I recently survived my annual migration to the land of politicians and porn, otherwise known as Canberra (or my favourite; Holy Fucking Mother Why Is It So Fucking Cold?!?) in order to partake in the glory that is Floriade. Which I did. For 2 hours, give or take. 

What can I say about this years' Floriade? Not much, really.

I love gardens, please don't think I'm some yuppie/hipster/apartment-living-flake. I have the greatest respect for the designers and horticulturalist and every single person deigned with the creation and upkeep of that huge-ass garden. But. Is it really necessary to have ugly (wait, let me repeat so you can truly appreciate it) UHHHH-GULY teatowels, aprons, postcards, fake flowers, caps, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera with the logo emblazoned in glitter? GLITTER I tell you! Tacky! 

I thank the gods of good taste and reason for stopping the organisers from adding more souvenir stalls. One ghastly abomination is enough, thanks.

So, on to the rest of my holiday. Well, the National Museum is still epic, the National Art Gallery is still awe-inspiring and I still won't bother to visit either of the Parliament Houses, old or new. The idea of them makes me sleepy.

The Film and Sound Archives are a lot less impressive than I remember.

And Telstra Tower? Become one with technology already!!!! Put an ATM in, include EFTPOS, get a psychic to view my bank account to prove I can afford to go up the fucking lift, ANYTHING!!! Just, for the love of chips don't make me drive all the way up that fucking hill (because my car hates hills, and I don't like making her do things she doesn't want to do) AND THEN have a little sign INSIDE the foyer telling me of your inability to take modern payment methods. Jeez.

It's raining. I'm about to explode in happiness, it's raining mother-lovers! And I think I'm falling for someone.

Am I the only one who thinks the bigger the life news, the less there is to say about it? Probably.

Lying to oneself is self-defeating

and should only be done in the strictest of conditions. 

I walked into the Gateway main bar, surrounded by the beautiful, confident, amazing, vital community I want(ed) to belong to and was floored by a realisation: I will die alone, I do not belong here, I cannot be as beautiful as these people so why am I trying?

With this first realisation came the second; I have been lying to myself. I have told myself time and time again that I am an attractive woman who could get a date or find someone to be with if the mood struck. WRONG! So why do I care? When did I start caring? And why did it hurt when I realised these things?

Does everyone really just want to be wanted? Why had it become so important to me in that moment to be looked at in that way? Was this a gradual thing, or have I been lying to myself about that too?

I thought I had removed that facet of my life, so as to not distract from the other, seemingly more important, parts of my personality. Have I been deluding myself about that too? 

And why aren't I wearing any pants?

I'm trying to find some clarity of mind to reassure myself that I'm not that shallow anymore, but it's a hard trek through rough terrain and I'm not sure I can do it tonight. Sleep, I hope, will clear my mind. And a new webcam.

'Night

<3 i'm not open to love, and i'm okay with that

I realise there are no capitals in the title. I like it that way. So. The last few months huh?

The very complicated relationship ended abruptly in the very worst way and thinking about it still makes me blush in total fury at myself. I was such a total cunt, and that's being nice.

Sex and the City + chocolate + candles = single girl + life-re-evaluating writings. Here they come!

I see myself clearly, I just don't particularly like what I see. "Flaws make people beautiful"? Beauty may only be sink deep, but that's all people see. First impressions last, and I make the impression THAT memorable. I am not looking for love because I know I won't find it again. I don't believe I am attractive to others. So, knowing this, I have doomed (?) myself to singledom for the rest of my life.

I'm 24 and my sex life is completely over.

I might as well be a fucking nun. Although, fucking a nun is one of my fantasies... What am I doing? Society tells me I need to be with someone to be happy and fulfilled as a human being. But thing is, I can't be the person that likes having someone in my space. I can't be in a relationship. I love not having to try so hard, love the freedom, no need to be pretty or butch or sexy or anything better than what I already am. I feel fabulous just being me. I don't need someone to hold my hand or snuggle to sleep or hold the door for me to feel special. As much as I dislike my flaws, I don't care if anyone else likes, hates or even acknowledges them. I don't need or want to impress anyone. I, at 24, am done.

I'm watching Sam as a lesbian. It doesn't work.

I am Miranda. Does this mean I'm going to be a stupid, pathetic woman in a loveless marriage? Do I have to become that person in order to be 'happy' again? I know ignorance is bliss, but come on. Is anyone really like that? 

Should I try dating? Will I ever be ready? I could use more friends, but honestly the ones I have now I barely spend time with and frankly they're exhausting. I really do miss intimacy, and touching and kisses and the nerves of the first date but I can't do it again.

I can't be fucked trying to get fucked, don't need anyone to do it 'cause they'll probably suck at it anyway. Pessimism is my lonely ally today. 

And a lot of that is just self-indulgent bullshit. I am a blogger with emotional problems. OMG, I'm like the only one ever!

Caff, out.

Initial post nerves

Congratulations, you who have come across this little blog! This is the public version of my private blog, washed, sanitised and adjusted to suit the emotional needs of the public. Which probably means very little to anyone but the twisted individuals who know me inimately.

So, something about me. I am a 24 year old lesbian, living with 2 cats in the fabulous city of Newcastle. I work in customer service, am in an extremely complicated relationship and love karaoke. Now. What to blog about? I could write my life story but that would be long and boring and freely available. Maybe next post...

Right now I am absolutely loving the Resident Evil movies. I don't know what it is about zombies, but I always sleep really well after watching them. Maybe it's the mindless lust for flesh that I relate to Maybe it's watching Milla Jovovich kicking arse. Maybe it's watching her arse. *shrug* Whatever it is, I like it. Now, if only I hadn't loaned them to my bro, I might have a chance at a decent nights sleep :(