tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72793841040293100692024-03-14T00:17:02.617+11:00The Only Adriennetheonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.comBlogger152125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-50477670463408039012022-09-10T07:45:00.003+10:002022-09-10T07:45:36.081+10:00<p> Ten minutes.</p><p>Eyes are burning, you're so tired, but ten minutes and you can tick this off the list.</p><p>Drowning in To Do lists, habit trackers, daily tasks</p><p>tick tick tick </p><p>This isn't anything, obviously but it must be done</p><p>"Write your memoir"</p><p>How to justify the self indulgence of writing about yourself</p><p>Too tired, you can feel your brain sluggish as it tries to turn words over inside it of it</p><p>but it's just rattling off to do lists</p><p>hair cut tomorrow, 1:30pm, curate August insta post, berate self for being the kind of person who curates a monthly instagram post, pack for work travel while being unbearably anxious about work travel, clean the cat litter, light off by midnight even if it's 11:58 that still counts, read for ten minutes, write for ten minutes</p><p>divide your time so thoroughly yet so inefficiently into unsustainable habits and tasks that nothing is ever done well. </p><p>Think about the novel you want to write but never sit down to write it. Or at least, not for more than ten minutes.</p><p>Doodle things you wish you could draw well, but don't dedicate the time to practice and get better.</p><p>Read a lot but only two genres and mostly stuff that doesn't actually materially improve your mind.</p><p>Oh, and the New York Times mini crossword. Can't forget that.</p><p>11:45 - ten minutes of reading and light out by 11:58, doable. Goodnight.</p>theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-77857963733629527812022-08-16T07:47:00.006+10:002022-08-16T07:47:57.747+10:00PANIC<p> Everything's fine.</p><p>You're sitting, or walking, or more than likely, trying to fall asleep. You're okay. You have a bed, you're not hungry, your home is safe, your parents love you, your friends are good people. </p><p>Everything's fine.</p><p>So why, pray tell, dear universe, is your throat closing up, is your vision blurring, does your chest feeling like its both being crushed inwards and torn outwards, are your thoughts spiraling, are your hands shaking, are you gasping gasping gasping?</p><p>Everything's fine.</p><p>A single thought floated, unbidden, across your consciousness and now it's like someone pressed pause, stopped time like in a superhero movie, but instead of everyone else being stuck and you moving, you're stuck and everyone else is moving. A single thought, of what? It doesn't even matter, you don't even remember, your thoughts are skipping over your thoughts are skipping over the same your thoughts are skipping over the same thing over and over and over. It feels like what you'd imagine a record scratch would sound like, if you could imagine anything right now. Don't worry, you can't.</p><p>Everything's fine.</p><p>It's a few seconds. It's not like, <i>full blown</i> anxiety. You know what that feels like too. Trying to count tiles on the floor or remembering everything you ate that day or counting how long you inhale and exhale. It's nothing serious, nothing worth talking to anyone about. It's just there now, more than it was before, which isn't really that hard anyway because it wasn't there at all before. These feelings are new, for you, but they're over so fast it's like you could even do anything about them if you tried, right? And there, it's fading. What made it fade? You don't even know what triggered it so how could you possibly understand how to get rid of it. But that doesn't matter anyway, because</p><p>everything's fine.</p><p>Five seconds. There, it's gone. See? Nothing to worry about. Chest crushing blind consuming mind-wiping panic for five seconds and we're back to normal operating procedures. It wasn't even that bad, really, was it? No one's noticed. Your heart rate would barely have registered a blip. Everything is <i>fine</i>. Now, what were we talking about?</p>theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-41617241708468942672022-06-20T08:14:00.002+10:002022-06-20T08:14:46.805+10:00FEAR<p>FEAR</p><p>The tingle creeps along her spine. It's becoming so familiar that she barely notices it anymore. The night is dark around her and despite her best efforts to pick well-lit streets, she can't help it that the only apartment she can afford is at the end of two small alleys, shooting off what could only generously be described as an actual street. It's the same every night, as she turns that corner from the comparatively blinding light of Marigold Street - an actual street - into Wickerton. Here's where she starts counting her steps. Only 280 (give or take) steps to go.</p><p>It's a Sunday night, so Wickerton is quieter than the last two nights. Coming from a packed bar, you'd think any street would be quieter, but Wickerton on a Friday or Saturday buzzes with a persistent, grating undercurrent of activity. But Holly prefers Friday and Saturday nights. Even when she's coming home at 5am, when no one awake has any good reason to be so, their motivations are clear, and Holly can walk confidently enough past them that no one questions her.</p><p>254 steps to go, and the tingle returns. That's ... unusual. Usually the flicker of anticipation only follows her those first few steps into Wickerton. Holly risks a glace over her shoulder, usually something she'd avoid as a sign of weakness or insecurity, covering it by crossing the street as she does so. She calls this move the Check for Traffic. </p><p>The street is empty. 229 to go.</p><p>Tonight was a long night, especially for a Sunday. The early evening business crowd didn't retire by 10 as they usually did, which meant that when the chaotic Sunday night crowd - the people who really don't have a care in the world - showed up, the bar was packed. There was something electric in the air; Holly could feel it, even behind the bar, stone cold sober. A feeling of something frenzied and unrestrained. She shivers, thinking about it. 193.</p><p>She's very rarely been tempted to drink on the job. Ten years of serving drunks tends to send people one of two ways, and she's definitely ended up on the sober side of the line. But that feeling in the air tonight ... she can still remember the bright red colour of the cosmo as she poured it into a glass, and the way her arm almost pulled it back from the blonde with the twinkle in her eye that Holly was meant to be serving. How she had to forced her hand to set it down on the bar. She shakes her head as she tries to clear it, the chaotic energy from the bar almost seeming to swirl around her again.</p><p>There's 147 steps to go when she hears it, and once she does she realises it's been there from the moment she stepped into Wickerton. Maybe from the moment she left the bar. Maybe from earlier?</p><p>A second set of footsteps echoes softly between the buildings on either side of the road. </p><p>She doesn't yet risk a look, but one set of footsteps is always infinitely more intimidating than a group. A group of men will talk shit and make her feel uncomfortable, but one man on his own ... She starts walking a bit faster.</p><p>124, and she's almost at the turn for the first alley. The shiver that was tracing her spine before spreads out, and her shoulder shudder as it passes through them. She thinks she can hear a laugh in response, but the sound is so soft she can't have heard it, not unless the person was right behind her. The footsteps seem louder but they're not that loud. Yet.</p><p>The last word flicks unbidden through Holly's mind. It doesn't feel like her own thought. It feels like someone dropped it in her mind. Bright red cosmo. Unlit streets. A fingernail of fear down her back. Yet. Yet. Yet. </p><p>97 and she rounds the corner. She tries not to but she can't help it. She looks around. No street-wise maneuver, just a slightly manic glance around before she turns down the first alley. There's nothing, of course, <i>of course</i>, but she definitely hears a laugh this time. She knows, because she feels it whisper along her neck and up into her ear. </p><p>What would normally take her 25 steps (give or take), she discovers takes much less when she's running. She's lost count as she barrels around the corner and sees her building in front of her. The keys jingle loudly, but every clang sounds like- </p><p>Sounds like the time her brother broke his legs in third grade. Bones cracking. This thought doesn't feel like hers either. Yet.</p><p>The keys are in her hand the air is cold - when did it get cold? - behind her as she finally slips it into the first lock and stumbles into the lobby of her building, careening towards the stairwell. She hears the front door crash closed behind her but she doesn't turn around to look as she thinks that maybe it took half a second longer than it usually does. </p><p>There's 43 stairs in the stairwell to her floor. She's still lost her count as she takes them two at a time. The echoing sound of the second set of footsteps resonates around her, and Holly doesn't know whether it's coming from in front of her, behind her, or from her. Her eyes catch on her hand as she grabs the railing, hauling herself up. Her nails, bright cosmo red. She doesn't remember that she painted them black this morning. </p><p>Reaching her floor, keys have always sounded like breaking bones, and her footsteps, their footsteps, have always echoed each other and her nails have only ever been red. The key slides into the lock, and the door swings open, and Holly can't help the habitual glance up at the mirror hanging on the wall opposite her door. Bright, twinkling eyes. A third and final laugh. The door closing a half second too late. The sound that keys make. Red, and then black.</p><p><br /></p>theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-66159951036557917502022-06-08T08:35:00.001+10:002022-06-08T08:35:11.667+10:00CRUSHING<p>I'm throwing around ideas in my head about writing Something More Substantial. Here's practice for the two characters texting to get to know each other. The conceit is that Ruby (l/case) receives a text out of the blue, totally wrong number, but they start texting and crushing. </p><p>-</p><p>about: CRUSHING </p><p>Well, if you're not going to tell me your name, what should I call you?</p><p>im sorry but ive lived in this city long enough to know there are MURDERERS and also cyber people who could steal my whole identity with just my phone number and my name. you can call me whatever you like.</p><p>I think a cyber person would be able to find your name - and a lot more - just from your phone number. The fact that I'm asking is surely evidence that I'm not a cyber person trying to steal your identity. I can offer no defence for the murderer part, however.</p><p>not true because if the cyber person looked it up, theyd find my grandmothers name, not mine.</p><p>Why would they find your grandmother's name?</p><p>because this phone number is hers</p><p>was hers</p><p>i inherited it</p><p>Oh, I'm so sorry about your grandmother.</p><p>its okay, it was a while ago but there you go, built in protection from cyber people</p><p>Not to be insensitive, but how does one inherit a phone number?</p><p>someone dies and you dont tell the phone company and keep using their sim card in your own phone. its very simple really</p><p>That ... makes a strange amount of sense, Six.</p><p>six???</p><p>For lack of any other moniker, I've decided to call you Six. It feels right; my mis-recorded number that led us here.</p><p>ill allow it even though i cant believe im texting someone who uses semi colons in said texts</p><p>(Ruby was smiling and blushing at her screen, hoping no one around her noticed the internationally accepted flashing indicator of I Have A Huge Crush On The Person Texting Me Right Now!)</p><p>what shall i call you</p><p>Oh no, I did the heavy lifting coming up with a name for you. You have to return the favour.</p><p>ugh fine ill work on it and let you know</p><p>you cant force inspiration with these things</p><p>how do you feel about murderer</p><p>I mean, not great, to be perfectly honest with you.</p><p>okay :( ill keep at it i guess</p><p>-</p>theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-35214404550643343832022-06-06T06:50:00.004+10:002022-06-06T07:17:50.359+10:00HEARTBREAK<p>Writing is easy. I could sit down to write something and come up with something passable in an hour or so, something that helps me process a feeling or express a frustration or just feel productive and creative for a moment, with relative ease. Sitting down to write is hard. </p><p>No one looks at this anymore, which is good, because I don't want them to, but there's also something so compelling about a Public Record. About being able to go back and see what I've written, and not in a Word document or scribbled in a journal - though the journal has its own feeling of satisfaction; it's just tempered by the crippling guilt I feel at the inconsistency of it. Typing is easy. No ruling lines and drawing artistic doodles copied directly from Pinterest into my bullet journal. No carefully curated handwriting. Just Times New Roman (Calibri can eat my ass) and the comforting click of the keys, the tactile feedback of something existing that didn't before. </p><p>So here's what I'm going to try. I'm going to try writing prompts. Today's is <i>What does the city sound like at night?</i> </p><p>-</p><p>She's curled up in her bed, which it's far too hot to be doing, at this time of year, but there's no other position that dulls the sharp ache in her stomach. The pressure of her knees pushing into herself is the only thing that's holding her together, keeping all of the inside things from becoming outside things. Keeping the silent, shaking sobs from wracking her whole body in loud, tearing agony. </p><p>What little noise she makes is covered by the noise carried in through her open window on the breeze, the night punctuated by the thudding base of the club a few blocks away. The sound is loud enough that she could dance to it if she wanted to - has danced to it, on many nights with similar warm breezes and open windows, but without the thudding pain echoing the music and without the complete, suffocating loneliness. </p><p>Eventually, the silent sobbing subsides, her body giving out on even that small exertion of energy. She has nothing left. All she can do is curl tighter around herself, trying to recreate the feeling of <i>her</i> wrapped around her body. All that's missing is the brush of her hair, the scent of sandalwood and vanilla, the whispered giggles and gentle caresses and her hands and her lips and<span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">—</span></p><p>All of it. All that's missing is all of it. </p><p>- </p><p>about: HEARTBREAK</p><p>-</p><p>Here's the problem I always have with writing: once I start, I don't want to stop. I ought to stop but the fact is, I just finished Red, White and Royal Blue (again) and I want to write about love and I want to write about <i>anything</i> with a quarter of the skill of Casey McQuinston but I can never think of anything to write, I just start writing and sometimes it makes something and her book is <i>perfect</i> and include "History, huh?" juxtaposed with "in the halls of memory, some things demand context." Anyway, now I have finished fangirling (I should read <i>that</i> book again), but the thing I love about books like that is they're a reminder that you don't need huge dramatic plot swings and twists and turns. You can have a book about two boys falling in love and also one is a royal and one is the son of the President of the United States and that provides enough tension to act as a compelling backdrop to exploring their romance. No one else cares about this, but this is something I need to write, to understand, to know that I can write something and it's allowed to be tropey and silly and predictable but it will still be mine. </p><p>Okay, enough of that. Let's see what tomorrow brings.</p>theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-208659116045080302022-06-06T06:18:00.004+10:002022-06-06T06:18:34.901+10:00And she never wrote againNah, just joshing with you. I've started journalling instead in the hopes that it will get all my internal monologue-y stuff out, so then I can write something not just stream of consciousness here. But all that happened is I stopped writing here entirely.<br />
<br />
There's something funny about one of your hobbies becoming your job. Now, I don't know if it's entirely accurate to call writing a hobby for me, because it implies some structure and purpose that I'd love to have, but uh, don't. I want to write something publishable one day, even if just vanity published to have my own name on my bookshelf<div><br /></div><div>Started 16 April 2020. Published 5 June 2022. Old habits.</div>theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-76909802880307396142020-03-26T07:10:00.001+11:002020-03-26T07:10:37.121+11:00I don't feel like writing todayI don't have anything to say and I'm tired from work and don't want to look at a computer screen anymore and I have no creative juices and I don't want to just keep blogging about myself and my introspective thoughts because it can only last so long and I feel like I can only be so self-indulgent before it gets tiresome.<br />
<br />
So I am instead going to go and continue reading my book and maybe watch an episode of a TV show and then go to bed. At least I have fulfilled this obligation for another day. Don't worry, I have a four day weekend coming up and I'm sure by the end of it I will be sufficiently bored of any other distractions that I'll feel like writing creatively again. Probably at about 9:30pm the night before I start work again but hey, I'll take what I can get.theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-76772246468478091862020-03-25T08:40:00.002+11:002020-03-25T08:40:30.290+11:00Don't Call It A ComebackExcept actually don't. I had a very long day at work today, finishing around 8pm :) :) :) :) So now I'm doing this in OG Adrienne Style, by which I mean at 10:30 when I should be reading or sleeping and instead I'm sitting down to start thinking about writing something now.<br />
<br />
Today was a hard day. Our home internet wasn't working, and because I live in a Maltese house of character, it basically means that the bottom floor is under 1,000,000,000,000,000 kgs of stone and we don't get phone reception there, which meant I spent the day hotspotting from my phone but the only place my phone gets reception is in my room. So basically I spent the day working from my bed which may, in theory, sound delightful and like I am Living The Dream, in reality, it stinks. Maybe it would be good if I at least had the <i>choice</i> to leave but I didn't and it was Not Fun.<br />
<br />
Isolation is a weird place. I found myself wanting to go for a run? It hasn't yet materialised into actually running yet but I've been wearing a sports bra for three days in anticipation that it might, and not wanting the excuse of needing to get changed to get in the way. I did voluntarily do some exercise: jumping jacks, sit-ups, push-ups, squats, etc. (There is not etc. That was all there was.) And normally I'm reluctant to go to bed in the abstract, there's-other-things-I-want-to-do-with-my-time-like-watch-another-episode-of-The-Resident way. Now I'm reluctant to go to bed because I have already spent all day in it so how do you transition to night-bed from day-bed.<br />
<br />
My muscles, especially my legs, feel cramped and achy from the doing nothing - and I'm not the most active girl on a regular day. My sprint to the bus I'm always running late for is about it. But I feel increasingly like a tightly coiled spring with too much energy and nowhere to put it. I never thought the introvert in me would struggle so much to be housebound.<br />
<br />
So this is Isolation Diary Day Something. I'm trying not to think about the uncertain endlessness of this looming in front of me. At this rate, I'll be running marathons - in my mind.theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-91934499098058965192020-03-24T07:22:00.001+11:002020-03-24T07:26:31.510+11:00A Streak of Two is Still a StreakI'm working on writing other things - stories, in theory, I suppose, or something. I asked for prompts to help my creative juices flow, which was great up until the point that I realised it created both an audience and an expectation, however indifferent either of those may be. At this realisation, of course my brain has now rebelled against doing absolutely anything related to anything that's been suggested to me, but I'm trying, I promise.<br />
<br />
One of my brothers asked me to write song lyrics. Here goes.<br />
<br />
...<br />
Oh wait, that's not in my talent set. I can only think of overly earnest and cheesy things or obnoxious coronavirus-related ditties, and neither of them well-formed.<br />
<br />
Okay, I'm going to cop out and go on a song lyric generator, where I will now create a song line by line with the inspiration word 'home'. Spoiler warning: It's a shit show.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
A Song For Noah To Practice Guitar</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hospice, let's talk about hospice</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I've got new multiple sclerosis</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I need a rheumatoid mortgage</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Like the neurosis over meiosis</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Urogenital, urogenital girl</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And when you're gone I feel creaky</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You must think I'm a grumpiness</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And every subconsciousness is squeaky</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
[chorus]</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You don't wanna be wheezy like me</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Got more carefree</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I know you think that I'm turnkey</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Got more carefree</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
An e for you and one for me</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Got more carefree</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You and me</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rheumatic, rheumatic boy</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Then you came with all your ailing</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You don't want to go crumbling with me</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And I'm dancing because you're not failing</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
[chorus]</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Save me from the unselfconscious neuralgia</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Neuralgia neuralgia</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Save me from the unselfconscious neuralgia</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Internal ain't nothing when I'm tottering with ya</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tottering with ya</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Thank you <a href="https://www.song-lyrics-generator.org.uk/">https://www.song-lyrics-generator.org.uk/</a> ????</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-78983541167224436912020-03-23T09:07:00.004+11:002020-03-23T09:07:59.069+11:00Let Us Embark (Perhaps)Every return becomes a little more sheepish. Especially this one, six (6) years later. But where else to write nonsense on the internet? I could create a new blog of oddly assorted nonsense, but that seems to defeat the purpose. What makes this nonsense any different from the old nonsense? Years and wisdom? Not likely.<br />
<br />
Here, newcomers to my life can track a few years of it in crippling detail: Harry Potter fanfiction (only one ... thus far), rants, doomed attempts at regular or frequent blogging, embarrassing confessions, etc. Longer-term investors in the life of Adrienne can return to all these posts you may have seen before, and delight in how far I haven't come.<br />
<br />
I want to write more. I want to connect with a version of myself I seem only able to reach when I'm writing. Writing forces zero distractions. I can't write (well) while I watch TV or look at my phone. It is only through writing I can examine, explicitly or otherwise, parts of myself that fade otherwise. And now we're all basically in isolation and my computer is permanently set up glamorously on my coffee table while I learn how to work from home so there's really no excuse, is there? I will find one, don't get me wrong. But let's see how long it lasts until I do.<br />
<br />
Reading back through these blogs always brings me a strange confluence of feelings. (Am I using that word correctly? Google didn't help. I think so. I'm sure my dad will tell me otherwise if he ever reads this.) I think I'm funny enough, and as you can see from the angsty poem below, it's pretty difficult for me to think good things about myself in general. I like reading my own work. But it also terrifies me, because a lot of it feels like it was written by someone else. Someone, and you might be sensing a theme here, better. I just reread a poem I wrote and I don't know anything about poetry so I can't exactly say it's a <i>good</i> poem but I can say that it captured a feeling that I know in a way I don't think I could capture now.<br />
<br />
So I'm writing here again partly as an outlet. I spend so much time pouring things into my brain - phone, TV, podcasts, Youtube, there is literally enough content in different forms that you never ever need to spend a second alone with your own thoughts if you don't want to. I want to pour something out, instead. And I wish I was more multidimensional but I'm me and what pours out is words. Always too many and too fast but at least it's an <u>out</u>, not an <u>in</u><i>.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Also I did 20 minutes of yoga from a Youtube yoga instructor with almost my name today so I'm basically a lifestyle blogger at this point.<br />
<br />
Oh and for the newbies? I never proofread. Well, I do, often, but I can never be bothered doing it before I hit publish, so think of the typos like a fun game where you get to figure out what I was trying to say, and the prize is comprehension.theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-12276121402826996212017-07-05T23:30:00.000+10:002020-03-23T09:09:39.875+11:00My BrainThis is dated July 2017 but it's actually been sitting in drafts most of that time and I'm publishing it now (March 2020) on this blog because a) it remains largely true lol and b) it comes from a point in time that while different (clearly), I also felt very creative and in touch with my thoughts and self in a way I feel very removed from now. I want to explore that more again here, on this blog, and not publishing this feels disingenuous. However, it does have much angst, and is very cringy, so please don't feel compelled to read it. K thx.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My brain can do fucking cartwheels.<br />
My brain is the star performer at a circus<br />
or a freak show.<br />
My brain could be balancing twelve plates on its nose,<br />
while standing on a beach ball and<br />
while singing Celine Dion and<br />
while juggling and<br />
while belly dancing and<br />
still manage to tell me what a fucking failure<br />
disappointment<br />
waste of oxygen<br />
toxic person I am.<br />
<br />
My brain is marvelous.<br />
My brain is capable of twisting every thought<br />
beyond recognition.<br />
My brain can take the most explicit compliment given to me and<br />
break it apart.<br />
distort it.<br />
bruise it.<br />
shatter it.<br />
annihilate it<br />
me.<br />
<br />
My brain is so strong and confident.<br />
My brain knows exactly what it needs to think about myself and<br />
none of it is kind.<br />
My brain is my most powerful weapon<br />
against myself.<br />
And boy, do I use it.<br />
boring<br />
predictable<br />
stupid<br />
untalented<br />
idiotic<br />
selfish<br />
poisonous<br />
unlovable<br />
pathetic<br />
weak<br />
desperate<br />
neurotic<br />
psychotic<br />
rejecte- I could go on.<br />
<br />
My brain wants me to.<br />
My brain is telling me all the ways that list is incomplete.<br />
Even this, I can't do right.<br />
My brain has worn down the paths of my thoughts so well that<br />
I literally can't conceive<br />
of a single<br />
positive trait<br />
about<br />
myself.<br />
My brain can do fucking cartwheels.theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-38890780951949251322017-07-03T22:19:00.000+10:002020-03-23T09:12:06.745+11:00RepresentationA poem.<br />
<br />
If<br />
You<br />
Don't<br />
Think<br />
Representation<br />
In<br />
Media<br />
Matters<br />
It's<br />
Probably<br />
Because<br />
You're<br />
Represented<br />
Everywhere<br />
<br />
----------------------------------------<br />
<br />
The other day at my weekly family dinner, a family friend brought up an event in my city that occurred a few weeks ago, and the surrounding controversy.<br />
<br />
A local music institution, the uni bar, was closing its doors forever and having a huge closing night show, being organised by a local music event company. In the lead up to the show, the bands for the night were announced and it was going to be this huge thing, with lots of local bands as well as some (one) bigger name.<br />
<br />
At one point, someone asked the promoter why there were literally no female or non-binary musicians playing, either as solo acts, as part of bands, or entire bands (if I recall correctly). The promoter responded with a typical terrible "but I'm organising it and this is the music I want to listen to and also here's an offensive and ignorant comment about non-binary people" response and it was major news.<br />
<br />
So at this lovely dinner, I was the only one of eight people who thought that the line-up was an issue. Some had heard this new ~local celebrity~ on the radio and his comments hadn't been as offensive as those he made initially and were confused by the fuss. I explained his initial comment re: NB people and most of the table conceded that was uncool (not that I think most of my family are familiar with non-binary as a concept for gender) but still thought the line-up was fine.<br />
<br />
I flat out refused to engage in this debate, which was a good move, because even the fact that a refused to debate was taken as an opportunity to illustrate to me all the many ways I was wrong. And while it's always fun to be the one person being picked on among a group of eight, I continued to shut the conversation down and refuse to be part of it.<br />
<br />
Because here's the part that they wouldn't understand: If you constantly see yourself represented, in diverse roles and professions and films and music and media, of course representation isn't something you would care about. You're everywhere. Hell, I'm plenty of places, as a white cis able-bodied person. Even as a white cis able-bodied woman I'm more places than any other women who are not white or cis-gendered or able-bodied.<br />
<br />
So you think the douchey promoter guy should have been able to just pick his boys club of bands for the night and it doesn't matter? Sure it doesn't matter to you, because you're there. You're visible. You see yourself everywhere. You don't care that there's no chicks there, because it's about the <i>music, man</i>. <i>Why do you gotta make everything about gender? Isn't it worse if he hires a bunch of lady musicians PURELY because they're women? Isn't that </i><b style="font-style: italic;">the real sexism, choosing people <u>just because they're women</u>????</b><br />
<br />
No. It's not. For many reasons, it's very not.<br />
<br />
It's recognising that representation is important, even if it means you're represented less.theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-33537709317213022002017-07-02T22:52:00.000+10:002020-03-23T09:11:14.343+11:00Blogging every day in July except the first because that's for dummies maybe?I need to write more, and I want to write more, and I have been writing more, but only in small notebooks and only a page or two.<br />
<br />
And as noted in the title, I understand it's kind of ruined already because I am starting a day late, but 'kind of ruined' works for me as a person so it should work for this thing, surely. SURELY.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing though.<br />
<br />
In my notebooks, I can write whatever I want, but on this thing, it's like, potentially public. I can either write real things (which are not nice cheery things) that I mostly don't want people to know about probably, and then I get to spend a whole month writing things that no one will see because I won't share it with anyone, so no one will know there are things here.<br />
<br />
Or I can write other things. I can write things that are real but are not authentic, if that makes sense? They're things I really think but they're not what I want to write about.<br />
<br />
I guess we'll see.<br />
<br />
I do have some plans. I already have some verrrrry initial drafts of things. Which is good because usually when I do this, it results in me spending half an hour up at 11:30pm writing four lines of garbage to fulfill an arbitrary goal I've set myself and becomes more about writing to a quota than for any deeper, existential purpose.<br />
<br />
Because this is very deep and existential.<br />
<br />
Here is a truth: I feel numb. I feel disconnected. I feel like I am a puppet or wind up doll or robot. But none of those are quite right.<br />
<br />
I feel like a human-shaped sack of sand, where the weight of moving any part of my body requires almost more strength than I have. I feel like it's taking all my self control to move my limbs in the way I want them to move to resemble a human being, or to move them at all. I feel like my movements look like they're being controlled by a remote from like, a real decent distance, which is probably reflective of the fact that I feel like I am controlling them from a real decent distance. I feel like the part of me that's meant to feel anything deeply and persistently has been locked away, and I can't get to it if I tried. This is a look of sentences starting with "I feel..." for someone who feels nothing.<br />
<br />
Mostly, I feel like there's a human part left in me, deep deep down, and it's curled up tightly, in the fetal position, around the part of me that is meant to feel, and occasionally the human part looks up to see if it's safe to stand up and let go, to see if there's any sunlight or breeze, eyes hoping, and it sees nothing. Darkness and clouds. And every time it looks up, there's a little less hope there, and the look is a little bit quicker, and they come a little less frequently, and it holds on a little tighter.<br />
<br />
There's a line in It's Quiet Uptown, from Hamilton: The moments when you're in so deep it feels easier to just swim down.<br />
<br />
And it does. I can feel myself slipping further away. I can feel myself disconnecting more and more. Sinking.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I can actually sense all the things I want or need to feel, like a wave cresting over me. Sometimes I can literally feel the weight on my skin like a physical presence. Pressing against me or swirling around me or grabbing me sharply. And it's too much. I sense it there, and I retreat, because it's too much. I've gotten so good at retreating, and the wave has kept growing, that I'm worried if I let it wash over me, it will crush me. It'll tear me apart and break me and suffocate me.<br />
<br />
Well.<br />
<br />
Let's see how long this stays up for, shall we?theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-71021815496989310642017-01-09T09:13:00.000+11:002020-03-23T09:24:11.055+11:00CaricatureQuestion:<br />
So, given that every time I read through previous posts here, I get awfully embarrassed and want to erase everything, and given that vague, ambiguous numbers of people who have viewed this is fine but actually specifically knowing a individual person who reads this is also horrible, do I keep posting?<br />
<br />
I mean, as witty and delightful as I may find myself now right now in this moment, I also find that every time I read back over an old post I feel this slight sense of weird, half-shame, half-embarrassment that feels like I'm reading a caricature of myself?theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-20487985680850369302014-10-03T22:31:00.000+10:002014-10-03T22:31:56.906+10:00Hey, two days running! That's ...something.Today I sorted all my travel to Africa. Have I told you I'm going to Africa? I'm going to Africa. And let me just say that unless your travel agent IS my travel agent, my travel agent is better than yours.<br />
<br />
Here's the deal.<br />
Fly out of the CBR on New Years' Day, stop in Perth, change planes, fly Perth to Johannesburg, then J'burg to Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi where I'll be doing the community project work and stuff for two weeks.<br />
Then, back down to J'burg for one night before flying up to Livingstone, the capital of Zambia, where I start my 9 day tour which includes seeing Victoria Falls, a game drive in Chobe National Park, a night in the Okavango Delta, a night sleeping under baobab trees, and more! The tour ends in Namibia where I fly down to Cape Town, where I'm HOPING I will get to CAGE DIVE WITH SHARKS OMG. And maybe some other stuff.<br />
THEN I fly from Cape Town to Dubai, spending two nights there, before catching a flight to Perth for a couple of days to see ONE LOVELY PERSON and then home.<br />
Eeeeek<br />
<br />
This is a boring braggy post but I am VERY EXCITED. YOU DO NOT KNOW HOW EXCITED.<br />
UNLESS YOU GUESS 'VERY' IN WHICH CASE, YOU GO, YOU. FOUR FOR YOU, YOU.<br />
xtheonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-65134250141717702572014-10-02T21:17:00.003+10:002014-10-02T21:17:46.087+10:00Blogtober? Blogtober.It's happening. Maybe.<br />
<br />
I mean, not yesterday, obviously. Although... I could always backdate this post to yesterday... Hmm...<br />
Nope nope nope, I am embracing my failings.<br />
<br />
But yeah, we're giving this a go. Expect to see:<br />
Rants!<br />
Short weird posts I make as I remember to post just before bed!<br />
Maybe some well-thought out amusing things!<br />
Feminism probably! Because that's always a safe bet.<br />
Missed days certainly!<br />
Lists! (see this post right now)<br />
Complaining!<br />
Reviews maybe!<br />
<br />
Ah well, let's see how this goes.<br />
Tune in tomorrow for a something!theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-20883042876430522692014-05-04T21:27:00.000+10:002014-05-04T21:46:20.852+10:00Looking UpWRITTEN LANGUAGE WARNING IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ SWEAR WORDS<br />
<br />
Okay, so this is all over Facebook at the moment:<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7dLU6fk9QY">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7dLU6fk9QY</a><br />
Interestingly, I haven't seen it on any other social media, (twitter, tumblr, whatever) which I think speaks to the audience its engaging.<br />
Not that there's anything wrong with people who only use Facebook for social media, but I think it shows that what this video is underestimating is not something that's seen by the bulk of people who use Facebook exclusively as their social media service.<br />
So, onto what really super pisses me off about this video.<br />
But first, I guess, I want to say that I get why people see the value in it. I get the message that sometimes we can miss things that are going on because we're online. I think the message that you'll miss your daughter growing up is incredibly, unrealistically extreme, but I get it. I do. People are starting to experience the world less through going outside and more through a screen. Whatever whatever, kids don't go outside, whatever, I get it.<br />
<br />
But that fucking self-righteous, ongoing, implicit throughout, and explicit at the end, idea that offline life is the 'real' life and online life is worse and a waste and not real?<br />
(i.e. "Live life the real way", "One real connection", "How you're glad you didn't waste [your life] looking down at some invention", "don't waste your life getting caught in the net".)<br />
Shut the actual fuck up.<br />
Do you know what you're doing, guy? You're calling mine, and many people's, online experiences fake, a waste, and saying it makes us idiots.<br />
Do you know why you should shut the fuck up, guy?<br />
Because some of my most valuable, meaningful, and personal important relationships are based entirely, or almost entirely, online.<br />
<br />
I don't know you. I don't know where you go online. But the online communities I am lucky enough to have found and consider myself a part of are some of the most important in my life and have contributed to making me a better, kinder, more thoughtful, reflective and considerate person than I would be without them.<br />
I have friends I have never met who will reach out to me whenever they feel or can see that I'm struggling, with no prompting.<br />
Some of the best things I have ever done in real life have been based ENTIRELY off these communities which, without social media, wouldn't exist.<br />
I have been changed, transformed, made who I am (which is not a bad or fake person, and I like to think not an idiot) by "this media we call social" which you claim to be anything but social.<br />
<br />
Your discussing social media as if it completely negates real world experience is ridiculous. I spend a LOT of time online. A lot. I don't know if you've got that yet by my passion for social media and online communities. But if you haven't. It's a lot. You know what else I and everyone I know online has? Offline friends. Families. Offline lives.<br />
Do you know what you're doing, aside from making an illogical conclusion that just because I like social media, that will somehow mean I'll be tweeting while I propose/am proposed to? Aside from your obvious attempts to tugs emotional strings with absurd exaggerations about how using social media will make you miss enjoying the birth of your child???<br />
You're negating my experience and the experiences of many. You're erasing it as invalid, insincere, and artificial. You're kinda implying that the people I know who have met through online communities (not online dating, or anything - actual communities and friendships online) and have entered into relationships and got married are <i>not as good or real</i> as asking a random girl on the street for directions, and that the sharing, kind friendships I've formed are fake.<br />
The community, companionship and sense of inclusion I feel are not, as you say, a DELUSION. I am part of communities which are some of the most progressive, inclusive, reflective, kind, sincere and open that I've ever encountered and all of those, EVERY ONE OF THEM, is an online community.<br />
<br />
And every time your stupid fucking video gets shared on my Facebook, you are sending me the message that the friends and support networks and wonderful communities I have online are a waste of my time, are preventing me from fully living a "real" life (whatever the hell that means) and are impeding my ability to make or keep offline relationships. To which I say fuuuuuuuuck you.<br />
Can you create, for me, accessible offline communities which openly discuss how to manage sexual assault within that community (as many online communities are doing RIGHT NOW, and don't even say something about the existence of sexual assault in online communities as evidence for their badness - I know you're not that silly) and which discuss privilege and oppression and and feminism AS WELL AS sharing gifs from Supernatural? Because I sure doubt it.<br />
Do those things sound fake to you? Do those things sound like a waste of time? Does learning more about my privilege and how to acknowledge it and how to sensitively and appropriately interact with those people over whom I have privilege sound like a waste?<br />
Does being exposed to hugely diverse peoples, communities and opinions, which I would never be able to experience offline and which result in giving me a better, broader understanding of how the world works and how complex people are, sound like a waste?<br />
<br />
Maybe you have shitty online communities, dude, but let me tell you, you're in the wrong place on the internet if that's the case. So if you could not insult and degrade and invalidate how I choose to spend my time, making myself a better person, that'd be great.<br />
<br />
Also! If you shared this on Facebook, I obviously don't hold this against you or feel upset that you shared it. I understand that my experiences are not really the norm for most people I know, and that maybe this video really resonated with you for person reasons. That's cool. It's just very hurtful to see my friendships and my communities disregarded. Especially because it's not an uncommon thing for people who haven't been exposed to a lot of online communities to do.<br />
<br />
This rant is not even to mention the not-so-subtle shaming of parents who entertain their kids with iPads and other modern tech, the ridiculous refusal to adapt to what is, I'm sorry (not really), going to become a more and more integral part of life, and the lack of understanding over the facilitation of authentic experiences for people who struggle with offline interaction (social phobias/anxiety/etc).<br />
You know what? Do it, take your self offline. I sure don't want you here.theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-42096160155279029872014-04-29T20:15:00.001+10:002020-03-23T09:22:52.400+11:00Good news in a tornado of stress!First off, congratulations to me! This month, despite not doing very well at BEDA (I have been doing uni work almost non-stop, it's great...) I reached a new recall for total views in a month! And probably only half of those were me! So thank you, one and all. I mean, it doesn't mean a lot to you, but I've been trying to beat my record I set like, 3 years ago and now I have :)<br />
<br />
Second! And kind of related! Yesterday (I think) I received an e-mail telling me I've been selected as 1 of 101 local humans! This is an exciting tourism uh, thing (I am up on the lingo) in order to make Canberrans and their family and friends from interstate more aware about the cool things Canberra has. They've selected 101 humans (of which I am one - I managed to trick them into believing I'm human) who are 'social media savvy' (a term I've been longing for someone that isn't me to apply to me for ever) and have a 'flair for telling stories', and is part of the broader Human Brochure program thing (link: <a href="http://humanbrochure.com.au/">this is the link</a>) which is helping to showcase Canberra as a cool place to go. These 101 humans get to experience after hours events with local and interstate friends and family, to explore all that Canberra has to offer. I sound like I'm selling this to you. I'm not. You can't be in it. Ha! It's just me. (And 100 other people). But I'm pretty excited!<br />
<br />
Reasons why I'm excited:<br />
<ul>
<li>Getting to do something fun after hours - I put my name down for the Family Fun category, so I can do something with my step-brothers and interstate family, which will also be awesome</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>They literally judged entrants' social media presence and credentials. Like, this is apparently me according to Visit Canberra director Ian Hill: "We're really looking for people who have a sense of passion about Canberra, who like to share Canberra, who are connected on social media networks and meaningfully connected. So they do actually write things of substance and are influential within their own circle." I am influential in my own circle!! WHAT! Should I warn my circle? Blog circle, consider this your warning, I am probably influencing you. (From <a href="http://www.canberratimes.com.au/act-news/hunt-is-on-to-find-savviest-tour-guides-in-canberra-for-the-human-brochure-20140311-34kow.html">here</a>) </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>We get to attend events to help us learn more about developing engaging social media and to show us more about Canberra and weeeeee! Ahhhh! We get upskilled! Upskilling! In getting to do fun stuff!</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>I have excused to do social media. I love social media. Like, I don't know if you know this but I love social media. It is very important to me and now I have an excuse to do it. This is the literal best. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>I won something! By having skill! At social media! And now I get to do fun stuff! For FREE! Wow. </li>
</ul>
Anyway, I better stop being so gosh darn influencing and passionate and writing things of such substance and being all connected and go finish my assignment. Aw, that's not nearly as fun :(theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-41268498108945276862014-04-22T21:56:00.002+10:002014-04-22T21:56:25.387+10:00Have I become a zombie? A student's lament.eughhhhuhgg ghghhhggghuuuuuueeeeeeeeghhhhheeehggghhhh braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnsssssss i neeeeeeeddddd braiiiiiiiiiinnnnnsssss (to do this assignment)<br />
uhhhhhhhhngngngngngn<br />
mmmmmmguuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhuuuuu<br />
<br />
And yes, my Google search history now includes "zombie noises".theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-2267543430643174022014-04-21T23:19:00.003+10:002014-04-21T23:19:51.127+10:00Wow, did I need this today.So now I'll share it.<br />
You should click this: <a href="http://www.cse.unsw.edu.au/~geoffo/humour/flattery.html" target="_blank">(click me, please, hello)</a><br />
You're welcome.<br />
<br />
Yes, I'm writing an assignment so this is all you get. But let's be honest, that link is better than anything I could write anyway.theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-65050947998680767652014-04-20T23:23:00.004+10:002014-04-20T23:29:52.192+10:00I'm baaaaack!BEDA was going SO WELL until I got to Odate with my brother and my hotel, which had no internet and while in the brief moments when I was at my brother's actual house I did have internet I wasn't in a blogging position, but I feel super disappointed because this was about the first time since the first year I did it that I was actually looking like I might complete it (it = BEDA). And YES, I did get back a few days ago and am only posting now, but I was pretty sick after travelling.<br />
<br />
Which is this weird thing that's been happening recently. Like, in the last year, maybe year and a half, I've been getting sick all the time. Like, I've never really got any kind of motion sickness in my life, except for a manageable amount of sea sickness, but all of a sudden I started getting car sick and air sick and the nausea lasts ages after, and I vomit all the time (detail you need to know, I'm sure) from just food? And drinking, too. Like, I can't drink at all any more without feeling super nauseated from like, two sips of any vaguely alcoholic thing. It all started happening around the same time I started getting allergic to my cats, and started getting asthma (which I had never had any signs of ever before) and having dizzy spells, as well as probably when my recent episodes of depression started, but it's super whack because I feel like all of a sudden I'm this completely different person, physically. I mean, I've never defined myself as Someone Who Never Gets Car Sick or Someone Who Can Drink And It's Totally Fine or whatever, but I've always been a pretty healthy person who never really had any of that stuff that many kids have and everything. And now I do? I don't know. It's weird. And I don't know why it's happening and I'd kind of like to. I know that when you're tired you're more likely to feel dizzy and stuff, and given that I'm tired 100% of the time, that might be it but that doesn't explain the allergies and asthma and everything. I don't know, it's just kind of surreal, I feel like I'm in someone else's body or something. Because now there's all this stuff I can't do that I LIKE doing. Like, I LOVE flying and I love long flights, but now half the time I get nauseated in the first half hour and don't get better for two days or something.<br />
<br />
Also, I know everyone says they're always tired (except kids, because admitting you're tired when you're a kid is like admitting to a crime where the punishment is going to bed - these days, I'd take someone instructing me to go the sleep as a blessing) but I actually think it's problematic for me? Like, I can't wake up in the morning unless a) someone physically wakes me, multiple times or b) I set multiple alarms and give myself time for at least two snoozes. And then I fall asleep in lectures, at work (my colleagues can vouch for the fact that I bring in a cushion and go into the empty office adjacent to ours and sleep during my lunch break), and in any moving vehicle (that I'm not controlling) if I'm in it longer than half an hour. And THEN the worst of the whole thing is that I'm tired ALL DAY, until about 8pm at night, when my mind wakes up, I don't feel tired any more, and I stupidly stay up until 11.19pm writing dumb whingy blog posts. And I'll go to bed now, right, because I will, and I'll sleep until 8.30 when my first alarm will go off, giving me between 8.5-9 hours sleep and I will still feel exhausted. Oh what a thrilling life I lead.<br />
<br />
And now, I'll stop complaining (publicly, at least) and get some of this magical sleep thing. And you can take a moment to collect yourself after this RIP ROARING EXCITING WOW AWESOME THRILLZONE BLOG POST.<br />
<br />theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-44864634322788877622014-04-10T21:26:00.001+10:002014-04-10T21:26:18.811+10:00Japan keeps taking my moneySeriously. Why is everything here so cool?! It's either stupid adorable, like the cow ring and socks I got today, or super delicious, like the pocky and grape gummy lollies I got today, or super awesome like the everything I got today. Come on Japan. Just have something I don't want to buy. But no rly I love you xotheonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-23622727145381565122014-04-09T22:35:00.001+10:002014-04-09T22:35:58.353+10:00Tokyo Disneyland!That was basically all that happened today. And sore feet. And many things bought. That Disneyland. Sure makes you think that owning 3 bottle holders, 7 Mickey Mouse toys and 89 different character hats is a requirement in your life. <div><br></div><div>Bahhhh. I would like to be more creative but I'm just so tired! But Tokyo is great, y'all. Fo' shiz. </div>theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-83393697430467136592014-04-08T23:27:00.001+10:002014-04-08T23:27:57.355+10:00Japan!Hi from Japan. As the Japans say. In Japan. Where I am. <div><br></div><div>Had a thrilling day. Arrived. Made it to Tokyo station. Made it to Yotsuya station. Made it to hotel. Wooooo!</div><div>Couldn't check in. Aww. </div><div>Went to Harajuku! Woooo!</div><div>Had Maccas for lunch!</div><div>Went exploring around the Meiji shrine!</div><div>Got really tired of walking lots. </div><div>Went to hotel. </div><div>Checked in! Wooooo!</div><div>Napped. </div><div>Went to Shibuya! Woooo!</div><div>Saw Hachiko! The statue! On on of his celebration days! Got a selfie with Hachiko! Woooo!</div><div>Walked around Shibuya!</div><div>Had culturally immersive dinner at Outback Steakhouse! Wooooo!</div><div>Went to hotel!</div><div>Struggled with Tokyo Disney online booking system! </div><div>Credit cards were not accepted. Aww. </div><div>BED BED BED BED BED SLEEEEEEEEEEEPING NIGHTY NIGHTS. </div>theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7279384104029310069.post-40812471471302519882014-04-07T23:34:00.000+10:002014-04-20T23:37:32.131+10:00Adrienne TriviaDo I dance when I eat delicious food?<br />
a) Yes<br />
b) No<br />
c) 'Dancing' would be a generous term for the seizure-like movements I am capable of making<br />
d) Yes, sometimes with accompanying vocals<br />
e) a, c and d are correct (and you wish b and b only was correct)<br />
<br />
When I drink alcohol I become:<br />
a) more fun!<br />
b) more interesting!<br />
c) less socially awkward!<br />
d) super nauseated!<br />
e) Batman!<br />
<br />
Do I sing sentences when they:<br />
a) make me happy<br />
b) are awkward<br />
c) give me anxiety<br />
d) are bad news<br />
e) all of the above plus some other times probably?<br />
<br />
What city was I born in?<br />
a) Winterfell<br />
b) Hogsmeade<br />
c) all of the answers are lies. Including this one.<br />
d) Atlantis<br />
e) the USS Enterprise<br />
<br />
I think fashion is:<br />
a) super cool and important<br />
b) super uncool and shallow<br />
c) confusing and intimidating and how do I wear this thing?<br />
d) affordable<br />
e) an industry which treats all women and body shapes as equal!<br />
<br />
I'm in:<br />
a) Gryffindor<br />
b) Hufflepuff<br />
c) Ravenclaw<br />
d) Slytherin<br />
e) the bathroom, crying, because I didn't get my letter to Hogwarts<br />
<br />
On planes I like to sit:<br />
a) in the aisle seat<br />
b) in the window seat<br />
c) in the middle seat (hint: it's not this one)<br />
d) on the floor<br />
e) in the bathroom, crying, because I didn't get my letter to Hogwarts<br />
<br />
My middle name is:<br />
a) Rose<br />
b) Ruth<br />
c) Ricky<br />
d) Ronald<br />
e) Brian<br />
<br />
Approximately how much sleep do I need per night in order to not actually fall asleep during the day?<br />
a) 6-7 hours<br />
b) 7-8 hours<br />
c) 8+ hours<br />
d) 8++++++++++++ hours<br />
e) all of it. Give me all the sleep. I neeeeeeeed it.<br />
<br />
When are the only times I blog?<br />
<div>
a) all of the below</div>
<div>
b) sometimes when I remember</div>
<div>
c) when it's April</div>
<div>
d) when I have more important, assessmenty things to be doing</div>
<div>
e) mostly, never<br />
<br /></div>
theonlyadriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00236614732466988583noreply@blogger.com0