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(no subject) [Nov. 12th, 2006|12:20 am]
[mood |okayokay]
[music |Auf der Maur - Taste You]

Well, thought I'd update from Kitty's Brothel of Debauchery.
For those out of the loop, I'm back in Glasgow living the life of an undead New York Doll. Case in point - I'm so hungover today I can't bear to remove my sunglasses, and the bathroom smells like bile.
I've totally scored with my flatmates this year though. Couldn't have asked for better. I met Tricia at my first Film & TV lecture - we appeared to be the only resident FMFs (Fucking Manics Fans to the uninitiated). We hit it off despite my being utterly in her awe...she's just so gorgeous, smart and cool that I felt at first like a pigtailed schoolgirl she'd been assigned to babysit. She really proved herself after I got my sorry head panned in though. Although we didn't socialise much, she hauled ass up to the hospital to see me and asked me to Club Noir a few weeks after I got out. I met Colin properly then too and realised what a sound dude he is.
I was totally shocked when she asked me to be a flatmate this year. I totally jumped at the chance, and haven't regretted it since.
Colin is Tricia's boyfriend, and I was wary at first at the prospect of sharing with a couple. No worries at all though- they're not the sick-making PDA-ing couple they could well have been. There's an obvious affection but I reckon they see anything more as much better shared and suited to alone time. Colin's fucking wicked - smart as a whip but not pretentious about it. We share many similar tastes. Also he makes my alcoholism look much less bad by being partial to a drink himself. Plus you can't escape the coolness factor of being in three bands, which gives me the oppurtunity to go to fabby band nights.
All in all, it's a cracking situation.
If you wanna get ahold of me here I can be found at 4 Botanic Crescent, Glasgow G20 8QQ, or on 01419468666. Lol the number of the beast, how appropriate!
The past few months have been a bit fucking shit, however. My gran's cancer was getting progressively worse. She was a proto-human, wasting, shrinking, brain melting, senses failing. Needing time off and turning up late got me fired from Kushion, and had to quit the Hallion before I got canned for the same reason. She finally left us a few weeks ago...a good and bad thing I guess. But I'm left granless and jobless and all the funeral shit caused me to miss the first few weeks of uni. Damn. I have an essay due and I don't have a clue what to write about. Fuzzy headed still.
On a social front, I'm continually fucking up. Sleeping with or kissing people I shouldn't. Including Colin, which is not the greatest of ideas. Pissing off my mates unintentionally. Being too drunk or hungover to be my usual happy-go-lucky self. Riding a wave of deeply ingrained mistrust. Sabotaging myself at every turn. Drinking too much and taking too many drugs. Eating too much or not enough. Lying awake contemplating my shortcomings. A resounding, all encapsulating FUCK IT bouncing off the inside of my skull.
Now I'm back at uni I'm hoping for a change. I'm sick of being near constantly dissatissfied and hopelessly lonely. As someone who values productivity as key, it sticks in my craw and I don't like it. If all I'm producing is a horrid stench of self-disgust, changes must be made as of now. A life lived either drunk or hungover reeks of damage undone, of untapped potential.
I owe it to my loved ones and to myself not to continue down this downward spiral of malaise. I'm not a fundamentally bad person, therefore I'm not content to become my own self-fulfilling prophecy.
Peace and love, and stay beautiful,
Kit Xx
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Oh God, I'm starting to bore myself. [Feb. 2nd, 2006|12:51 pm]
[mood |sleepysleepy]
[music |Dresden Dolls - Good Day]

How have you all been? I've really missed my LJ pals.
Here's another tragic tale of woe.
I know a few of you guys have been wondering where I've been. Just for the record, I can barely type due to fucked-up motor skills so please excuse any spelling errors.
I've just experienced the two months of my life. It all started so innocently - a Tuesday night at Revolution in the QMU with Fred, Jim and other assorted randoms. I remember eveything up to a point in incredibly lucid detail - I wasn't drinking very much as I had an obligatory tutorial on Wednesday morning. I remember dancing to Peaches, and pestering the DJ with requests for Hole. Then, like a click of a finger, blankness. The next thing I recall is waking up in hospital on Sunday morning in more pain than I thought possible.
Apparently I left the union alone and began to walk. I would never have been so stupid, even if I was hammered. According to the police on my case, it looks like a crude drink-spiking.
I was found on the hood of car next to the Western Infirmary, with my skull bashed in. I had lain there between two and eight in the morning and lost five pints of blood. I had a cerebral haematoma, ie a blood clot in my head, and needed massive brain surgery. Whoever cracked me on the head had stolen my bag and left me there. From the picture the police have built up, I was followed, whacked and dragged into an alley behind the mortuary, where I was robbed and assaulted. My knees and hands were ragged, so it appears I'd attempted to crawl to the hospital. A nurse found me and rushed me to the OR. I very nearly died, and narrowly escaped brain damage and paralysis. In a way I'm lucky as hell. My head is going to be fucked up for a few months though - on top of the pain, I find it really hard to concentrate, and my vocabulary has dissolved like a morass of alphabet soup. Finishing university this year isn't looking like a sure thing.
Those of you who are used to my long blonde locks are in for a surprise - the left side of my skull is shaved with a nasty scar. At least I'll no longer look out of place on the Partick buses! My eyes were bright red too (the blow nearly knocked them out!!) but they're fading. My rib cage, arms and legs are really sore but they'll heal. What I'm most gutted about is my furry leopard print jacket - it's drenched in blood so the police have taken it off me *sniff* There are, however, advantages to a week and a half in hospital - I lost a stone (although the evil nurses with the liquid protein soon fixed that), I didn't smoke, and I didn't spend any money.
To sum it all up - I'm slowly getting better in the cranial sense. I can't move around very much or walk very far, or see too clearly, but I'm hoping that some practice will sort me out. I'm living with my folks again because I'm mortifyingly incapable of taking care of myself.
I'm fucking raging because before this happened I was doing so well! I was eating more, becoming less entrenched in bad food behaviour. Now I'm back to being Puking Girl. My weight's gone from 117 before hospital, to 96 in hospital, to 112 before they let me leave, to 102 since I got out. Goddammit!
I'm sick of my own whining. I'll sign off now. Hopefully I'll become more of a regular feature (with more than whiny tales of tragedy) since I now have internet access again. I'm getting sleepy, so I'm going to curl up with a Buffy box set.
Glittery hugs and leopardy kisses,
Kit Xx
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like an itch you can't scratch [Sep. 15th, 2005|11:35 am]
Well, for anybody who noticed I sorta dropped off the planet a while back, here's the four one one.
I binged/purged/starved myself to such an extent while my folks were on holiday that when they came home they found me unconscious in the bathroom. Luckily I wasn't in there long enough for an Alsatian to start eating my face, but over the following weeks, I'd wish for it.
Chucked me into the Priory and threw away the key, very nice of them. Cue four long weeks of tubes, tantrums, contemplating suicide, et cetera. It was bemusing to me to think that sticking people with eating disorders in a ward with loads of enviably skinny girls is considered therapeutic. It was torture - I already felt like a heifer, without those delicate paper-doll girls, the piles of bloody mashed potato and some blonde bint of a nurse watching me shower. Ugh.
To cut a long and boring story short, I have emerged 10lbs heavier, and a million times more disgusted with myself than I ever thought possible. Over and beyond the eight stone mark. Yeuch. I have OVERHANG in my favourite jeans!
Basically I've been on strict watch ever since. My folks monitor my food, my weight, even my bathroom visits. They even (ha!) insist I'm still too thin. It's inescapable.
I'm resigned, right now, to living as a fatass. Maybe I'll get to liking it. Seems a shame, though, to have to revoke my membership to certain communities here! But skinniness is like porno to me - the thought of it gets me excited. The dream of being thin and ethereal turns me on more than the raunchiest sexual fantasy.
SO that's it, I guess. I'm in a holding pattern.
I'll try to get online more often, but being under house arrest makes this difficult. I'm sitting up at 3am writing this, my folks are in the next room and will kill me if they catch me.
Again, I really miss the friends I made online here, particularly lacrymaria_olor and nessalulie. I hope everyone's well, and I hope to catch up with some of your entries at the earliest oppurtunity.
Fat chick signing out,
Kit Xx
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(no subject) [May. 19th, 2005|05:04 pm]


Why is this happening to me?
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(no subject) [May. 15th, 2005|10:47 pm]
Since I can't think for myself I'm going to write up some Nabokov. This is from Lolita. How do you measure up? ;)

"...I devoted the entire afternoon to buying beautiful things for Lo...One of my guides in these matters was an anthropometric entry made by her mother on L.'s twelfth birthday...since the nymphet had no doubt grown somewhat in the last seven months, I thought I could safely accept most of those January measurements: hip girth, twenty-nine inches; thigh girth, seventeen; calf-girth and neck circumference, eleven; chest circumference, twenty-seven; upper arm girth, eight; waist, twenty-three; stature, fifty-seven inches; weight, seventy-eight pounds..."

And I like this part:

"You should try to be a little nicer to me, Lolita. You should also watch your diet. The tour of your thigh, you know, should not exceed seventeen and a half inches. More might be fatal..."
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(no subject) [May. 15th, 2005|07:29 pm]
[music |Placebo - Without You I'm Nothing]

I'm full of thoughts but they won't cohere into words. I'm feeling somewhat dazed, indolent...a little lonely, I guess.
I lost a pound. Why is that the highlight of my weekend?
I'll post a proper update later. I have Buffy reruns to be watching.
I'm sorry I haven't been keeping up with everyone. When I shake off this apathy I'll get to it.
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(no subject) [May. 11th, 2005|11:50 pm]
[mood |draineddrained]
[music |Dresden Dolls - Girl Anachronism]

Ahhh. Le sigh. Phase one of my exam diet is now over. I feel the way I always do after the exertions – drained and at odds. Putting all those texts on a shelf, those wonderful novels, plays, poems, that have simultaneously tormented and fascinated me, leaves me melancholy and ill at ease. It’s like someone has stuck a drinking straw in my ear and unceremoniously sucked out my knowledge. Two hours, aching hands, pages and pages of my mind in scrawl…and it’s all over until September.
Now it’s a matter of getting a job. I don’t trust myself to stay occupied for three months otherwise. I’ll end up engaging in my usual, pitiful, self-destructive behaviour. I’d like to look upon my summer as an opportunity to get creative – to paint and write to my heart’s content – but I know the only art I’ll come up with will be an expressive arrangement of vomit in the toilet bowl. Hey, maybe I’ll take photos and become a teenage prodigy.
I wrote to my gran this afternoon. I thought writing anything would be the last thing I could handle, but the words came so easily. I just wanted her to know how much I love her. Maybe it’s too late, maybe I should have conquered my selfishness and rearranged my bursting timetable before now but…there’s stuff that needs to be said. And I know I can say it to her. There’s no need for pride and shame between us. I realised that on Saturday. Curled up in her chair, wizened, bald head and inverted smile, teeth in a glass and wig on a stand – she’s come too far for her customary pride. Instead she has dignity – the dignity of a woman who’s seen life, who sees death approaching, and is unafraid. I’m terrified, she’s not. I want to make sure she knows how much I love her, and how proud I am to have her blood in my veins.
I’m so sick of all this concrete. My feet are itching like crazy. Susan’s leaving for Australia on Sunday. Words cannot describe how jealous I am. I’ll be busting my ass in some shitty office all summer whilst she’s living it up in Sydney. She’ll come back, tanned, full of holiday romance. The only tan I’ll have is the one-sided one from riding the bus home every day. If I’m really lucky I’ll get two nights in a freezing caravan in Donegal. Fuck it. At least in Ireland I’ll see some grass. But I’m really going to miss her. It’s when I contemplate my best friend’s leaving that I realise how few close friends I actually have. Try, like, two. If I do anything this summer I’m going to try to be more outgoing, maybe make some new ones.
In the absence of which, there’s always alcohol. Big nights out tomorrow and Saturday to give Suze a proper send-off. I am going to drink until I see six of everything. Then see if I can take it to seven.
Gotta go. I really wanna binge and if I’m going to curb it, I’ll need a fucking cigarette.
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(no subject) [May. 6th, 2005|02:10 pm]
[mood |stressedstressed]
[music |Auf Der Maur - Skin Reciever]

I can't study. I seems to matter not how many times I read and reread my notes - made rather more difficult by the fact that I can barely read my own handwriting - nothing seems to stick. It's making my head hurt somewhat (not at all compounded by the amount I drank last night!) and I'm terrified of failing. My skull is not spacious enough for all the information I must cram into it.

I spent the afternoon doing silly things with my hair instead. Then I smoked out of my bedroom window, painting my fingernails black with freshly-shoplifted polish, and watched an obese, greasy-haired monstrosity in a tracksuit dragging a Mini-Me version of herself along on a kiddy leash. That kid, I thought, is luckier than she knows. Life has a tug on her and she needs not make difficult decisions about direction for herself. Must be nice.

This is the stupid hairdo I wore to the pubCollapse )

Tony said I looked like an alien. I asked him if he'd ever seen an alien. He replied in the negative, and I jumped in with some cutting, witty remark that the cocktails have erased from my memory. I imagine it was pretty sassy, though.
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(no subject) [Apr. 29th, 2005|06:47 pm]
[mood |cheerfulcheerful]
[music |Sleater-Kinney - Hubcap]

I went to see Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy last night before the pub. It's been ages since I laughed like that. Martin Freeman's bemused expression seemed to speak right to me...I feel less clueless now.
The possibility that the Earth is no more than a computer programme run by mice to generate The Ultimate Question would actually explain a lot.
Is it wrong that I thought Sam Rockwell was actually pretty cute? Maybe it was the black nail polish. *rowwrrr*
Then I headed to Sophi's for some Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters of my own. I don't know how it happened but...I ended up in the Palace. The nastiest, sleaziest club on the planet. Frequented by that bizarre species I believe my American friends would refer to as a "ho". I've never been in the presence of so much ill-advised polyester sartorial crimes against humanity.
Thus, in order to block out these dreadful visions, I entrusted my conscious thought to the powers of vodka. I kissed a guy I've had unfinished business with for a while - I feel so dirty, kissing a guy in that pit. Ewwww.
I was worried I'd never get out. My feet kept sticking to the floor. Eventually though, with ome well-placed elbow work, I left the Tower of Babel behind and ran (not QUITE screaming, but close to it) into the night.
I'm scared to go the bank...

On the upside, my lovely Jamie (exiled in Colorado) sent me a piccy of old times, back when I had black hair and a few more pounds. For the sake of nostalgia. Incidentally, I'm not drunk, just happy!Collapse )
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I haven't slept since Monday. Woot! [Apr. 28th, 2005|02:42 pm]
[mood |confusedconfused]
[music |Magdalena - Written In Dust]

End Transmission

They make these broadcasts for people like us.
Generic font awaits morning sense
Pressing buttons, squinting at that
Tiny little pixel
Ensnaring foxfire
Turning tricks.

Chat-line floggings and cartoon kitsch
I mute
I wait
For the space between.
Here it comes. Relief.

And now, we present asphyxia.
My own preferred erotica.

I settle on my softer side
For hours and hours of black and white
I wish the sobered purity
Was more than useless muse to me.

There is no sound at 4 am - unless you’re pedigree’s insane
But jaded, mesmerised
Eyelids will not collide.

I can see clearly the shapes in the
Freak crackling confusion. Call it a gift
Beckoning hand a gesture only the nocturnal understand.

I know the language of the insects as they whirr
Combusting in the bathroom light. Sputter
Sputter, superiority takes over
Right now I own the planet
You don’t infringe, instil me with panic
Enjoying my alone-time, my brain feels almost like
Its just mine.
Till you go ahead and ruin it.

And I see faces in
The static.
And they tell me
You’re awake.
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