My brain feels like an absolute mess of soup and words jumbled together today, but after finally finishing the epic fifty page appraisal of the Chanel Resort collection of 2013 I feel good knowing I have accomplished something these last few that isn't related to studying chemistry. If only there were some scented candles left I would stare at their flickering flames and indulge in their aromatic scent; lighting cigarettes over donuts stabbed with candles is reserved for indie beauties it appears. As much as I would love to reward myself with sugary sweets, I've also gained weight and gone over my goal weight and have managed to undo a month of productive work in a week in which I ate a mammoth kebab. Tonight's dinner will not be accompanied by romantic candles and will be nothing more than a flimsy salad and sadly toasted sandwich with smears of mustard.
Instead of lounging in bed with laptop and dedicating myself to finishing off drafts for my blog, I could have read my many magazines or at least marvelled at the editorials and photo shoots; but I feel guilty for not keeping up with online obligations, contacting designers and balancing studies and any sort of a weak social life. I aimed to be a part time student and blogger in equal portions this year, but my competitive streak keeps me in check and also my lust for spending money has kept me busy with additional shifts. I am enticed by the notion of lounging around in pyjamas and reading with cups of tea by my bedside until noon and playing Nintendo 64 for hour long streaks till my thumbs feel like they will fall off.
I'll be getting off exams in nine days, but I'm already looking forward to printing off images to fill blank journals with and smear their covers in permanent marker as well as try out the Photo booth app on my father's new iPad. Usually the new technology wins out over the tried-and-true physical weight of writing on paper, but perhaps I'm just tired from writing sixty pages of notes on Biology. It was bad enough when he got the new iPhone which outranked my purple brick of a slide phone, but now he has a slick tablet with means that might be useful for outfit posts and I carry a chunky laptop that barely fits between seats of my bus. On tough days I'll be curled up and scribbling on spare pages in my student diary to later transcribe and edit when typing, but in reality I do twice as much work and build up a medically sickening callous on my ring finger.
Another freedom from exams will be my weakness and incessant need to dress in comfortable cotton t-shirts and I will once again subject myself to the uncomfortable feel of certain materials; all in the name of fashion. Blouses in chiffon and silk are glamorous and look glorious when worn but in Winter the shrewd cold and biting winds can be problematic. While there is an absence of plain black dress shirts in my own wardrobe, there is an even greater need to incorporate the use of coats and outerwear when necessary. Taking that short walk down to art galleries in Federation Square might be made all the more pleasurable if I took pride in what I wore and didn't have the need to complain about freezing my tits off.
While I have bee busy with academic pursuits, I have always kept an eye on the inspirational figures that influence my sad life and drive me to succeed. Chic handbags from Olympia Le-Tan, Mandy Coon and Deadly Ponies have been large driving forces lately, but how can one not feel inspired when in wake of such wonderfully crafted things? My motivations and energies may come from primitive and negative places, but I do feel comforted that I have not yet sold my first born child or any internal organs in order to pay for the bags. Hard work, long hours and throwing purchases back on eBay will be enough to get me by.
Last week I attended a funeral and was distraught emotionally, despite not following the procession to the grave for burial. As heavy as the inevitable end of death is and the realisation of mortality when we are young, I think quaint little church yards and small graveyards in small lots of Suburbia have a certain charm about them. While I don't consider it to be a safe for two lone females to hang out and have a picnic for two in a cemetery, I suppose I'm in love with the notion that there are girls more exciting than dull-as-dishwater me that make a habit of doing strange things and dressing wildly. Although I am making as large an effort as possible to reach my own personal potential, I don't foresee a time in which I relax surrounded by tombstones or ever find a platonic friend to confide in these activities with.
It's been a while since I've braided my hair and weaved it through my fingers, but since my last haircut I naturally haven't been faced with the same problems and needed to bunch it together. Ponytails have been suiting me at work and have behaved in not turning to a mass of hairball at the end of the shift, but I miss the tapering of my hair and the loose plaits I created. Since my hair was cut into layers, the partitions of a braid stick out at horrible angles which would put any fashion-forward lass to shame. In Winter I also tend to substitute scarves for my own hair in order to keep warm and shield myself from the cold. I still miss my braids though and messy hair before it got the chop.
Etsy and the titles are sweet and clever puns which always make me smile in a small way, and I have not yet been possessed to buy lighter necklaces from brands such as Erin Wasson but I do quite like leather and studded cigarette lighter holder necklaces; Tumblr once showed lighters covered in plastic jewels and pink glitter. I like that subversive mixture of girly spirit and youth of a four year old as well as dirty nicotine addiction. If I were ever to wear such a thing, it would be for aesthetic only as I am too much of a goody-two-shoes and a clean lass.
While I naturally question the logic of locating a Prada outlet in the middle of a sad and abandoned desert, I am in love with the fantasy of sweaty and uncomfortable car trips in order to access some of the best high end fashion pieces. To get my mitts on the Alexander Wang Diego bag, Chanel, or bags from Giles Deacon I would travel to hell and back as well as triumphing over all challenges and trials. Yes, I most definitely have become utterly obsessed, fixated on becoming a professional fashion blogger as well as absolutely poor as a result of this obsession of mine. Am I cool yet?
As much as I would love to drench some of my outfit posts in confetti or snowflakes, there is the small matter of trying to contain so many small particles of plastic or shredded paper. Unfortunately 'Portals' is just a dreamed up video game and there is no way co create a loop in which fluttering rainbow paper is recycled and the energy from the system is never lost. I am in way over my head as far as outfit posts are concerned at the moment and I have also been studying science all day and not let myself out for some fresh air. The consequences appear to be dire and I really hope I survive this one, if not that means I automatically get out of my exams next week and this week.
In primary school we were tormented by the concept that hair could not be yellow and it instead was referred to as blond; the only hair colour to get its own special word. To the fine educators who taught me to read, basic maths skills and taught me a love of story-writing I say "HA! In your face!" because thanks to punk babes and pioneers hair can be whatever colour it damn well feels like and looks gorgeous when worn with all black, maybe a little sheer/ mesh and a grossly over sized fluffy coat. I may or may not have had my thoughts poisoned by the Cyber Punk movement lately and need to stop drinking so much tea, coffee and Milo during the day.
As I mentioned earlier sometime these last few days my father is now the coolest new kid on the block since his work has awarded him an iPad so he can send out customer quotes from home and I am still a dork lugging around my chunky laptop. The wonderful thing is that I can no mess around on Photo booth and deliver interesting new self-portrait photographs but they have shocking and pixelated quality. Definitely one of the older models of the Apple tablet, but since I can glean all the wonderful properties of the technological wonder, for free.