it is.
*Insert scream here*
Updated: Well, I've discovered how I can finally shed a tear ... out of frustration and anger. Unfortunately it leads to SH as well. Oh well. At least it was done over existing scars. :S
I just received an email from my TAFE tutor. Essentially he has accused me of cheating in my last assignment. He thinks I used an authoring program to code the html. WTF!?!?!?!?!?! Fuck, it took me ages to code that shit by hand and ages pawing through books on how to achieve the desired result. And for gawd's sake, I am not a come-by-lately when it comes to creating and managing websites. I created and maintained my last workplace's site for fuck sake.
What else can possibly go wrong? Over the past couple of days I have been writing my "real" journal entries out in longhand because, well, they have been rather disturbing and probably better not published here on this blog. Can anything else happen to make this fucking depression worse? I'm almost at the end of my tether as it is.
*Insert scream here*
Updated: Well, I've discovered how I can finally shed a tear ... out of frustration and anger. Unfortunately it leads to SH as well. Oh well. At least it was done over existing scars. :S
Eek! "Scary" Dream
Okay, maybe it wasn't a scary dream per se, but it certainly had its very own "WTF!" aspect.
Last night's dream centred on the school where I used to work and its acting DP (yep, the scary wench herself). For some godforsaken reason, I had accepted a job there again. This particular job was supposed to be a on a very casual basis. It didn't seem to turn out that way however. On my first day, I sat in on a class. Then came my conversation with the incredibly fake DP. She was acting all friendly and such, but I knew she was just faking her way through her niceties. I asked her about the kids I would be working with and the hours I would be working. Of course the acting DP had not organised anything. She gave me the impression that I would be working many more hours than had originally been agreed upon. She didn't have a clue about what classes I would be assisting in and which kids I was there to help. She was the definition of incompetent.
Thankfully that is all I remember from the dream. Why I would dream about her and the school is beyond me. I think I need to have a shower just to cleanse myself. Ick!
Last night's dream centred on the school where I used to work and its acting DP (yep, the scary wench herself). For some godforsaken reason, I had accepted a job there again. This particular job was supposed to be a on a very casual basis. It didn't seem to turn out that way however. On my first day, I sat in on a class. Then came my conversation with the incredibly fake DP. She was acting all friendly and such, but I knew she was just faking her way through her niceties. I asked her about the kids I would be working with and the hours I would be working. Of course the acting DP had not organised anything. She gave me the impression that I would be working many more hours than had originally been agreed upon. She didn't have a clue about what classes I would be assisting in and which kids I was there to help. She was the definition of incompetent.
Thankfully that is all I remember from the dream. Why I would dream about her and the school is beyond me. I think I need to have a shower just to cleanse myself. Ick!
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
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