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Sophie
29 May 2010 @ 06:18 pm

After a year and five days of breathing life into this space - it's finally time to clear out, wrap the furniture in plastic, relegate all to the attics of memory. In other words: time for another Big Move.

I'll still be writing here, just a lot less (not that I've even been writing much as of late anyway). LJ holds a lot of memories - three and a half years of writing will do that, not to mention my everlasting love for the lj-cut - but it's getting a bit stale, hence the search for a new plot of virtual real estate...

in the district of Tumblr.

(yes, I know. Like, oh, two years after discovering it and on-and-offly considering one. Sophie, you do not make sense sometimes.)








...so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back, ceaselessly into the past.


 
 
Current Mood: nostalgicnostalgic
 
 
Sophie
24 May 2010 @ 11:26 pm

Oh, life. You are becoming...banal.



I'm still stuck in writer's hell, and this is beginning to worry me tremendously. There's so much inspiration running circles around my head it's like my thoughts can't breathe; and yet I can't wrestle anything into shape without toppling the entire house of cards. And it's horrible, because everything's so dense - temperate forests of white rabbits and tea parties laid out on the lawn, stifling humidity, blackbirds, transient sunlight amidst Sofia Coppola leaves; candles, disenchantment, coming doom, transcendental purity. The gusts of wind that precede summertime storms, you and I spread out beneath the oak in the churchyard, to talk of dreaming in that dark shadow. None of this makes sense, I know; but it's all woven into some grand tapestry in my head - one that I don't know how to unravel. And I can't write...I can't.


In another of those random interjections that I seem to be becoming rather fond of lately, there's this sudden but extreme temptation to grow my fringe out and my hair back down to my waist, in a wave of nostalgia for my security cloud of an uncontrollable mane (why I miss this, I do not know.) Something in my gut is telling me that this would be a Very Bad Idea, seeing as there is only so much hair that can be balanced on a petite 5 "2 frame without looking like a Japanese ghost or a walking haystack, but oh my, the thought is suddenly very appealing.


Something's killing my creativity. What say you, life? I want to sound my barbaric yawp over the mountains and all that's coming out is...the faintest ghost of a whisper



(Dear Sophie, please GET OFF THE BLOODY COMPUTER and stop being distracted by random food magazines / ethereally beautiful poetry / pretty tumblr pictures and head back to Reality i.e. Unemployment, Inflationary Gaps, Binomal Distribution;

love, Your A Levels.)

 xx

 
 
Current Mood: restlessscattered
Current Music: The Script - Before the Worst
 
 
Sophie
(a word of caution: this is terribly incoherent, nonsensical, rambly prose. if you like dealings with straight line graphs and data sampling and figures to three decimal places - not for you.)

well, anyway.

I am tired - really, honestly, hideously exhausted. It's like the past 5 years of non-stop madness and just charging full speed ahead has finally caught up, and my body is taking revenge for all the times I forgot to eat/ was too busy to eat/ overdosed on coffee/ worked through the night etc. And it's bad. Very, very bad. Especially so when you have CT2s (*&#$@!^%!) in two weeks.

The CC is finally in (cue collective TSD kid sigh) and probably on its way to Pymm and England soon-ish. Somehow the joy of handing it up never really set in. Probably has something to do with the H3 deadline next week...oh, boy. Doomed. Absolutely.

......ah, bugger this.


(some quick notes, because prose really is tedious)

1. i really really really love A12
2. floorball final = nail-bitingly good.
3. this is turning out to be the Year of Dissent. a good thing.
4. the parents talked me into reconsidering law school. not sure if this is a good thing.
5. although i mightn't get there because at the rate i'm going, cts = trash
6. thursday afternoon ice cream appointments with dweeb = awesome
7. still trapped in writing limbo. mild panic.
8. i'm not as excited or prepared for YOG as i should be
9. just spent dinner trapped across the table from the dad's scary Norwegian ex-colleagues, one of whom resembles Count Olaf and the other, Baba Yaga meets Cruella de Vil meets Miranda Priestly. Quite alarming.
10. arts fac is amazing. TED talks, our own shirt, we too cool for school yo.



every day i dream about running away to vienna and sitting by a fountain amidst cobbled streets and pigeons and tattered poetry books, browned and chafing at the spines, singing, singing from the alcoves of second-hand stores.


 
 
Current Mood: draineddrained
Current Music: Suzanne Vega - Caramel
 
 
Sophie
13 May 2010 @ 10:23 pm

TSD kids are livin' it up in the Twilight Zone - an endless cycle of CC/ school/ lessons/ CC/ lessons/ CC/ home/ CC/ sleep/ CC -  shuffling in between basecamp (i.e. AVA) or the A12/canteen pillars region and occasionally emerging to print stuff or buy food (read: splurging on ice cream with the Dweeb in an attempt to make our already-sad-lives slightly less so). It's been pretty surreal - wading through a swimming pool of humid hours where every spare minute gets devoted to the same ol', same ol' - CC.

I can't wait for next week to be over.





so there are days when your favouritism doesn't matter as much, and it's easy not to care, or be resentful or bitter-
and then you have ones like these, when knowing that i'm always going to come second place just...


hurts .

 
 
Current Mood: sadsad
 
 
Sophie
09 May 2010 @ 04:10 pm
Last night I dreamt about going on holiday to Japan. See, even my subconscious is rebelling.



I can't write. I can't. There is inspiration, everywhere, everywhere - in rain, petrichor, in Charles I's final push for martyrdom at the gallows, in Kerouac and his sweaty, gritty, decadent dreams of Los Angeles summers -pickup trucks and five-year diaries and hitchiking into the sunset; in black eyeliner, black tea, choices made over again streets at night wind and rainno one wondering where I am; fragile hours, ephemeral, tenuous, radiant with uncertainty - see I can't even articulate this properly. Poetry is calling and I cannot answer.

It scares me.
 
 
Current Mood: discontentdiscontent