The World Of Jadeey

Songs often give very good advice. I really should listen to that advice more often.

I seem to be pretty good at this posting twice a day thing recently...

Kat won't let me watch any more Heroes tonight; it's still to early for bed; I'm bored; I'm restless. So, I'm going to tell you a story.

There was a girl. She was a nice enough girl, pretty ordinary. All she really wanted in life was a boyfriend. Not the most ambitious of goals but it worked for her. Right from when she was a child she'd dreamed of her wedding day, she thought it would make her complete. Even though the world had moved past the days where woman had to stay home and look after the kids, be the homemaker, this girl hadn't. That was what she wanted in life. That was all she wanted.

One late Saturday afternoon when the girl was 17 she admitted to her parents that this was her goal. They had been talking to her about university and what she wanted to study. She was their only child and they expected big things from her, doctor, lawyer, astronaut, something great. Understandably they were upset when she told them she had no intention of going to university. Instead she was going to go out and find herself a man, marry him and have his babies.

For the rest of the year following the girl's revelation to her parents about her future they tried to talk her out of it but to no avail. The girl would not be persuaded. This was what she wanted out of life and they could like it or lose her It was their choice.

Unable to accept her decision, or perhaps just not believing she was serious, the girl's parents refused to give her their blessing. On her 18th birthday, newly graduated from high school the girl left, planning never to return. She didn't have much money but she was sure it would not take her long to find the man she was looking for. Afterall, it was her destiny.

Six months later the girl was flat on her back as a fat, balding, smelly man grunted and sweated on top of her. Becoming a prostitute was never the girl's intention, she had sort of just fallen into it. So set in her belief that she would not ever have to have a job because a man would save her, she had refused to look for a job even when the little money she had ran out. Alone, starving and sleeping on a park bench she had been unable to conjure enough resistance to say no when a man approached her and offered her money for sex. She made two hundred dollars that evening and all she had needed to do was lie there while he used her to satisfy himself. She had been able to have a proper meal and sleep in a motel for the first time in a week.

The girl rationalised to herself that this wasn't really a job, she wasn't giving up her dream, her destiny. She didn't do any of the work, she always just lay there while the men satisfied themselves. She may not have been paid as much as other, harder-working, street-workers but it was enough for her and left her with the delusion that she didn't have a job.

It didn't take long for the girl to get into trouble. One night a man decided he didn't want to pay for sex, he just wanted to take it and not gently either. The girl tried to resist, tried to insist that he pay her. Her resistance angered the man and spurred him on. He started to hit her, to rip at her clothes and to take her by force. The man was far bigger than the girl and he would win, she knew that although she still tried to fight.

Just as the girl had given up hope, had come to the realisation that this was going to happen whether she liked it or not, she heard a voice yelling out for the man to stop. Her vision was blurry as the blood from a cut on her head leaked down into her eyes so she could not see what the new man looked like. She liked the sound of his voice though. It was familiar somehow, it made her feel safe and warm. The girl felt a weight life off her as the new man pulled the first man off her, throwing him to the ground as though he weighed nothing. This man, with his safe sounding voice was a real-life hero. Her real-life hero.

The safe-voiced man held her gently and murmured something in her ear. She couldn't understand the words he was saying, it was all just nonsense but, like his voice, it made her feel safe and warm. He took a cloth, perhaps it was his sweatshirt, and gently wiped the blood from her face. Her vision became clear and she saw her rescuer clearly for the first time. In that moment she realised she really was safe, she wouldn't have to work on her back while she waited for a man to come along and take care of her. He would look after her until she was ready to look after herself. He was here. Her dad.

~~~

Okay so that was weird. No idea where that came from. I just started typing with absolutely no plan in mind to see where it would take me. It's something I do from time to time as a writing exercise. I just start writing a story with no ideas at all in mind. I'm not allowed to stop until I am finished and am not allowed to take more than 15 minutes. It sort of frees up my mind and leaves me ready to concentrate on whatever I'm actually working on. (Although usually I don't publish the results - after reading this can you blame me?) Forgive all spelling and grammar mistakes, I do not go back and edit anything. Also forgive the lameness of the story. Once I have typed a sentence I do not change it. And no, this story does not reveal some reverse Oedipal-complex, she's not going to marry her father. To me my dad is a hero and I'm guessing that feeling just came out as I was typing.

Labels: writing

It's very windy today. So windy, in fact, that my outdoor table collapsed itself and flew a few metres to the right. Needless to say I haven't bothered trying to go for a bike ride. I'm not certain I'd even move if I tried riding into the wind. And riding with the wind? Ha, I wouldn't even have to peddle. I've lost all my energy on this medication anyway. Even getting out of bed is proving a huge effort at the moment. Stupid kidneys.

I feel like going out and getting totally trashed. I know I'm not supposed to drink but right now I don't care overly much about that. The idea of getting blind drunk and just forgetting, for an evening at least, some of the stuff that is bugging me sounds endlessly appealing.

I've been watching the Ashes for a bit today and Australia are doing it nicely. England are 3 wickets down chasing another 530 odd runs. They're certainly never going to win and I imagine only rain will save them from defeat.

I was supposed to clean my room this weekend but unfortunately more fun options kept presenting themselves so my room is still an appalling mess. (Bear in mind that gouging out my eyes with a pen is a more fun option to me than cleaning my room so it isn't really surprising that it didn't get done.) However, I did have a dream last night that I cleaned it. It was so very tidy. Kinda disappointing when I awoke this morning to find it still a mess.

I'm also supposed to go and do the food shopping which is another thing I'm currently avoiding. Sometimes I enjoy the supermarket but I don't think today will be one of those times. It doesn't hold quite the same appeal when you basically have to stick to the fruit and vegetable part.

Hmmm clearly I don't have a lot to say. Hehe probably because I have done absolutely nothing productive this weekend. It's been fantastic. I went into work for 2 hours yesterday morning and have avoided the place since. Nice.

Below are a couple of short stories I wrote ages ago. I thought I'd post them again, just because. The first one I think may already be on here somewhere but I've edited it a wee bit since then. The second is pretty true to my initial relationship with Sam. (Uh, not the Sam who posts comments on here, a Sam who is long since out of my life.) It is also the story which my very first proper film was based on.

Both were written in a very short period of time and not really edited all that much so they are both pretty rough. But, that's why they are getting posted on here, because I'm never going to do anything else with them.

The Boy

The sound of gunfire faded and the smoke began to clear. For a brief moment there was total silence. Not even the sound of birds chirping could be heard. The silence of death. Then, all at once, the silence was shattered. A woman’s cry rose up; the horrible, devastating sound of a mother in denial at the death of her child. Anguished cries and calls for help built in force until all memory of the silence was erased.

The boy stood still and stared out over the bloody battlefield. He was far too young to have been involved in a war. He should have been playing soccer with his friends, not killing people. But, killing was his fate and he had done it well. His side had won. The war was over. Generations filled with hate, with blood. It was over. Finally.

A man in an official uniform came over to check on him, but the boy paid no attention. He could not tear his eyes off the horrible, bloody scene around him. A father, holding his little girl in his arms, her body still and lifeless. A child, no more than five years old, crying over her mother’s dead body. A husband, trying to get near his hysterical wife as she tries in vain to get their son to wake up, he will never wake again. A father, lifting a soldier’s body off his twelve year old daughter, she died from the same bullet as the soldier while he raped her. A wife weeping over her husband’s body, he had died to save her. A family with no-one to cry for them because they all died together. A bloody massacre.

The boy cried for all of these people. He cried for himself and for those he had lost, for those he would never know, for those he would never again talk and laugh with, for those who were so filled with hate they started the war that killed these innocent people. There was no bravery, no pride in his eyes. All that was there was sadness. Sadness for a world gone mad, a world where a boy had spent his childhood training to kill people, a world where that same boy had just completed that mission and had killed. He had killed for a reason he didn’t understand, he had killed because that’s what he had been told to do. His instructions had come from adults who should have known better, who should not have sullied children with their own bloody battle.

His body was still that of a boy, but his innocence had been taken away from him. Never again would he laugh with his friends. Never again kick a ball just for the sheer joy of being young. It was his fate; his fate to live while others died. The war outside was over, he was alive, but not unhurt. A war still raged within him. For the rest of his life this scene would never leave him, it would haunt his dreams. The war itself was over but its effects would last forever.


My Dark Haired Adonis

My dark haired Adonis; I watch him as I sit at my desk. I know I’m supposed to be paying attention to the lecture but he is in my line of vision and he’s all I can think about. He stretches his arms and shifts a little in his seat, completely oblivious to my eyes on him from three rows behind.

He rakes his hand through his dark hair as I watch, leans a little to his left and props his head up with his hand. The minutes tick past and I watch as he idly twirls a pen between his fingers. I wonder what he is thinking about. Perhaps his thoughts are of a girl? I can’t even possibly hope that he is thinking of me.

The lecture ends and we all amble out the door. I lose sight of him in the throng of people outside the lecture theatre. I wander aimlessly, wondering how to occupy my time until my next class. I know I should study but the only thing I want to think about is him, my dark haired Adonis. I don’t know what it is but there is something about him, something that makes me unable to get him off my mind.

The hallways are quiet, most people are at lunch or in class. I am deep in thought as I round the corner and do not notice the figure coming towards me. I look up just in time and my heart skips a beat when I realise it is him. He smiles at me, the sort of smile you give someone you recognise but either are not sure where from or you just don’t care enough about to grace with a spoken word. My brain locks up and he is gone before I have a chance to think properly. Did I smile at him? I think I did but cannot be sure. With my luck if I did smile it probably came out as more of a grimace than a smile.

My weekend passes slowly but finally Monday comes and it is time for class, one of the ones that he is in. I head towards the classroom, hoping I will see him today. He does not come very often anymore. I tear my mind away from the thought that perhaps he has a girlfriend that he is spending the time with. Three days a week I have classes with him and I always go hoping to see him. If he is there my attention is distracted by his presence, if he is not there my attention is distracted by his absence, wondering where he is. Either way I cannot win.

He does not come to class today so I sit in misery. I try to concentrate but it is in vain, my thoughts continue to be plagued by him. I console myself with the thought that tomorrow we have our compulsory class, the once-a-week class where I know I will see him.

I am right, and when tomorrow comes, he is already in the room when I arrive. I am early and there is no-one else in the room yet, just the two of us. Do I dare sit beside him? I gather all of the courage I possess and place my books on the desk beside his.

He flashes me a grin as I sit down. “Hi Tess. Do anything exciting over the weekend?”

His voice sends shivers down my spine and it takes a second before I become aware of his words. When I do I start a bit. He knows my name? I finally remember to answer him, hopefully before my silence becomes too obvious.

“Not really. You?” Not the most original, or even interesting, conversation but the best I could manage under the circumstances.

“No. I had a big assignment due yesterday so I had to spend the whole weekend on it. Pretty sad actually.” His smile is rueful as he tells me this.

I am spared from having to come up with a response by another person arriving. The new person takes his attention away from me and I regain the ability to breathe properly. The rest of the class passes uneventfully and I pack my things slowly at the end, hoping to leave at the same time as him. He is in my next class and I can’t help hoping we can walk there together. Or, if he is not going to class, maybe I can see where he goes instead. My plan is thwarted when he tells the tutor he needs to discuss something with her.

I leave and walk on my own towards the lecture theatre. As I wait for the elevator I see him, but he walks past, obviously he has decided not to attend the lecture today. I contemplate following him but decide against it, unable to bear the idea of him seeing me and realising I am following him.

I sit tiredly in my seat but feel quite proud of myself for coming even though I know he will not be here. The lecturer begins to talk and I take notes but am not really paying attention. I cannot stop thinking about our conversation earlier, if it even rates as a conversation. He knew my name. He actually knew my name! I calm myself down by telling myself that he probably just has a really good memory and remembers everyone’s name.

I hear the door open but for once I do not look up to see who is entering. As the person approaches the seat beside mine I glance up and to my surprise it is him. He takes the seat beside me and for a moment I cannot breathe. I turn to him and nod slightly in acknowledgement, he nods back and pulls out his books. For the rest of the class I am completely oblivious to anything but him, he smells wonderful and his scent invades my nose, making thinking far too difficult for me to bother with. Somehow I manage to continue taking notes, if only to make sure he is not aware of the distraction he is causing me.

The lecture ends and he rises from his seat. I stand too and put my books into my bag. I am determined to leave the class at the same time as him this time. But, instead of leaving he starts to talk to someone behind us. He sits on his desk with his feet on his chair, effectively blocking that exit. With a sinking heart I realise he is not planning on leaving yet and I cannot stay without looking suspicious. I turn to my right but find that the girls there are still sitting in their seats talking, they do not seem to have any intention of leaving just yet either.

I turn back towards him, I know I should just say excuse me and get him to move his legs so I can get past but my shyness overtakes me and I am unable to say anything. Instead I just stand there goofily, wondering how long the stupid girls on my right are going to continue talking. I wonder if he is aware of my predicament and wonder how he could possibly not be. But, if he is, why does he not move out of my way? Finally, after an eternity, the girls on my right pack up and leave. I am so relieved I scurry away without a backwards glance, cursing myself for not making conversation with him when I had such a good opportunity.

Two days pass by and I am running late for class. I glance at my watch just before I enter the room and notice with relief that I made good time across campus and the lecture won’t have started yet. I push open the door and glance up to find a seat. I find myself looking straight into his eyes, he is standing in the aisle and must have looked up to see who was coming in. Our eyes connect before he looks back to the person he was talking to. My shoulder brushes his slightly as I walk past to a seat.

I sit down and take out my books. He takes a seat as the lecturer clears her throat to begin. I smile in satisfaction as I notice that he is directly in my line of sight. I lean back in my chair silently and watch him; my dark haired Adonis.

Labels: I'm great, writing

Even when I know you're wrong.

It's true too. They do. No matter what I do. They are on my side. Cos that's what friends are for. I love that I can tell my friends anything and they'll just support me. Even if we all know I am totally in the wrong. They'll tell me I'm wrong but they will be on my side anyway. That's neat. I hope I do the same for them.

My cat is being very cute but very annoying right now. He is lying across my hands as I try and type. He loves me lots. :)

So, I was on the bus today for an hour on my way into town for work. I used to read on the bus but now I find it so much more fun to just watch people and make up stories for them. I got some good ones today!

Story 1
I was standing waiting at the bus stop. I could see the bus coming, in front of it there was a van and a blue car. The blue car (with a woman driving) was in the front and it suddenly pulled over to the kerb right before the bus stop. (and I mean suddenly, no indicating or anything.) The van (with a man driving) swerved in front of the blue car and pulled to a stop right in front. As soon as the van swerved in the blue car pulled back into the traffic (again without indicating and DIRECTLY in front of the bus). The van followed suit and the bus had to slam on its breaks due to all of this stupidity.

What I think happened
Van Man is actually a drug runner. This morning he had a very early morning meeting with Blue Car Woman, a desperate woman who needed something to keep her going. She has so much going on in her life with her high-powered job and taking care of the kids. Not only that but her husband is a tosser who believes the cooking and cleaning is womens work, so Blue Car Woman has to keep the house clean and have dinner on the table by 7pm every night.

Blue Car Woman told herself she just needed a fix to get her through the day. She had a huge meeting that she had been up all night preparing for. Then this evening it's little Timmy and Tommy's school play so she won't even be able to get an early night. So Blue Car Woman called Van Man, she got his number from a friend on the internet.

When Blue Car Woman got there she suddenly realised she had left the cash she got ready to pay with at home. She knew she needed the stuff, she couldn't get through this damn day without it, so she panicked. She took the drugs and ran, jumped in her car and started to drive.

Van Man was faster than she had expected and leapt into his van to pursue her. After driving around for a while she realised she wasn't getting any further in front of him and she needed to do something else. She decided to pull to the kerb, hoping he would have to keep going and that traffic would stop Van Man from being able to turn around and come back after her. Again Van Man thwarted her plan and was too fast, pulling in right in front of her.

Blue Car Woman pulled in front of the bus, once again hoping someone out there would give her a helping hand and create enough traffic that Van Man wouldn't be able to pull in after her. But no-one was on her side, because who would be on the side of a drug-taking mother? So, instead of traffic stopping Van Man, he was quick off the blocks and kept up the pursuit. This was clearly not going to end until one of them ran out of petrol. So who does fate prefer? A drug-taking mother or a drug runner? Well, we may never know.

Story 2
There was a woman, she must have been in her mid to late fortys. She was riding a scooter down the road, not down the footpath but down the road. On a road where the cars were easily doing 50kph. And I don't mean on a motorised scooter either. It was one of those scooters where you have to push yourself along with your leg. One of those scooters that you generally only see kids on.

What I think happened
Scooter Woman has been single a long time. Every time she meets a guy and thinks he is 'the one' he turns out to be a loser who hurts her in some way. She's dated two druggies, an in-the-closet gay guy who then came out of the closet right before their wedding day, a guy who hit her, three cheaters and a narcissistic man-child who actually really does suffer from the Oedipus Complex.

Finally, on her forty-third birthday she met the perfect man. Her friends had talked her into trying speed-dating and there he was, the perfect guy. Perfect Guy actually really was perfect and they dated for two years before he finally proposed.

Scooter Woman, like every woman, panicked as her wedding drew closer and decided she desperately needed to lose weight. She tried the gym but found that she hated it and didn't often go. She still wanted to lose the weight so needed to find some other exercise to get the weight off. Swimming was out, she didn't want to get into togs, and running was out because she would run for 30 seconds and then just walk.

One Saturday, just as Scooter Woman was beginning to give up on ever losing weight, she was at Perfect Guy's sister's house for brunch and was watching her future nephew-in-law playing with his scooter. That was it, she thought, here was the answer.

So Scooter Woman went out and bought herself a scooter. She then took it to the road and got scooting. This was it - she did it every day and loved it.

Unfortunately, this story does not have a truly happy ending. Oh yes, she kept it up right up until the wedding and lost all the weight she wanted to. The unfortunate part? Rather than changing which leg pushes her along, Scooter Woman kept using her left leg. So, at her wedding she was beautiful and skinny but with abnormally developed muscles in her left leg and totally under-developed muscles in her right leg.


There was a third story but I've forgotten what happened cos too much time has passed. I'm very sorry about that.

On my bike ride today I almost crashed into a poor woman. She was under the bridge, facing away from me and standing with her arms in the air. I couldn't figure out what she was doing but she wasn't in my way so I wasn't overly bothered. I was speeding down the hill and suddenly she started to dance. She still wasn't facing me and spun herself right into my way. Thankfully I managed to brake and swerve out of the way and didn't crash into her. But man, it gave me a fright and a half!

I went to the supermarket to get the vegetables for dinner (wearing my shorts and movie t-shirt cos I biked there). In the supermarket I saw my ex. Gutted that I wasn't exactly looking good when I saw him, what with the shorts (revealing hideously white legs) and baggy, geeky t-shirt. Not to mention the helmet hair!

Now, we all know I've had a million and one terrible relationhips. I seem to invite people who treat me badly (Oh - kinda like Scooter Woman, well not as bad as her guys though). This guy was one of the bad ones. He cheated on me. I forgave him. He cheated on me again 3 weeks later with someone else.

I would have preferred to have been looking sensational (well as sensational as I can) so that he was upset about what he lost. Haha instead he probably thought he had a lucky break!

That's it for today. I have plenty more to write but I've just realised how long this is getting. I bet no-one bothers to read this far!

Labels: cycling, random, writing