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One of those moods.

Yep, final day of semster one and it ends with a huge disappointment, like a pish stain left in the snow by a stoned tramp. Stupid essays. Anyway, I've already spammed twitter with moping and self loathing so I won't do that here but I would appreciate being spammed with things that will cheer me up if anyone's interested. Pretty please? 

Jun. 17th, 2009

That's how long I lasted in my Summer job berry picking.

Two fucking days.

Strawberries are now on my enemies list, right next to Glenn Beck and whoever cancelled Carnivale. Bending down in the mud to pick those things gave me back spasms, leg pains and dizziness and I couldn't physically cope with it after two fucking days. So I quit. And now my dad thinks I'm a failure. Last night he did this whole 'disappointed dad' routine and basically said I was lazy and stuck up and that I thought the job was beneath me. Believe me, I wouldn't have quit the job if I thought I could physically cope with it. But I just couldn't stand the pain. After one night, I woke up at 4am with a shaking back. Your back isn't supposed to do that! I know I'm not designed for physical stuff, I've always known that. Yes, I need the money but I value my wellbeing higher than money. So my dad thinks I'm a failure. He didn't need to tell me that - I don't think highly of myself anyway, he didn't need to inform me of something I already fucking knew.

After I went to bed, I lay in bed watching Eureka with Daz and working over a few things in my head. I needed some water so I went back down and ended up snapping a little, I told my dad if he thought giving me a huge speech on my misdeeds would improve things or make me feel better about myself, he was wrong, and I might have let it slip that I've always secretly felt like a failure. It's true, but it ended the conversation there and then. He didn't reply, he just stood there. To be fair, I was crying by this point and he's a guy that can't cope with tears. For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to wash the dishes. I just felt like since I was such a failure and incapable of doing anything right, the least I could do to contribute to the household was wash a few plates. Stupid logic, I know. So, a bad day for Kayleigh.

I've got a ton of C.V.s to print off now and places to go begging for jobs tomorrow - great way to spend my 19th birthday. It's stupid of me to complain anyway. Yesterday, I was posting in the huge Iran live post on ONTD_Political and I've never felt prouder to be a part of something. I just wish I could get involved more with this. I'll leave you with a sight that gives me hope. No, not half naked comedians. :P

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*cough splutter cough*


All things come in threes apparently. It definately applies to me today. I've got the cold, a sore throat and blistered feet. I'm also failing in my search for a job, running low on funds and failing Gaelic. I had a test today which I crammed for last night but when they sat that paper in front of me today I froze. I hate not getting stuff, I thought I knew it all and was doing well but obviously not. Stupid Gaelic. I adore the subject I really do, but boy is it hard! Another girl in my class felt the same way, she was as depressed as me after it. What made me feel worse was that everybody else in the class seemed to take well to it and got on fine. Nothing breaks your confidence more than confident people. Job searching sucks. I can't print of CVs because I don't have a printer. Due to my odd lecture times I am limited in the jobs I can search for. Most places like bars and restaurants ask for experience too which I don't have. I'm still hoping for the best but with illness and unhappiness it doesn't make me feel particularly optimistic.

Late night blues...


The penultimate night of Fresher's Play - Brilliant.

Going to see the theatre's improvised comedy troupe, the Improverts - Hilarious.

Being initiated into the Bedlam techie/stage manager group - Not so good.

I've just got home now, had to walk for an hour to get back and I'm in agony, so I'm writing this while I wait for my heater to warm theroom up. All stage managers were asked to stay behind after the impro show, at 11:30, for 'adoption.' I tentatively went along to the theatre group's unofficial pub to find out that all freshers were being 'adopted' by older members who's job it is to look out for them and introduce you a bit more to theatre. It was like going shopping for puppies, I felt like I was being judged so much. Eventually I was picked by some very jolly, curly haired man called Richard/Hog. He was a nice guy, very loud though, and he just said he'd be around if I needed him. Which was nice, but then I heard the others talking with their adoptees and felt a bit lonely again. Our initiation consisted of being made to drink a pint of ale mixed with some god awful tasting drink called a Black Techie. I literally couldn't stomach this drink, it was like acid, it made my stomach gurgle. So I just pushed the glass away and forgot about it.  As the evening progressed, everyone around me got very drunk. Somehow, I agreed to go along after the pub closed to one of the girls' flat where everyone else was going. More drinking ensued - I kept myself dry. And in the midst of it all, I had a thought. All these people, people who I like and get on well with, people who make me smile and introduced me to theatre and stage managing, were turning into those students. The students who drink to get drunk and act too loud, too careless and too stupidly. The people I loathe. I just don't understand the point of drinking to get drunk. It's irresponsible and just cements that stupid stereotype that all students like to be twats. When did alcohol become the centre of the student body? My team won the pub quiz on Thursday. The prize - a crate of beer. Being a 90% teetotal sure is lonely. All the people tonight were drunk and happy together and a small part of me wanted that social acceptability. Some were making plans to have their 'adopted' fresher help tech or stage manage some shows. It reminded me of that Friends episode where Rachel starts smoking so that she an join in with the business decisions at her job. I just hope the opportunities will still be there for sober little me. Tomorrow is the final show, which will be followed by a pub visit and lock in. Goody...

How did you do?

English (Advanced Higher) - C
Religious Studies (Advanced Higher) - No Award
French (Advanced Higher) - No Award

I feel so angry with myself, so stupid, such a failure. I know I shouldn't care because I am already in university unconditionally, I'm so lucky that way, but my overachieving traits are going into guilt overdrive. If  can't even pass advanced higher, how will I pass university level?


Beauty and bitching.

Spirited Away
As if my other rant wasn't enough, I'm back and more enraged than usual. I was browsing some communities to look for Bones icons for my sister. It's her favourite show and she wanted some help looking for cool icons (where better than fandom capital?) But when I typed in Bones on the search, I ended up getting several results for anorexia sites. Naturally I freaked out. I didn't look in them and told my sister to go onto her own computer. I cannot abide the thought of my sister seeing sites like that. When she was younger, she was bullied incessantly because she was bigger than other girls. It got really bad for her and she ended up getting really depressed. It was horrible and I was heartbroken. My sis is gorgeous, I'm not saying that because she's my sister, she really is beautiful. Nobody should go around telling other girls they're fat or ugly, it leads to bad things like those sites. I'm not a psychologist and have no experience in these areas, but should LiveJournal really let them exist here? Young people are very easily influenced, I know I was when I was my sister's age. She's a smart girl and now she knows that she doesn't need approval to know she's beautiful. Although she does love taking pictures of herself. But I'd rather she was a little vain than have no self confidence and be bordering depression like before.

Which leads me to my next point. What people in their right minds would create a site just to bitch about other people's appearances? They also came up in the 'Bones' search. One site was dedicated to laughing at the overweight, one was set up to discuss how gorgeous they were and how hideous others were. The one site I reluctantly looked in consisted of people posting pictures of themselves then being torn apart by people who had no right to do so. I hope the portraits they keep locked up in their attics are bloody hideous.vWhat the hell is beautiful? Beauty is subjective, it chances from person to person. I know I'm not pretty, I never have been. It bugged me for many years of my life but now I'm content with my gross skin, nobbly nose and non existent top lip because I know that none of these things makes me any less of a good person. I'm getting over bitching, it's wrong I know that now. Being what people would class as pretty doesn't make you a perfect person, it doesn't mean that you can do everything and can be allowed to insult others. It happened a lot to me in high school, I got every insult in the book so often that there came a point that I started asking the jackasses for some original insults. They didn't give me any so I just sighed and walked on. I hate this so called need to strive for beauty. The entire fashion industry sickens me, as does cosmetic surgery for those who do not need it. There was a fantastic episode of Bones, coincidentally, where Brennan and Booth were investigating the death of a model/prostitute. Brennan couldn't identify her from her skull because she had completely modified the structure of her face. Brennan said "She erased herself." which made me and my sister sad. 

"Every culture nurtures ideals of beauty toward which people strive - fine! But in the future people'll look back upon the surgical alterations of the nose or breasts or buttocks with the same horror that we regard the binding of feet or the use of bronze coils to extend the neck. It's barbaric! It's painful! It's wrong! This murder victim may never be identified because some glorified barber with a medical degree has the arrogance to think that he could do better than a millennium of evolution."

I hope those bitches realise how wrong they are. Big doesn't mean ugly. Different doesn't mean ugly either. Maybe one day people will hrow aside the conventions of beauty and just embrace everybody for who they are because society can't move forward with so much hate and discrimination in the world. At the risk of sounding like Oprah Winfrey or one of those creepy inspirational tapes, I'm happy with being me, I just wish it hadn't taken so long. Read this fantastic article from Elle Magazine for further reading. Rant over, you can return to peace now.

Cheesecake and Worries...

The Village
Since my grandad went into the rehabilitation centre I've been making him food to try and get him to gain weight. He lost a ton of weight in hospital and since he's so tall and lean, it was really noticeable. Luckilty he's putting some weight on, thanks to me on some small level. I'm useless at cooking and loathe it, but I quite enjoy baking. I've made tons of truffles recently, they're simple, taste lovely and don't need an oven. I'm not supposed to go near those things, bad things happen when I do! 

Today I made even more stuff. I made some very large scones, more truffles again and a very special strawberry cheesecake. I don't even like cheesecake but it was fun to make. Everything smelled so good. I don't like the taste of it all but smelling it is so much fun, it's the same principle with me and coffee. It was all very fun, I'd have taken some pictures but my sister broke the camera. 

Sadly my parents decided to choose today, several days after the deadline passed, to inform me that they can't afford to help me pay for university. I have applied for a bursary and grant but I missed the deadline for the loans, I've had too much on my plate to worry about without money joining it all. Money is all the people here seem to worry about, Edinburgh's website was the most unhelpful site too, they told me nothing about financing and loans. My only hope is that I get the one bursary I applied for - which is only £1000, nowhere near enough to pay for the accomodation - and I somehow get an amazingly high paying part time job while I'm there and don't keel under all the work. I can't not go to university, I won't end up like the rest of my family.

I'm bored.

I have nothing to do. My sister has a job now so we can't do anything together and I don't want to waste my final summer as a free woman constantly on the computer. I sort of have a job - I work in the same pet shop as my mum. But she hired someone to take over from me without asking me. She said it was preparation for when I leave home but I'm still here and need the money! I need the activity too, I'm going mad in this house. There's only so many times you can watch clips of Dead Ringers before sighing. I want to write too but my head just can't get back into the plot of my screenplay, it doesn't want to be written. I don't want to stall yet another story, I am terrible for not finishing stuff. It doesn't look like my prospects for a future in writing are good if I'm like this. I need a reason to write an incentive, a challenge. If anybody wishes to give me any challenge at all, please do, I would relish it! I'll do anything you ask!

Sometimes you just need to do it...

After weeks of avoiding the issue and squirming everytime someone mentions the word 'hospital' I finally went in to Ninewells to visit my grandad. Well, it wasn't really a voluntary visit, I was conned into going. That's what I get for not listening to my parents I guess. So yesterday I kept on my best calm face and went with my parents, sister and grandmother to see him in the neurotherapy ward (I think that's what it's called. It's neuro something.) It didn't start too well. We saw this other patient in the ward who was sharing a room with grandad. He was convinced that it was New Years Day and that I was pregnant! I'm burning the dress I was wearing that night. While it was sort of funny, I didn't want to laugh because it felt cruel. It wasn't his fault, he was in a lot worse state than my grandad. And nobody ever came in to visit that poor man. After that little confusion and some stomach sucking, we went into Intensive Therapy Unit to see him. He's only there because there aren't any beds in the rest of the ward for him, such is the state of the NHS. When we went in, he was sitting sort of hunched over in a chair, staring into space. The aneurysm has messed with his sight a little. It wasn't a pleasant sight to be fair, and the tears built up immediately. I didn't cry though, I managed to hold it back long enough. He really wasn't in as bad a state as I thought he would be. If you ignored the massive scar on his head and the slightly caved in bit of his skull, he didn't have that, as my friend calls it, "Oh-my-god-you've-had-a-massive-brain-bleed" look. He was a bit confused too and took a while to focus on the fact that I was there. The nurses were really good and friendly, but a consultant hasn't come to se us yet which is pissing gran off. We didn't really do much when we were there. Gran gave grandad some fruit, she brought in pictures of all the cars he's done up, like the Aston Martin he almost single handedly renovated, and we took a picture of him and gran together. I don't regret going in to see him, but I feel so selfish for not wanting to go in again. I just don't want to go back into that ward for at least a few more weeks. It's too much. It's like a clinical version of hell - full of sickness, unhappiness and it's so disgustingly hot. I'll go see him again, I know I will. I just don't know when...


I don't want to see him...


My grandad is doing so well now, we're all amazed. Sometimes he has his off days, his short term memory is shot and not particularly reliable, but considering they were ready to wheel him off to the morgue it's a dramatic recovery. The thing is I just can't stand the idea of going in to see him.
I love my grandad to pieces, but I hate to see people I love in pain. I'd rather be the one in pain myself, at least I wouldn't have to watch me. The last time I saw my grandad was a few weeks ago before he had the aneurysm. He was confused and forgetful but otherwise not too bad, but I hated it. Hospitals scare me, they smell bad, are full of illness and there's this shadow, like a big black cloud of death, constantly looming overhead. If I go in and see him while he's in that state, with staples in his head like Frankenstein's Monster, I don't think I'll be able to cope. I just want to keep the nice image of my gran I have in my head, the one where he laughs, makes crude jokes and gives me massive hugs and encouragement. Not the guy who yesterday couldn't remember who his own wife is.
I can't believe I'm using this place as therapy, it was supposed to be my writing journal. Oh well, I'm saving money on the psychiatric bills. 


The great work begins...

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