Wednesday 24; February, 1999
“Woman, you’ve got too many brambles, hiding under these bushes” – ‘Cooling’ – Tori Amos
I felt so nauseous on the bus on the way into town all morning today, not in a hungover way (cos god knows I was awake long enough to sober up). I was glad that Clayton had the varsity orientation magazine which he leant to me so that I didn’t have to make conversation, because I was so not in the mood to talk.
I was late for my TV Production tutorial cos I spent a while hovering in the bathroom wanting to be back in bed for the rest of my life, so I had to sit at the front of a class that was half full of strangers. It was okay though, cos Shirley came in late too a minute later, so she sat up the front with me. We were watching some Nazi Propaganda film and the site of a screen thick with their banners just made me feel ill all over again. It’s funny because the swastika was like originally a Buddhist symbol of life or something like that, but now it’s such a symbol of hate.
Once that class was over, Shirley and I went down to the Midcity, but the movie we wanted to see wasn’t on there, so we decided to go find a paper to see when and where it was. We both also had to make Bank Missions, which I don’t really wanna write about now. Suffice to say, our rent is a week overdue, because of problems clearing money and bank shit. I was shaking once I came out of the phonebooth and telebanking, teetering on the edge of a total nervous breakdown on the main intersection on Queen Street. I’ve started this fun new thing where instead of crying properly, I just start breathing shorter and shorter until I get all lightheaded and just about faint. It’s especially funky when I’m drunk and spinning anyways. Not. So yeah, Shirley saw me and she was like “it’s okay, we’ll check back later – we’ll go take the link now and go to Newmarket”. So we did that, after finding out ‘Elizabeth’ was on at 10.50am – perfect time.
I got completly and utterly nauseous again in the opening scenes of the movie, cos the camera was at a reaaaaaally high angle, and swirled around and stuff – plus it’s never very nice watching people being burned alive. But after that, I got really settled into the movie. It was amazing. Cate Blanchet is one of the most stunning looking women I’ve seen in a long time, and she was astonishingly good in her role. Joseph Fiennes was sex on two legs – or he would have been if it wasn’t for the puffy shorts. Even Eric Cantona was in the movie – playing a French Ambassdor. As a humouress little side note, I was playing World Cup ’98 on Si’s puter the other day, being Holland (of course). I absolutely sucked at it, and Brazil so would have kept scoring on me except for the fact that the computer ran my goal keeper and kept saving my ass. That is until I somehow managed to hit enough keys so that I took over him, and accidentally made him turn around and throw the ball into my own goal. I rebooted the computer before I could hear the crowd jeer.
Okay, back to the movie. I was so inspired by her strength and stuff – as you can probably tell by the quote from the title of this page “I am not your Elizabeth. I am no man’s Elizabeth”. It was so sad and so lonely for huge big lots of it. I almost cried when she cut off her hair, and had to put up my hands to make sure mine was still there. I know that the movie didn’t make any mention of all the nasty shit she did, like burning Catholics and stuff, and apparently there was no way she could ever have had an affair but hey……….. it was dramatic license.
Shirley and I were going to take a tiki tour on the link bus back to town, only it went pretty much the way I thought it would go, instead of the way SHE thought it would go, which was through Ponsonby. So yeah, we sat at the back and giggled a bit. Getting off the bus, I nearly fell over in grand tremendous style and only saved myself by sliding around the pole like some kind of cheap tacky dancer only without the silicone and wearing a lot more and laughing louder.
Then we had to go to a Radio Production tutorial. Dee was really sad cos she got cut off from most of us Dsters when the tut got split in half, but that’s her own fault for not sitting by me (Karma). Our tutor assigned us all a talkback program to listen to – I got Kerre Woodham, 8pm-12am on Newstalk ZB, 89.4FM. I was given that one cos I told the tutor I didn’t sleep at night – she looked at me like I was a vampire or something. I listened to it for a while tonight while playing Cool Boarders 2 (god Si needs some new psx games – I go to sleep at night with snowy trails flashing before my eyes). It sucked. Talkback sucks. And I have to write a five thousand word essay on it.
What else? Hmmmmm. I met up with Simon after class, and rang telebanking but the money hadn’t cleared yet (STILL) so I couldn’t do that – fuck I PR’d the landlord when he rang last night. So we took the bus home, and I caught Si up to date on all my latest crisises. Poor wee lad. At home, both Clayton and Leyton were around, but luckily weren’t playing The Rolling Stones again like they were yesterday when I wanted to play my new Placebo album. But Simon had bought some new hideous NZ hardcore album or something, which was annoying me, as was the other boys talking about supermarket shopping and dinner plans and stuff, so I snuck off to bed, giving Si the power of attorney to make any descisions for me. I was asleep by halfway through the third track. Brian Molko’s heartbreaking voice just has such a lulling effect – sometimes.
Si made us instant pasta for dinner in the evening, which we ate in front of Shortland Street (did I mention how thrilled I am that Mike’s back?) and Friends. Doing the dishes, he made the mistake of sassing me – I had to mop the floor up after throwing so much foam at him. I’ve already mentioned the psx/talkback thing, so that’s about it.
I guess I should maybe say something about yesterday’s entry, but I don’t know what. And I don’t expect others to know what to say either – it’s okay, I understand. And thanks for the support – it means the world. Oh yeah, Isobel’s page is here. And my own little tribute to Amy is here. You’ll find similar traces and puzzle pieces scattered throughout and one day youll wonder how it came to be that you just didn’t know.