Indication of my lack of willpower

1. I keep eating. 'til you lay my head on the pillow. And I can't stop eating salted pistachio nuts and kinder buenos.
2. I keep opening new tabs. On the internet. New tabs. I already have Gmail, Facebook, Stumbleupon, Blogger, Youtube, style.com, etc. open. There is not a tab that I can now open that I do not already have open. And I've been completely updated on each of my feeds. Which means that I have to start working on the thing that I’ve ostensibly been “working on” since I’ve opened your mac book. Wait — I'm opening a new tab! But have nowhere to go! 
3. I keep going out to eat. I have salad and kimchi and stew and frozen pizza and meatballs and chicken soup , and eating out costs like 400 percent more than eating in. Yet I’ve been having dinner out every night this week. And I'm already broke. I need to stop this. Or else it's goodbye to end-of-year trip.
4. I keep looking at the internet despite the fact that you’ve been looking at, ostensibly, ‘nothing,’ for the past hour. Just shut the laptop down. Just shut. It. Down. Look at you — you’ve been doing nothing! You’re just refreshing websites! Or googling "persimmons constipation". You could be finishing your masterpiece or answering that important email that is constantly at the back of your mind! You could be tweaking your portfolio or catching up with your friend! (This is Bearemy scolding me.) Technology has destroyed my willpower.
5. I keep watching youtube videos. I hop on a youtube train, and can't hop off. I have been watching reaction videos for the past hour...
6. I keep buying overpriced clothing. Whoa — a $65 t-shirt? A $170 shorts? Did I just temporarily convince myself that these purchases were totally justified and not at all putting me in danger of going destitute and living the rest of me life in a cold, miserable halfway house? We’re on a budget, woman! What are you doing? You need money for that Asia trip you're planning on!

Complicated post for complicated feelings

Oh my goodness, I have so many feelings. Too many and complex to even identify. And they keep coming in like waves. I sing. I sulk. I awe. I panic. I happy sigh. I sad sigh. I laugh (at your Facebook photos. And your friends' photos. And their wedding photos. Only because I'm high on energy drinks around 2 in the afternoon, and I don't realise what a meanie-poo-face I'm being). I've been really juvenile and selfish as of late.

This post probably won't even make any common sense to you. I just feel overwhelmed with dread and weariness about life deadlines, school deadlines, email replies, personal commitments, important decisions to be made, courageous conversations to be had, judgements to brush off, lecturers to prove wrong, kilo's to lose, clothes to model, presentations to present, macbook to fix, stereotypes to break, a doctor's appointment, plus eight million other things. It’s pretty amazing how incapacitated you can get. What are you supposed to do? But what ends up happening in times like these is ironically, nothing. Like, when you’re overwhelmed and your attention is taxed, you try and run in 17 directions at once, and as is to be expected, don’t move far in any of them. So you sit and throw a tantrum, and then get distracted by Ryan Gosling's flawlessness or a sudden urge to commute to the airpot and eat eggs benedict, buy a milk steamer, and get a new piercing, only to take it out after a couple of months because "it's gets in my way". And probably get a new complicated hairstyle for complicated feelings.

It's like one moment I'm having an anxiety attack, (do you remember in Sex and the City season 4, they had to rip apart Carrie's wedding dress because she was having a panic attack and she was hyperventilating and her body suddenly erupted in rashes? It was just like that. But in a public toilet and not a wedding dress) and the next moment my eyes light up about my favourite things, and seeing The Sound of Music and Captain Von Trapp in the holidays. I love that film more than raindrops on roses, (but not more than whiskers on kittens)! Often, I heart-breakingly grieve for my loss of innocence and child-like wonder (I don't know if this is normal or it's the Peter Pan complex), then I'm eerily at peace. Followed by eye-of-the-tiger-confidence, head-butting into what I must do in life. Hence, in my moment of feeling something between glee and anticipation, I've compiled a list of books/films I have to see/read to run away from reality to read during my 3 week winter break with Bearemy.

George's Marvellous medicine, Roald Dahl
James and the Giant peach, Roald Dahl
The Perks of being a wallflower, Stephan Chbosky
The Magicians, Lev Grossman
The Stepford wives, Ira Levin
The Turn of the Screw, Henry James
Secret Window, 2004
Big Fish, 2003
Lost in translation, 2003
Up in the air, 2009
Spirited away, 2001
Zodiac, 2007
Annie Hall, 1977
Big, 1988
The English Patient, 1996
The Phantom of the Opera, 19-I-don't-know-which-Broadway-version
The Sound of Music, 1965

Not caring about what people think of you

Not caring what people think is the hokey pokey to getting through each and every day. I think not caring about what people think comes after liking yourself. I'm not exactly sure but I think learning to do either will help with the other. I don’t feel like the most qualified person to talk about this, but I don’t know what it would take to be the most qualified. 

I really respect people who wear what they want because, in order for this to work, you have to be courageous. Or at least, at first, appear to be. (I have to, like, brainwash myself a little bit sometimes.) You have to challenge anyone who gives you a funny look with a look of your own. Or don’t acknowledge them at all, and they’ll stand there a little dumbfounded. Maybe eventually they will grow up and realize how stupid it is to care about how other people look, and expect people to care that they care. If someone comments on your horn-rimmed glasses, or cheek piercings, you don’t have to take it personally. If they glare at your polka-dot bell-bottoms, who cares. They're the ones who didn't recognise a Lanvin vintage. Do you know what I'm saying? It's also ignorance.

I think most people are afraid of taking risks in dressing and styling because they’re afraid people will be like, “OH, SO YOU’RE ALL ARTSY NOW?” Nobody will say this if you act like it’s no big deal. What such people don’t get is that most people who wear outfits that stand out, or is different to what everyone else is wearing, or wear vintage clothes don’t think of themselves as artsy, they’re just exploring and trying to define their taste instead of being someone who likes whatever is handed to them for fear of being mistaken for pretentious. 


People are afraid of trying to be creative because they’re afraid that they won’t succeed, but who said your “success” in getting dressed has to be evaluated by other people? As long as you’re into what you’re wearing and it makes you more comfortable with yourself, it doesn’t matter if someone else thinks you’ve put together a perfectly composed outfit or not. Actually, the effect of your confidence will only add to how stylish your outfit seems. It’s like the best catch-22 ever!

It's no wonder I'm so attracted to people who dress 'different' or even, outrageously, and doesn't care if he's got a red bowl-cut or a grey mohawk! And shallow, narrow-minded people who judge others and put them in boxes based on how they look really push my buttons.


Anyways. It will always be harder to get to be someone who doesn’t care about what people think, but that’s why you’re a tiny little awesome warrior for even trying. And isn’t that kind of exciting? Go forth, tiny warrior, and conquer!

Week of Doom.

Deadlines are looming in like dark storm clouds swallowing up the clear blue sky. One brief consists of a look-book, bound by hand (hand-made, far out), that consists of sixty technical drawings, so-called flats, and thirty photoshop illustrations. Yes, SIXTY, and THIRTY. And that is just one brief out of countless that is due this coming week, Dooms Week I call it. I am multitasking, because I'm female, between adobe illustrator, adobe photoshop, an essay on Sumptuary Laws on dressing in Medieval England, and flipping through fashion illustration books. I just want to be able to work like this illustration above. And not worry about the fact that sometimes, they can have one arm. No problemo. This is from Fashion Illustrations by Fashion Designers – amazing book showcasing the outlandish drawings of the big name designers trying to articulate their ideas for their lines.


Now in the name of procrastination, I am going to paint my nails and go shave my legs. 


Tootles.


Just kidding, I'm not shaving legs.


I am.


I'm not.


Maybe.


I have lost my sanity. It's 3am.

My box of chocolates

You know it's been a bad day when:

You find yourself laying on the bathroom floor at midnight eating an expensive box of chocolates with no motivation whatsoever to walk 4 metres and get into bed.

However:

You know things always inevitably look better in the morning when you are eating that same box of chocolates for breakfast, and for some reason, everything suddenly makes sense.