Herstory
2002-07-30 || 12:09 p.m.

I've got lots of things I want to write about today, the problem will be whether I can collect my thoughts enough to do so.

I'm not going to talk about my depression. You know, that black, deep, nothingness, no hope, no escape depression, because that is ongoing at present.

Anyway, I've been reading 'The Road to Wigan Pier' by George Orwell. Its a strange text. Written as a piece of biting social observation its now become a historical piece. I like the transient nature of things. The way that a useful object can become an antique. Personally, I prefer to use antiques just for the hell of it but I don't have any. I do however have an elephant bank made by Arthur Wood which apparently is quite valuable and my favourite (which I use all the time) is my mum's old 1960's pyrex. God how I love it. Especially the one with the vegetables painted around the side. I even have the original lid. My mum was chucking the whole lot out. I use it because I think it should be used. If I break it one day - so what - its only an object.

But I digress.

'The Road to Wigan Pier'. I quite admire George Orwell for his attitude (even if 1984 is the singularly most boring book ever written, well second only to 'The Owl Service' and 'Lord of the Flies')but that's me taking things out of their cultural context and imposing my own mindset on them - unforgiveable.

Anyway, it got me thinking about white middle class males and how they have owned history for ever. When I was at school all we ever did was political history and I HATED it. My teacher had a BIG file and dictated from it endlessly. When I got older and did my degree I did social history. But still it was written from a white middle class male point of view although you have your Marxist historians but even so, they still have an agenda.

i know you can't not have an agenda but I don't want THEIR agenda.

When I was small I wanted to live freely with children and a partner and animals and nature (bullshit!) but as I got older and realised the fantastical nature of this I thought that maybe, just maybe I could be happy locked in a dusty room full of books with NO humans.

The contradiction is - I quite like people.

But I'm just like George Orwell. Ok, so I'm not male, but I'm white and middle class - outwardly. Inwardly I have no clue what I am. Just like the pulp song - if I wanted my daddy could end it all. Well, something of it. So what right have I got to criticise anyone else's agenda or writing of history? And why I am I writing about this anyway because, quite frankly, its rather tedious.

Ok, then - something else.

I bought a lovely trashy Courtney Love style dress yesterday. It looks something like the dress worn by the girl in Ash in their latest video. I still rue the day I threw my red DM's out but like I've said before I had no control over my actions at that time. I think its the closest I've ever come to insanity. I'm pretty sure I will never be insane, much as I would like to be. The best thing about the dress was that it only cost me �15 in the Topshop sale.

I was going to write something about my family but this is turning into one bitch long entry.

I think I'll go now and come back later.