Feeling: Rage

Seriously, what the fuck?!

Since when is posting a picture of a bloody, mangled body hanging out of the window of a beat up car that you just saw by the side of the road on fucking Facebook of all places okay, much less compassionate?

Arrogantly attaching a half-hearted "Condolences to the family" with it just makes it worse, especially when you didn't even have the decency to censor the license plate in any way. You probably don't even know them!

Just be honest with yourself. Go ahead and make a spectacle out of someone else's misfortune because you are a sick son of a bitch, but don't dare to pretend it's because you care about the victim or their family.

These Facebook users who have lost touch with the ways of the world because they're too busy wandering around in cyberspace are kind of really starting to piss me off.

Feeling: Blargh

Thank you, Senior Academic, for answering my desperate and anxious call. Just wish it wasn't with an elongated "NO... Bitch."

Less than half a mark, man. Half a single colourful froot-loopy mark.

My face is going to look like this for a while, complete with two beads of sweat suspensefully waiting by the corner of my left eye: -_-"

"It is not for you to decide what happens here." - Green Zone

I watched Green Zone tonight, and this line was just so powerful, especially in its context. It speaks so much to me. I'm just not exactly sure what it's saying.

Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh.

Somebody please tell me the result of my appeal already! *Squeals.

Questions to ask yourself:

1. If a black man is racist, is it okay - when it's a white man's racism that made him that way?
   
2. If psychopathy is a natural occurence, and a psychopath causes enough trauma to mentally disturb someone else into psychopathy, who's fault is it?
   
3. If paedophilia is a (let's say) "mutation" of one's sexuality - in that it doesn't happen on purpose, i.e. it's not their fault - why don't paedophiles get sympathy?

Now, the final question: Is placing blame really as important as we make it out to be?

Sometimes, the lines just aren't clear enough. Then, what?

My grandmother has wrinkles on her face and on her hands and in places I can only imagine. She walks rather slowly now, ever since she fell over and broke her hip. They had to put a metal joint-replacer in, and at the end of the operation, the doctors gave us her bone in a pickle jar.

During the first few weeks of the month-long hospital stay, she used to look so tired. And so bored. And so fed up with the trudge of this life that is way too long and cruel.

But I think she's happier now. It took a broken bone to get all of her children to see her, but I think she liked seeing them all getting along and being together again. She eats at the dinner table with us now, and with people I haven't seen in years.

It used to be unheard of because she said the food was poisoned, so she'd lock herself in her room for days at a time. And then she'd carry herself out again and sit at the kitchen table talking to herself for three days straight.

She used to chase me around the house and hit me with sticks when her schizophrenia kicked in and I was her granddaughter, but a thief as well. A thief who would beat her up and kill various cousins and marry bishop's sons. I had to lock my bedroom door and hold the knob still so she couldn't get in and stab me with her keys.

She used to carry a bunch of keys with her all the time. She'd pin them to her clothes and when she walked, you could hear the shuffle of her feet with the subtle jingle of keys.

It got so bad at one point, I had to break the bars off my window to leave the house because I had a flight to catch. My brother helped push me through the window and I walked away satisfied and relieved.

But she has her good days, too, and the paranoia only got really bad in the last five years or so. She used to pick me up from school before she scared herself out of driving by crashing into a parked car.

But that's a tale for another time. I just wish I knew what she's seen behind those tired eyes.

I sound so pissed off in my last two posts. Hahahaha.

That's probably because I was. :]

Once upon a time, I asked you to read this post on 'rape culture' by Melissa McEwan. But I think a lot of you didn't quite know what she meant.

I stumbled across this phrase yesterday and I believe it explains her thoughts (or my interpretation of her thoughts) quite nicely:

We live in a society that teaches "Don't get raped" instead of "Don't rape".

This is problematic because rape shouldn't be considered a naturally-occuring phenomenon that we have to accept, that there is no stopping; we shouldn't have to worry about where we walk and how and when and with whom; nobody should live in constant fear of what pervert may be lurking around the corner.

You may be thinking, "But girls should learn to not wear such short skirts and cleavagey tops and walk alone at night." No. Rapists should learn that no means no, and that nothing anyone can ever do is an invitation to rape them.

Pick up this goddamn mess and deal with the fucking problem.

Listening to: We Looked Like Giants by Death Cab For Cutie

Why are people such selfish little pricks incapable of seeing the larger consequences of their actions?

I don't understand anymore!

Feeling: Impatient
Listening to: The chug of the printing presses

Dear Miss Coventry,

I can confirm that we have received the decision of the Senior Academic in relation to your appeal and that we are due to send you a letter to confirm what the decision was. Unfortunately, I cannot give an indication of when you will be sent the letter other than it will be as soon as possible.

Why are they being so secretive? Why won't they tell me? I need to knowwwwww.

*Gasps.

Lunch time.