20060831

rEPoSefuL beAcH

Although it is an imitation of a photograph of an ad, it is one and only beach to me. I think the effect is really out of my expectancy. This work did encourage me to practice for painting. However, drawing this kind of repose cost lots of my sleep.
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20060830

A ROom of One'S oWN

Be that as it may, I could not help thinking, as I looked at the works of Shakespeare on the shelf, that the bishop was right at least in this; it would have been impossible, completely and entirely, for any woman to have written the plays of Shakespeare in the age of Shakespeare. Let me imagine, since facts are so hard to come by, what would have happened had Shakespeare had a wonderfully gifted sister, called Judith, let us say. Shakespeare himself went, very probably,—his mother was an heiress—to the grammar school, where he may have learnt Latin—Ovid, Virgil and Horace—and the elements of grammar and logic. He was, it is well known, a wild boy who poached rabbits, perhaps shot a deer, and had, rather sooner than he should have done, to marry a woman in the neighbourhood, who bore him a child rather quicker than was right. That escapade sent him to seek his fortune in London. He had, it seemed, a taste for the theatre; he began by holding horses at the stage door. Very soon he got work in the theatre, became a successful actor, and lived at the hub of the universe, meeting everybody, knowing everybody, practising his art on the boards, exercising his wits in the streets, and even getting access to the palace of the queen. Meanwhile his extraordinarily gifted sister, let us suppose, remained at home. She was as adventurous, as imaginative, as agog to see the world as he was. But she was not sent to school. She had no chance of learning grammar and logic, let alone of reading Horace and Virgil. She picked up a book now and then, one of her brother’s perhaps, and read a few pages. But then her parents came in and told her to mend the stockings or mind the stew and not moon about with books and papers. They would have spoken sharply but kindly, for they were substantial people who knew the conditions of life for a woman and loved their daughter—indeed, more likely than not she was the apple of her father’s eye. Perhaps she scribbled some pages up in an apple loft on the sly but was careful to hide them or set fire to them. Soon, however, before she was out of her teens, she was to be betrothed to the son of a neighbouring woolstapler. She cried out that marriage was hateful to her, and for that she was severely beaten by her father. Then he ceased to scold her. He begged her instead not to hurt him, not to shame him in this matter of her marriage. He would give her a chain of beads or a fine petticoat, he said; and there were tears in his eyes. How could she disobey him? How could she break his heart? The force of her own gift alone drove her to it. She made up a small parcel of her belongings, let herself down by a rope one summer’s night and took the road to London. She was not seventeen. The birds that sang in the hedge were not more musical than she was. She had the quickest fancy, a gift like her brother’s, for the tune of words. Like him, she had a taste for the theatre. She stood at the stage door; she wanted to act, she said. Men laughed in her face. The manager—a fat, looselipped man—guffawed. He bellowed something about poodles dancing and women acting—no woman, he said, could possibly be an actress. He hinted—you can imagine what. She could get no training in her craft. Could she even seek her dinner in a tavern or roam the streets at midnight? Yet her genius was for fiction and lusted to feed abundantly upon the lives of men and women and the study of their ways. At last—for she was very young, oddly like Shakespeare the poet in her face, with the same grey eyes and rounded brows—at last Nick Greene the actormanager took pity on her; she found herself with child by that gentleman and so—who shall measure the heat and violence of the poet’s heart when caught and tangled in a woman’s body?—killed herself one winter’s night and lies buried at some cross–roads where the omnibuses now stop outside the Elephant and Castle.


BY Virginia Woolf

from http://etext.library.adelaide.edu.au/w/woolf/virginia/w91r/

20060829

BoNjouR?!

This morning I got early but also got pain.
Last night I had a continuous stomachache, then just as expected, I got the period at 04:46. I cannot remember form when, the mensis bring the unbearable stomachache almost everytime. Again, what a suffering early morning!
Maybe because of passing a tough night or the period, I feel depressed although the sun is hanged up so high and mighty that there's almost no pieces of clouds. There are more and more questions flashing through my mind, but my hurting stomach makes me think nothing....

20060824

RoCK'n'roLL

Sometimes rock'n'roll music makes me feel more comfortable, especially when I become so short-tempered. That's the reason why "Evanescence's music" are always around me. I fell for their music at first listening. I love the voices, which sound the vent, and the tune full of human emotions. The beauty must be neglected to people who turn the deaf ear to rock. The harshness comforts anooyed, impatient, even mad mood, or more correctly, gives vent to the feeling by following the music, which sounds like the announcer instead.

20060822

NigHTMarE

Last night, I cried again for the ghost. The sound I heard was so clear that I couldn't help running away or I would be going to be insane. I wondered that after how many times the continuously repeated show would over, thoroughly. What happened in the yesterday deep night was so familiar to me. Maybe the ghost is the past. If my past could form as my present goblin, could I force it to disappear? Again and again, I supposed I was free from it, however, I turned into fragile instead.
I become so easily annoyed today. There seems a hateful list of persons emerging from my little but chaotic brain. I perform my detestation imaginatvely anytime. I should stop them to occupy my mind, or in other words, it's necessary to wipe out the twisting nightmare. But how?

20060821

GirL fRieNDs

Although I am used to getting along with boys, I'd like to make friends with girls. The probable reason is there're always more male friends than females around me. It can be deduced from my chosen domain of study.
In the past, I once considered the complicated thinkings of girl made me hard to do with. However, after 23-year relationships with boys and girls I realized it's not about the genders but the personalities. Accutually sometimes it seems more comfortable to have relationships with girls. There seems to be a contridiction in my words. I think the alteration is caused by some fights, embarrassments, or pleasures with girls and gradually I comprehend that the concept, "boys are easier to do with", are just from my custom not because girls are tough to understand. After all I am a girl.
From this, I think I am still kind of conservative to get acquainted with strangers, even friends. I expect myself making some progress in the aspect.

20060818

LeaRnINg LAnGuagE

Recently, I practiced either my English or French.
There're several comprehensive websites I found for learning French. I am so excited and cannot wait to enjoy although they are all in English. I try to take it as a chance to force myself used to reading English websites. It makes me memorize that I also spent lots of time browsing English websites just for a singer, Christina Aguilera.I wish to speak, wirte in English and French as well as in Chinese even if it seems to take me a long time.
Learning language is interesting but not easy to me. I wonder why I like it from I was a child.
Yesterday Paul Lee, my professor , said that the ability of language is accumulated bit by bit. These words encouraged me indeed. Now what I should do is try hard and be patient.