i'm thinking of dyeing (dying! heh) my hair red again. red hair makes me happy. but then again, my hair would frizzle out and die leaving me on the verge of baldness. i seriously have horrible hair, but as the whole Dove movement says..."be comfortable with your own hair"- or something around that message, i don't know the exact phrasing. i do think it's about time i embrace my untamable mane. no more salon nonsense - such a waste of money. i won't give up my blow-dryer though, that is one thing (amongst other things) the girly-girl in me must have.

--------------------------------

i'm currently working out the foundation of my story for my fiction writing class. i adore that class. pity it won't be graded though. you see, in order for me to even attempt (or pretend) to write a creative thesis (meaning either a collection of short stories or poems, a novel, creative non-fiction blah blah blah) i need to take an extra 6 units of creative writing over and above my stipulated course units. so i'm currently auditing a graduate class in fiction techniques (or whatever they call it). it's extremely intimidating to be surrounded by MFA (Master in Fine Arts) students. all of a sudden, expectations rise way too much and suddenly i find myself drowning in self-doubt. am i really good enough for all this? i'm not sure. but despite the answer i give myself, i still love saturdays (the class falls on a saturday). i can't help loving something that makes me doubt myself. it's a great relationship, it really is.

one good thing about all this though is that the class makes me feel so much younger than i really am. seriously, you should try sticking yourself in a room full of older (i didn't say OLD) people and automatically you'd feel years younger too. especially when you're as tiny as me. now i know why some people just adore volunteering in those old folk's home (mean - i know).

anyways, i've decided to name my character Bobert Whitbread (that's not a typo, it really is Bobert). that name cracks me up. i burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles whenever i say it out lout. Bobert darling is my new weiro. he's too old for Ali though. who's Ali? she is cementation - thus the blog URL.

"My name is Bob. I wasn’t always called Bob though. My first day of kindergarten had me wearing a tag which read Bobert Whitbread. It was in black ink – everything’s always in black ink – scribbled ever so meticulously by Miss Sharon. Her last name's really Gordon but she said Gordon made her sound like a guy..."

i'm still working on it. i dreamt it up last night while i lay in the dark. it takes me awhile to sleep. anyways, so far i have the first few paragraphs and the last sentence. i think i'll attempt to shape this into a short story. i'm bad at writing short stories, it never sounds complete. it reads more like an excerpt from a novel. i'm too wordy for my own good, whoever bothers to edit me will die.

i also think my writing voice is weird. weird is good but sometimes (read: most of the time!) i envy those who write in beauty - those annoyingly fluid sentences that makes you just want to stab the author in the eye. stab stab stab.

(again, i need to learn to embrace myself. embrace embrace embrace.)

i should have a writting buddy. someone to crtique my work until i cry.
anyone want to read anything?

i have a feeling that my tenses are all over the place. whatever.

P.S : i don't see the point of my tagboard. i should take it down. maybe some other day when i feel bothered enough...