Generalised Rage Is Enjoyable For Everyone.

Today, I would just like to vent at you. Just because. So sit back, relax, and WELCOME TO MY UNBRIDLED RAGE.

Anna Hyde's Patented List of Personal Rages

OUTFIT MALFUNCTIONS:

So. Right. I have this penchant for whorey clothing. And before you start assuming I'm some madcrazy hussy with junk in that trunk that wears bikini tops and gold hot pants with platform stilettos and dances up against Kanye in videoclips (not to say I would turn this role down if it was ever offered to me; au contraire, I wouldn't even blink, I would be there bumpin' and grindin' straight away, but that's beside the point), I am not. I am (fairly) refined (in dress sense anyway) (sometimes) (I think). But I just like sheer things. And things made entirely of lace. With rips in them. That fall off the shoulders. Which may or may not be short or low cut. And occasionally disgustingly high, lace up heels. You know.
And some of this is for figure-related reasons.
Now, I know they say there are key body types. The pear (curvy-hipped). The apple (round-bellied). I fit firmly into the Bean Pole category. That is to say, my body is comprised almost entirely of legs. I also have exceptionally long arms. Supposedly, if you measure the length of your foot against your forearm, they should be exactly the same length. I have at least an extra inch on each forearm. So you are not mistaken in thinking that I am Super Gangling Giraffe Woman of Limbs. So, in thinking that I am only legs, I decide to exaggerate this by wearing tiny, high waister skirts and heels. It's an executive decision.
The point is, with this penchant for loose/tight/sheer/lacey/torn clothing, I often find myself having, what I guess you would call, Wardrobe Malfunctions (or at least that's what they called it when Janet Jackson popped out at the Superbowl) (and shock, horror, no one's seen tits before, WHY DON'T YOU BE MORE CONSERVATIVE, AMERICA).
The point is, I have had many too-much-thigh, almost-popping-out-of-top, are-you-seeing-too-much-bra, dear-god-my-feet-hurt moments, and despite the fact that they induce extreme rage in me (and, occasionally, embarrassment) I refuse to change.
I will take my whorey clothing to my grave. Well... maybe not literally, that would be gross, and I assume I'd be old, but YOU GET WHAT I MEAN.

EXAMS:

I know you've heard it before but GODDAMN I AM SO FUCKING SICK OF STUDYING AND PRACTISING.
Today I had an exam for a subject called Music Language. Music Language is a subject on music theory.
Now. In my opinion, there are two types of musicians. There are intuitive musicians, and there are technical musicians. Now, in the grand scheme of things, I would fall into the intuitive category. That is to say, I can put dynamics and emotion and stuff into music, but technically, and in terms of theory, I kind of suck. I kind of suck generally, but whatever.
So this exam, today, went for an hour, and in it, we had to compose a chorale, and analyse a piano sonata.
To do one of these things, it takes me about three days.
By the end of the exam, with ten minutes to go, I was starting the second half of it, the score analysis, and had decided in a frantic panic of stress and hysteria, that I would just draw many, MANY boxes around various lines of music in different colours, in a crazy attempt to baffle the examiners with colours.
The end result was a page that looked like it had been scrawled on by a toddler, and made no analytic sense.
The exam was only worth 20% of my overall mark, but I still went home and gorged myself in a flurry of self-loathing.
These things happen.

PRETENTIOUSNESS:

I know this person. Let's call them Person X.
Person X and I have known each other for a while, but recently, the conversations have been going like this:
Me: How are you?
Person X: Good. I've been reading some Sartre and I really think he has some deep thoughts and great opinions about the general decline in solipsistic ideals and dualistic beliefs in the wholly ethereal view of the world as an obfuscated and parallel sphere of human disbelief.
Me: ...
Person X: Also I, like, dropped some acid and took some pills and did some mad shit, and I discovered that truth is actually, only accessible through the empty void that is the space in our hearts and minds that we can reach through another hemisphere which Schopenhaur discusses in his theory of *hissing noise of static as Anna blanks out*
Me: ....

GODDAMN IT. The thing is, when, and if, Person X happens to ask me how I am, the conversation goes like this:
Person X: So what have you been doing?
Me: Last weekend I got drunk and macked some awful guy before vomming at my friend's house, then the next day I ate an entire chocolate cake and drank a pot of coffee, then stayed up all night, shaking and trying to panic-compose a string quartet.
Person X:........... yeah, I read some really good Nietszche the other day too --- *NOISENOISENOISENOISENOISE*

Now, don't get me wrong, Person X and I are pals. But the following are my thoughts:
1. Because you take drugs, does not make you A) Cooler B) Deeper or C) more desirable or interesting.
2. The fact that you like philosophy, also does not make you the above.
3. SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE TO CRAWL INTO MY VAPID HOVEL OF MATERIAL GOODS AND OCCASIONAL DRUNKEN MISTAKES, I DO NOT NEED YOUR IDEAS ON THE WORLD OF FORMS AND PHILOSOPHICAL ETHICS CONGEALED INTO AN AMORPHOUS BLOB OF PRETENTIOUS WANKERY CAST UPON ME WITH A KNOWING STARE.
ALSO, YOUR FACE IS STUPID.
Okay, the last was a bit far, but seriously, it's not impressive.

SLEAZES:

The other week, I may have mentioned, I went on a Booze Cruise. It involved, mostly, a fairly large boat, an extensive amount of alcohol, and a bunch of music students. I learned the following things that night:
1. If someone seems like a sleaze, it's probably because they're a sleaze and they will attempt to lure you to the toilets at some point in the night for sex after plying you with alcohol.
2. Sigh.
Luckily, I came to my senses at about the point he tried to lure me to the toilets. But, in considering this, I ask you: WHAT KIND OF PERSON PROPOSES TOILET SEX TO ANOTHER PERSON THEY'VE BARELY EVEN MET?
A sleaze, is the answer.
And this is the reason I need to not be around charming men when alcohol is involved, otherwise, I will most probably make out with them, realise that it's probably a bad idea, run away for the remainder of the night, and then try and surround myself with male friends while drunkenly ranting at them that they have to pretend to be my boyfriend and not let me anywhere near aforementioned male.
WELL DONE, ME.

Anyway. This was basically a self absorbed reason to yell angrily in caps, but I hope you're doing well little bloggers.
Much love,
me.