Friday, 13 May 2011
Faith moans about being unattractive.
It seems so distastefully indulgent of me to succumb to my own incredible insecurity, reverting to this horrible facade of inexplicable, but entirely founded, self-hatred. Is it completely wrong of me to stay in the comfortable, familiar perimeters of my own personal loathing, or is it my natural, evolutionary duty as a maturing human being to accept that I will never be happy with the person I see in the mirror? Perhaps, one day, I will find someone who appreciates my presence more than I myself. Perhaps he will teach me how to feel something more than apathy towards everything Faith Olivia Newcombe stands for. Perhaps he'll never show his face - live an eternity in the steadfast arms of a woman more readily convinced of her own moral and physical and intellectual importance. I thought I had found you, but I was sincerely wrong. You are not the man to trick me into the security of my own disguised confidence - rather one to push me from the questionably balanced pedestal upon which you thought it wise to place me all those months ago. Only today have I realised, through the stern vexations of my own inconceivably harsh conclusioning, that I am not good enough for you. All this time I have been bartering for a place in your heart, but it has become painfully evident that I do not deserve one. I am not pretty or thin or particularly talented in any field of interest, and I don't think that intelligence and humour are notoriously impressive foundations on which to build a relationship.
Monday, 9 May 2011
Faith moans about her friends.
I haven't posted in 4329760 years, so I feel I ought to pay the few of you (who may be worried for my descent into technology-related madness or fatal ketamine overdose) some respect into my currently socially crowded (this sounds like I'm joking but I'm really not...I know you must all be shocked. Give yourselves a moment of recovery) diary. I've basically been injuring myself, both voluntarily and unwittingly, getting caught up in shit and playing guitar.
Primarily, I've been chill'en at the pub with various boys with stupid hair (facial/head). We wandered sort of over to Bournemouth hospital and played abhorrent amounts of Tallest Man on Earth covers on primetime 'Hospital Radio Bedside'. We then got up at some God foresaken hour of the midday and went to his house, watched 13 Assassins while complaining about the lack of samurai-style sword-sculduggery and furnished his room/cupboard-under-the-stairs. Oh, I also got this:
As a sidenote, though, I've been incredibly happy recently. I suddenly have some friends - a contrast to those I had before, i.e famous people that I imagine to enact scenes with when there's no one else home. Namely, Spicepuss. She's the most beautiful, wonderful, sweet, intelligent little thing I've ever had the fortune to find, and I know she'll call me a lesbian for declaring that to all the blogger world but I care not. She's going to leave me at the end of the summer to find something bigger and better and more fantastic than anything any of us here in the chilly South of England could ever hope to discover, and I am so very proud of her because she deserves every plee-eh and fondu in the world. I'm going to miss her so much that I doubt she could really understand, and as she and Alex are...like...my only friends, this is a huge blow to my minimal buddy-base.
I actually love you, Rika. I'm going to miss you with every fibre of my being and I can't believe we weren't friends before now. Suddenly I'm faced with unbearable lonely lunchtimes and total absence of any real CCC lingo. I know that you're going to do so well, and that everyone in New York/Pah-ree will see everything that we see and give you all the attention you deserve. Please don't forget about me.
Primarily, I've been chill'en at the pub with various boys with stupid hair (facial/head). We wandered sort of over to Bournemouth hospital and played abhorrent amounts of Tallest Man on Earth covers on primetime 'Hospital Radio Bedside'. We then got up at some God foresaken hour of the midday and went to his house, watched 13 Assassins while complaining about the lack of samurai-style sword-sculduggery and furnished his room/cupboard-under-the-stairs. Oh, I also got this:
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A neck piercing. Like the badass rebel I am. |
I actually love you, Rika. I'm going to miss you with every fibre of my being and I can't believe we weren't friends before now. Suddenly I'm faced with unbearable lonely lunchtimes and total absence of any real CCC lingo. I know that you're going to do so well, and that everyone in New York/Pah-ree will see everything that we see and give you all the attention you deserve. Please don't forget about me.
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