Terrified of her own insides

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South America is booked! :)

Okay let’s try and loose at least 10kgs by then

Guess what we just booked! #southamerica #holiday #flightcentre
My desk smells so lovely this morning! #coffee #flowers #daffodils #strawberries

ALS ICE BUCKET CHALLENGE

I have this giant sign taped to my back

That apparently reads kick me

#footy #selfies (at Blundstone Arena)
#footy #executiveclub @tatters6
When you’re feeling down… #aladdin #disney

Day 4 down

So I didn’t get much writing done today.

I guess I don’t have to feel so bad for eating a whole pizza if I haven’t had a cigarette?

Day 3. Finding things to do other than smoke. Here is a first draft of the first part of my book (obviously it needs work)

How to fix EVERYTHING but a broken heart WITH STICKY TAPE 101

By Jessica Mary Anderson

1,667 words a day for a month

“Jessica Anderson is a crazy genius, she is the Einstein of our generation. Possibly the funniest person I have ever encountered! You simply must read this book!” – Quote by Jessica Anderson

Prelude

I’m quitting smoking and so far I’m up to day three and I need something to officially help me pass my time in a constructive, as opposed to self-destructive manner.  So far I have tried napping and eating, two of my favorite things to do in the whole wide world besides, of course, smoking and drinking beers.

I watched a TED Talk two days ago by Matt Cutts entitled ‘Try Something New For 30 Days’ in which he spoke about writing a 50,000 word novel in 30 days, which equivocated to only 1,667 words per day. So I figure if I spend on average 5 minutes smoking a cigarette, and smoke on average 15 cigarettes per day, that gives me an extra hour and 15 minutes per day to become a world renowned novelist and more than likely win some sort of Pulitzer prize. Also, when I was a child I wanted to become a writer and my mum always told me I had quite a talent for the art. Apart for a few decent editorials and stories here and there, I mainly exercise the skills that my mother has assured me time and time again that I have, on writing self-indulgent and depressing blogs on Tumblr. I felt particularly inspired by Matt Cutts talk about writing a novel when he eluded to the fact that your book doesn’t even necessarily have to be any good.

I’ve been called lazy countless times throughout my life and I’m sure at this point in time you are sitting there, wondering to yourself, ‘Well Jess, is that why you have never taken the time out of your hectic schedule to sit down and properly put pen to paper and write one of the world’s bestselling stories?’ and to these people, I would say, No. To put it simply, I would prefer to think of myself as a perfectionist. If I’m ever going to do something I want to do it right and if I can’t do it right then I don’t want to do it at all. My perfectionism has led to an almost debilitating procrastination habit. But now, thanks to wise words from Matt Cutts, I have permission to spurt out 50,000 words of potentially utter dribble and feel fucking proud for doing so. And believe me, if I do finish this book, I will be fucking proud.

To make sure that my cigarettes-to-words theory is going to work, I’ve taken a free online speed typing test which has told me that I can type 40 words per minute with an accuracy of 97%. Now I’m not calling myself a math wizard or anything outlandish of the sorts, but according to my calculations, that means that a days’ worth of cigarettes in world-renowned novelist terms is about 3,000 words per day. I’m unclear as to whether  any free online tests that measure speed of thoughts from brain  to fingertips exists, so I will have to only deduce from years’ worth of over thinking that my brain will be able to produce  content for my novel at a greater than or equal to pace to my typing.

                Perfectionism and genius in my opinion only blend well when you mix them together in perfect harmony. My recipe? One part perfectionism, one part genius, eight parts insanity. Sprinkle to garnish with 12 shots of instant coffee, nicotine withdrawals, 2mg of champix and Circus Theme music on repeat at full ball and you’ve got yourself a book! Okay so maybe the circus music isn’t entirely crucial, however it probably gives you an accurate insight to the inner most workings of my brain on a daily basis. Is ‘Entry of The Gladiators’ the greatest theme song ever written? Probably not! So why does it play on a loop in my head? I have no idea! But I defiantly probably kind of like it sometimes.

                I came up with the title and focus of this book while cleaning up my courtyard after my darling bunny rabbit Flopscotch who bless her timid rabbit heart, has on more than one occasion attempted and failed to dig holes, through my planter boxes, all the way to Nepal, and left nothing but soil and destruction in her wake. Remember when I told you I tend to procrastinate? Well I’m renting, and I have a house inspection tomorrow, and of course, I have failed to inform my real estate agent that I have a pet rabbit on the premises. Not informing her of the pet rabbit is again partly, due to procrastination, but also partly due to the fact that the lease clearly states ‘No Pets Allowed’. Due to the fact that I’m too much of a perfectionist (lazy) to find a place to live that that allows pets, I tend to wait until the eve of any house inspection day to hide the evidence of ever having a bunny and fixing up the garden to the best of my ability. Of my many natural talents in life, in particular the before mentioned napping and eating, I am saddened to admit that domestic duties do not count towards any of them.

                I’m standing in my courtyard, its winter in Hobart, and it is dark. After the day I’ve had in the office, I’ve once again manipulated my mind into an aggressively, self loathing, downward spiral of negative self talk. The kind of spiral that you can only drag yourself out of by listening to Taking Back Sunday playing  through your headphones and not having to clean up a courtyard in the dark. Did I mention that Flopscotch had also decided that today was as good as any to chew a new hole through our stolen, outdoor bean bags? Look what I did for you mum! I know I wasn’t successful at digging my way through to Nepal, but you always taught me to never give up! These polystyrene bean bag balls flying all over the ground give our courtyard a sort of Mt Everest – Esk kind of look, don’t you think?

                Did I mention spiders? Also Spiders. Enough said.

                As frustrating as cleaning a courtyard in the dark may be, I had what one can only describe as a stroke of genius after my third scoop of bean bag balls to bin. I cackled to myself wildly and stormed back inside the house muttering repetitively to myself something about MacGyver. I’m almost certain my housemate Phil thinks I’ve lost it. I whirl into his room with a Cheshire cat grim from ear to ear. “Look Phil, I’m a genius, I’ve created a miners hat!” Which in regular people terms translates loosely to I’ve attached a small torch to my head with sticky tape by wrapping the tape three or four times around the toruch, placing it on the top on my head and then wrapped the sticky tape three or four times around my face to secure. Hence the book idea, ‘How to fix EVERYTHING but a broken heart WITH STICKY TAPE 101’. Just to prove this wasn’t a one off stoke a genius, I subsequently fixed the iPhone of Phil’s guest, a girl whom I had never before met, with sticky tape. Yes Jess, this time, you’re really onto a winner.

As a foreword, I will admit, I have been told by the many that when I feel strongly passionate about a subject I can be rather aggressive with my opinions. It is not my intention for this book to make anybody feel uneasy. With no further adduce, I’d like to dedicate this book to the following mammals:

 To Flopscotch, without whom I would never have begun this 30 day journey of self-discovery. I may complain a lot that you never clean up after yourself my darling, but lets be honest, It’s really a case of the pot calling the kettle black.

And also to the hundreds of men and women who speak or perform at TED conferences around the globe. Some nights I come home and contemplate whether tomorrow is worth getting out of bed for. Some nights I listen to your words of inspiration, imagination, hope and beauty and I don’t want to go to bed at all. I don’t want to go to bed because I want to be up and out in the world, making every second count and changing our global community to be a place that we can all be proud to be a part of.  You have been the glowing neon sign, giving me direction and purpose in my times of weakness when I have felt worthless. Thank you immensely.

Chapter 1: Surprise! You’re officially an idiot.  

If a god does in fact exist, which I am sure, beyond reasonable doubt, that one does not, I reserve my strongly upheld opinion, that her first worldly creation would be that of a singular, possibly, never ending, roll of sticky tape. A magnificent roll of tape that was impervious to water, wind or accidently folding over and sticking to ones self before you had a chance to actually stick it to anything half useful. A resilient and unforgiving member of the stationary family who would never leave glue marks on your bedroom wall after ten long years of upholding your favorite Frenzal Rhomb poster. A reel of tape who’s only kryptonite was the chomp of human teeth. That’s right, contrary to popular belief, the only true way to effectively cut yourself a piece of sticky tape is to use your chompers. How about that?

In the first chapter of this book I would like to touch on the lighter subjects of sticky tape and its uses. If you are looking for instructions on how to use tape in a more conventional manner such as attaching one piece of paper to another or applying a sticky note to the bottom of a computer monitor with slightly more dedication than usual, then I would strongly suggest you find another book. 

Shane Koyczan - “To This Day”

(Source: soiwatchthestars, via soiwatchthestars)

The perfect way to get things done:

Sitting in bed, wearing only a my warmest, cleanest-dirty Hoodie. The flicker of candles, the smell of incense. Using my pillows as a table, a resting place for my laptop. My iPad playing Shane Koyczan, my latest inspiration. Thinking about why I wanted this in the first place.