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Nov. 9th, 2005 01:42 pmHello darlings. I am sitting in the Brisbane library, dressed (shudder) respectably. I have been having job interviews and handing in CVs and generally having a groovy time.
One of our housemates listens to rap. Loud rap. And when her little druggie friends come round, they use words like 'mo fo' and 'yo ass,' like they're trying to be American. Morons. Having lived here for a while, it transpires that Jackie only has ten songs, and plays them over and over and over again. Last night I was so tired and the music was so loud that I started crying and Lizzie had to get them to turn it down. Then, because I was depressed already, I started thinking about Ian and how cruel he was, and then, in the spirit of honouring the agreement now in place between Lizzie and myself that I tell her when I'm upset instead of just stewing, I told Lizzie and she spent ages telling me that what happened wasn't my fault. And even though I still think it was, I believed her momentarily and then she told me a lovely fairy story about a horrible cane toad called Ian who gets squished to death by a car -
And then I fell asleep.
It's funny, whenever I'm tired or sad and not on my guard, I start thinking about what happened. It still makes me very upset. It's getting better, but I think I was actually traumatized. Isn't that funny? And how embarrassing, that I could be hurt by that stupid little man.
Our house has a ghost in it! Nikki (our cool flatmate) is having a pagan friend of hers round to excorcise it. 24 hours beforehand, we have to make preparations. We have to make the house calm. Jackie isn't allowed to play her music at full blast for a whole 24 hours! Lizzie says I should pay the lady to say she's never allowed to play it ever again. This ghost hasn't given us that much trouble, because we immediately identified it and told it to bugger off, but it does appear to be living in Nikki's room. She's too scared to sleep there now. Me telling her lots of poltergeist stories didn't help.
Love to all,
Ari.
One of our housemates listens to rap. Loud rap. And when her little druggie friends come round, they use words like 'mo fo' and 'yo ass,' like they're trying to be American. Morons. Having lived here for a while, it transpires that Jackie only has ten songs, and plays them over and over and over again. Last night I was so tired and the music was so loud that I started crying and Lizzie had to get them to turn it down. Then, because I was depressed already, I started thinking about Ian and how cruel he was, and then, in the spirit of honouring the agreement now in place between Lizzie and myself that I tell her when I'm upset instead of just stewing, I told Lizzie and she spent ages telling me that what happened wasn't my fault. And even though I still think it was, I believed her momentarily and then she told me a lovely fairy story about a horrible cane toad called Ian who gets squished to death by a car -
And then I fell asleep.
It's funny, whenever I'm tired or sad and not on my guard, I start thinking about what happened. It still makes me very upset. It's getting better, but I think I was actually traumatized. Isn't that funny? And how embarrassing, that I could be hurt by that stupid little man.
Our house has a ghost in it! Nikki (our cool flatmate) is having a pagan friend of hers round to excorcise it. 24 hours beforehand, we have to make preparations. We have to make the house calm. Jackie isn't allowed to play her music at full blast for a whole 24 hours! Lizzie says I should pay the lady to say she's never allowed to play it ever again. This ghost hasn't given us that much trouble, because we immediately identified it and told it to bugger off, but it does appear to be living in Nikki's room. She's too scared to sleep there now. Me telling her lots of poltergeist stories didn't help.
Love to all,
Ari.
