Greatest Hits.

I decided to flex my geek muscles today by basing this entry around an episode of Lost. (To properly warm up my muscle, I can tell you its the 21st episode of Season 3, entitled 'Greatest Hits', obviously.)

I realise I'm not going to drown in an secret underwater base anytime soon, but I found the notion of 'Charlie's list' (as I shall now refer to it) heart-poundingly sweet.

Originally, I wanted to copy the list's depiction (frankly, I'm too lazy to figure out how to go about it) instead I'll just type the five most influential/memorable moments of my life.

With my selective memory, and the drunken hazes and clouded judgements... I'm not confident that I will have five different occurrences in which I can share. Contextually, if I can't think of actual events... I'm pretty sure I can make some stuff up.

#5

My First Love

By which I mean, the first book I really ever fell in love with. I think I was about eight years old, my eldest sister and I practically lived in the library. The book was 'Angela and Diabola' by Lynne Reid Banks. I think it must have been the new release and I'd picked it up straight away. I read it constantly, over and over again- I'm not proud to admit it... but that book was never returned. 

#4

Writing my first poem. 

If you ask my family, they'll say it was when I was about six years old-possibly younger. An earache, the malady of choice and apparently writing about it was the only way to shut me up. Considering I could read when I was about two- creative writing coming at the age of six is a little late on my part. We forward to about the age of thirteen, when teenage angst was rearing its ugly head and I found that writing (as well as reading) was an escape from the world. I still wholeheartedly believe that. 

#3

Meeting my best friend

Probably not the biggest deal to some people. It was about six years ago now, when my life was

between a hard place and a rock. Much of it being hormonal teenage angsty-ness and the rest people the perpetual demise of depression. He offered a hand and a menthol and pretty much helped me turn my life upside down (andt he right way round). For a lot of the time we were like a manic depressive power couple, the ups AND the downs reaching astonishing levels of dramatic. Its possible we know each other more than we know ourselves, but honestly- there isn't a soul out there I'd trade him for.

#2

Romanticism and My Second First Love

Together, because they both appeared in my first year of college and both contributed in my spiralling out of control. I longed to feel what Samuel Taylor Coleridge felt, as soon as I'd studied him in A Level English Literature.Reading The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere literally changed my perspective and solidified my love for poetry.
My second first love, by which I mean an actual human of the male gender. My love carousel. I'm not quite sure when it happened and I'm fairly certain I don't know when it's going to stop. Rest in Peace, Ears. I'll always love you.

#1

University and My Illness.
I don't think I have enough perspective to write about this yet. 

Universtiy definitely showed me that I wanted something more of my life, though this was more apparent in my second and (the insignificant) third year. My illness? Well, I was 20 going on 200. 

Ciao, K xo.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccckkkkkk

"I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour
But heaven knows I'm miserable now."

My drunken hour, of course- being about 5 years. 
Its been a while since I've actually posted anything, it's bad of me... but such is life. I've been having problems with not being bothered; and it never, well- bothered me. Until now that is.
Its probable that I've been spirally out of control at the slowest rate possible, so much so its actually barely noticeable. I can't even say I've hit rock bottom, oh no. I think I've managed to comfortably walk down here myself.
I'd kick myself for not noticing where I've put myself, but honestly- this hole is all I feel I've got left.
The court letter came today, the last nail to be hammered into my proverbial coffin.
I've read it thrice and it still makes no sense.
Alas, the point still stands: they want just over five grand off me. Five grand I don't have.
Now this is all circumstantial. I didn't blow my loan on drugs, alcohol and and frequent nights out. As a matter of fact, the loan I was meant to get in September 2009 came three weeks ago. It's just my luck that with my teetotal life comes a nauseating truth that this has been the worst year of my life. Unfortunately, I can't have a gin and tonic or a cigarette to numb the right hooks that life is sending me right now.
I know there are loads of my friends out there that will be thinking I'm over exaggerating and want to give me seemingly 'friendly advice.' Or a few 'home truths' that will give me a kick up the arse Truthbetold, I'm not over exaggerating and no, I don't want the friendly advice- at all. I'm so sick of advice.
If you must know, I am feeling sorry for myself.
Isn't it obvious?

Ciao, K xo.

Everything is Illuminated.

One of my favourite indie films, ever.

"I have reflected many times upon our rigid search. It has shown me that everything is illuminated in the light of the past. It is always along the side of us, on the inside, looking out. Like you say, inside out. Jonathan, in this way, I will always be along the side of your life. And you will always be along the side of mine."

To illuminate a google definition:
a) To decorate or hang with lights.
b) To enlighten intellectually or spiritually; enable to understand.

It got me to thinking about the past and memories.  In my understanding, I guess you can say there are the kinds of memories that are made prettier as you look back on them- and there are others that can lead you on a journey of self discovery.
The former, I think can only be described as 'The Golden Age of Grotesque'*. Second year of college and my first/second year in Manchester. I can't remember it well, it was safe to say those three years is and forever shall be under a steady blanket of snow. 
I've been ill now, for roughly ten months (Crikey, I've only just counted! That's a long fucking time!) and in this time I've found myself remembering the short, destructive reign of Kaveeta 'K' Esquire.
Funnily enough, I remember just exactly how horrible it was. Sometimes I'd be so high it'd I wouldn't really come down and my eyes looked like two marbles in my head**. All the while, I wouldn't be able to sleep, eat, expose myself to natural light, talk to anyone or move. The next day, I'd do it all over again.
I guess it was kind of like flying, its lovely to remember how free I felt- how free to feel absolutley everything; it was like my soul had reached paradise. It was like, getting hit repeatedly but wearing a big padded protective suit. Of course, I wasn't actually wearing one and it brings me to wear I am today- with a stomach that barely functions and health that has taken such a pummelling it can be described as literally black and blue. I can't imagine where I'd be if I'd carried on- I guess I'd be none the wiser though, those things have a way numbing physical pain.
My life in comparison is being less of a libertine and more of an introverted teetotal nerdy thing. Which I love, its definitely more me and I've not felt this comfortable in myself for a number of years. Its nice. Quiet... I do miss drinking sometimes.

Ciao Kkkkkk*** xo.

*Thank you, Marilyn Manson
** I had to throw in a Peter Doherty song. Even before my love for him, my quest for Arcady was the same. 
*** The way to describe a K induced night I guess. I'm not sure why but I used to always write in on various social networking sites.

Diet Drama

"A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands. " - Lord Byron

It's finally that time of year, again. The time when I decide that I need to get into shape, join a gym, and slim down several hundred dress sizes. (Yes, I am exaggerating!) Usually the mere thought of changing my life sends me into fits of uncertainty and absolute bouts of paranoia. However, the time in my life has come; the time that I'm doing it for myself. I'm just tired of being seen differently and being judged acutely on my appearance alone. Which in turn, isn't a bad one. I'm always groomed, at least I think so anyway.
I guess I need to take you back seven or so days. Last week featured me not drinking a drop, but still having my head in a toilet for 80% of the day. Having nightly stomach cramps that didn't require me eating several pounds of dodgy meat, nor allowing to sleep, ever. Basically, I'm pretty sure I've been close to revisiting my own personal hell on earth.

I finally managed to crawl out of my pit of despair, tie my hair up, stick on a pair of glasses, (minor make-up), a leather jacket and hurl myself to the doctor's surgery.
If my life last week was hell on earth, my doctor... well- I guess she is best described as the devil herself.

I guess it wasn't really what she said, but how she said it. I left the surgery too stunned to actually take it all in. The long and short of it is, I'm going to die unattractive, unhappy and most of all... alone. Due to unattractiveness. Unless of course, I decide to sort out my life and join a gym and go for long walks and change my diet and have a strong desire to do all of these things. And do it fucking soon.
Yes, she was just that tactless. (I won't fail to mention, her saying this is like the Wookiees calling the Ewoks ugly. Aye. Pot, meet kettle.) She wasn't entirely wrong in what she was saying, I really should be looking after myself. This whole, inactiveness and the rest of that malarky will lead to more problems than I can handle right now.

I've somehow given myself a bad reputation, for being amazingly undesirable to men; it certainly seems to have preceeded me, in any case.

"They call her Mrs Personality because she's so ugly. She's so ugly." - Mr Personality by Gillette

Can't Stop The Signal.

"I try to hide it, but every time I see you, I light up" - Rebecca Bridget Jone's Diary (The Edge of Reason)

I've been thinking a lot about signals recently. Mainly, whether I'm able to stop the ones that I think I'm accidentally sending. Google defines a signal as: "any nonverbal action or gesture that encodes a message."


I've always been just a little bit airheaded.
I don't think, I've ever really thought too long and hard about how people perceive me. I've always been a little bit too ditsy, too crude, too big, too morbid or too sparkly. Recently I've been seen a lot more snobby, intimidating and a little bit too 'posh' for my surroundings. (I have you know, being well spoken means 'posh' in my neck of the woods.) By and by, I never really questioned any of it. Never really been aware of the... vibes I send to people. Well, up until now anyway. 

It's no secret (amongst my inner circle, anyway) that I've developed a strange not-so-recent crush. Again. We all know how that whole unrequited thing goes. You spend months of your life hopelessly brooding and imagining those perfect little scenarios when you finally get swept off your feet. Then everything is perfect, the sky is the bluest blue - the grass is the greenest of green. The next thing you know, I can hear the bells and I'm Tracy from Hairspray. I'm trying a new approach though, one that doesn't involve sounding like the prepubescent teens that I so openly despise.

The most important thing here is that Mr Right Now stays heartbreakingly unaware. Denying my feelings is the new grown up plan. I have it on good authority that it actually works! Sorta. Convincing myself that I don't feel what I feel is the sure fire way that the love waves that I might be sending can be depicted as the friendly ones that the should be.

Yes, this probably sounds like it's all because I have a frightful fear of rejection or... some other form of razzle dazzle- but really, it's not. In all truthfulness, I'd rather not deal with it all. Over the passed two years I have become the ambassador of spinsterhood, I feel like I'm selling myself out to the man. A man. Curse him. I owe it to myself and all the other people in my life that I have involuntarily heard me preach, to stop the fucking signal, or at least for the time being... redirect it somewhere else.

"You can't stop the signal, Mal. Everything goes somewhere, and I go everywhere." - Mr Universe Serenity 

Ciao,
K xo.

Bills, Bows and Babyshambles*

Its almost a perfect combination. A heaven sent group of three. I would have got away with it too, if it wasn't for those meddling bills.
In fear of turning into a cliché Scooby Doo episode, let me just reiterate;  I have bills appearing from every crevice of my house and every orifice of my being.
I am actually afraid of the daily post, I run away from it like a twitchy drug dealer- wondering who's going to catch me out next. When I have a small stack of envelopes thrust into my hand; its like playing Russian Roulette with money lenders.
There's the shame and guilt of it all too, it's starting to make me live my life in disarray. It's coming to the point where I feel like I caused the global recession. Its just like the time I caused a giant hole in the o-zone layer with my excessive hairspray consumption.  They should make it guilt free lending, punishable only by death. I'm not overreacting, I'd rather take the peaceful, ashyness of an urn than another call from Mark at Natwest.**

As far as the current three god heads of my life, two out of three enjoyable things is hardly something to complain about. In fact, I'm relatively pleased it's not all doom and debt filled gloom, there's a rainbow at the end of my storm. That rainbow, is in the shape of a bow. More precisely, the favourite piece of my head wear collection.
It's no secret that I have a sordid, recycled love for all things shaped 'bow' for a good few years now. Recently though, (I say recently, I mean over the past 2 years) I can't be seen without one. It's less of a statement and more an extension of my already large head. I guess the only real problem is being mistaken by the high street honeys as a Gaganaut (I'm not sure what Lady Gaga calls her minions at this present time). It stills my heart that anything that is slightly different these days is made acceptable by a woman that (as it happens) is about as original as Primark. There is no innovation, just immitation.
I digress however, there is actually a band that I wish I could just make sweet, sweet lexical love to- and they go by the name Babyshambles. I know, it's not very original but I haven't had love for a band like this since I stumbled across Incubus when I was 10 years old. I'm not a technical music boffin either, so I'm not going to comment on how amazing the production is. All I can really say is how much they saved my life. It's not much, but those lonely and frankly disturbing nights in Manchester's A&E would have been SO much worse.
If my fingers had mouths, they'd definitely have the gift of the gab(s). They'd also make cutlery superfluous. So, why I can't write something amazing about the 'Shambles- I'll never ever know.

Ciao. K xo.

* As the three things that occupy my everyday life, I would like to make a small note that once upon a time (a year ago, precisely) this would have been 'Pills, Poppers and Parties. No, I will not be writing that up for my 'P' blog. 


** I don't actually know a Mark from Natwest, all names have been invented for the sake of a point and a witty line.

All Rest And No Play Makes Kaveeta A Dull Girl

When you're diagnosed with an illness, the best thing you can do is rest... so they say.
My diagnosis snatched away my chances at finishing university; I was shipped on the earliest running banana boat and back to the land of snooze. Birmingham BOREmingham.
Naturally, I was told to rest.
Unfortunately since being back home, all I do is rest. I'm in a perpetual, never ending loop of resting, sleeping, eating and purging- (the latter against my will, of course).  I've gone from a social butterfly to an awkward caterpillar, in almost the exact liking of Heimlich the travelling circus clown from 'A Bugs Life'.
Lo and behold, with resting comes restlessness; and I have proudly acquired (and also refined) a series of seemingly useless skills. I can finish a television series in under seven days, read a novel in a few days and organise my boxset collection in order of genre and preference. (The former, is very simple they only have TWO genres; fantasy and science fiction. Also, Sex and the City.)
My social dexterity has run amok, I babble and have the quaint ability to never actually finish off a sentence. When I do finally meet people, my conversations mainly consist of name dropping 'Peter Doherty/Joss Whedon/Neil Patrick Harris/[Enter Name of Musical here]' and enthusing over Patton Oswalt's Serenitiy one-shot comic coming out next week. Topics which I assure you, are better left in the comfort of my bed and in the wool stuffed ears of my 11 year old TeddyBear Angelus.
 
As it's quite plain to see, being home in the (not quite) loving care of my parents- I'm battling more than a long term illness. Alas, no. I am also trying to keep the limited fibres of normalcy in my brain alive. It's the only way I'll remember what it is to keep people interested in me long enough to hold a decent conversation, that involves LAUGHING and possibly some dry humoured wit.*
Really, I don't ask for much.

On a side note...
May I just say... what a dreamy way to kick start the supposed end to my sporadic blogging. Just when I think I've got myself all figured out, I slap myself with a healthy dose of dramatic irony; just for good measure.

Ciao, K xo.


** A very large thank you to Adam, Tajoo, Jas, Bubs, Nana, Joseph, Jason, Carina and Mia who have either met up with me, talked to me a great deal and kept my spirits up. =]