I've been thinking about these lyrics a lot lately. Other than being so well-written, they're just so apt right now:

There are times that I should try, 
To be so much more alive 
But if time was right then I would be with you again 
Or do you worry that I try to avoid the point 
And then deny 
The time I spent deciding it was you again 

It`s when I live in a hiding place 
It`s the only way I feel safe 
When I`m safe in a hiding place 
(That`s not hidden now) 
I`m safe in a hiding place 
It`s the only way I feel safe 
When I`m safe in a hiding place 

And you`re full of facts 
But not things that could add up to words 
Think about meaning more as an after word 
As in afterward 

I return but don`t remain, 
I`m impatient for a reason 
To complain about winter making me see through again 
Or is it your damaged reply, 
That makes me realize that 
The more I try 
The less that plans will help me comprehend again 

So I live in a hiding place 
It`s the only way I feel safe 
When I`m safe in a hiding place 
(That`s not hidden now) 
I`m safe in a hiding place 
It`s the only way I feel safe 
When I live in a hiding place 

And you`re full of facts 
But not things that could add up to words 
You think about meaning more as an after word 
And you`re full of facts 
But not things that could add up to words 
You think about meaning more as an after word 
As in afterward

I joined Twitter because I was curious (about who I knew was on there, who might join etc), but mostly for mini doses of wit from people like Agent M or Wil Wheaton, and for news/updates on some bands I liked. Two in particular stood out to me: Trent Reznor and Amanda Palmer, mostly for the surprise of the former revealing any innermost thoughts at all, and for the latter to be so open and welcoming of sharing photos, updates and her own thoughts.

Then it suddenly started to go downhill. For the record, I have been a NIN fan since my mid-teens, but I never (and still don't) have a crush on Trent Reznor. With that out of the way, you can take at face value the fact that I cannot stand to hear so many cloying, sickeningly syrupy updates on his love life. ("Now that I'm in love and gone all soft on you, can anyone recommend any romantic comedies? Got a weird urge.")

The woman in question is a singer in a band, and out of curiousity (again with the misguided curiousity) I took a peek at her updates. Almost all of them were concerned with the expensive things she was buying, the hotels she was staying at, the expensive technology she was using and the expensive food she was eating ("crab cakes") along with the frequent sex she was having. And then a few tweets about how she may or may not scratch her leg and exactly how she was choosing to eat nachos. In short, terrifyingly boring and hideously self-centred.

Surprisingly this is a perfect match for Trent, who has decided to bitch out his fans for voicing any kind of opinion. He's considerately used the "@" reply function on Twitter so that his near-600,000 legions of followers can use their frequent spare time to harrass, abuse and threaten these relatively defenceless individuals. This led to one user even deleting her account because Trent's tweets are posted on NIN.com, leading millions to reinflate his bruised ego. He tweeted: "Perfect example of the kind of complete parasitic delusional asshole that makes you regret fame: @[he mentions the offending fan by name].” Then: "And you’re not anonymous dear, you are [mentions her entire name, first, middle initial and surname] from Worcester with a criminal record.”

To me, this has ruined the Trent Reznor I grew up respecting as an artist. For someone who tweets "You know that feeling you get when somebody embarrasses themselves so badly YOU feel uncomfortable? Heard Chris Cornell's record? Jesus.", it seems pretty hypocritical that he can't take criticism himself. There are numerous other examples; just today someone was trying to raise awareness of over 400,000 victims of floods in Brazil with the hashtag "itsucks". Our man Trent took it the wrong way and replied "You know what else sucks? You."

It's sad but I think that says more about him than I care to know. This behaviour is like that of a spoiled child, worried that someone else (Korn, Chris Cornell, Marilyn Manson etc) is going to be a commercial threat to him, so he lashes out like an infant, using his army of followers to dish out his abuse. I'm sorry, Trent, but that's cyberbullying. Perhaps he should look up the case of Lori Drew. It's unacceptable. I would never say anything rude or disrespectful to someone I didn't know, but I can't help but comment on such ridiculous behaviour. As a popular musician he has a responsibility to use mass communication like Twitter in a, well...responsible manner. This is a gang mentality based on egoism and superficiality. Maybe he's been in LA too long.


Far less offensive is Amanda Palmer. I still love her. I think she's amazing, and the music that she creates is mind-blowingly unique. But to ask for donations for over 4 months worth of rent she owes (over $3000 total) then tweet that she's been drinking "ten glasses of wine" at a bar or making road trips to concerts in NYC and LA seems a bit irresponsible. Why should we hand her money for her own rent when she's living the high life? Until I get my work permit my mother is helping me out with money, but if she gave me money for rent and I just buggered off to NYC, she'd be pretty pissed (FYI, the two recent road trips were paid for).

She tweets about how she wishes her poor fans can go to her concerts for free and "my rich fans could pick up the tab".  Putting out a record is one thing, but asking for rent donations on Twitter seems a bit depressing. It just seems a little narcistic to expect other people to pay your way for you when you're just partying and Twittering about it. Isn't it just glorified begging? This doesn't take away from how awesome I think her music is. It just seems so egotistical when it's paired with numerous "camera in mirror" implied-nude photos.

I get that everyone has to live their lives etc but it doesn't seem right to expect a legion of Twitter followers to carry out your dirty work, whether it's cyber bullying or ponying up cash (not checks or money orders - hmm) for rent. I hate to say it, but it seems like Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher know how to use Twitter better than any other celebrities I've seen. I don't follow them, but then thanks to the aforementioned two, I don't bother using Twitter at all anymore. I'll stick with Facebook and LJ, thanks.

She has been with her boyfriend for a year, and they seem happy. They look worn-out, tired and stressed, but even after he comes out of the bathroom, he comes over to where she's sitting and rubs her shoulders if he thinks she looks tense. When all four of us are walking down the street, he holds her hand or puts his arm around her waist. Tom and I walk separately. He didn't even make an effort to pretend to look happy when we kept walking past his ex-boyfriend yesterday.

I added Tom on Facebook just to take a "How Well Do You Know Me?" quiz. I got just 80%, tying for best score. The two questions were either pertaining to his entire life before me or general stuff that he didn't talk about. He then took my quiz and got 60% (still the highest score). I felt weird keeping him as a friend, so I deleted him afterwards, as well as info about it in my profile news feed and a discussion he added to a thread on my profile. I suggested he did the same. That way his friends can talk about things uncensored without worrying that I'll butt in or be offended.

Keeping these things separate seemed like a perfect thing for me. Just like I won't pay his rent for him anymore, or share any kind of bank account or credit account. I want my dealings to be separate. If someone has a problem with him (like a neighbor), I won't have anything to do with it. His friends are not my friends, but they are such an important part of his life; they always have been and they always will be.

The sad thing about this is that it feels like I'm slowly slipping away. It's only been a little over a solid year of living together and we are already drifting apart. I noticed it when he would start to invent arguments out of nowhere (with an added twist, blaming them on me), then running off to be with his friends. He'd come back to eat or drink alcohol or sleep - i.e. things he knew were here waiting for him for free. He has one friend that regularly drops by, almost every day. He even came over on Thanksgiving.

If Tom and I are alone in the house watching TV, he won't even watch it. He will either sit on the computer and browse the internet, or play video games. It didn't used to be like this. I understand kicking back or going to hang out with a friend every once in a while, but the balance here is off. I am simply just a piece of furniture. If one of his friends says something funny, he will laugh out loud like he hasn't heard a joke in ten years. If I show him something funny, it's listless laughter, if anything. It's like he has no life in him when it comes to trying to enjoy himself with me. Even if I provide alcohol, it doesn't help. It just feels like I'm being used. After all, he believes he's entitled to using the computer I'm currently lending him.

As with most things I say, it's doubtful that he will read this, even though it's a public entry. But then, as if to spitefully prove me wrong, he might in fact just bother to skim it.

It's just sad that his friends, who have always been a fixture in his life, have been convinced with his stories to hate me or to just feel so indifferent that they will actually cheer on Facebook when we took each other off our friends lists, or outright say nasty things to me on the phone. The sad thing is is that I don't wage a hate campaign against him over the smallest thing. I've only been coming out with details of his abuse recently, because I've been fed up. But even my own friends aren't that narrow-minded to assume that someone who's been with me for 4 years would just be an unforgivable asshole. His friends have never given me the benefit of the doubt, and the sad thing is that I have to live around them, walk around town and see at least 3 or 4 of them every day, or see them in the cafés I go to or the cinemas I see movies at or the restaurants at which I go to eat.

When I go home I will be able to feel better about people who don't treat me as if I'm some virus that Tom needs to shake off. The worst part of this is is that I'm stuck between keeping out of the spotlight by being quiet and unassuming (so they'll think I'm cold/bitchy/judgemental/antisocial) or trying to interact with them (which will just mean that I'm trying too hard, or my personality will be too on display, showing how little I have in common with Tom and his friends).

His friends really are his family. And when I go home for good, they will be there to comfort him and to tell him that I was just a heartless bitch anyway, and that he will find someone way more "chill" soon.

Salem has such good small-city nightlife. It reminds me of one of the smaller arrondisements of Paris, maybe, what with all the cobblestones, cafés and fairylight-adorned trees. People smoking outside (although I and my freshly-washed hair seem to be a magnet for the smoke miasmas), charming little green areas, quaint street-lamps (not the eyebrow-shaped ones in Waterlooville)...sometimes when no-one is blaring bad '80s metal or revving their awful refabbed Honda engines, it can be easy to relax outside with a coffee under a parasolled table and pretend you're in some bohemian landscape.

There are a few bearded hippies and bespectacled hipsters that sit at this Prague-style café, and the pizza place next door (which also has its European-style delivery bicycles with wooden boxes on the back). There are a lot of charming little boutique shops and nightly tour groups. This time of year, people get outside and enjoy life. One of them even talked to me today, and said he had just noticed me wandering aimlessly. I must have looked homeless to him, because I had a big bag and my shoulders were hunched really low. I told him why I might have looked so upset. He stood on the other side of the street watching me for about half an hour. Maybe I should have kept talking to him.

Sometimes the people who think they're in some European culture hub really broadcast the kind of annoying personality that should really stay in the bigger cities, which outwardly appreciate this on a larger scale. One man is quite obviously drunk, but cannot stop repeating how much he loves Ella Fitzgerald, Louis [Armstrong] and The Manhattan Transfer, in that order, separately, together, and in all other methods of combination. They seem pleasant, but loudly appreciative for smaller towns, even on a Friday night.

It sounds like they're playing Nintendo music in there, but it must be some kind of random DJ. That also breaks the facade, so maybe that's why it's nicer to stay outside. Especially when the weather is this nice.

It's the time of year when I feel like going in sitting in the grass (probably with my computer, though), but it's also that time of year that final papers and exams are looming. Only this year these are my final ones, ever. And they're quite possibly scaring the life out of me.

I slaved over the remainders of a 4,000-word essay last night and finally turned it in a few strokes after midnight, when two hours later I realised that the two pages of bibliography forgot to include the actual novel I was discussing. I guess when I'm so stressed about the details I either miss the really important ones, or the parent details. How could I have been referencing pages in the novel but forgetting to biblio it?

Now that this stress is over I have to worry about bills. I should just adopt Tom's outlook and expect someone else to worry about it. That's the only reason he hasn't lost half his body weight and gained two black eye bags of stress hanging from his face.

I don't like being put on the defence about things, especially in an attempt to embarrass me in front of other people. This kind of manipulation is sick and twisted, but he gets to kill two birds with one stone by making himself feel better by trying to get me angry, trying to make himself feel superior by making blanket statements about what he thinks I do and don't do responsibly, and embarrass me at the same time in front of other people by trying to convince them that I'm irresponsible.

So honestly, if he manages to convince people that I'm so lazy and irresponsible, why the fuck am I wasting so much time worrying about bills and rent and cleaning the house?

Let him deal with it from now on. I have an final-degree exam and a dissertation to think about.

What a bunch of fucking, cunting, bastard twats. We ALWAYS lock the fucking door. They have a ton of parties where people stumble out drunk. Maybe THEY didn't lock the fucking door, but they still yell and slam the door when they realise SOMEONE ELSE didn't fucking lock it.

I wish a tree would fall into their apartment somehow. Or a big wad of tofu.

...Manchester-by-the-Sea, that is. Haven't quite made it back to Blighty, yet:
( not-so-great-quality-webcam photos... )

I love having everything separate from him. My Facebook, my Myspace, my Livejournal - everything is as it should be, with no ties to him or his friends. I can post freely about what I think and feel and not have to worry about someone else's little voice in the back of my head telling me I'm a liar.

I have been getting up early in the mornings and finding reasons, excuses, to just go for a walk, or sit in the Commons if it's a nice day. I love the fact that I can go out for a walk and not be pressured to come back drunk or bogged down with things I've had to buy for him.

That's the only reason he would ever want to spend time with me - if I buy him alcohol. It's not enough that I would (and have) bought him train/bus/cinema tickets, or even food at a restaurant, but I have to buy him alcohol as well. It's an unwritten rule. But, if he has too much, he becomes angry and violent.

He left today to spend time at some girl's house (he's been going over there a lot lately, and it's not hard to see what's going on). He took my computer with him. Do I therefore have the right to take something from him? I think I do. But I won't, because it's not the kind of person I am. I am not a scumbag. I don't know how.

I know how to be selfish again, making food for myself, cleaning up my own dishes, doing just my own laundry, planning trips just by myself, eating at restaurants alone, going food shopping alone, making other decisions alone, keeping my own cellphone etc. I don't need to send any kind of message, but these actions speak for themselves. I am not dependent on him for anything, no matter how much he wants me to be, because he knows it is he who is dependent on me - at least, for my finances, so he can ply himself with alcohol, of which he has extolled its medicinal virtues in soothing his "anxiety", much like his pathetic weed habit.

I was so excited to get my new glasses so early (nerd alert) - bright blue, small-ish, square and on clearance - and I've only just been wearing them for an hour and they're already pressing into the bridge of my nose. Dammit! Thanks to my crooked, bent, Wicked Witch of The East nose, it's digging into the bridge of my nose despite the fact that they're so lightweight.

Now I only have a few days left on my contacts before I have nothing with which I can see, and I have to go back there again and begin the mundane process of selecting a pair of frames from scratch. I guess I didn't realise how uncomfortable they would be because I was looking straight ahead/up when trying them on, and looking down at the computer for the past hour has either been causing them to slide completely off or press down like a vice into that stupid ethnic denty lump of bone I have. ARRG I can't stand it!

I should have known when I picked them up (yesterday) that if there were no adjustable nose pads (just little slats of plastic growing out of the sides) this would be really uncomfortable. I guess this style isn't for me, which is so fucking depressing. It's like when I try on a cap-sleeved blouse and realise my giant man-shoulders are having their circulation cut off by deigning to wear such dainty, feminine attire. Same goes for any shoes ("Nice shoes. Do they make those in women's sizes?" - Amy to Leela in Futurama).

My God, I'm such a complainer. I need to take these back and look for that ever-elusive perfect pair. Whatever, at least I get my $180 back. The search continues.

So I've been sleeping and waking up at stupid times. I keep trying harder and harder to make myself go to sleep at even a dubiously decent hour (like 3am) or to wake up at a a similarly dubiously decent hour (like 12pm) but all that's happened is that I'm staying awake later and later (sometimes as late as 1pm the next day), and then I miss the real parts of the day and not get up until around 6pm. It had to stop.

So Tuesday I successfully stayed awake all night and then all day Thursday, only to decide later on that night that me and Tom should go to Manhattan to see that Topshop opening. I slept at 3am, woke at 6am and we made it to NYC on the Bolt Bus again. It was great, although a lot of things kept going wrong. We almost missed every train/bus we had to take (including missing the train back from Boston because the we had to wait 45min for food at Zen), there were some seriously snobby, mean attitudes at Topshop (which had an hour-long queue even at 7pm), it rained buckets the next day and Tom kept criticising me a lot in places to where it became borderline abusive and controlling.

But thanks to my reset button, I'll remember this trip as the night I got happily drunk with my estranged husband and found possibly the best drinks in Manhattan - at an Irish pub called Rosie O'Grady's. It was their signature martini and had strawberry tequila, vanilla vodka and Godiva chocolate liqueur. Sort of like a Nuts 'n' Berries, but way better. Tom had this strange but yummy margarita with jalapeno-infused tequila. We only left a $6 tip but the bartender was strangely excessively grateful. We were poor but we wanted to leave him a way nicer tip because he was just so awesome, really knowledgeable about the drinks and he made some really great conversation.

We did a bit of bar-hopping around Times Sq and ended up at O'Brien's, where I sort of accidentally fooled this German bloke into thinking I actually spoke/remembered German (all I could think of at the time was "Ich heisse Sara"), and also fooled the bartender into thinking I had dropped $5 into [wow - Tom-almost-yelling episode just now] the broken jukebox instead of $1. I was really sad because it reminded me so much of The Reg. Being able to impose your outdated musical tastes on people who haven't heard of the stuff you like is sort of fun.

Walking through Times Square never gets old. For some reason the blinding neon lights just cheer me up. It's like a less selfish version of Vegas. Somehow it's just...comforting. I don't know why. But I wished we could have sat on those red steps to get the view for a lot longer than we could, but we got there a few minutes before closing.

Also, the weather was eerily perfect for that one day only. Sunny, warm, and 19C. Then, bucketloads of rain the next day. But wandering is always best when it's warm. We found a good pizza joint (forget where it was but the crust was heavenly), went to the Museum of Sex where Tom could barely contain himself, then the next  day we did an express run through the Museum of Natural History, where Tom also could barely contain himself. The dinosaurs were probably the most amazing exhbiits.

It was a shame we couldn't do much else, because we were running around trying to find Western Unions and banks (my mum helped me out on this), post offices to mail late eBay packages and checking in and out of hotels (tip: don't stay at the Amsterdam Court Hotel unless you want to get yelled at for asking for ANY towels in your room, pay $15 for the internet or have a glorious view of genuine NYC rubbish in an authentic NYC alley). It was also a bit crappy that the later buses were sold out, so the latest we could leave to make a train we ended up missing was the 4.30pm bus.

So at the end of it I was soaked from rain, exhausted, my legs and feet felt flattened, stretched and sore beyond belief, and we couldn't even sit together on the bus back that had no footrests and no rest stops. And we waited the aforementioned 3/4 of an hour for food that we had to have packed immediately. But the upside was that the green tea we were told was free was "comped" by another waitress for the inconvenience of paying not to eat there. Twats. So we missed the train home that might have got me home in time to write an essay that was due hours before but I was trying to pretend that I thought it was due midnight US EST time, not BST/GMT. I took 7 hours to write it and took a $50 cab home, meaning we could have taken the 8.30pm bus (giving us more time in NY) and taken a cab home, or taken the later train and saved $40, because there was no way I was going to get that assignment done by midnight.

So I stayed awake until 6.30am writing my assignment, went to bed, then woke up at 6pm. Drat.

But, at least I tried to have a lot of fun, and enjoyed what little fun there was to be had.

The broccoli pot pie was disgusting.

Too much Simpsons-coloured cheese.

I can't believe I'm getting into sitcoms that I used to think were clichéd, ike Everybody Loves Raymond or How I Met Your Mother. I can understand why I'm watching shows that remind me of home (Black Books, The IT Crowd, Gavin and Stacey etc), but it only hit me as I was composing this post.

I'm watching these shows because they're exactly the kind of shows I used to watch before I met Tom. When I was happier. Before I became miserable. I'm even starting to get back into older shows like Friends and Frasier, shows that he successfully made me feel embarrassed to admit liking, because they weren't weird enough for him or didn't contain frequent references to pot, and only featured normal, "boring" people. That's also why he didn't like Love Actually, one of my favourite Christmas movies, because he was waiting for a transsexxual to do lines of cocaine off a rare dog who could only talk while it was on LSD or something (and don't get me wrong on how he seems to imply that transsexuals = freaks & cool, which is homophobic).

Don't get me wrong, I like my weird shows, too, mainly because I have always grown up being a weird little kid, playing dress-up and pretending I was a vampire, or reading up about witchcraft and Halloween traditions when I was eleven years old (and transcribing a book on it in class while I was supposed to be doing work). But even now as I write this, I feel as though everyone is judging me as harshly and as unevenly as he is, and that instead of posting these thoughts and feelings and streams of consciousness to my personal journal, I feel as though I should be defending myself and disclaiming myself and explaining every thing I write so it isn't taken the wrong way. It's paranoia, something he's succesfully instilled in me. I can't leave the house without wondering what other people think of me, especially if I'm walking around town with him. I don't want to be seen in public with him.

After he threw his daily tantrum (they always surprise me, yet he continues to declare that I calculate them), he left, and I inadvertently ended up with a quiet night in. A broccoli pot pie and a some lovely Irish lager are calling my name.

It seems a retraction is in order. In cleaning up my friends list I noticed Tom (aka rocksalt ) has been posting spiteful and untrue things about me. So, without fail, here is a complete list of things he has done to me in the past 4 years:( 100 ways to terrorise, abuse and torture your wife )

Tom was surprisingly not a twat today. Well...not much. He did forget that he was supposed to do some stuff today (like work and go to the grocery store), which he then threw a huge tantrum about in the mall (seriously, only children throw tantrums in the food court), then decided he was going to go anyway, then kicked me in the back of the foot on the way off the bus when I just told him to fuck off. Naturally, he was in a better mood once he realised I'd bought lager, cat food, soy milk and chai, plus other yummy foodstuffs (EDIT: the cat food was, of course, for the cats. We're not that kind of people).

I can't wait to replace all his shitty furniture. The armchair is scraped down to the wooden frame on both arms, which is painful because if you sleep on it you get a faceful of splinters. The couch cushions slip out and away like they're going somewhere if you sit on them long enough, and if you dare to sit there even longer, the bottom part sinks in as does the back, although it seems like somehow the top part (which already juts out like the Elephant Man's forehead) seems to swell forward. So...it kind of...eats you.

Aside from Skeletor the Arm Chair and the Couch that didn't quite make it into Nightmare On Elm St, the dressers and bedside tables he has are starting to fall apart. When Kyle and Charlie were moving the three things I paid them $100 to lug (leaving Tom to move everything else in our apartment), they conveniently broke everything they touched - the couch, the chair, two small drawer sets, and our coffee table.

I just hate walking down the aisles at Target and thinking I want to buy everything in that damn store from a toaster oven to an area rug. I know I want to. It would be so wrong but it would feel so right. Ha.

Spicy curries, no matter how spicy, always need salt. Especially when coconut milk and low-sodium chickpeas are involved.

I had a strange dream about Tom last night. I was walking down Essex St and saw him in CVS. He was opening packets of pasta and noodles that were all this same brand, in some kind of blue packaging. All of his hair was cut off; he looked like a toothbrush, but he still had some beard/stubble. He seemed shorter. He was stealing the pasta and getting away with it because it was the end of the day and they were closing up, and he told one of the shop assistants that he had seen two girls stealing them (they had blonde wool dreadlocks and were dressed alike, like twins).

We had a strange argument that I can't remember, but we weren't being loud. I left and came back in and said, "aren't you going to follow me?". He got confused and then told a girl with dark hair to hang on. I asked him if she was a date or his girlfriend, and he said, "it's okay, she's dating someone in NH", and that it didn't matter if he blew her off. We walked along Essex St and I told him he looked weird with short hair, and that I didn' tlike it. We ended up wandering to a beach that had an apartment that I had looked at in a dream I just had before this one. In that dream my parents and I were looking at apartments - one was isolated on a beach, the other in a big bustling city. My mother liked the beach, I liked the city because I thought it was safer. Back to this dream, Tom and I were at the beach. 

I don't remember what we talked about, but I quickly kissed him on the lips and then the dream ended. I woke up wondering why I would have a dream like that at all.

I think that I honestly hate where my life is right now.

I feel as though I have been kidnapped, thrown in a dungeon and forced to work under sweatshop conditions.

I've been trapped here by my own visa/greencard requirements, am living in an apartment with so little light I have to have the lights on all the time, and I have been forced to support two people, three cats and a varying roster of roommates who increased our bills yet never contributed to them, and doing so on a meagre salary that privlieged stay-at-home students and work-at-home-mums don't need to depend on, but I do.

And so I worked for hours and hours a day, never listening to music or barely watching a DVD, hardly venturing out and then being chastised for not doing so, or for avoiding the very people who apparently are "lining up" to "beat me to death", and not just because I'm "ugly" and look "inbred".

I've lost practically half my body weight and I look so bad that my landlord opened my fridge to check that I was actually eating. My mum's going to weep if she can recognise me whenever I next see her.

So yes, a bad day.

What an historic day yesterday. Obama was elected the 44th US President, and the nation's first black President. You can only assume that he will have a more open mind dealing with foreign policies, immigration issues and the "war on terror".

Every word in his acceptance speech was just dripping with a sense of grandeur and revolution - even in reference to his wife Michelle being the "next First Lady of the United States". It was very unreal - I'm not even a US citizen yet, but something about this presidency makes it seem more accessible - more real - of a goal to me. It sounds ridiculous, but the idea of a Democrat (and him being such a movie-type President) being in power here makes things seem just that much friendlier to other countries. Republicans seem selfish - not only just for America, but specifically for the upper classes, and their own selfish needs.

I was reading that Simon Cowell was so riveted by the election coverage that he wanted to bring a similar sense of glamour and showmanship to the UK election coverage, which seems stuffy and elitist by comparison. I've noticed that over here a lot of celebrities are encouraging people to vote; a lot of political humour is mainstream (The Daily Show, The Colbert Report etc) or parodied regularly as such (Saturday Night Live). The closest thing we have here is Drop The Dead Donkey, and that was eons ago. Here I've seen ways in which young people have been targeted - through Myspace profiles, info in magazines and blogs etc. The general public over here just seem more....involved.

And that's the problem in the UK as far as many are concerned - you don't need the glamour and glitz of US election-style coverage. You just need to disseminate the information more effectively. Make it idiot-proof so people will care about voting. It's difficult for the average voter in the UK to seek out sufficient info on potential candidiates. Maybe that's encouraging people to rely on party loyalty for voters, instead of just telling the truth. Many US voters have switched their party allegiances the more info they receive - it's just like switching utility suppliers in the UK or not renewing your lease on a flat if you've found a cheaper, better one. Looking for change is always a positive thing - but it doesn't seem to be encouraged in the UK; it's just swept under the rug attached to the simple voter's blind trust and loyalty.

The US is the laughing stock of the world, thanks to their previous ape of a President. Now that there's a different party in charge, things should only be able to get better.

It's got to the point now where there are more job response posts (ie bitchfests) than actual job listings for writers on Craigslist. The problem is that, unlike modelling/acting jobs, the scams here are less obvious. People promising acting work with a $3000 upfront investment or a modelling gig wanting $800 for test shoots (with the promise of "immediate paid work $$$") are pretty obviously things to avoid like the plague. But what it is about writing jobs is that you do all the hard work for it, and suffer when you don't end up getting paid and/or are spammed with ads from the so-called "client". The internet can make people really angry, and it's easy to see why. Even though it's just words, people can read things the wrong way, and use their physical anonymity as a way to be as loud, rude and bitchy as they want, because they think the person on the other end of that screen isn't a real person. Perhaps they should take a moment to read about Lori Drew. It seems like with all of the trolls, shit-stirrers and net-sadists online, why do people even get angry if they don't care enough about who the other person really is? It's a faceless shouting match in which no-one wins.

But in terms of writing jobs, take this past week. I was working as an editor/reviewer for a publishing company; I read their books and provided detailed reports on each novel and its strong points/weaknesses/review suggestions. I do four of these and then they decide they only want US-based writers, and they tell me in June that I would get paid mid-July. Then, they tell me they'll move me to their "international writing team" and that they'd pay me for my previous editing work in with my writing pay. Weeks go by and I have to chase up both the magazine editor for pay/deadlines/assignments (none of which she'd advised upon), and the original publishing company payroll clerk. Both of them string me along for weeks, telling me I'll get paid, etc etc. This continues even after I submit my first piece, a 1,000 word book/film comparison that took ages to write, and that I was only going to get $30 for.

I finally get annoyed and send them a Paypal invoice for the four editing books I did and a late payment fee, which I'd been advised by other writers was standard, and should apply here considering I'd been waiting over a month for pay. I then get a terse email telling me I'd been paid for the editing work (with notifications from Paypal), but that they refused to pay a late payment fee. I quote: "First, it was a miscommunication" (ie just regurgitating what I'd said to give them the polite benefit of the doubt previously), "Also, we will no longer be in need of your services. Like, g'bye and cherries! Hu-hu-heh-hyuh [stupid bimbo laugh]". Okay, she didn't do the "G'bye" thing, but she actually worded it as though she was pissed off. My stomach was pretty fucking pissed off - I took time out from my other job to do this work for them, and I couldn't even afford food!

The worst thing about that debacle was that, on top of the unprofessionalism, lazy businessmanship and sloppy organisation, the books themselves were the most godawful heaps of maggoty cow-dung I've ever had the misfortune of staining my eyeballs with. How on earth they pay their authors and charge for these eBooks, with the tackiest covers (from the School of Beginner Myspace Sparkle Photoshop), I'll never quite fathom. The very first email I got was from them saying that "the first 200 people to respond wins the job". I should have known from the start it was a complete waste of my typing fingers. Now it's starting to get iffy with another company I'm working for - the guy I've been working for has changed his email address twice, and hasn't contacted me in over a week. It's not as suspect as the other job - the guy runs a blog, and I can still log into the site, so maybe he's just busy, but thanks to such a disastrous turn of events I've now become increasingly paranoid. This is another job I took time out from my regular job to do, which is why my earnings this month was 1/3 lower than it usually is, and I'm already broke a week after being paid.

I'm back on track with my current job, and for the time being I'm just going to shove all extra work into the background. I need to face it - I'm not a writer, and I never will be.