Out of the Metaphorical Closet

Let’s get one thing straight… I’m not. Well, not really.

After 6 months of denial and countless mental arguments with myself that made me also doubt my sanity (I like boys… it can’t be true?), I came to accept the fact that I might not be completely straight. And I’m not. I like boys for all the reasons that girls like boys, and I like girls for all the reasons that boys like girls. I lean more towards the male gender, but I can’t use that as an excuse anymore. I’m not straight… I’m bisexual – bi and proud.

Cool beans.

Oh wait, no, we can’t forget the next three or so months where I was partially in denial. I was at a stage where I had accepted it but still toyed with the idea that maybe, just maybe if I ignored it… it would go away? Yeah, that didn’t work. It didn’t make me feel that great either, oppression of oneself and all that jazz.

Reasons Why I Shouldn’t Be Famous (i.e. Justifying Why I’m Not Famous Already)

99 reasons why I love my lilybub and 1 why I don’t: 8. She puts up with my awful attempts at trying to be helpful. I try, but I’m awful at it. I’m good listener though; I would happily sit and listen to her talk for hours.

(But I suppose this can also be titled ‘reasons why julie should not be blogging at 2AM’.)

• I blink when camera’s have their flash turned on, and I couldn’t possibly walk the red carpet with my eyes closed in every picture. So really, I’m doing you guys a favour.
• I have no concept of a filter between brain and mouth, and poor impulse control to boot. I’d be a publicist’s worst nightmare.
• I find great joy in getting people to do things they perhaps probably maybe shouldn’t. (Like consuming liquor before going to class. ) That’s me now as a puny eighteen year old nobody. Can you imagine me with the power of a loyal following of fans? Jesus fuck, I’d be insufferable.
• I don’t maintain eye-contact with anyone for more than a few seconds at a time if I’m not completely comfortable around them. The interviews and talk shows would be horrible; I’d be boo’d off out of the filming session and it wouldn’t even be aired on account of how bad it is. (But being completely comfortable with someone usually means that I’ve lost all sense of personal space and have no problems with climbing bodily over them or sprawling myself over their body soooooo I guess it’d be better if I wasn’t… lol)
• I’m a reader of prolific internet pornography fanfiction. I’d be destroying childhood innocence left, right and centre with traumatic ficrecs just because I can.
• I don’t take the initiative, I don’t make the first move, I don’t do anything. I would be the most boring famous person in the history of the world.

Ergo, I am fabulous but the world couldn’t possibly handle my fabulousness so it’s better that I remain anonymous and non-famous for the time being.

aha.

(Also, apparently thalassemia beta minor makes me an anaemic because I have a blood level count of 6? Hm. Well that sucks.)

sechsundzwanzig.

Big brother dearest is twenty six years old today. Happy birthday, brother mine!

I can’t believe it’s been another year already. It honestly feels like just yesterday that I was eight years old of scrawny little asian girl and you were encouraging me to just jump in and right hook that kid that was pushing me around. You were so protective. And it was absolutely hilarious that you thought I could take on someone who had about twenty kilograms on me and was more than three times my size. But you were right; now ten years on and that boy still won’t look me in the eyes.

Fast forward and I’m eighteen and you’re now twenty six. You’re still protective, and I love it. You used to joke about how growing up with you means that I won’t need you for boyfriend trouble or any kind of trouble because I can hit them myself, but the truth is that I’ll always need you. Because there is no one I trust more to solve my problems and no other person I’d want to solve my problems. Also, you’d hit them harder. Hahaha.

I know I spend most of my time trying to be an annoying little shit, but I love you so much. And I’m beyond glad to be able to call you my brother.

Happy birthday bro!

I’m Inspirational, Yo

99 reasons why I love my lilybub and 1 why I don’t: 7. She’s my voice of reason. I’m ADHD suspected, remember? Enough said about my ability to reason.

Apparently I am inspiring…? Right, as if. But cheers, Miss Alexandrina, for the ‘Very Inspiring Blogger’ award! I guess if you think my limitless rage-filled posts are inspiring then you won’t unfollow me?

So. Rules. Seven interesting facts about myself. These aren’t even going to be interesting (and I’m probably repeating some from older posts without realising it).  I would apologise, but it’s late and I lost the ability to give a flying fuck about an hour ago. Also, cramps. So complain about my facts and I’ll pummel you.

1. I’m ridiculously distractible. You know those people who talk with their hands and continuously gesture and wave them around like the world’s going to end if they stop? Those people are the bane of my existence. I can’t keep my attention focused on listening and my eyes track their hands instead and everything they say goes right over my head.
2. I don’t like eating jelly baby gummies. I feel like I’m partaking in baby genocide whenever I do, and it freaks me out, and oh dear god please don’t ever make me eat jelly babies.
3. I’m oblivious. Subtle does not work on me. So when people try to be subtle with me and hint towards things… honestly, it’s easier on both of us if you just tell me things straight up. Otherwise we’ll be going around in circles until the cows come home. (yeah I’m lookin’ at you, tess)
4. I close my eyes whenever I spoon something into my mouth when I eat. It’s reflexive. And just a little bit strange. My theory is that I failed miserably at feeding myself when I was younger and poked myself in the eye one too many times and traumatised myself for life. So now my subconscious rears up its little subconscious front legs in protest whenever I eat, making me close my eyes in order to protect them.
5. I don’t like handling knives if I don’t have to. I worry that I’ll get distracted and accidentally chop of my own fingers. Not even joking. So my mum has to put up with me whining like a 3 year old whenever she’s at home.
6. Sometimes, I really question how I’ve managed to get this far in life. I mean, people tell me I’m smart (pffft), but I still can’t open a safety pin without pinning myself in the process.
7. Donuts. ’nuff said.

If I Gave You the Stars Would You Shine For Me?

99 reasons why I love my lilybub and 1 why I don’t: 6. She puts up with my goldfish memory and non existent attention span.

Sometimes I feel like I’m not confrontational enough. God knows I’m not passive, but when I’m wronged by people I care about I’m far too willing to forgive and let bygones be bygones. I feel like I just let every little thing go despite how I feel about them and they’re going to slowly build and build until one day I’ll just hulk out and become a psychotic mass murderer. And that would kinda suck.

Stupid mcstupidface was a prime example of that, minus the whole turning into a psychotic mass murderer thing. I’m pretty sure I spent most of those months vacillating between cautious affection and seething with impotent rage. There was a reason why I kept my friends separate from him. Though god knows why I didn’t just pink slip him from the start. No, wait, I know why – we all know by now that I’m an emotionally underdeveloped twit.

Maybe it’s because I don’t like confrontations. Maybe it’s because I don’t like being angry. Is it a good thing that I forgive as easily as I do?

And I’ve never really understood my doctor’s logic in giving me allergy medication of which the side effect is that it will make me high, when said doctor thinks that I have ADHD. Like, what even.

Somebody save me from my politics coursework.

Numero Cinco si si si

99 reasons why I love my lilybub and 1 why I don’t: 5. She’s so ridiculously supportive and understanding that I just want to hold her tight and never ever let her go. Is kidnapping still illegal?

Helloooooooooo there, insomnia. God it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Remember when you lasted for entire weeks or more? Yeah, thanks for that – you made twelfth grade superbly horrible. Hopefully this reoccurrence is just a one night thing, because if I have to go without sleep for a whole week again and try to make it through uni at the same time, I am going to throw a tantrum to end all tantrums.

I’m sure you guys know about my allergy to crustaceans by now, yes? And how that allergy also kicks in when I eat a sufficient amount of anything else that comes from the sea? Well, I tend to not eat seafood in general because it usually leaves me feeling somewhat ill. Today however, I was insanely hungry so I made the immensely, immensely idiotic decision of scarfing down more than a dozen cooked oysters sitting in the kitchen at home.

Why? Why didn’t I just wait the half hour until dinner…?! Thank you, poor impulse control, for letting me make yet another bad decision.

I feel like my tummy is turning itself inside out. Ugh. Somebody save me.

Claudius, Doth Mother Know You Weareth Her Drapes?

99 reasons why I love my lilybub and I why I don’t: 4. She puts up with my obsession with Sherlock. And just about every other obsession I’ve had really, because when I like it I like it, although none have ever reached such epic proportions as Sherlock.

So, I started reading Hamlet today. Fucking Claudius. Two lines in and I was already losing my shit, and he hadn’t even appeared yet. Also:

Barnardo: Who’s there?

Francisco: Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold [reveal] yourself.

What the fuck, Francisco?! I’m pretty sure Barnardo asked you first you rude inconsiderate twat. Jesus fuck.

Um, you know what… I think I’ll leave this for reading on the travel to uni tomorrow morning instead, when I’m less angry and more sleepy and therefore less liable to hulk out on it.

I finished my sonnet for english so you’ll hear no more complaints about sonnets from me; though it’s really just a rewriting of an older poem I wrote ages back. And before anyone verbally flays me for not writing an entirely new piece, rewriting freeverse into a sonnet is much harder than writing a sonnet from scratch. I wrote a brand new sonnet after I rewrote the other one to hand in, and it took about half the time. Fucking sonnets. Here, marvel at my incompetence: (can this even rightfully be called a sonnet?)

Did you know you used to be my hero?

To save me, and to catch me when I fall,

You were the one I trusted unconditionally.

My support through ups and downs, and through it all.

Did you know you were my knight, my shining light?

The one I so trusted to be my guide

through the brightest days and the starless nights,

to catch me when I fall and stand by my side.

You were my best friend to whom I whispered

all of my secrets; that last secret of mine

I wish I didn’t have – I regret it now.

I just wish I could speak to you one last time.

To take back the one that made you pack your bags,

I’d say I’m sorry for being gay, dad.

I just really really hate Claudius.

Nostalgia

99 reasons why I love my lilybub and 1 why I don’t: 3. I’m sorry you follow me on tumblr and it’s just constant Sherlock Sherlock Marvel Sherlock Marvel video of goats screaming like humans at humans Sherlock more Sherlock. You’re a trooper.

I miss being around my closest friends from high school. I miss them a lot. I miss spontaneously bursting into songs with them. Disney, christmas carols, the Pokemon theme song, that Farewell Old School song… I miss spending lazy afternoons and lunch breaks with them. I miss the food locker. I miss seeing the locker that my babe Heart of Paradise beat into submission in a fit of rage. And yes, we will never let you live that, or your wall-kicking moment, down.

I miss that spot against the wall near our lockers, where we sat and sang really loudly and probably ridiculously off-key to people walking by. I miss the common room, where we toasted our sandwiches, made our drinks and laughed at the fact that for a school full of smart people one time someone blew up a microwave.

I miss the morning hugs. I miss seeing their precious faces. I miss the fact that we rocked one fucking awesome form hoodie design (all thanks to my babe lilybub) in twelfth grade. I miss their casual acceptance of Custard Mondays.

God, they made last year fucking amazing, and I miss seeing them every single day. Those bastards made me fall in love them with their crazy antics and brilliant insanity. Fuckers. I miss them all.

And yes, I’m posting this in the middle of my politics lecture. That’s how much I fucking miss you guys. Assholes.

edit: something went funny with the posting of this one, it was meant to be posted last thursday (during my politics lecture) but posted last night instead which was strange but whatever. Don’t even talk to me about it. Added one of my 99 reasons to it since last thursday clearly didn’t happen.