Random

Moving out

Since the first of February I have found a room in Utrecht. I can start moving in from the 13th of February, so that is pretty soon! The size of the room is quite good and the view is perfect. I am now looking for inspiration to furnish the room with the little money I have. Today I got some very old fashioned furniture, and it's lovely. I like cleaning and polishing the stuff!

Some inspiration:

I just took into consideration that I have an enormous amount of books, clothes, and just stuff in general. On the one hand it is annoying to be quite broke when moving out but on the other hand, the outlook of visiting secondhand stores on a quest for pretty things is good!

Also, I turned 21. Hurray!

A compliment that made my day II

The huge psychiatric organisation in Utrecht where I applied for a job called me this morning.

Due to cutbacks they unfortunately did not have a place for me, but the lady informed me that for a psychology student, I had loads more of practical working experience and she could see that I could work hard in health care, something other psychology students usually would not do. They now knew who I was and I definitely had to call back in March for a summer job.

This is the first time I experience that I have some serious advantage from my past job and I feel so happy that I get recognition from mental health care professionals for working my ass off the whole year. It is a bit pathetic how much this boosts my self-confidence, but it is so good to finally see that all the times I had to skip parties, going out, gigs and whatever, all the times I was mopping up urine from the floor, not being able to see my (now ex) boyfriend, all the times I had a backache from lifting hundred- kilo people, and worst of all, all the times I had to iron clothes,  pays of.

Antichrist

I just finished watching the  movie Antrichrist by Lars von Trier this morning.

I am still a bit in doubt whether I liked to movie or not. It was not as scary as I expected it to be. Acutally, the reviews said it was gory and bloody but personally I did not think so. And when it comes to movies, I am a serious sissy.

Anyway, one thing I definitely loved about the movie were the shots. Especially when the woman was going into some hypnosis-like therapy performed by her husband, the pictures were gorgeous. I just wanted to share a couple of screenshots first.

There are some things I would like to note. The screenshots I posted here are all filmed in slow-motion. It looks kind of like a painting or photograph I would adore. Also, there are only two main characters and apart from their toddler who falls out of the window at the beginning of the movie, there are no other actors. Also, the movie lacks music. Apart from an aria by Händel in pro- and epilogue and one occasional background-soundtrack, you only hear the wind, the sounds of the woods and the actors talking. The actors are fantastic by the way (Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbough) and the movie would have failed completely without the great acting.
And then the commotion about the movie. Apparently, there has been a lot. I do not really see why. Yes, there is nudity, sex and masturbation, and the camera does not turn away when the woman puts a large screw in her husbands leg or cuts of her genitals with a scissor. But I don't get the commotion this film causes in a world where the majority of people watches movies like Saw or Hostel. I find the violence far from grotesque and I would be unfair to put off the movie as a tasteless horror. In sum: I found it enjoyable to watch, it provoked a little disgust in me on occasion but most of all: it is eyecandy.

A compliment that made my day

"You dress like you are not bothered by fashion and just do whatever you like"

Confession

After waking up this morning I was showing my dad a surfing video filmed at the Irish coast. 

Then I realised my ongoing headache and moody behaviour might actually be caused by being homesick. I miss Ireland. I'd never fully admit it but I miss going out on Sunday mornings to return in the evening, all covered in mud, cold, tired and unable to walk another single meter. I miss drinking a bottle of Jack and feel absolutely shit the next morning. Or even more embarrassing: feel nothing at all because I'm getting used to it. I miss the cracks and the holes in the pavement on the way to University trough Castletroy. I miss the awful grocery shopping at Aldi. And I miss the people (and yes, someone in particular. A lot.)

I have been walking my dog every day now for a long time, and that is nice, but long not as satisfying as the hiking. I was talking to my dad this morning and I might just go away in April. Do some hillwalking somewhere. I have to get out.

It is Friday night, I should be getting dooown.

But instead, I am annoyed by my headache which I have for about a week now and therefore, locking myself up. I should be writing job applications but I am drawing an octopus. I am wondering if leaving Ireland has affected me more than I would admit.

Singsong

Music by singer-songwriters is excellent music to listen to if you want to be a little alternative but can't stand electric guitars or when you just want to get into a depression.

Occasionally I come across a singer-songwriter that I like but usually I find them whiny and just want to punch them in the face, tell them to get the fuck over it and be a man. Because they are usually men. Skinny men with dark weary eyes and at least fifty percent of them has a beard. I do like composers with dark weary eyes and beards, but then they are from Poland and compose classical music about the holocaust. They lock themselves up in cellars and are usually long dead, by suicide.

No, then the singer- songwriter. He starts of his career as Bringer of the Nagging Song in his late twenties (because before that age you cannot grow a full beard). His name is usually pretty long and difficult and he has to be grateful to YouTube for giving suggestions when you start typing, or else you will never be able to find his music.

His first album will have a short title that makes you wonder, like 'Fog'. It could also be a very long name like 'Confessions of an old one-legged man in a secret garden'. As long as it makes you wonder, it is perfect. The cover of the album should be some kind of vintage photograph of a senseless place. The singer-songwriter will receive his first fame by giving in depth-interviews at late-night radio shows and playing his first single, 'I Sail Away In My Dusty Canoe', unplugged on guitar. And us listeners will tremble with empathy because of his sad lyrics about his disturbed childhood and lonely roadtrips.

It is of great importance that you do not become too famous. For example, John Mayer, he is not underground anymore, that makes him uninteresting. This is probably because his name is way too easy for being a real singer-songwriter (he has no beard as well). Same goes for James Blunt. He has more of the dark weary eyes than John Mayer has, and he even has stubbles, but: too famous.

No, let's talk about singer-songwrites like James Vincent McMorrow (now thát's a name!). I have to admit I do like one or two songs but he is just the perfect example of the modern singer-songwriter. He is Irish, a beard, a difficult name and writes songs like 'Early in the Morning I come calling' and 'We Don't Eat'. We do not know if James is one of those pricks that phones you out of bed or might be a representative of the Anorexia Society, but at least: he makes you wonder!

Another example I stumbled upon and gave me enough inspiration to write this entry was 'Phosphorescent'. (again, thank you youtube because I had no clue how to spell it). I listened to his most popular song called Wolves. The song is about an awful childhood trauma of the singer, namely: he thinks there are wolves in his house. With an unstable voice (I already started trembling full of empathy) he brings us the following lyrics:

They tumble and fight
And they're beautiful
On the hilltops at night
They are beautiful

Apparently, this is what Matthew Houck (that is his real name. Good undergroundy choice of artist name isn't it),  thinks about when he thinks of wolves. Wolves tumble and they are beautiful. We just forget for a moment that wolves like to tear you apart, eat your guts and will drool on your heart while doing so, and will sniff your genitals when they are done with you. No, wolves just tumble around a bit on hilltops at night. The singer- songwriter reduces the wolf to something with the same reputation as a hamster, in exactly the same way he replaces good lyrics with unbearable poetry, 'what-the-hell-is-he-talking-about' or just plain bullshit.

But worst of all, he changes feelings towards bearded men from fear and admiration to empathy and pity, by replacing their axes by guitars. Where are the times bearded men with guitars used to be named Kerry King and instead of complaining about their traumas, traumatized us by yelling: God Hates Us All!- ?

Wake up wake up

Those moments where you wake up in the morning, you find yourself lying frozen in your bed, and you finally realise you have been dreaming. Thank God. But your nightmare has been so upsetting you feel exhausted, even after sleeping for eight hours.

It happens every once in a while. Bad dreams, serious bad dreams. When I wake up I find out I have not been moving a long time or that I have been crying in my sleep. I have no clue where they come from, I am a very happy and lucky girl in general. When I was younger I used to have troubles with falling asleep because I was scared. The past years I sometimes had panic attacks. Had my bad and my better times. I even had a period about a year ago I was having nightmares every night and I became a little nervous about going to sleep. But I had almost no problems with sleeping anymore since I moved to Ireland and came back again.

And tonight again. A nightmare where I have been so scared and upset that I still feel like I need to recover from it. Luckily I have the sweetest little brother ever who is now making me tea. The sun is shining and I will go for a run afterwards. Because in the end, it was only a dream.

Mooore pepper!

Have been drawing most of my spare time today. Not that I am good at it, but who gives a shit.