A topsy turvy vision of love

Love. Now if that isn't a word difficult to explain I don't know what is.

"I love you."

The best and worst three words a person can hear. Love can build you just as easily as it can destroy you. I have a strange relationship with love, because I simultaneously love very easily, and very difficultly.

I did say it would be difficult to explain.

I suppose it depends on what love we're talking about, and who and how much. I'm never going to be able to explain this properly am I?

These days the only kind of love that people ever talk about is romantic. It's finding your one true love, and falling in love, and being in love with this one person forever. I don't believe in this kind of love, I don't think it exists, and I think that it's a concept that media has invented and is now shoving down our throats.

I'm not exactly what you would call a romantic.

Not that I don't like it. I mean don't get me wrong I melt inside just like everyone else does when I watch a particularly romantic scene in a film (you know what kind I'm talking about). I just don't believe it actually exists in real life.

So yeah. I don't believe in that kind of "head over heals in love forever with this one and only person" love. But I believe in other kinds of love. I believe in loving your family, and your friends. I believe that you can love someone very much for a period of time. Just not forever.

This makes some people kind of sad. My dad hates it when I say stuff like this. And my cousin is sure that one day I'll fall in love. And if I do, well that's awesome. In this case I guess I would be pleased to be proven wrong.

I said before that I love very easily and yet very difficultly.

What I mean by this is that I'm willing to give practically everyone a chance. I try very hard to like everyone, and sometimes I love people who hardly even know me from a distance. You know like I'll love that kid that always smiles, or the bus driver that let me ride for free. I do this in the hopes that the vibes will get out there and make life a little better for them. I'm like to think that maybe someone else does that for me. It's a nice thought.

But only from a distance. The people that I actually and truly love are very small in numbers. I associate love with trust. So if you are one of those few people that I really and utterly love than you can be sure that I trust you with everything.

I don't think this is very clear, or even if it makes any sense. But I tried, that must count for something right?

Getting your heart broken by fictional characters

I love comedy. Comedy is good. It's nice to laugh at a funny show, or a funny book. But unfortunately I love sad stories more. And this means that I get my heart broken by fictional characters a lot. And I mean a lot.

And to make things even worse my favourite characters are always amongst the ones who suffer the most. I don't even do on purpose. It just happens.

Mostly my favourite characters die. Hence the very unhealthy levels of heartbreak.

And when I say my heart breaks I'm not joking. It's less like "oh I'm a little sad because of so and so" and more like "everything hurts and nothing is ok". 

If I am aware of the heartbreak looming over the horizon sometimes I stop before it's gets to me. Meaning that I stop watching the show, or reading the book. It doesn't feel quite so bad that way.

But sometimes you just love the story so much you just have to embrace the pain. As melodramatic as that sounds.

My favourite books and movies are usually sad, or at least not exactly happy. Usually. Obviously not all of them, thank God, but most of them.

Sometimes I wonder why I even do this to myself. Or why anyone does it. Tragedy is a popular genre, and even happy stories have sad scenes. Those are the ones people remember the most I guess.

Take Harry Potter for instance. The first thing new people that I meet usually say to me is "Oh I cried when [insert dead characters name here] died". And ever since the Hobbit came out all the fangirls (myself included) can do is sob over the inevitable deaths of the characters who die (I'll name no names just in case).

I get my heart broken regularly is what I'm saying here. And I don't even need to go out in the real world to do so. Funny really.

I think tragedy is attractive because it's usually so intense. When it's well done you can feel the pain and the grief and the rage. And in this day and age we're all so numb to the world around us, so to be able to feel so intensely can be amazing even if it can be painful.

That or I'm some kind of masochist. Which admittedly is not completely impossible.

Visiting my cousin

I saw my cousin yesterday. It was awesome. I hadn't seen Ciosa in about a year. I'd talked to her everyday (I've mentioned her on this blog before), and she's pretty much aware of all that goes on in my life. But it's always so good to see someone you love that much in the flesh.

Yeah I love my cousin a lot. I think I probably love her more than she loves me, but I don't mind that. I love a lot of people more than they love me.

Something you should know about me : when I love someone I love them completely, faults and imperfections. I will be loyal, and I will always be on their side.

And when I dislike you, it's just as intense. This is why I avoid snap decisions. I take my time deciding whether or not I can trust you.

I try and think the best of people, because I don't like being hateful. Because when I am, I can be a fucking bitch. When I hate you it's over. Go away, and don't come back. And if you do you had better be willing to work on making me like you again. It's not easy believe me.

I trust my cousin. And I like to think she trusts me too. She's fun, she makes me laugh, and she makes me feel more comfortable with myself. Ciosa and Tamar (two of the people I trust most in the whole world) get to see me when I am more confident because they bring it out in me. Alone I go back to being shy and invisible. I feel seen with them.

Needless to say I had a great time with Ciosa yesterday. Although because we're dickheads we forgot to take any pictures. Oh well. Next time.

My diary

I have this little notebook that my cousin gave me for Christmas when I was ten. I'm not sure if she remembers it or not, but she reads this blog so she'll be reminded in any case.

So this notebook. It's small, and I carry it around with me everywhere. I've used it as a diary, a memo, as a scrap book for my ideas. I've written tiny stories in it, and I've written down ideas for bigger stories. Random pieces of my thoughts, hopes and dreams from the age of ten all the way up to now age eighteen. There's only a few pages left, but I'll make them last. I write slowly and randomly. This notebook isn't meant for organised thought. It's meant for expression.

I love this book.

It embarrasses me sometimes, because there are whole pages where my ten, or thirteen, or sixteen year old self would whine about things that aren't important anymore. Things that probably weren't important even then. And sometimes I read it and I rediscover the beginnings of a story I started to write, and then forgotten about.

It's disorganised, and badly kept, and  I don't write in it regularly, and it's messy, and it's childish.

In other words it's perfect.

So thanks Ciosa. I'll let you know when it's full, and maybe I'll even show it to you and let you read it. And then I'll have to find another one and hope that I can love it just as much.

Remember it now Ciosa?

The existence of faerie folk

“I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?” John Lennon

I love this quote. I just found it because I was looking up fairies. Because I have a faerie story to tell. But lets talk about this wondrous quote first.

Isn't just magnificent? To believe in dragons and fairies? To be grown up but to stay a child? God bless John Lennon. I hope he's at peace.

I've always loved fairies. The good ones and the bad. I've always secretly hoped that one day I would see one. I remember when I was a kid (maybe six or seven years old) I lost a tooth and the tooth faerie came and left a coin under my pillow. And in the morning I ran out into the kitchen all excited, and while I was showing the coin off to my mum, I saw a small dark figure in the shape of a tiny person go past the window really fast.

I almost cried with excitement. 

I saw a faerie! A real live faerie, and I flaunted and showed off to my friends because of this privilege. And all were jealous, and I believed. And I was so happy. 

Of course now if I think rationally I understand what happened. I did see a small dark figure in the shape of a tiny person go past the window really fast, but if i remember correctly the wings weren't flapping and it was tied to a stick shaped thing. So really I saw a cardboard cutout of a faerie on a stick held under the window by my dad.

But sometimes I like to delude myself and think it was a real faerie. 

Why the sudden interest in faerie folk? Well here's another story. My curtain was broken, and I had been meaning to ask my concierge to come fix it for ages, but I kept forgetting and I just felt really awkward about it. So I did nothing.

Then yesterday I walked into my apartment and the curtain was fixed! I swear I saw stars, and my genuine first reaction was "the fairies fixed my curtain!"

A lovely reaction really. Of course there is a rational answer to the miracle of my fixed curtains. Earlier on in the week my concierge had asked me if he could come into my apartment sometime this week because he need access to my balcony. And seeing as I had class I told him to let himself in. So obviously he noticed that my curtain was broken and decided to fix it cause he's a nice guy.

Still. The faerie theory was lovely while it lasted.

I've always loved faeries. And as silly as it sounds I live in hope, that maybe one day for real I will see one.

Clap your hands if you believe. I do.

Bored baking

You know stress baking? Well for those of you who don't know stress baking is when you bake when you're stressed, and it's usually pretty overboard, but hey it's a coping method.

I occasionally do some stress baking. But mostly I do something similar. I bake when I'm bored.

I'm a bookworm, and a bit of a nerd, so I spend a lot of time in front of my computer, or behind a book obsessing about fictional characters. But every now and again I get bored. And ever since I've been alone that's been happening a lot. I have no one to talk to, nothing to do, and nowhere to go. So I bake.

Now if I were cooking balanced meals for myself this would be a good thing. "She's finally feeding herself properly" my family and friends would cry out in joy.

But I'm not cooking, I'm baking. And that means cake. In this case brownies to be more specific. Not exactly a balanced meal is it?

Very yummy though.

Here they are :

I'll admit they don't look like much but who cares what they look like if it gives your taste buds an orgasm.

Here's where I got the recipe if anyone is interested : http://allrecipes.com/recipe/best-brownies/

It's cold and I can't function

I'm cold. I just walked into the door of my studio on strasbourg for the first time in about a week, and inside it was eight degres. Eight degres. Eight fucking degres.

Fuck. It's so cold. I don't like it when it's cold.

What am I doing to cope? Well I turned on my music, and I've put the kettle on. And I'm thinking of maybe making brownies. Anything to distact me from the cold, while also heating this place up.

Ack. I can't even concentrate on what I'm writing because my fingers are freezing and I'm scared that they'll fall off or something.

Update on the cold later.

That wierd kid

So I have a confession to make. I'm not entirely sane. In fact if one of you lovely people reading this were ever to see me walking on my own in the street you'd never come up to me.
"Look at that one" you'd think (that is to say if you'd even noticed me, which to be perfectly honest, is not usually the case) "she's acting awful weird".

Now I've always known that I'm a little strange sometimes. But I'd always tell myself that everyone is strange sometimes, and when people talk of "normal behaviour" I like to ask them to define normality for me.

So yeah. Define normality for me. Yes you, who else could I be talking to? Define normality!

Ha. Thought so.

Anyways lets get back on topic.
I'm a weirdo. I realised this today when I was walking home in the snow. I was listening to music on my ipod and dreaming epic day dreams. Normal you'd say. Well this is the point where I wander a bit off the beaten path.

See in my day dreams there are conversations between the people that I'm day dreaming about, be they characters from a book I've read, or characters from one of my own stories. And sometimes (because I'm fucking crazy) I find myself saying the words of their conversations. Out loud.

Yes, you did read that correctly. I have conversations out loud with characters that don't exist. What the actual fuck is wrong with me.

I haven't been caught at it yet (or at least no ones mentioned to me yet), but still it's a little embarrassing when I catch myself doing it. Yeah cause half the time I don't even realise that I'm doing it in the first place.

And then I wonder why I was always considered to be that weird kid.

Oh well. Guess I'm crazy.

"Are you a robot then?"

"Are you a robot then?"

My cousin asked me that the other day. I was having a bad day, and when I have a bad day the worst things come out from the pit of my soul. Wow. That was oddly poetic.
But what I mean is that I end up making myself even more upset by thinking about all the things that make me unhappy, and I end up crying in front of my computer while someone (in this case my cousin) tries to help me understand what's wrong.

"Are you a robot then?"

She couldn't understand (and I don't blame her. I don't understand either) why I seem to keep myself unhappy. Why I don't try and do things that make me happy, she asked. To which I replied that I don't even know what makes me happy. I don't know anything. I'm a little empty inside. I can feel happiness (mostly given to me by Ciosa or Tamar and other friends. And sometimes a good book), but I don't know how to achieve it. So like I said before I end up feeling nothing.

"Are you a robot then?"

I don't know babe. Sometimes I wonder if I might be.
You seem to think that someone planted a seed of unhappiness when I was younger and now it's grown, and I'm trapped. But you're braver than me and you suggest that I arm up with some metaphorical axe and cut down the tree that grew from the pit of my stomach. If I were as brave and passionate as you I would. But I'm not. I'm tired, and I'm scared.

"Are you a robot then?"

Yes, sometimes I guess I am. And as awful as it sounds sometimes it's easier that way.
But don't worry about me. I'll find an axe. And once I've found it I'll look at it for a little while. Then I'll pick it up and practise using it. Then and only then will I cut down that tree.

"Are you a robot then?"

But I'll get better Ciosa. You just need to be patient with me. I do things slower than you do. I'm not as fast paced as you are. What takes you a year might take me ten and so forth. But it's not a waste of time. And I will get better.

"Are you a robot then?"

For now. But only for a little while longer.

Uncomfortable family dinners

I feel like I'm going insane, and this because I'm not comfortable surrounded by my own family.

I feel guilty even saying that. I mean they love me, and I love them. But they're just so... I can't even explain properly. Invasive. Pushy. Sure of their own opinions. Better than me. I'm uncomfortable because no matter what I do, or what I say I always end up feeling insignificant, stupid, and completely overwhelmed by my own unimportance.

I spend too much time with these people and I end up not even able to communicate anymore, and I'm constantly in danger of bursting into tears just so that I can express myself and my opinion. Because YES guys, I do have an opinion. Shocker I know.

It can get fairly unpleasant I must say.

Sometimes it's not so bad, I can just shrug it off and move on. But sometimes I feel like I want to scream at them, and just be like "You know what? Fuck you." and then just leave the room dramatically like I'm a character in some movie drama.

But I'm not and I can't. Because I, just like every one else, live in the real world. Which sucks.

Suck it up Clo.

The adventures of Chloe the tired student

Huzzah the mouse is dead, and I'm home away from exams and the city!

I'm so tired now though. Like I'm properly exhausted. So I think that I'll just sleep until I have to go back to school. Sounds like a plan to me.

Seriously though the other day (that is to say Thursday evening after my very last exam) I thought I was going to die I was so tired. I got home to my apartment at around six and I pretty much decided that I was going to mess about on the Internet for an hour, have dinner, watch a film and go to bed.

So I started doing all of that (at this point I still didn't know if the mouse was dead or not, so I was being paranoid and jumping at every little sound I heard), and at nine thirty in the evening I was in bed watching howls moving castle on my computer and falling asleep.

And then suddenly someone tried to give me a heart attack by ringing the doorbell.

It was Eda who was bored and had therefore decided to come hang out with me. So I'm happy to see her despite my exhaustion and we chatted for about an hour, then she used my Internet for half an hour while I watched the end of my movie.

And that's when she turned to me and said : "I want to watch a film!" to which I responded with : "Um. Ok. Pick one out."

She picked the Brothers Grimm by Terry Gillem whom I love but it's nearly two hours long and it was already eleven.

Still we watched the movie.

And seeing as it ended at one in the morning I made Eda sleep over because I didn't want her walking home alone at night in a city. That's never a good idea.

So we shared my single bed which was actually fine. She doesn't kick like some other people that I know.

But hey it's not over yet! Because Eda bless her is one of those people who doesn't need twelve hours sleep. She woke up at SEVEN in the morning. SEVEN.

And then at eight o'clock she made me get up to go grocery shopping with her. And seeing as neither of us can drive we had to walk to the shops and then carry all of the groceries to her place.

Then I had to walk home to go see my concierge to ask him to help me move my fridge to see if the mouses body was there. It was. Also my concierge now thinks I'm an idiot girl who can do nothing by herself.
Whatever.

And then and only then was I able to catch my train, after which I proceeded to fall asleep and I almost missed my stop.

But now I'm home and I'll never leave my bed again. At least not until some bastard makes me.

Happy birthday bro

Today is the day that my brother turns seventeen. When the fuck did this happen?

Jesus I remember when he was seven! And now he's seventeen??

Mindfuck.

Not that I'm not pleased or anything. It's just that I feel old now. And time is going past so fast it's insane. Five minutes ago we were kids fighting with each other and telling tales. And now I'm in college and he's an official athlete on a national team.

Again with the mindfuck.

I remember turning seventeen. I still feel like I am seventeen. Hell I feel like I turned seventeen yesterday! But I'm going to be nineteen in two and a half months and it's a little scary.

I think I've already mentioned how I hate growing up. I really really do.

Wow. If this is my reaction when my brother has his birthday, imagine my reaction on mine. I have a feeling that it won't be very pretty.

Anyway my brother is seventeen today. Happy birthday bro.

The mouse

My mum has named it Mickey. Thanks mum. That makes me feel so much better.

What is it? Who is Mickey?

It's a mouse. Hence the name.

Why am I talking about a mouse? Because it is currently living under my fridge. Fuck.

It's been there for three days. And it won't fucking go away. Or die. Whichever comes first.

And my mum named it Mickey. So when I say that I wish it would just die and leave me alone, I get hit by a wave of guilt because I want Mickey Mouse to die.
And I don't want to kill it. I just sort of have to. I can't have a mouse living under my fridge.

It won't let me sleep, because it makes so much noise scratching away under there.

Fucking Mickey.

Bullseye

I had a friend over today, and it was the first time she'd been in my house for months. Simply because I haven't really lived here in months. I've been away, studying and being miserable.

We didn't do much, we never do. We just hung out for a bit. Then we baked some cookies (they were yum), and then we ate the cookies. And then at the end of the day we started dicking around with one of my sisters toys.

Yeah it was awesome.

You know Toy Story? Of course you do. And if you don't well I'm so sorry, but your childhood must have sucked.
I love Toy Story. It's my favourite cartoon movie ever (all three of them). Why am I talking about this? Well Caitlin (my baby sister) got a Toy Story Jessie doll complete with Bullseye. She loves them.

And I am so fucking jealous. Seriously.

Anyway back to me and my friend. We ended our day together by dicking around as I said before. Basically we played with Bullseye for an hour.

Here's photo evidence :

Being the best

My cousin and I are secretly very competitive. It comes from being in our family. We want to be the best, we want to be on top.

We haven't been on top so far in life. We keep getting beaten by our other cousin who shall remain nameless on this blog just in case. You never know, she might find it. Her or someone else in the Family.

The horror.

But yes. My cousin and I. Competitive.

Ciosa is the black sheep and I'm the invisible one in the Family. You can see why we want to prove ourselves now can't you.

I don't think we're doing so well for the moment, but hey. We're young, we're working on it and we still have time. And I listen to her and she listens to me, and there's no snide comments between the two of us.

Snide comments and subtle critiques are something of a speciality in our family.

They can be very supportive don't get me wrong. But only if they think you deserve it. Or need it. And so my cousin and I don't always get the support that we want or need. Because the support needs to be won. And who always wins in our family?

The cousin who must not be named.

2013

So it's 2013. I find this disturbing, because to be perfectly honest I've only just gotten used to being in 2008, so needless to say being in 2013 is somewhat a shock.

Any new years resolutions? No. I've never had any, I don't see the point. Why would I change at the start of the new year? If I need to change then I will. At least I hope so. But not just because it's the new year.

Also I hate change. I am a creature of routine. It's one of the reasons why I'm so dull and boring.

The angry vegetarian rant

I am very angry right now, so if the following makes no, or little sense that's why.

I am a vegetarian by principal, which basically means that I love animals very much, and so I can't face eating them. It's a personal choice, and I would never enforce it on anyone. I just don't eat meat because I support animal rights and don't want to abuse them in any way.

There are different types of vegetarians in this world of ours. There are the ones like me who decided to stop meat out of principal, and then there are those who stopped meat because it's fashionable (seriously I've met girls like this) or because they don't like meat. That's fine. No problems. Its all good.

So if I don't eat meat out of principal, that means that giving me anything made out of fur or animal skin as a gift is, in my opinion, very bad taste.

And if it had been by a person who didn't know me very well, or who maybe didn't know that the gift was made out of dead animal skin, then maybe I would just be a little upset, as opposed to furious.

My stepmother, who has been with my dad, and who has lived with us for about eight years gave me slippers made with a lamb skin outer lining.
And then was surprised when I was less than enthusiastic about them.

Now I did not explode in her face because I don't want to cause my dad any problems. But I didn't stay in the room and I am not going to wear those things.

This woman is supposed to know me to a certain extent. I guess she doesn't. And judging by the fact that neither my dad nor my brother made any remarks about this, I guess that they don't know me all that well either.

Ciosa, Tamar, Marissa and Séline (even if you are still mad at me or not) save me from my own home, and the people who love me there.