The Shortest Day Of My Life

(Almost) Every Tuesday and Thursday I come home and spend half an hour to an hour going on and on about my day volunteering. The, let's call them quirky, characters that are regulars in the shop, the weird and wonderful donations we have in, the stories we come up with behind each donation, all the different personalities of all the different volunteers, all the things I tried on and didn't fit... However, I will not bore you with all of those stories.

I've been using my Tumblr blog quite a bit, but that's no to say I won't stay to this one. It's just that that one isn't for every day ramblings, it's for monologues, creative writing and poetic things. The sort of crap that you have going around and around in your head all day, so you just have to let it out. I didn't want to clog up this blog with junk and creative explosions! (Remember, the link's on the side.)

So what am I going to tell you? I'm going to tell you about my acupuncture, next time... Here's a brief snippet about today though: I woke up at 2pm, bathed and had acupuncture at 3pm. The 'spleen and lady problems' points on my shins were so painful the lady (who I though was related to Mr Moses but when I smoothly brought him up there was no recognition at all) had to stop. She said they were tender on a lot of girls, but mine might have been so bad because of my endometriosis. Then she couldn't get them out. I nearly cried. She left and I went to bed at 4.30pm and awoke at 7pm to eat three crumpets, sweet tea (freaking four sugars) and Grandpa. I then went on MSN to make some plans for tomorrow. I'm going to see my friend, who I haven't seen in ten years, play drums in his band. Actually, I then had a semi-jokey-argument with Hammy over the guitarist. I won't go into details, but I was dying from laughter and she was probably wanting to stab me. I've had to put the fan on because I'm dying from over heating. I think I'm generally dying anyway. Which reminds me, my yellow nail varnish has died. Damn cheap thing.

I've also fallen out with my oracle.

A Cry For Change

So I've decided to live life like I want to live it, but this is easier said than done. I want to wear my old man woolly jumpers, I want to have an accordion to stare at when I have a mental block, I want to party and stay over peoples' houses just for the sake of being out. In an ideal world,I'm sat in a park wearing my old man woolly jumper, with my oversized (fake) leather bag and huge Morrissey glasses. I have bright red hair, cheek piercings, amazing Jeffree Star make-up and I have a best-selling novel under my belt and a sketch book full of studies on many quirky pieces in many different mediums - there's a delicate study of a harmonica done in watercolours, there's a Vincent Van Gogh inspired study in done in oil paints, a ridiculously detailed study of an accordion done in pencil... But in reality, I'm just sat on the couch blogging, wearing a charity shop shirt. I have practically black hair with no fringe, no piercings and only mascara on. I can't find the time to write a book and I can't keep my mind on one story line. My sketch book has two crap pictures in that I want to burn because not only do I have no inspiration, but I have no skills either.You may be wondering what's brought this up now, hasn't it always been like this? Well the answer is yes it has been like this, but I'm sixteen and still go around places with my parents. I've been invited to a house party by someone I use to hang around with, then briefly lost touch with. The important detail here is that we never fell out. Mother said that she's tried to keep me from the Ammanford people, but the truth is that she's tried to keep me from the Carmarthen people, Brynaman people and Drama people. Well, I was stopped from going to Drama in its entirety because it was 'turning me into an asshole' but the way I see it, I was making me happy - me being an asshole is obviously me being happy. I want to go to this party badly. I want to hang out with these people, I want to share these people's experiences, I want to be able to be part of the stories that people remember.Mother says she's concerned because I'm never at the parties that people post pictures on on facebook, but when I off-handedly mentioned this party, she responded with "You know I don't like you hanging around with those people..." I believe the term used here would be double standards. I mean, I thought you were meant to grow apart from your parents, you're life shouldn't be constantly entwined with your parents. I'm pretty sure that that was in the Bible somewhere. Apparently, I was wrong. I have my mother as a friend on facebook, she reads this blog (which makes it harder to write) and she talks to Ashley a lot. Tess says that she and others think that it's not long until I rebel, and to be honest I do sometimes feel like freaking out and leaving, but that wouldn't achieve anything. I have to go to school, and they give me money to do so, and as my last post indicates, I'm seriously not independent. My parents and even my grandpa are involved in practically every element of my life - where I go, what I do, who I talk to, etc - and I can't change that or they would hit the roof. I remember the days of hope when I'd stare at sixth formers or the elders in Carmarthen and think, "When I'm sixteen..." I don't want to sound ungrateful, but it's felt like the equivalent to thinking "When tomorrow comes..." and tomorrow just turns out to be the same as today. There was no point in me turning sixteen. Hell, there'll probably be no point in me turning eighteen or fifty-nine, but I seriously wish there was. I've turned into Rob Fleming (from High Fidelity) already. I'm bitter, I'm resentful, I'm jaded, and more importantly, I'm too young to be any of these things. The quote "If you really wanted to screw me up, you should've gotten to me earlier" seems to apply for almost everything and everyone I meet now. It's not right. I'm not right. Nothing is right. It would be such a breakthrough in my life if I could go to this party. My parents keep on saying "You're turning into Tess... don't make us throw you out!" I'm sorry, but Tess was expelled from school, smokes and takes drugs, had the reputation of a whore, had sex with someone when she was allowed to go to a party at the age of fourteen, continued to have under-age sex and then boasted about it to me, has multiple naked photos going around the whole of Carmarthenshire, got kicked out of the college that is renowned for being full of drop-outs, is a lesbian, has no job or any intention of working and lives of her girlfriend. Yeah, I see what you mean, I am totally turning in to Tess because I happen to have a bad attitude. I so deserve to be kicked out the house with my bad attitude that absolutely every single teenager has. That's fair. That's completely fair. I suppose if I was kicked out of the house, I could write another rant to the newspaper... I seriously want to be like all the other sixteen year olds, I guess why I feel it so important to start now, a mere eight months after my sixteenth birthday. It's not much to ask. This holiday, I want to do at least two things a week. I want to have life experience, stories to tell, a chance to mature on my own, without any help or prompting. So far all I have planned is meeting up with Tess and shopping with Abi.

Just Because it's Uplifting.

[All of the following took place on facebook chat (unless specified otherwise). We were both sat in the living room, approximately six metres away from each other with Lady Hammett sat next to me.]

Diane (Mother)

SH**head

Me (Daughter)

-.- Bedtime.

Diane (Mother)

OVERTIRED

Me (Daughter)

Says the adult calling their daughter a shithead.

Now make me a sandwich.

Diane (Mother)

CHILDISH!!!!!

Diane *in person*

What sandwich do you want?

the Thing, the Allergy, the Spider, the Channel.

So I survived Lady Hammett's Aunti's house 'thing' and I might've exaggerated everything in my head due to fear. In the end, I wore my balloony purple top over a black long sleeve and black skinnies. Since my hair is black now, just the tiniest bit of black clothing makes it look like you're wearing all black, so I tied a floral scarf in my hair and put on silvery eye shadow (with black liquid near the mascara-coated lashes of course), and and my coral nail varnish! It makes me happy to look at, I need to buy more bright colours. I stayed over Lady Hammett's house, and then got picked up by GrandPapi. (It was actually really funny, as my phone started going and I looked at Lady Hammett and said, "It'll be my grandad going [impression of GrandPapi] I'M OUTSIDE!" and then, when I answered the phone, all you could hear was GrandPapi going "I'M OUTSIDE!" to which we laughed.) I got in the car, smirked at the old man and put Johnny Cash on. The song in question: One Piece At A Time.

We went to Gegin Fach (a tiny cafe in Llandeilo that's usually full of OAPs where I'm hopefully going to get a Summer job), met Mother and had food. Then, instead of walking down to Ashmlee Willie Winkie's as planned, we drove down and picked him up to take him with us to Leekes. He wasn't home, he was in Ben's, but walked over just before I lazily made my way over. We had a chocolate muffin each, and a hot chocolate with cream each, then we left. I had fun at home playing with his face and showing Mother the outcomes. We napped, went downstairs, Mother made him food (pasta with sauce) and made me a snack (Pringles to dip in the same sauce but in a pot), and we settled on the couch watching freak programmes. Programmes such as 101 Things Removed From The Human Body, Another 101 Things Removed From The Human Body, Surgical Appliances That Were Left Behind, and something to do with amazing medical stories. He slept on the couch again, and was gone by the next morning. I read fifty pages of Silas Marner the next day and it nearly killed me. I then started itching my arm again, therefore leading us to believe that Ashmlee Willie Winkie is my allergy. It only happens on Sundays, after I've seen him on Saturday.

Today, the first official day of the holiday, and I woke up a few times before finally getting out of bed at 14:26 to a sleeping house. I woke the house up (turned all the lights on and let the dogs out). Last night, not only did I have an itch, I also had a splitting headache that caused me to lose my peripheral vision when I stood up and forced me to wear sunglasses that look like they were from the sixties since the lights in the room (which was only candlelight) hurt me. The rents found it pretty funny anyway. I blame the fact that I read a whole fifty pages of Silas Marner! I'm better now though. Anywho, Mary started crying and I took her out the back. I closed the door and then saw a hideous, fat, petrifying spider and shrieked. Santi ran in and toyed with it for about two minutes, at one point sitting on it and trying to go under the mat because he thought it was under there. When he found it under his fat arse, he picked it up with his paw and ate it. He's a very smart cat indeed. I then fetched him some food to help it go down because I was actually scared that it would come up and attack me. I can't kill living things myself, and I have often let spiders live in the house against the rents will, but when it's as scary as this one was then I must let Santi intervene. It is just like a treat after all..? He's not a murderer, he's a saviour! MY KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOUR! xD

I almost jizzed when We Are Scientists came on television (NME of course) with their new song 'Rules' and oh sweet Jesus, I love Keith and his voice! I turned it up louder than I normally would with sleeping rents, but they deserve to be played loud! Once that finished, I pressed [channel down] and HOLY CRAP! The Academy Is... were just on television! There's an amazing new channel called Lava (underneath NME Tv, Sky 378) and I literally love every song on it. It has bands that I never thought I'd see on the television, just on the internet. Like Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, The Academy Is... and The Wombats. They also show really old videos, like The Automatic and Paramore's first videos. Plus, at night they have unsigned bands, which is an amazing way of finding new pocket bands to say you've been there since the start with. I now have five channels, although only four really since Scuzz isn't my thing anymore though. I still have MTV2, Kerrang! (just about), NME Tv, and now Lava!

Great Understanding There... -.-

Yesterday night, just after we all sorted out the new dining room chairs (we now have two pale green ones and four deep pink ones to go with the colour scheme of the kitchen) and took the old ones out to The Sanctuary, Dad was telling me how pretty I was and I broke down crying. I was depressed and on the verge anyway, but when he focused everyone's attention on me, everyone being himself, Mother and Ashmlee Willie Winkie, then I just skydived off the edge. For the last few days, the urge to sink my nails into my cheeks and just rip my face off, making huge claw-like scars down both sides of my face, has been my constant companion. Y'know, one of those people that just tag along and you can't tell them to leave because then they stay with you but in a retched mood that you simply can't ignore? Yeah, well I mean companion in that sense. Anyway, I told Mother for no apparent reason, and a few moments later, Pa stormed in my bedroom and said, nastily, "Go downstairs, and convince your mother that you don't want to claw your face off and that you don't want to kill myself." So I went downstairs, sighed, and said "I don't want to claw my face off and I really don't want to kill myself." Hell, I'd never even mentioned suicide! Assumption or what? I only agree with suicide when it's people like Hitler who REALLY have no way out! Anyway, that sort of did my head in because it's like when I told Mother that I punched myself in the head before, she just cried and never mentioned it ever again. It's sort of the whole 'out of sight, out of mind' thing, but it's driving me crazy. I'm so frustrated. I told Mother about the Meh thing and she was nice about it, probably because it proves that I'm not a lesbian like Tess, but Pa was seriously not understanding one bit. He's all like, "Well it sounds to me like you're being unfaithful in your actions!" Ha! Like I have a chance to be unfaithful, it is Meh we're talking about. There's really no hope. Oh, and I found out I'm allergic to popcorn. I can now add this to my list of allergies, which now consists of two things: hospital plasters and popcorn. Woop! x

Cat Lady

At roughly 15.30, I was laying on the three seater couch wearing baggy jeans, a black vest top, my lapis American Apparel zip-up with a white zip, a size twenty-two brown acrylic jumper thing from Peacocks, a white bra, red pants, no socks and uggs. Home alone, I was catching up with my programmes on Sky+ Planner (I had two Glees and two America's Next Top Models to watch), when looking out the window I caught a glimpse of two eyes staring straight back at me. These were the eyes of next door's semi-pedigree Norwegian Forest (ridiculously) called Tiny Tim. (I say ridiculously because it's a girl.) This is around the sixth time we've caught her sitting outside our window. She's sixth months old, has no collar and is adorable.

Here's some background history:

My next door neighbour seems to care little for her pets, her husband does take care of the dog though, and she breeds them all. She bred their Labrador Retriever (and sold the last of the litter today as I found out when her husband invited me in to see the Andrex puppy after I delivered Tiny Tim back to them) and she breeds their Norwegian Forest cats (one of which is Santi's mother). The cats are always roaming the street and I believe one of them haven't returned, but twice the cat that she was making a profit from has gotten out and become pregnant with a stray cat, so she doesn't advertise them in case it devalues the price of the next litter. Both Santi and Tiny Tim fall under this category.

So I shut Santi, Floss and Mary out and brought Tiny Tim in. I fed her and watched her roam around the room persistently. At one point, she got stuck between a wicker cabinet and a miniature bookshelf in the corner due to her cute kitten curiosity, so I had to lift her out. Eventually she calmed down and fell asleep on the couch whilst I watched both her and Glee. Then at about 17.00, Mother and Grandpa came in. They'd spoken to the husband of the woman next door and he said that they'd have to get her done anyway and that then we could have her, but Tiny Tim did not get on with the dogs at all and then Santi was being friendly and Tiny Tim just threw it back in his face. It turns out that the woman next door has already put Tiny Tim up for sale in the vet and she wouldn't have given her to us anyway because she wants to make a profit.

What you need to understand though us that I don't have a problem with giving a cat back to it's owner, I just have a problem with giving a cat back to an owner who doesn't care about it time after time after time. I felt like a charity worker to be honest, looking after a kitten that's come from an uncaring home. I'm going to become the scary cat lady that feeds stray cats and leaves a bowl of Iams and Whiskers outside the door every night.

I doubt any sane person will love me then!

Karma =)

This is so amazing, that instead of wasting time by re-telling the story to everyone, I'm simply going to blog about it!

Dad was being a bitch in the corner whilst playing the Sims 3 on the computer. He was screaming and shouting about how much he hates a lamp, has always hated the lame and always will hate the lamp. It 'hurts his eyes' even though it's only a 15W, and it shines off the computer screen. (He's always over-sensitive to lights and it's really annoying.) Anyway, he was going on and on about it to Mother and she was trying to help but he was shouting more and more. Then the Sims 3 randomly closed itself down! He hadn't saved it for hours! Talk about instant karma! I had to hide the laughter though, nobody dares laugh at Mr Jason Brown's ill-luck! xD

Getting Rid of Christmas

Today, the Brown family embarked on getting rid of Christmas. According to Mother, 'everybody laughs if you still have them up after January 6th' although if they do, then I find them quite shallow and a tad bit weird. People must be rushed to hospital due to too much laughing with the amount of Christmas lights left out until around March just down the road and around the corner...

Now I need a Tens Machine (which sends electrical impulses through my back) and last night, I fell asleep on my side in the fetal position as per usual. That might sound irrelevant, but when I wake up after sleeping like that, it hurts, a lot. Then I did some Art which meant I was sat on the couch bent over my A3 Art book for quite a while. That hurt it more. So I put the sticky pads, that look like what you stick on people who've had heart attacks, by my shoulder blades and the bottom part of my back (behind my waist). Wires connect the sticky pads to the machine, which I keep in my pocket so I can adjust the settings to my preference. I was talking to Dad, and he saw my machine. (May I just add that being Australian seems to make people amazingly childish and prone to doing stupid things on a whim. Dad is from Perth, Australia.) He turned one of the dials (which adjusts the strength of the electricity) all the way up. I screamed in pain as the bottom of my back received the hugest electric shock I have ever encountered. Dad laughed and I looked at him with a face that could only mean utmost despair, before running off to Mother to cry. I did the same to him, but he didn't feel the same pain as I felt and only described it as 'a strange and unusual sensation'. He did go on to say that he now understands more about my minuscule pain threshold though.

Just to add, for food my parents had Beef Wellington and I had these cream cheese stuffed peppers in breadcrumbs. Mother had bought them under the assumption that they were the kind of peppers that you can get in your Subway, and when I complained that the left a spicy taste in my mouth and couldn't really eat them, Dad ranted at me being difficult to feed and that it was my choice to be a vegetarian, not theirs. Then once I'd left the room to write this, they ate one and laughing, Dad exclaimed "These are jalapeno peppers!" He hasn't apologized for the vegetarian rant though... No surprise there really! xD