overocea: (Default)
I got a new job as a face-to-face counsellor. do you realise what this means?
no more pink asymmetrical hair.

which further means I MUST to learn to drive before I start work (21st April) so that I can have pink asymmetrical hair on my driver's license. but I don't really think it is very likely because... I haven't actually ever driven before except one time when I was 16, oh but I rode around a sugar cane field on a moped once and crashed it into a ditch and broke it.

I am 20something(?) and haven't learnt to drive because I disagree with car culture. you know, I get the bus to work every day, and zoom past (on the busway) the parking lot desert of a highway stretching 30?km out of the city and? EVERY SINGLE CAR HAS ONE PERSON IN IT. if cars were outlawed for personal use public transport would rock and there would be much more room for flowers than bitumen and air than carbon monoxide. but secretly also I am scared to drive, and to be in control of a speeding 1500 kilogram hunk of metal. I typed "how much does a car weigh" into google to be able to write that.

also I am going to Cairns on Monday for a couple weeks.
also I am going to Supanova pop culture expo this weekend. HOW GEEKY.
also here is a painting I did several years ago. I can't believe I am even posting it as I find it so very embarrassingly awful:

overocea: (Default)
you know how your time, today, is so precious to you you don't want to waste it, don't know how to spend it, it's like coins dripping from your hand
rush around your own head; flip and switch, no, nothing is worth it
  thinking, thinking

I've obviously accomplished nothing, today,

beyond work. A group reflection session, in which we had to talk about a call that had gone terribly, or terribly well. How did it make us feel, what would we have done differently, "what about you, Jessicah, what would you have done?" to ensure you weren't really staring completely vacantly at the concentric circled pattern, faintly raised, textured, on the close, closing walls.
"I don't know any of you, your sympathetic lip-stretchings or uncertain eye-narrowings."

I don't think any one tells the truth at any time. Go to work, go out on weekends, invest in term deposits, pay off loans, cut up vegetables, give way to the right, keep yearly dentist appointments, find pleasure in your collection, produce, consume, oblige, fuck.

TIME.
overocea: (please)
I last updated exactly half a year ago. Facebook has made me lazy.. it requires no thought and minimal consideration. arrr.

I've been making lots of clothes with fabric bought from ebay 'cause Brisbane has no fabric that isn't hideously boring, or just hideous.

Come to see Infected Mushroom with us on February 23rd please.

Today is my only day off for the week and I am spending it nakedly simultaneously watching Samurai Jack and playing laptoppy computer games. and typing here random things I think of throughout. and meeting people later for pounds and pounds of coffee. Yes, pounds.
's working too much :<

I don't tell my livejournal private things like I did 7 years ago, when there was no one I knew personally who read it. Maybe that's why I don't use it anymore. I'm an exhibitionist unless it's at people I have to deal with on a week-to-month basis. You know.. when the world rests on your head/in your bed, and you feel like a deeply loved goldfish.

My fish are deeply loved.. the first half of my day off was spent transferring them out of their slightly leaky tank into a brand new one.

Last night, walking home from work, I passed under a railway bridge (the lights were orange, stared eagerly at suspicious shadows), and smelt sparklers. You know? What is that smell, what are sparklers made of? I heard loud bangs, and vividly imagined the bridge crumbling, plundering my noggin.. or perhaps just as I emerged from under it, spinning around in shocked disbelief, heartbeat, calling triple 0, trembling "there could be people, cars, me, under there..." Then racing home for my camera.

Ah, yeah I am loved... more than I love.

Anyone who reads this, post a comment and hit Ctrl+V, and nothing else. Just paste what's in your clipboard:

62% reported having been raped in prostitution.
73% reported having experienced physical assault in prostitution.
72% were currently or formerly homeless.
92% stated that they wanted to escape prostitution immediately.
Farley, M., Baral, I., Kiremire, M., & Sezgin, U. (1998). Prostitution in five countries: Violence and posttraumatic stress disorder. Feminism & Psychology, 8 (4), 405-426.

haha that was unexpected. SEE? IT'S FUN.
overocea: (Default)
I recently caught up on my (heavily filtered) friends page. Unfortunately, many of you rarely report anything worth commenting on. So if you're wondering why my commenting is lacking, it is because you are boring. However I admit that I am a poor LJer in general. YOU SEE, I CAN'T HELP BUT FEEL THAT LJ has ceased to be a journalling tool, and has instead become a tool of communication. The fact is I lack many basic communication skills due to the fact that I hate people, thus my entries

hmm I must have become distracted. damn it, I can't even finish ONE LOUSY PARAGRAPH of an entry.

My point was, or was eventually in a very roundabout way going to become, that I've been considering being more journally in my livejournal, as opposed to my once per month: "Look! Look at my latest attempt to convince myself that I am still an artist! PRAISE ME!"

I used to keep paper journals for actual journally business, but haven't written in my latest for months. I blame that on recently losing faith in my keeping written memories idea after reading not-so-long-ago entries, the basis happenings of which I can still recall; for several times per page I forget that "I mustn't put strangeness where there's nothing. I think that is the danger of keeping a diary: you exaggerate everything, you are on the look-out, and you continually stretch the truth."

But! I SO love reading my past journals. It is an addiction to which I'm sure any self-obsessed person can relate. So should I try, RIGHT NOW?

I am at work, and just came in from smoking a cigarette. Smoking cigarrettes inspires me, especially to write, which is why I smoke them, which is further why I am writing now. This particular cigarrette I stubbed out too vigorously and in doing so accidentally snapped the remaining quarter from the filter. As I picked up the pieces and brought them inside to place in the bin, my vision flared into a burning blindness as I was arbitrarily overcome with a white rage at the thought of those who flick their butts into gutters, gardens, graves. Although my cigarrette butts are pink and could thus only increase the prettiness of anything I cared to flick them into.

Okay that is surely the most inane thing I have ever written. Curse you LiveJournal, curse you.

Here is a list of updates that may interest you, because lists are ALWAYS full of win:
  • I am working on many webdesign projects lately, the most complicated one I am not being paid for. Why I agree to these things I DO NOT KNOW since I supposedly hate people.
  • I am saving uP to go to Japan to teach English for a year.
  • Going to Japan for a year means giving my ratties and my fish up for adoption. This makes me sad every day. However various family members will be taking my cats, hurrah.
  • I like my boyfriend. He is good.Pretty Pop
  • I recently bought Pretty Pop, my first new pony all year. She is my new alltime favourite, even beyond G1s which I usually greatly prefer. Here is a picture, and if computer monitors had smellovision you would be able to tell that she smells like bubblegum.
  • I faint when I have needles of any kind (no heroin for me, thanks). As a result I have been terrified all my life of donating blood and have made excuse after pathetic, unreasonable excuse. I have decided to be great and mighty and overcome this fear by facing it directly etc etc. I have convinced one friend to come, WHO ELSE HERE volunteers to save up to three loves with us? (That should obviously have read "lives" but I think it works better this way.)
  • Finally, here are some bash quotes at which I have been chortling all day.

    <peer`> I cut off gummy bear heads and put them over the LED's on my keybaord
    <peer`> now I have glowing gummy bear heads

    * ab is away - gone, if anyone talks in the next 25 minutes as me it's bm being an asshole -
    <ab> HAHAHA DISREGARD THAT, I SUCK COCKS

    <Tsk> oiuyniyu98h987h89yh87y98yjn987j987y897yhkiuk;''''
    <Tsk> sorry.. there was a spider on my keyboard.
overocea: (can_t sleep)
hallo internets. I have a question for you.

I am writing my social psychology essay. it is an academic paper, so is meant to be dry and humourless.

however I've no other way to describe Contact Hypothesis but as "a lumbering fog-monster."

I love the lecturer of this class, and am reasonably sure he likes me just fine. plus he has a great sense of humour.

it is fourth/honours year level, so he can safely assume I have sufficiently shown my dry, humourless academic prowess throughout my undergrad career. and, since this is much less significant than, say, my thesis, or even a postgrad essay, surely he can appreciate my creeping ever-so-slightly out of the usual format of description.

right? so come on. tell me I can leave it as is and will get 50 A+s, yay.

also, will McDonald's cease advertising with Channel 10 as a result of their airing of Supersize Me? haha. we shall see.

also, my userinfo page has been given a virtual gift. THANKS, ANONYMOUS!
overocea: (all the sights)
I ask every person I know, if I know them well enough, if they consider themselves happy. well they usually say "oh, I don't know. yeah, I guess, pretty happy, not great, but yeah," or something similarly noncommittal. people are all over the place with noncommittal answers that don't really mean anything.

so sometimes I get them to give me a percentage, if 100 is the best and happiest and most functional they could possibly be. this works better, they stop and think for a moment, mentally measure their lives, and give me a hard, solid, heavy number.

and do you know what? i'm quite often floored by how low the number is. I mean, in general, i'm floored by the average person's answer. if I had to give an average of all the people i've asked recently, well it'd be around 55%. on average, people feel they're functioning at 55% efficiency happinesswise. it shocks me. I wonder now if they're thinking of how happy they could possibly be, or how happy they've been, or just how happy they're not..

so, me, when I ask myself.. well I can't answer my own question. I mean... well I think of myself as quite sad. I feel like i'm quite sad a lot of the time. like i'm dissatisfied and at odds with the world and just, you know, every thought a shitty stanza in an angsty adolescent's poem of pure blackness.

but then so much of the time I feel so happy! much happier than I ever see anyone else feel. and when I say see anyone else feel, and you're thinking "well how do you know, you god-wannabe, what if they're just not expressing it," well I imagine that if they're not explosively compelled to express it, like they feel they just have no choice but to shout "i'm happy!" then they're not happy enough, not as happy as I. see, I often feel so happy that I just have to shout "i'm happy!" when having coffee with a friend, or "good morning, morning!" upon stepping out the front door, or "I love you green man!" when the little crosswalkie man goes green, or "yay! it's breakfast!" when i'm hungry.

okay, now that I think about it, maybe i'm not happier than anyone else and just have impulse control issues.

nah. i'm happy.
yay!

easter

Apr. 17th, 2006 12:08 am
overocea: (black & white)
there are a great many things in existence that I passionately appreciate.
the absence of pain is one.
I bet now you're assuming i'm in pain, since people tend to only appreciate the absence of pain when they're in pain.
but i'm not in pain. I just sometimes remember that pain exists and am glad for not experiencing it at present.

people are another. people are astonishing. after four years learning what makes them tock i'm still utterly baffled.
then, for all the reasons I passionately appreciate them, I also feel fiercely cold towards them.
the Australian government, for instance, is severely disappointing me of late. I should have been born in Sweden.
but at least i'm not an American..

well, i'm in Cairns, visiting my family. my hilarious, wonderful family.
and today I decided I would brave the garden shed in order to find my condemned-to-storage childhood memorabilia.
okay, I was after my little ponies. I knew there were some in there somewhere.

the garden shed is a disgustingly dusty, spider- and gecko- crawling sloppily piled mess of rusted, dripping junk that everyone is too scared to remember exists. no one in this household is capable of throwing anything away, no matter how broken or useless.

so Sarah and Hawkins, my ever-snarky sister and her ever-affable boyfriend, came trooping out to help me dig through it. which in hindsight was really rather kind of them.. particularly since after one look through the sinisterly creaking door had me petrified of setting foot within.

so they were hauling boxes out to scatter the backyard and I was picking gingerly through them in search of ponies when a metre-long grey rat came leaping out of the shed t'ward me. I shrieked in somehow both terror and delight. it veered off and disappeared into the garden.

Sarah stuck her head out the shed with a rather peculiar expression when I began hollering at them to run for their bubonic-free lives. of course i'd been the only one to see it, so neither of them believed in it, and went back to their rummaging with terrifying nonchalance.
five minutes later? a metre-long grey rat came leaping out of the shed t'ward me. I shrieked, it veered.

however this time all the dogs (three slobbering giants) took off after it, snarling and yelping their glee. so I was vindicated. the shed has rats. big grey rats with scaly medusa tails.

come to think of it, I think the boxes are still scattered all over the lawn. it's raining.

incidentally, I found my ponies. they were accompanied by some rather odd small white spheres. I naively thought someone had recognised the value of my treasures and they were some form of packing material. then Sarah informed me they were gecko eggs.
that shed is highly yucky.
overocea: (Default)
AHAHAHA. HAHAHAHAHAAAAA. UGH I need to jump up&down on someone right now.

so is there anyone on livejournal who doesn't have a self-diagnosed personality disorder?
me? i'm like, so histrionic, antisocial, AND schizoid.
I'VE ATTEMPTED SUICIDE 8 TIMES. I WIN.

I think you are all liars. LIARS. love ya.
'specially Americans. I think "mom" is so cute. I <3 your mom.
overocea: (Default)
it really wasn't supposed to be attacking her at all.. but embracing! that's what dozens of arms are for!
if I start to go mad.. I hope someone will tell me.

1. supercilious. far away from you. for a reason.
2. indifferent. any one will only knock at my door so many times before giving up & going a way to knock on some one else's.
3. purposely distracted. novels, movies, restaurants, vodka, reruns, study, sleep, a million kinds of pills.

won't taunt people with each other.
[will not cry in public//less chance of illness]

instead of writing my essay I drank a bottle of vodka & woke up to this in my notepad, minus about 99% because geez, the stuff you write when drunk:
first thoughts
trying to think of names
florence, venice, rome
I would go to Alexandria of all places if I had to choose right now
but I haven't been to enough to choose where i'd retire

about ten years/days ago i'd been crying. I can't remember why. but I was all alone, and cats don't know when you're sad even if stuffed spiders do, because stuffed spiders can't move or speak but they can blink once in a black & blue moon, just to let you know that if you happen to cry one day they'll know, and you're free to smother & drown them. when he knocked at the door everything that'd been on his face a second ago fell off it and the first thing he said was "are you okay?" but he didn't ask what was wrong, even when I didn't answer, he just kissed my face a million times, & all that was in my head was "sorry." ten minutes later, travelling behind two beams of light slower than they were every time i'd go to speak all that'd come out was a breath, & then a whole heap of them at once so I couldn't breathe at all

by the way. i'm sick of shampoo. want real poo.
[the universe is shaped exactly like the earth]

& it rather pisses me off when stupid australians & americans say "i'm never going to have a baby, 'cause the world's overpopulated anyway," & then use starving ethiopians as an example. but you stupid twits don't know what you're talking about, 'cause your population is declining. DECLINING. not having a baby isn't going to mean some starving ethiopian baby is going to get your nonexistent baby's share of overly artificially sweetened & gruesomely coloured cereal. so unless you're going to adopt a starving ethiopian baby, shut up.
if I was sober i'm sure i'd have a worthwhile argument. or no argument at all. I don't recall ever having arguments while sober.

this is an afterthought:
fucking people over

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