I've been thinking about this song a lot. I recently watched The Boat That Rocked and particularly thought of how that man had felt after that 'bitch' had left him. Heartbroken is an understatement. Hopes were raised in effort then dashed quickly 14 hours later. I hope I never fall in love, for the sake of being hurt and being destroyed from the inside out, but on the other hand I don't want to go through life without love, without someone to hold me when I cry and understand what I mean when I say "I don't want to talk about it". I think there is always one person for another, who will undeniably be 'the one' but it's hard to find them.
People throw those three words around like a tennis ball "I love you, I love you, I really love you and I'll never let you go" is something I could clearly hear a 14 year old girl tell her 'boyfriend' only to be in tears the next day. I've asked people if they're ever been in love, and by people I mean adolescents, and they would reply "Yes, it's a beautiful thing". No, you haven't been in love. If you had, you would have fought through any hard times with that person just to be able to cling to them at night and hold hands with them while they dribbled Tomato sauce down a chip to munch on at the pier. With that thought in mind, I'm still single. Huzzah! Although my eye has been caught by my butcher... He is 25 and looks like Leonardo DiCaprio, just a little more manly. But he's a tad too old and my female hormones are driving me nuts. Can't I just like a boy my own age? No, because they're all short and immature. A guy a tiny bit older than me? No, they're just out for sex. An older guy? No, they're too old. AND I'M TOO BLOODY PICKY! But I'm young and I don't expect anything really... If they're not what I'm looking for, then they're not for me. And who said I'm looking? Because I'm not...
Well that entire paragraph just encapsulate my insanity. Go on, feast...
This blog is getting rather depressing. I haven't written in a while and it's affecting my capability to think like a rational person (But who wants to be ration anyway?!).
What else can I talk about? Ooh! I know.
I'm sitting in my orange desk chair, tapping painfully at the keys (I slammed my fingers in a car door....), watching the grey clouds pass my window. It's miserable and cold here... Don't come to Australia in Winter, because it's only like England in Summer. I painted my nails a pinky/orange neon colour, it stands out and makes it pretty. I did this for two reasons, because it's my brother's 18th birthday tonight and he's inviting 70 18 year old boys to my house which I dred as they'll all make fun of what I'll wear and anything else... And secondly, because it covers my bung nail...
I would like to give a little 'shout out' to Jason who posted a comment on my blog (which I returned (Sorry about the lateness, Mr Jason, my computer hates me)). He seems an alright bloke. I've read his blog and he's got a lot of interesting things to say, a debate within itself perhaps. He's a definate, knows what he wants, what he is and when he wants anything he knows he has. Which should make sense. Thank you Jason. I'm not brave, just in need of a comforting word everynow and then.
That's another thought, just because Psychiatrists and Counsellors have a piece of paper saying they would understand our problems, doesn't mean they would. They don't have all the answers and they can't help you if they don't understand (Which most of the time, they don't... They just guess).
To Billie Holiday, my love.
Michaela.
