Her head twisted around awkwardly, her shoulders eventually following and leading the rest of the body in an 180 degree motion henceforth. Well, to be accurate, the task wasn't completely accomplished. Tammy hadn't merely lost her footing, she had lost he feet. Of course this misplacement is a hypothetical comparison as her feet were still healthily connected to her legs, which some may say are quite attractive in their own right. It is said that some might say it is so because no one has actually said it before and so there are no real grounds to include it as fact in this description, but the current onlooker believes that there would be people in society who find such legs as little less than masterpieces. To properly define a masterpiece would be a fairly subjective matter, though there are obvious examples but they shall not be delved into at this stage as one is meant to be focused on Tammy's legs, or lack of symbolic feet, or even what caused her to lose such a possession. In fact it isn't any of these one should be focusing on, as they have gone and past while ramblings of legs and masterpieces were taking place. There should be more ramblings of legs and masterpieces.

too painful to continue at this stage, fun to write to some extent, but somewhat tiresome to read.
but maybe there should be more ramblings of legs and masterpieces... ramblings of centipedes, no wait, millipedes (they have more legs), stamping out copies of beautiful artwork they could never comprehend and whether it's beauty could define such work as a masterpiece if the piece's masterfulness has no master, simply dead bugs that were mistakingly fumigated. would, could the unjust death of these little artist be mourned in unnecessary bouts of media overexertion, front line news over the bombings and the war and the famine and the plague and the floods and the fires and the general death of humanity over the world. because unlike the nameless faces that will be thrown into mass graves, these little mindless critters gave us something pretty to look at. so we could avert our gaze and thoughts and just think of all the things that make us warm inside.

my apologies

"With a little more wit and laughter i'm sure you could become quite a star, quite a star indeed." the plumpish man proclaimed, his pinstriped suit not quite following the flow of his flamboyant arm movements, bulging in the worse places, tailored to a much younger model. "I just think you need to cut back on these points here," he said flipping through the manuscript and pointing a pudgey finger at some highlighted parts of text. Tristan glanced at the pages quickly, he new what parts Mr Smith would "edit" before he even started. Mr Smith, like many of the other editors Tristan had visited, disliked the open and almost bloasting vulgarity that Tristan bestowed apon one of his female characters.
"I don't mean to remove anything from what you've written, just alter it so it can fit a wider audience, it's obvious not a book that'll emcompass all, but with a few touches you could include a more conservative audience without losing the..." he paused, Tristan looked up at him with weary eyes, awaiting the noun.
Impact? Zest? Confrontation? Message? Soul? he trailed off to himself.
"..kapow!" slapping his hands against one another and letting them fly as far apart as the resricting suit would allow, Mr Smith finished with a large grin pushing against his puffy cheeks, very pleased with his own, seemingly marvelous performance.
"I apologise for wasting your time Mr Smith," Tristan answered lifting himself from his chair and picking up the manuscript. "I really don't want to change anything, that's why I came to you"
"Oh but you wouldn't be changing anything, m' boy!" Mr Smith hurried over to Tristan's side of the desk and put a hand on his shoulder. "Simply dulling down the edges, polishing it if you will."
Tristan glared at Mr Smith, then weaking his expression he replied "It's not meant to be polished"
"Of course, of course, I personally understand the true depths of what you are meaning but for the..."
"The true depths? What may they be?"
Mr Smith began to squirm a little. Tristan lifted the hand off his shoulder and left without another word. His words were too "edgey" anyway.


death... i personally didn't like that one. ehhh, lunch time!


your cruel intentions won't solve your problems... (hey girl - dashboard confessional)

i lay still in my bed staring up at the greyness, doona up to my chin, waiting for the sledgehammer of sleep to smash me across the face and put my weary mind to rest. but alas, it seems the night sounds are calling and my brain just loves to answer the phone. What is it? a cat? a bird? a person? i wish those blinds closed properly... it rambles as the cries of a wild animal plays a repetitious tune. the street light flickers. does it just need a new bulb, they should have changed it earlier, but then how would they have known? maybe it's working fine and it's just something passing in front of it... four metres off the ground. more mutterings of a wandering mind, I hope that it'll find something within it's banter to lead me to somewhere more surreal, it doesn't have to be soft and fluffy clouds, just something to keep it entertained without using my external senses. i closed my eyes, yellow and red patterns squiggling their way about my eyelids. gah. i agreed, turning impatiently onto my side, hitting my head against the lumpy pillow numerous times, hoping it may help.
"gahhh" i said out loud, quite pointlessly as another hour passed. "go to sleep"
it was obvious to myself at this stage that i would have to get up and do something to put the beast to sleep. lifting my legs over the side of the bed, my feet touched the freezing cold floorboards. who would have floorboards in their room? seriously? at least a rug. my mind kept talking to itself. shuffling to the bathroom, dragging the doona behind me in the slight chance that my brain would turn off and i could sleep, i would sleep very well anywhere. i can sleep anywhere, my mind jumped in. ah, nice seeing you here, i answered in an unimpressed, internal tone, i need to sleep. but it just laughed and continued rambling about the floorboards that were currently turning my feet in to heavy, cold stones, which i could only assume in the lack of light were a lovely shade of purple. there were thudding (it's actually a word, frances is slightly surprised) noises from another room and a light switch. a door swung open, Pip stood, well slumped there, surrounded by yellow blinding light, i pulled the doona to cover my face.
"Renee! why are you still awake?" in a tone very similar to my unimpressed internal tone, but was very external as well raspy and harsh. i pulled the doona back down
"Can't sleep, bathroom" i managed to mutter as my brain kept complaining about the excessive amount of light.
"you've walked past it, it's that one" she pointed to a door which i had totally missed in passing.
i muttered an "oh" and a "thanks" before shimmying around and heading towards it.
unsuccessful in remembering what good the bathroom was going to do, i returned to the bedroom. the room with the bed. i got onto the bed, completely submerging myself in the doona. maybe it was that i just can't sleep well in unfamiliar places, or with useless pillows, or irritating lights, or squawking birds, or noisy nocturnal animals, or non-carpeted rooms, or in rooms with wonky blinds... My mind continued to list off the small irritants and then impartial aspects of the room until the items on the list became fluffy, white sheep, jumping over a fence one at a time, finally bringing some slumber.

you'll find me in the slumber lumber land, or the lumber slumber land, i slept like a log, i slumbered like lumber. the plumber slumbered like lumber.

you know he's holding you down with the tips of his fingers just the same... (australia - the shins)

frances is back at uni, huzyah!

patience is a virtue
patience is a good thing
good things come to those who wait
time and tide waits for no man
time and tide impatient
time and tide are not virtuous or the recipient of good things
time and tide are not human
argument flawed
using common sayings as factual basis
flawed

does inaction ever bring change?

when no words are spoken, the silence left unbroken, an elephant sits in the room, a prophecy of impending doom. and as mouths wither and dry, quiet attempts to try, to rekindle the conversational fire, awkwardness down to the wire...

and i've thinking, that summer may be bringing, more than much needed sun, and i'm not trying to infer, that the world will change without anyone needing to run...

randomness from my yr 10 history notebook, unsure of meaning, reasoning or source (i think i made it up but):
south australia - monday, northern territory - tuesday, tasmania - wednesday, perth - thursday, victoria - friday, sydney - saturday, queensland - sunday. a.c.t. - everyday (hahaha)
i don't know what i was thinking with the a.c.t., maybe parliament never rests? maybe it was just "i forgot about a.c.t., think of something quick", tasmania was a weird placing as well, but south australia is definitely monday. i fail to understand though, why "perth" and "sydney" were written, instead of "NSW" and "WA", what a strange teenager. any thoughts?

post script: playing around in the abundant garden of knowledge (which is the internet), with the meanings of names of days, stumbled across the ol' "monday's child" nursery rhyme. for those of you who don't know, it's : monday's child is fair of face, tuesday's child is full of grace, wednesday's child if full of woe, thursday's child has far to go, friday's child is loving and giving, saturday's child works hard for a living, but the child who is born on the sabbath day, is bonny and blithe and good and gay (which was later changed to "bonny and blithe and good in every way").
anyways, so i'm a child of wednesday (who wen on later to be changed to "fears no foe"), boo hoo, poor me, blah blah, as if it matters, pure interest only. but something my good friend wikipedia told me was that the original 1887 version had the same characteristics assigned to different days, so originally i was actually "loving and giving". and then again, it changes if one were to address the origins of the day names themselves, making me "having far to go".
so if one were to assess a wednesday's child, it could be pseudo-scienced out that they were originally loving and giving, then full of woe, then fears no foe but upon much closer inspection just has far to go. sounding like a true blue horoscope.
"this week you may feel something that could lead you to new and interesting situations, but don't risk it this time round, mars is hanging out in scorpio"

The air was cool and misty, a lethargic, morning breeze rolling over the grassy field and through the looming trees, their crisp, orange leaves rustling with the pleasure of this sensation. The couple leisurely strode along the gravel path, a satisfying crunch released with each step. Rugged up in multiple layers, they kept close together, the fog from their exhales indistinguishable from one another. She clasped his arm comfortably, not the awkward, white knuckled, seemingly desperate, clutching that some women insist on bestowing on their partners, that was something that makes walking leisurely most strenuous. They whispered to each other in hushed voices, as if not to disturb the morning's beautiful performance that was being played in front of them. A silence fell over them as a single golden leaf bid farewell to its mother tree and floated down to them, dancing with the breeze, a routine consisting of breathtaking lifts and spins. He caught it gently in his hand as to not crush it's brittle frame. twirling by hold its petiole between his thumb and forefinger he presented it to her. she giggled softly as she accepted the gift, the laugh managing to catch the wind and warm it slightly as it traveled towards the city in the east. he smiled in return and the two continued down the path. At the end of the path stretched a hideous, black tarmacked road. Like the grass it was embossed with the moisture of the morning dew, but it only added to its sinister, dark appearance. Sitting patiently on the side of the road, humming comparatively loudly to itself, sat a dark blue sedan. She held back, tugging lightly on his arm. he whispered in her ear and let go of her arm. turning to face her, he kissed her cheek tenderly and then the other. leaning his forehead on hers, he grinned slightly before saying words words that were for her only, then quickly kissed her on the lips before running to the car. Opening the passenger-side door have waved to her before disappearing into the depths of steel and tinted windows. Before she could raise her hand to return the wave the car sped off, leaving her alone with the morning air. As she lifted her arm to wave anyway, the leaf escaped her grasp a blew off to join a congregation of dried leaves at the foot of another tree. Unable to recognize
it from it brothers, she nestled her hands in her armpits and took the path back to the house, the cool wind still playing between the trees. Her body began to shake slightly as she walked and then more violently. She hurried her steps, the wind turning to slap freezing blows against her face. Quickening again, the wind stung her eyes, the air clawing its way up and down her throat., the shakes still worsening. Finally reaching the front door, she ripped it open and ran inside, slamming in behind her. Huddled next to the radiator she began to control her breathing again, the shaking calming down. It's only because of the cold she tried to convince herself as a single tear ran down her cheek.

"Maggie! Can you grab me a tissue?" Steve yelled from his swivel chair, it appeared slightly more padded than the others in the office, but it was simply because all the stuffing had migrated away from the weight that seldom lifted during office hours and plumped up the edges.
"Maggie!" he yelled again, rolling himself towards the door. The chair didn't roll very smoothly on the carpet and Steve would have saved himself the effort if he just got up. Maggie didn't reply. With a loud grunt that sounded as if it came from the depths of his belly, he pulled himself up, pushing the chair away, which glided across the carpet easily now free of it's burden. Opening the door he was confronted by an eerie silence. No one was in the office. What also struck him as odd was a cold breeze flowing between and through the cubicles. The heater must've konked out, Steve thought to himself, wandering the aisles checking each of the cubicles. But this was obviously quite the error (arrogant-narrator style) as he stumbled upon the shattered glass littering the carpet. He stood there in shock as the overhead heater blew out hot air, trying it's hardest to compensate for the invasion of the cold, down the back of his neck. As he stood there he began to hear tiny, little voices. Voices telling him to climb out. To jump out the third story window. He shook his head, he was sure that it wasn't the case, that this was no reason to jump to his doom. The heat on the back of his neck was getting hotter, and hotter so he stepped away from the outlet and towards the window. there was a crowd down below, and a firetruck, and another fire truck, and a third and low and behold there was the ends of a ladder poking up from the window ledge (a three story ladder? how convenient). He looked behind him and sniffed the air, nothing. there was absolutely nothing to provoke such a visit.
"What seems to be the problem?" He yelled down at the crowd, but couldn't hear any reply so started off down the ladder, each rung sagging slightly with the bulging weight of the transcend-er. It took almost ten minutes for him to reach the bottom, covered and smelling of sweat. Maggie stormed up to him and ripped the blaring earphones from his head, that Steve had somehow failed to notice. Suddenly the something-rock was replaced by sirens and Maggie.
"I told you we had the drill today!" Maggie shook her head furiously. She'd put so much effort into making it real, she'd practically been on her hands and knees begging her connections from the fire department, and forking out a heap of "funds". Idiots, surrounded by idiots. At least it was tax deductible.

p.s. i have no idea if fire drills are tax deductible.

Unrelated text: quit that job the day after. i'm not a photographer, especially one that works for commission on items in a store that isn't up yet. 400 items? you gotta be kidding me, i'd die.

holiday time
three weeks, three long weeks. I don't know what i'm going to do, a lot of my friends are going away and such, a suspicious amount to Sydney in fact, i wonder is it's a conspiracy or if Sydney actually has something to offer in a fortnight's time. maybe i'm just jealous. the plan is to get a job, or make stuff i can sell on eBay that doesn't breach copyright laws. well, to be honest i have gotten myself a job, or this job has me, i'm not sure who really has the power. I'm basically setting up an eBay store, which has to be recognized as a reliable seller before it can be upgraded to a store status. It's a branch off from one of my friend's parents' businesses, who sell masks, costumes and wigs etc. so when they offered me a job i assumed it would basically be a set up and maintenance thing. well, i was wrong, oh gourd i was wrong. for one thing, they want to be selling (cheap) lingerie, which makes it somewhat awkward, as the main product before adding in the wigs etc. i need to retake all the pictures of the stock because for some reason they can't be the same as on their main website. but what has kept me entertaining the idea is that it's an equal partnership, a third of it will me mine, a whole third. yes it is an investment in a product which i doubt will be as, how do you say, overly successful(?), but it's a third. "hi my name's Frances and i own a third of an internet company". well company might be an exaggeration, but the third isn't! aha aha ha... ahh... i probably don't know what i'm getting myself into. setting up the banking account tomorrow as well as taking a million photos playing around with camera settings, i'm certain the camera preview screen is lying to me...
well that's my bout of public journaling done.
in other news, which i feel i should write in such a place but still feels like too much information, i told my mum i was a lesbian last weekend. she took it very well, very happy for me etc. etc. but thinks i should wait to tell dad 'til other things settle down. and what is also exciting, in telling you that i told my mum, i have also informed you, which still feels odd in the "why do i need to tell you?" fashion.
anyways, peace out.

your heart is a river, that flows from your chest, through every organ, your brain is the dam, and i am the fish that can't reach the core... (lightness - Death Cab for Cutie)