Random Thoughts

Originally uploaded
by viacreativa.

Tomorrow I return the english horn. I shall miss it. I'm excited about practicing again though - I'm already thinking how far I can get on the Britten tomorrow, and thinking about more chamber music. I have to thank Eleanor, one of these days, for telling me that you still have to do it when you feel sick, when you feel like you're going to die, when it's raining, when it's sunny, when you should be doing fifty million things,after the worst and the best days of your life, all the time - because otherwise you'll always have a reason not to practice (or ride).

I think this is the first time I've really wished that I had one of those decidedly slinky dresses.

being a girl is lovely, I am quite enjoying it; seven days of bleeding notwithstanding.

I will take my social awkwardness, and I will take the hammer, and I will DESTROY it!! The hammer or the awkwardness - one way or the other, SOMETHING will be destroyed.

I need to go hit padded things very hard very soon.

Posted by Beth at 12:20 AM | Permalink

Originally uploaded by tommy martin

I guess sometimes you just really can't tell.

I shall be reading Zen and the Art of Archery soon.

Posted by Beth at 4:18 PM | Permalink

You know what you shouldn't fucking do after playing the last fucking jury of your fucking undergrad like a raw fucking beginner on crack? You shouldn't spend 5 hours reading about a fuckhead journalist dude in the most depressing city ever. You know what else you shouldn't do? Allow yourself out of the house directly afterwards. I think I'm gonna really try on resisting the second one. I have a blinding urge to destroy things in the worst way possible, and no, I'm not leaving the house. Bring me gin, however, and I am unlikely to say no. I find myself wondering why the fuck I don't have five bottles in my freezer like other, much more prepared, much more dramatic people might have.

I was in a good fucking mood this morning. yep, good. I wanted to play tennis. Now I can't even swear creatively.

I want chocolate fucking ice fucking cream. I want at least five more swear words that feel as comfortable to say and type, I want to throw people bodily into walls, I want to scream at the top of my lungs until your ears explode, I want to spend all of my money on stupid insipid pink fluffies made in china by some four year old...ok, I don't really want to do that, but you get the general idea.

So. Tomorrow, being Tuesday, I am going to wake up at 7, run, get my drivers license finally replaced, get my graduation papers in order, practice for 2 hours, lunch, possibly figure out how to send the pre-transcript thing to the academy, practice for 2 hours, possibly go to the gym/tennis with some unlucky person, practice for 2 hours.....

...and WHEN I get ALL that done....I'll read more comics. Hopefully there will be another comparable series, although I somewhat doubt it.

Fuck.

I apologize for the lack of angsty picture. I am rageful and flickr has FAILED ME. It will now have to DIE.

Posted by Beth at 9:06 PM | Permalink

and at your age, with where you are, I'm not sure it's going to happen for you.

Well I have five years. My thirtieth birthday should be one fun day.

Posted by Beth at 1:27 PM | Permalink

Originally uploaded
by niznoz.

It's the combination of misery and willingness to cave to that creative urge in place of proper production. Why do I say cave? As though it were a fault. Create on demand; be inspired, inspiring on a timeline. Fill out the form, sign your name etcetera. Meanwhile horrors enact themselves on paper and I don't have time to read about the ones that happen in my backyard and an avalanche of meaningless dances will soon be over and I'll have no excuse not to start.

There's a different magic to what I certainly won't call depression. pure voices demand hours of simple listening, the smallest details are holy and humanity in its mass becomes alien. Not so much that nothing, but instead everything, matters and matters equally and intensely. And conversations with strangers become the touchstone of a mood immersed in the earth. And I wish we wrote history like this, maybe we do, do I know? Probably not. Things seem so small when you can glide, but there's still the fall, waiting. I've missed this, like I miss you when I know I don't want to see you, reading things to remind me but having no desire to make real contact. That fabrication in my head and history combined. Situational, though, this feeling, not a resting point for me. I'm too rational, or too determined to be successfully emotional, I dream things and they're nearly possible. Nearly. You know that? nearly possible.

and I won't be that person. I won't live miserable, I won't delude myself into thinking I can be something I will never be.

It doesn't mean what I think it means. And even if it does it doesn't exist.

I can imagine living a life within one's head until forced to do otherwise, but I can't sympathize. I won't.

Posted by Beth at 10:10 PM | Permalink

Originally uploaded
by icathing.

I am happy in my environment. I like Vancouver. Maybe that's why I seem to keep making reasons to stay a little longer.

I finally figured out what creeps me out about the people who work at the gym - it's not that I think they're bad people, or that they're weird, or anything like that; it's that you can never tell if they're being sincere. It's their job to be interested in you, to ask you weird little questions that make it seem as though they're really interested in your life. And heck, they might be, but you can count on the fact that the next person that they talk to will get the same treatment. They're nice and attentive across the board - it's a strange type of courtesy that always makes me uncomfortable. Particularly in men...somehow I feel like I can tell if a woman is being genuine or not, even with the gym attitude I feel like they're easier to read. Damn opposite gender being all different and stuff. Pah.

I couldn't help wondering what the ratio of women who try to pick up the male personal trainers is compared to the number of men who try with the women trainers. Or what the reverse situation is like. I wonder if there's a policy surrounding it. (I'm a fairly terrible person)

There must, I think, be a formal event sometime in the near future. I am going to lazily look into possible venues around vancouver (I'm in the mood for a ball).

I must also arrange some music post haste, mustn't I? (...dude, cbc is playing startrek-like symphonic horn music!) Anyone who reads this and has my contact info and wants to play at a random person's birthday loudly and offensively should let me know. (payment in food)

circuit training has broken me today. Tonight I go climbing...fitness really is addictive. (oh, it's V. Williams, that makes sense)

I am, again, in the position of being unable to convince myself to worry excessively over the things that I haven't started yet that are due fairly soon. I figure it's an end of school symptom. I'm almost done...just one more essay, an art project comprized of cardboard, and a final and I'm done. And a lecture and a purple scarf. yes.

Posted by Beth at 2:08 PM | Permalink