Want a piece of PIE?

PIE zine's first issue is out now - I got mine in the mail last week (yay!).
And I think it is quite awesome, with a load of pretty photography, amazing illustrations, and a great list of contributors (cough, me, cough, page 31, coughhhhhhhhhh).

It's three bucks on Etsy. And certain cool stores are selling them, too.
So lovely people in blog-land, I suggest you take a minute to check it out :).

http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=43217495&ref=cat1_gallery_11

Mmmm, PIE... nom nom nom

The Screech of Grinding Teeth.

I've developed a new habit.

I've been waking in the morning with this terrible, paralysing feeling of stress. Every morning. And I can't figure out why. I wake, tense and un-rested, with the urge to cry out - about what, I'm unsure. But it's an overwhelming feeling, as if I've ruined something that cannot be fixed.

I wish I could tell you my new habit was some pleasurably naughty addiction like coffee or cracking my knuckles. Instead, i'm giving myself stomach ulcers over imaginary dilemmas.

I don't know, maybe I need to take up Tai Chi or meditation or something...

Look what I made!

Since returning to uni, I decided that instead of storming about the house red-faced and all crazy-like due to a lack of space to study, I would make myself a place to study. And that I did.

So, after a day throwing dog food, soccer balls, old slippers and building tools out of my family's 'junk room', and a day scrubbing the floor clean, AND another day re-furnishing the room - with the help of Ikea - I was left with a study all to myself.

: ) <- me

I've got a plant and all.
Haha, it's nothing flash. The desk is some faded blue-grey, it's cracked and people have carved their names into the paint, the blinds are stained and teal - enough said, and the sun tends to hit the window I face when sitting so I can't really see the computer screen. BUT it still has a homely feel to it, it's quiet and private, and did I mention I have a plant?

All stops to Hornsby

You were sitting in the seat across from mine, to my left. Dressed in black, tight black pants and brown suede boots cut the the knee - the kind with a pointed front and stiletto heel. You sat with one foot folded underneath you and the other stretched out to the floor. You sat slovenly, leaning onto your bag that sat to your side so no-one could occupy the seat it took.  I hate when people do that.

You punched numbers into your phone, calling the people you spoke to by 'darl' or 'babe' or 'hun'. There was a harsh undertone to your voice, behind all the artificial name-calling. It made the word 'babe' sound like a threat.

I heard you. The whole carriage heard you.

You crowed into that phone, and let out, or pushed rather, a laugh onto all those within earshot. That laugh was pushed out onto us like a justification.

I judged you. I'm sorry. I heard you and thought to myself, 'Far out, I do not want to be that'. I was not expecting it. This feeling just snuck up and slapped my across the face. You spoke about sex, and people you don't care about, and your period... I felt a little embarrassed for you. Understand that I'm not questioning your right to commitment-free sex, nor am I insinuating a lack of class here. I am not the type to get all worked up because someone says the word 'boob' in public. But a merely a care-free woman, you are not. The way you showboated to the entire carriage made me a little sad for you. For that too, I'm sorry. 

You know, as a boarded the train I was given the impression that you hated whomever 'love' and 'honey' were, because of that harsh edge to your voice. But as I stepped off, near the end of the line, I realized that maybe it was you you weren't so fond of. Maybe you envied 'babe' and 'darling'...

And that was about the only thing you didn't mention.