Keep myself awake

I hate it that I am most inspired to write when I should be sleeping. As mentioned in my entry of 12/03/08, I like my sleep. Why, then, is it that my best ideas occur to me in the early hours of the morning? I will be laying there, willing myself to fall asleep (it's a cruel irony that someone who likes sleep so much should suffer from mild insomnia), when the idea for a plot or even just a line to include in a story somewhere will pop into my head. And of course this further prevents me from dropping off; do I risk going to sleep and just hope I will remember to write down my idea in the morning? No, there's no way I'll remember it. So on goes the PDA (turning on a lamp to write on paper instead is a) too much effort, and b) the light would hurt my eyes), tap-tap-tap, I type everything out painstakingly slowly. By this time of course there's no stopping the flow of words and before I know it, it's 5am, I have to be up by 9, and I'm exhausted.

Music Meme

Following a conversation with Saiyu, we decided to do this music meme. I was hoping for more variation, but clearly I have too much nineties cheese on my itunes!

None of the stories are linked in any way, and if anyone wants an explanation feel free to ask and I’ll explain what they’re meant to be about~

Rules of the Music Meme:

1. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
2. For each song that plays, write something related to the theme you picked
inspired by the song. You have only the time frame of the song. No fair
skipping songs either; you have to take what comes by chance.
3. Do 5 of these, then post.

1) Crawling Back to You – Backstreet Boys



I was stupid. No. Stupid doesn’t even begin to cover it. I let the best thing that has ever happened to me go because…because I was afraid. There, I said it. Bet you never thought you’d hear someone like me ever admit something like that, huh? But it’s true. I know it’s a cliché, but it was those three little words that I couldn’t handle. I thought I wasn’t ready, thought you were asking too much. Guess I was wrong, because I have just been so goddamn miserable without you. It’s not too late, is it? Will you let me make up for my mistake?

2) Teenagers – My Chemical Romance



I always knew that transferring to a new school would be one of the most difficult things I would ever have to do. I would have to make new friends as well as learn the new teaching style of the school. The latter I would probably work out easily enough. Walking into the students’ common room that first day was the hardest. I didn’t know what to expect, and as all eyes turned to me I knew I had to make a decision and fast. But not only that, I had to make the right decision. Choosing where to sit on my first day would impact my entire school career. The common room was so divided, each clique had their own area. There were the emos, quiet and miserable looking; the geeks, stereotypically reading books and discussing some video game; the plastics, straightening each others hair and discussing a celeb magazine; the sporty ones; the people who didn’t really fit into a clique and so banded together for the sake of having somewhere to sit.

Taking a deep breath and locking my eyes on the group in the corner, I made my way over to the people who would determine how much I enjoyed my final two years of school.

I still don’t know if I sat in the right place.

3) What I Go To School For – Busted



Sometimes he wondered if it was just a phase; it couldn’t possibly be normal to feel this strongly for someone so unobtainable. He tried convincing himself it was just because of his age – teenage boys are prone to lusting after all sorts of women. But his geography teacher? She was in her early thirties, but that didn’t matter to him. The younger teachers didn’t interest him, she had something they didn’t. He kept his obsession quiet, couldn’t bear telling his friends because he just knew they would mock him and then spread it around the school. And that made him feel so alone, but that didn’t mean he would force himself to stop obsessing over her every waking minute. Maybe one day he would even be able to tell her how he felt.

4) Don’t Wanna Let You Go – Five



Pressing her back against the wood of the wardrobe, dusty coats and dresses threatening to suffocate her, she tried to slow her breathing. Her breaths were coming in ragged gasps and she was sure he…whoever he was, would hear her. She closed her eyes, wishing it wasn’t so hot and cramped in the wardrobe. Desperate for a hiding place, she had climbed into it without thinking. Now she realised her stupidity; this would probably be the first place he looked. But there was nothing she could do about that now, only hope and pray to a God she hadn’t believed in for seven years, that her hunter would not discover her.

5) Barbie Girl – Aqua



She was cute, but I couldn’t honestly see myself spending the rest of my life with her. I guess she was just a convenience; the sex was good but other than that the time we spent together wasn’t exactly full of deep conversations. Maybe that makes me an asshole, but whatever. Sometimes I wondered why I kept her around, her voice was so high pitched it upset all dogs within a fifty mile radius and she asked the stupidest questions. But blondes (even if it was from a bottle) with big racks were the ‘in thing’, and I had the hottest girl in showbiz.

Things my heart used to know/ Things it yearns to remember

Today was my last class of my first year at university. It still feels kind of strange that I will essentially be spending the next couple of months doing nothing (other than revision, of course, but that goes without saying). I also can't believe how quickly the last two terms have gone. Before Christmas, I didn't go home at all, and time went nice and slowly, giving me plenty of time to enjoy uni life. After Christmas I went home a few times for long weekends, and of course after Easter we only had three weeks of teaching. I just feel like time has once again run away with me.

Anyway, I found our last lecture really interesting; it was probably one of the most fun classes we've had. We discussed involuntary memory, and were given a worksheet explaining Joe Brainard's technique of listing sentences that begin with "I remember..." as a way of being able to unselfconsciously gather details from your past that you had practically forgotten. Our task was to write solidly for about twenty minutes, coming up with our own "I remember" sentences. It was fascinating, I didn't think I would end up with many sentences as usually my memory is pretty naff, but surprisingly I filled up my sheet of paper! Everyone in the class took it in turns to read one sentence at a time, and it was really interesting hearing about people's past in short sentences. I thought I'd share mine here:

→ I remember thinking my friends meant actual flowers when they asked me if I wanted to join them eating Roses at the park
→ I remember burning stale pringles in a Biology experiment
→ I remember my mum forcing me to eat swede and telling me that I did like it, even though I knew I didn't
→ I remember finding out that my best friend was pregnant - she told me in a text message
→ I remember finding my cat dead on the doorstep one morning as I was about to leave for school
→ I remember my year 7 English teacher's hate of blackboards
→ I remember being annoyed that the boys at my primary school could do handstands when I couldn't
→ I remember eating raw jelly for energy at swimming competitions
→ I remember a friend asking me if I was sure I wasn't French, because I used to eat a lot of croissants
→ I remember being more upset that I'd broken a nail then the fact that I'd broken my arm
→ I remember visiting my brother at the hospital after he'd had an operation
→ I remember watching the play park at the end of my street burn down
→ I remember standing talking to my mum in the dining room when our fish tank exploded
→ I remember forgetting my passport when I was meant to be flying to Scotland
→ I remember being told to focus on the White Cliffs of Dover on the ferry back from Germany when I was feeling sea sick, and thinking that it didn't really help
→ I remember falling down two flights of stairs at my aunt's house
→ I remember being given flowers and chocolate on my first day of work experience in Germany because it was my birthday
→ I remember trying to throw my sandwiches in the bin at primary school because I didn't want to eat them, but being caught
→ I remember being really embarrassed the first time I gave blood because I nearly passed out twice afterwards
→ I remember losing my cousin despite having been holding her hand

My Grandfather

I never knew my grandfather. He died suddenly only a few months after I was born. According to grandma it was completely out of the blue; he hadn’t had an illness or anything that suggested his time in this world was drawing to a close. It was just one of those tragedies that occasionally befalls unknowing families. I later learned that as he got older, my grandfather slowly became more and more unhappy. He sunk into a sort of depression; days were spent hunched over in his over-sized armchair, staring moodily into the blackened fireplace. He refused to explain to anyone what was wrong, and no one could cheer him up. That is, until my parents informed him that his first grandchild was on the way. Grandma has told me many a time that this seemed to cheer him up immensely; he couldn’t wait to meet me, to hold me in his arms. I don’t know why she felt the need to point this out as often as she did. Perhaps she thought that it would stop me from feeling sad about the fact that he had died before I got a chance to know him. But to a child who doesn’t understand such adult concepts as depression though, it wasn’t much of a comfort.

The joy at having a granddaughter was short-lived, though. Just four months later he passed away in his sleep, having gone to bed early the night before. This was as much of a mystery to the family as the man in general was to me. When I was younger, childish curiosity led me to ask what granddad was like. They told me he was a brave man who had fought in “that awful war” – this I realised later was the First World War. Often I would gaze enraptured up at the dusty photographs on the sideboard during visits to see grandma. Amongst the less interesting pictures, showing things like day trips to castles and the like, were the ones that held me truly captivated.

The most interesting one, I thought, showed my grandfather as a young man – although to my youthful mind, he still seemed quite old. This probably stemmed from the fact that most children tend to be of the mindset that any person above the age of eighteen is ‘old’. Although even now, over twenty years later, I still find it hard to fully accept that the young man in that faded photograph was the same as the one wearing a fraying grey cardigan and socks with his sandals in a brighter snapshot of my grandparents at the beach. Of course I know that he would have aged, like everyone does, but maybe it was because for me he only existed in these photographs, so it was strange to see him looking so different.

Young, and with an odd expression on his face. I had never been able to work out why he wasn’t smiling, like the girl whom he had his arm around. This was apparently his younger sister, but even grandma did not know much about her, as she died of flu in 1919. Someone out of shot had obviously said something amusing, because she was laughing, her face upturned as she looked up at her brother. The story I told myself was taking place was that the person taking the picture wanted a nice photo of the siblings, but my grandfather wouldn’t smile for it. The photographer then made some comment about him being grumpy, which made the girl giggle and caused the put out expression on the young man’s face.

Yes, I decided that my grandfather did not like having his photo taken. It seemed the most plausible excuse, considering that I would have expected him to at least look proud. He was standing in a slouch, unlike the photographs I have seen of officers, standing tall and posing with neatly trimmed moustaches. I don’t know how things worked back then, but maybe it was only officers who had ‘official’ photographs taken of them. My grandfather was only a private. Perhaps if he had been a higher rank the photo of him in his uniform would have been more impressive.

The photo is sepia, of course, because they didn’t have colour photographs the same back then. But if it had been in colour, you might not notice. My grandfather the soldier was in the typical British army garb of brown/green uniform. I imagined him and his regiment going on all sorts of adventures, always effectively hiding from the Germans because of their camouflaged uniforms and thus successfully completing their mission. Partly because I was too young to understand that battles were not easily won, but also because my grandfather was a brave, amazing soldier who excelled at everything he did, my imagination was filled with victories. I would imagine them returning to their headquarters triumphantly and having lost not a single one of their own men. Everyone I knew heard about my wonderful grandad.

When I was in my early teens and had outgrown all my childish fancies on what my grandfather might have got up to during the war, my grandma allowed me access to a trunk of possessions that had belonged to my grandfather, which she had kept safely out of the way. The trunk had been abandoned in the attic since they had moved into the house however many years ago and she herself had no particular desire to go through what was in there. But knowing I was interested in finding out as much as I could about my grandfather, she said I was more then welcome to look through it.

Some of its contents I found rather strange. A torn and crumpled rectangle of paper, yellowed with age, was apparently a warning, informing my grandfather that he would be required to join for service with the Colours, which I assumed was something that was sent out to all men who signed up. That my grandad had been ordered to sign up didn’t fit in with vision of him being eager to “do his bit”.
The writing on it was slanted and barely legible, too, so this was one item I didn’t spend much time on.

There were other, more trivial things in the trunk too, including something that looked like a children’s card game – my grandfather must have been in charge of entertainment or something. There was also a hip flask; the bottom half silver-plated glass and the top half covered in dirty brown leather. The leather was worn down in places and the stitching was coming undone. Holding the stained glass in my hands almost reverently, I would imagine my grandfather stranded in No Man’s Land with some fellow soldiers. The Germans were keeping up a steady barrage of machine gun fire and there was no hope of returning safely to their own trenches for hours, yet my grandfather graciously offered the last drops of water from his flask to an injured comrade, giving no thought to his own comfort…

Tied with a scruffy piece of string was a bundle of papers, the corners curled and the handwriting so faded it was barely legible. Ah-ha! Finally I would have hard evidence of my grandfather’s personality, a link through which I could connect to him.

“Dear Mary,” one randomly chosen letter had begun, “I received your parcel and it was most satisfactory. the socks are very comfortable and keep my feet warm – damn this cold weather! I keep thinking of you back home with the fire roaring, and me here with nothing but mud and fleas and corpses. but I wont get into that. I hate it here cant wait to go on leave. One chaps gone mad and been sent down the line – am wondering if this isnt such a bad idea!
from your heavy-hearted brother”

Many of the letters seemed to read in the same way. My grandfather wrote in a despondent way, and I couldn’t for the life of me work out why his letters weren’t more upbeat; they didn’t fit my vision of him at all.

Most intriguing to me though was a tarnished silver watch, wrapped in some old tissue paper underneath all the papers. It didn’t seem to work anymore, but I was still fascinated by it. A watch fob in the shape of a cross was connected to it by a fancy chain, with words that weren’t English inscribed on it. Why was this foreign object in with my grandfather’s possessions? Where had he got it? The little French I remembered from school didn’t help, and I discovered that the three tiny words adorning the cross were German. Gott mit uns. A colleague of mine whose parents were Austrian informed me that it meant “God with us”. I’d read about some amazing things that happened during the war, like soldiers from both sides meeting together in No Man’s Land one Christmas and swapping souvenirs. My grandfather must have done that; a German soldier, perhaps the same age as him, had given him his watch in exchange for something equally exciting. Maybe they’d even exchanged addresses so they could write to each other after the war was over.

That’s what I convinced myself, anyway. My grandfather was a brave man who had done his best to serve his King and Country. Grandma sat through many of my youthful versions of this story, always with the same small smile and moist eyes. Of course, it is only in hindsight that I have come to realise that this was not simply because she missed her late husband. Looking back, it is strange to see how ignorant I was.

It has only been over the last decade or so that people have started taking an interest in the First World War. Books have been published with information on the various battles, not to mention the interviews with men who actually fought in them. It was quite by chance that I happened to end up reading the one that had an interview with someone who had known my grandfather...

We were right in the thick of it when the Germans launched Operation Michael. Manchester Hill, that’s where we were positioned. A terrible, terrible battle for us. Thousands of the enemy came at us. Some parts of the battalion managed to keep them back, but for the most part we were completely overwhelmed. We did our best though, holding our positions as best as we could. I don’t think I’ve ever done so much hand-to-hand fighting. It was brutal. There was one fellow, Bill Harwood – he used to get the wind up something terrible. Almost got court-martialled once, for faking an illness so he wouldn’t have to fight at Ypres. You’ve never seen a bigger coward. He was terrified of dying out there, but he was giving it his all, that day. He was like a thing possessed, sticking the Germans with his bayonet left, right and centre. The 16th Manchesters were practically annihilated, but old Bill survived. I saw him several days later at a casualty clearing station – I had received a rather nasty splinter wound to my right shoulder – and he was half mad. He kept retelling his tale of what he’d done; apparently one of the enemy had found him taking cover in a shell hole and tried to shoot him, but Bill managed to wrestle the pistol from him and shot him right between the eyes. He grabbed the German’s watch as a souvenir, too. Proudly kept it by his bedside all the while he was kept at the hospital. Funny how even the most cowardly of men can become so bloodthirsty when the need arises.

I never knew my grandfather. He only existed in the form of some photographs and long forgotten belongings, hidden away in a dusty old attic.

Writing essays can be like pulling teeth...

No matter how much you pull and pull and pull at the words to get them out of your mind and onto paper, they will not budge. No, instead you just get blood and pain and owie.

So! That said, I am procrastinating taking a break, during which I will fill in this interesting meme I found:

1. A is for age:
19

2. B is for beer of choice:
I'm not really a big fan of beer

3. C is for career right now:
n/a, Imma full time student!

4. D is for your dog's name
I don't have a dog.

5. E is for essential item you use everyday::
Er. Toothbrush? Lol.

6. F is for favorite TV show at the moment:
I don't really watch much tv. My dad tapes Bones for me so I can watch it when I'm home, so I guess that. And I had been watching Gundam 00 if that counts, but series one is over now :(

7. G is for favorite game:
Naughts and crosses, obviously.

8. H is for Home town:
UK...that's all you're getting from me ;)

9. I is for instruments you play:
Hah, none. I suck at all things musical.

10. J is for favorite juice:
Apple juice!

11. K is for whose butt you'd like to kick:
Er. No one?

12. L is for last place you ate:
That sounds like I ate, you know, an actual town or something. I ate an apple whilst sitting at my desk.

13. M is for marriage:
Some time in the future, it might happen

14. N is for your name:
Laney~

15. O is for overnight hospital stays:
None, that I can remember

16. P is for people you were with today:
Me, myself and I.

17. Q is for quote:
"I AM GUNDAAAAM "Life is like an ice cream; enjoy it until it melts"

18. R is for Biggest Regret
None that I can think of

19. S is for status:
Single

20. T is for time you woke up today:
6:30am. What the heck, self!?

21. U is for underwear:
I'm definitely wearing some right now. :D

22. V is for vegetable you love:
Mushrooms!

23. W is for worst habit:
Procrastination.

24. X is for x-rays you've had:
A couple when I broke my wrist a few years back, several at the orthodontist, plus some weird one to check my kidneys were working properly when I was a baby

25. Y is for yummy food you ate today:
PIZZA

26. Z is for the zodiac sign:
Aquarius (which is also a super special awesome by Within Temptation, a++)

My Addiction

The first rays of sunlight are just poking through the blinds. I don’t know how long I’ve lain here, just watching him sleep on peacefully. He stirs slightly and cuddles even closer up to me, almost as though he were trying to become part of me. I brush some hair away from his eyes and gently kiss his forehead, smiling when he murmurs something incoherent.

The last few weeks have been almost unbearable. He’d had to fly to Canada for various meetings and I was tied up here...we’d figured we’d be okay, we would take it in turns to call each other and it would be like we were really together. But we hadn’t realised just how busy we would both be, and we went days without even talking to each other. It was hell. I had trouble sleeping and I lost my appetite. My friends and family were worried, constantly asking me what was wrong. But I couldn’t tell them. They wouldn’t understand.

Then last night I became whole again. His trip was finally over and he came back to my house, waiting for me to return from yet another family get-together where the only topic of conversation was my well-being. I don’t blame them for worrying, but really there was only one man who could stop me from drowning in loneliness.

I’d barely closed the front door behind me when he pounced, pinning me to the wall and covering my mouth with his. We spent all night relearning each other’s bodies, feasting on each other. He finally drifted off to sleep in my arms, contented yet exhausted, but I remained awake, unable to stop looking at him, worried he might leave me again and I’d be left alone.

I feel him tense in my arms, then he stretches, yawning widely. He lazily opens his eyes and sees me staring down at him. He blushes.

“Hey, sexy,”

The blush deepens and he cranes his neck to kiss me softly. “Mornin’.” His voice is thick with sleep.

It’s moments like this that I realise I live for my blonde angel. My addiction.

Isn't it ironic, don'tcha think?

I find it interesting that one of my most recent posts was all about how much I enjoy sleeping, and yet lately that's the one thing I haven't really had much of. When I was home over easter there wasn't a single night when I got a decent night's sleep; it either took me several hours to actually get to sleep, no matter how tired I was or what time I went to bed, or it was a disrupted sleep whereby I would wake up multiple times in the early hours of the morning for no apparent reason. More often then not it was both. The former I'm pretty much used to now. I don't like it, but I don't think there's much I can do about mild insomnia.

The latter seems to have become more exaggerated since my return to uni (granted, it's only been two days so far). Whereas during the holiday I would wake up say at 4:20am, 5am, 7:30am, 8:10am etc, I would only wake up enough to glance at the clock, observe that it was much too early to be waking up, and go back to sleep. The last couple of days however, I have woken up at 7:00am. Been absolutely, completely wide awake. I wouldn't complain - it means I have more time in the morning to do whatever I want - but it means that by late afternoon I am getting incredibly tired and practically falling asleep in my dinner.

Maybe, when time allows it, I should start taking afternoon naps. I don't want to mess with my sleep schedule too much though.

My hopes were alone in the desolate night sky / They soared high until they were crushed

It's good to be back. Hn. When I went into the kitchen yesterday to unpack my shopping, three of my flat mates were sitting in there talking. And clearly it was too much effort to say anything other then "hello", which they only did after I greeted them. Cliques are so annoying.

And then, once all the flatmates were back, a flat meeting was called. We have had several of these in the past, enough that I now dread them when someone knocks on my door asking if I'm busy, as I'm wanted in the kitchen. It's always the same; Nena bitching about how she's the only one who ever does the cleaning. Our survey says....ah-ah. The rest of us do plenty of cleaning thanks (except maybe Winky, I'm not too sure what happens with her). It's just that when Nena does the cleaning, she does everything, rather than just two or three things that need doing according to the rota, which was what we all agreed we would do when we first decided to do a cleaning rota. So of course this means that nothing gets done for a couple of days, because there's no point cleaning stuff which has only just been cleaned, and before anyone else can do something, there's Nena whining that she's the only one who ever cleans. Yeah, doesn't make much sense to me either.

And then of course there's the fact that Winky and I are rarely even in the flat/don't use the communal area apart from to cook food. I don't even remember the last time I sat and watched the tv (even though I paid my share of the license), or even ate my meal at the table. Meanwhile the Golden Trio throw parties and lord knows what, leaving everything a mess, which I have cleaned up on numerous occasions. So basically I clean up after other people just to make sure I can't be told I'm not doing enough in the flat, only to still have to sit through "I'm not pointing fingers, but..." flat meetings. I'm not sure in what alternate universe this would be considered fair, but clearly this is where my flatmates hail from.

It's a shame that my first post after my easter break had to be one in which I whine and complain, but c'est la vie. At least it's something to talk about.