Your Crazy Aunt Cat -_-

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Come around imaginary boys and girls, Auntie Cat Madigan is going to tell you a short horror story!

Four words: I have no Internet.

*dun dun DUUUUUUUUUUUUN*

Well, that’s not necessarily true. I can access the Internet in the city, plus I can get Internet from the home computer, but my Internet has been switched off from my iPad. Meaning if I want to use Internet at home, I need to use the home computer, and be seen by my family, and interact with them…. (This horror story keeps getting better and better.)

You see, teenagers have what I like to call an “authority allergy”, (I’m just so awesome at coming up with names. I guess that when we become teenagers, we feel as if we’ve come so much further than when we were as little kids- in some ways that is. Mentally, I’m still at the stage of an eight year old, (YAY POKEMON!! <3) and I think my boobs are still at that stage too.

But as a teenager, I look back on my eight year old self and think, "Was I seriously that stupid?" Maybe in about ten years, I'll look back on how I am now and think the same thing. Of course, I'm assuming I'll live that long. Oh well.

Anyway, so we compare ourselves to our child selfs, and think that we're at the same stage as an adult, so we should be allowed the same independence. So therefore, we hate it when our parents baby us, we scream at them when they won't let us out, and we do crazy shit to rebel. No wonder my parents hate me.

Speaking of crazy shit, I just spray painted my hair gold. Thank Christ it's washout, but I'm going to have to see my friends with this. I'm gonna get laughed at…-_-

So, I have no idea how often I'll be able to post for the next few weeks, hopefully about once a week at least. Should be lots of fun….not.

Question of the day, what's the weirdest shit you've ever done? Unfortunately, spray painting my hair gold is not the weirdest thing I've done, but once again, it'll wash out in the morning.

Off to see my friends, I'm going to hide under my hood like an assassin for the rest of today.

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Geddit? Because I’m a cat, and I look like an assassin, cos I’m wearing a hood…okay, I’ll shut up.

Love, Blonde Cat.

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Fashion and Zombies

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I feel like I’ve been far too miserable lately. Which is stupid of me, for I have enough things to be happy for. I have friends who for some reason put up with me. My hallucinations have not been painful as of late. I’m still alive.

Oh, and I have followers apparently! Actual followers!

*excited screaming*

Of course, I don’t know how many of you actually read the shit I write, so for the meantime, I’ll stick with the imaginary fan jokes.

In other news, I now have a fitting. It’s for a Central TAFE, who are looking for models for a fashion parade. Right now, I’m waiting for things to start, so I’m sitting in their fashion department, playing one of my favourite thinking games: How long would you survive in this room during the zombie apocalypse?, Which I’ll just shorten to The Zombie Apocalypse Survival Game. Actually, lets play it now! C’mon imaginary reader, the rules are simple! All you have to do is look around the room, and try to figure out what you could use for weapons, hiding places, food, all the necessities one would need when zombies rule the world. So lets start!

Okay, time to use my imagination.

This looks enough like a human to confuse a zombie, right?

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Anyways, I don’t know much about zombies (though when you think about it, noone really knows what a zombie’ll do. Do they even exist yet? Actual zombies, not just members of the iGeneration?) but if I were something essentially brain dead, I’d go for that. Yeah, I’d be a pretty stupid zombie. :p so the idea is that when they go for the mannequins, I attack. With….

Sewing machines?

Irons?

Scissors?

…no chance of a gun or a sword hiding on this campus is there?

On the other hand, what’s the chance of there being so many zombies here anyway? Plus it’s a TAFE, so there’d be plenty of places to hide, and rooms to go. Plus there’s a pretty nifty chandelier thingy which I could dangle on, assuming I’m not too heavy. Then all I’d need to do is obtain some sort of weapon I can use from a long distance, and no zombie could catch me.

But that would mean I had acquired some sort of weapon. Which probably doesn’t live around the Central TAFE.

Ok, I think my designer’s ready, so I’ll wrap up my game here. Overall, the Fashion and Design Sector of the TAFE has plenty of places to hide from zombies, but not enough weapons in case of an emergency. I could always attempt to make one, but I’m not the most talented engineer out of my friends. Besides, what are the chances I’d be there in the apocalypse? It’s not like I study there or anything, I’m just here for the fitting.

So overall, I say I’d probably survive for about maybe 7 days tops, before the zombies get to the TAFE, and I’m forced to dangle from a chandelier, which is slowly starting to break…

Ok, I’ll finish this post after. Time to try on some stuff! :D

@-‘-,—–

It’s dark now. 6:30pm in one of the most infamous nighttime playgrounds. It’s surprisingly unnerving.

Fitting was quite fun, I’m going to wear three outfits at the show they’re holding. If only I could keep some of the creations, they’re so cool! :D

I never realised how different the city was at night to during the day. All the shops are closed, so the only people are people in the bars, slowly becoming more and more intoxicated.

It’s a frightening thought, that I would black out here, all alone. It’s not just the possibility of getting attacked by some random, it’s the whole look of this place. See for yourself.

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Also, before some imaginary asshole points it out, yes, there’s an actual person in the photo, so I’m not entirely alone. But the chance of him knowing I exist is probably extremely small.

But the atmosphere is one step from scary for me. I suppose that others would probably be like, “What you on about Cat Madigan? This shit ain’t scary!” (By the way, I have no idea why I just started talking ghetto, but to all you imaginary ghetto people, I don’t mean to be offensive, please don’t kill me.) But like I have said before, I am a crazy bitch. So a poster falling from my wall could be a sign of someone from Delirium coming to attack me, the door slamming shut from a gust of wind could be a monster, roaming the grounds on which I walk, and a (almost) deserted city can be lurking with all sorts of things, mostly imaginary, but it scares me nonetheless.

I may need to defend myself, so for now, my typing stops.
@-‘-,—–

Managed to survive said deserted city; didn’t help that I had to take the bus home, with all the hobos. I need to learn how to drive…

I’ll wrap up this post here, but as our Internet is stuffed, it won’t be posted till tomorrow afternoon.

Question of the Day: Imagine you were in your house/apartment/underwater kingdom during the zombie apocalypse. How long would you survive? What sort of stuff could you use for protection, weapons, food, etc. and before those imaginary mermaids reading this say anything, yes, zombies can go underwater, they’re dead, they don’t need air!

Time for another round of May I. See you later.

Cat Madigan.

Days of Delusions

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Not sure how often I should update this thing. Sometimes it takes a while to come up with ideas for you nonexistent people to read, and things are always changing. Plus, I try to make something reminiscent of a life, meaning I can’t always be on my iPad. You see, if I have a life, I have something else to talk to my iPad about instead of things I hate about humanity. So maybe once every few days…depending on what’s happening of course.

Like my days can be pretty random. There are days where I stay firmly planted in Reality, and others where I am hallucinating all over the place.

Speaking of hallucinations….

Daniel is in a bad mood. Last night, I was playing May I with my family- which currently consists of my mother, father, my alleged brother who shalt be known by the name Tigger, and my Oma and Opa, who have come to stay for two weeks. More on them later. But anyway, we were in the middle of the third round (two runs, for any imaginary reader who knows the game), when all of a sudden, I heard swear words. A loooooong succession of them. It didn’t stop for the whole game, and as soon as it was over, (I came last, again) I stormed into my room to find Daniel snoring on my bed.

What would you do in this situation imaginary reader?

Obviously you’ve probably never had hallucinations- actually, if you have, message me! We can be delusion buddies! <3- but imagine that some asshole had charged into your house and made a huge noise, and that you had to make excuses to the people around you; "Oh, it’s just the, er, cat/dog/dinosaur,” you say to them, while secretly cursing their very existence. Aaaand then later, you find them fast asleep on your bed, blissfully unaware of their extremely pissed off friend/acquaintance/hallucinator.

^is that even a word? Hallucinator? If it is, is it a verb? Probably not. :p

So what would be the best revenge?

Without a second thought, I yanked my doona out from under him. The pile of clothes on my bed fell over my floor, and later I would be yelled at by my mother, but I was too busy radiating in the warm glow of Daniel’s resulting foul mood to notice.

After he had calmed down, he told me what was wrong. I didn’t understand it all, but I understood enough to understand why he would be angry. Lets just say that when your dear friend is in hospital, you would tend to be angry at the one(s) responsible.

Anyway, more on that for another emotionally unstable time. My grandparents are here from Adelaide, which is great. Only thing is, I don’t know what to talk to them about, because I see them so little- I usually only see them once a year at Christmas, where I have to talk to all my cousins. *Shudder*

But the awesome thing about them being here is that there is less yelling and screaming around the house. My mother you see, wants to show to her parents-in-law the perfect family; which is just as real as my fan base, (I’m sorry imaginary reader, it’s true. You only exist in my head, sorry to break it to you this way). So we all must keep up the appearance of a loving, wonderful family environment. Which means a lot less yelling, which means a lot less time spent in Delirium for me. It’s only a theory at this point though; there’s every chance my hallucinations could be just as bad even without the yelling. But it’s a plausible theory, and for the next two weeks, I can test it out. This may be the cause of everything that’s been happening, and I’m hoping something will come out of it.

Now…what was I doing before I was writing?

Oh! Maths class!

That’s right, I’m supposed to be a responsible student. One who would NEVER pass up a chance to do quadratic equations.

I’ve got modelling this afternoon, maybe that’s what my next post will be about. What do you imaginary readers think? Leave your imaginary comments down below, you know the drill.

Cat Madigan.

Days of Dellusions

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Not sure how often I should update this thing. Sometimes it takes a while to come up with ideas for you nonexistent people to read, and things are always changing. Plus, I try to make something reminiscent of a life, meaning I can’t always be on my iPad. You see, if I have a life, I have something else to talk to my iPad about instead of things I hate about humanity. So maybe once every few days…depending on what’s happening of course.

Like my days can be pretty random. There are days where I stay firmly planted in Reality, and others where I am hallucinating all over the place.

Speaking of hallucinations….

Daniel is in a bad mood. Last night, I was playing May I with my family- which currently consists of my mother, father, my alleged brother who shalt be known by the name Tigger, and my Oma and Opa, who have come to stay for two weeks. More on them later. But anyway, we were in the middle of the third round (two runs, for any imaginary reader who knows the game), when all of a sudden, I heard swear words. A loooooong succession of them. It didn’t stop for the whole game, and as soon as it was over, (I came last, again) I stormed into my room to find Daniel snoring on my bed.

What would you do in this situation imaginary reader?

Obviously you’ve probably never had hallucinations- actually, if you have, message me! We can be delusion buddies! <3- but imagine that some asshole had charged into your house and made a huge noise, and that you had to make excuses to the people around you; "Oh, it’s just the, er, cat/dog/dinosaur,” you say to them, while secretly cursing their very existence. Aaaand then later, you find them fast asleep on your bed, blissfully unaware of their extremely pissed off friend/acquaintance/hallucinator.

^is that even a word? Hallucinator? If it is, is it a verb? Probably not. :p

So what would be the best revenge?

Without a second thought, I yanked my doona out from under him. The pile of clothes on my bed fell over my floor, and later I would be yelled at by my mother, but I was too busy radiating in the warm glow of Daniel’s resulting foul mood to notice.

After he had calmed down, he told me what was wrong. I didn’t understand it all, but I understood enough to understand why he would be angry. Lets just say that when your dear friend is in hospital, you would tend to be angry at the one(s) responsible.

Anyway, more on that for another emotionally unstable time. My grandparents are here from Adelaide, which is great. Only thing is, I don’t know what to talk to them about, because I see them so little- I usually only see them once a year at Christmas, where I have to talk to all my cousins. *Shudder*

But the awesome thing about them being here is that there is less yelling and screaming around the house. My mother you see, wants to show to her parents-in-law the perfect family; which is just as real as my fan base, (I’m sorry imaginary reader, it’s true. You only exist in my head, sorry to break it to you this way). So we all must keep up the appearance of a loving, wonderful family environment. Which means a lot less yelling, which means a lot less time spent in Delirium for me. It’s only a theory at this point though; there’s every chance my hallucinations could be just as bad even without the yelling. But it’s a plausible theory, and for the next two weeks, I can test it out. This may be the cause of everything that’s been happening, and I’m hoping something will come out of it.

Now…what was I doing before I was writing?

Oh! Maths class!

That’s right, I’m supposed to be a responsible student. One who would NEVER pass up a chance to do quadratic equations.

I’ve got modelling this afternoon, maybe that’s what my next post will be about. What do you imaginary readers think? Leave your imaginary comments down below, you know the drill.

Cat Madigan.

Good?

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Imaginary reader, tell me this.

Are you a good person?

Think about it for a bit. Imagine that Jesus or God or whatever you believe in was looking at everything you’ve done in your life, and imagine what their reaction would be. What would they think?

I know how they’d react looking at my record. Two words: Lost Cause.

It’s not that I don’t try to be a good person, because I do try. It’s a good feeling, when you do something that makes others smile. Especially when you’re sad all the time, like me. It gives you some feeling of purpose to your otherwise empty life.

The only thing is, with me, everything I do comes back and hits me in the face. You ever hear that expression, No good deed goes unpunished? Yeah, well, some ass has probably been doing a whole lotta good deeds and put me as the return address. And thanks to my brain, that is an actual possibility for me.

I think too much.

But yes, I try to be a good person, but sometimes it’s just too hard. Because some people expect too much. And some people use yelling and screaming as their method to demand too much.
Take this scenario for example; I am cleaning my room, listening to music as I work, (GOOD music, FYI, with actual talent involved) when all of a sudden, my mother charges in. And I get to hear her screech about all the things I have not yet done.

Here’s the list of complaints, sans the screechy mother-from-hell voice.

-I have not vacuumed my room; as the vacuum is still being used by my brother to do god knows what.
-I have not picked up a pillow on the floor, which renders her completely unable to walk in this ‘hellhole’.
-My dressing gown is on my box, instead of my already loaded coat hanger.
-There are things under my bed. Things that NEED to go under there so I can walk through my room.
-My desk is too cluttered.
-I read too much. I must stop reading. The less I read, the more time I’ll have to place that pillow on my bed; which is not needed.

And finally….

-I have too much crap in my room. Which is becoming more of a storage space for all the crap my mother buys-often without asking. It is entirely my fault a place cannot be found for said crap, and I am the spawn of Satan for being unable to organise it in a matter that satisfies my mother.

It’s not the complaining that bothers me, it’s the screaming. Every time I have to put up with her yelling, I end up with a headache. Which makes me go to my room. Which makes me black out and fall into Delirium, where there is, you guessed it Imaginary Reader!, more yelling and screaming.

As opposed to Reality though, Delirium has people yelling and screaming about things that matter. What these matters are, I’ll save for a time where I’m feeling even more upset and vulnerable, and I have an uncontrollable urge to spill my secrets. It’s almost funny, how Delirium is the world which makes more sense to me; for all it’s secrets and mysteries behind it, the ones there are far easier to understand than the world where people screech about cleaning and other things that barely matter.

I have gotten off track. My point is that I am a horrible person. I’m working on it, but I’m not getting very far. And I have no idea how people stand me. My friends are wonderful people, and I find myself wondering why they allow me to hang out with them; for all my faults, for every time that I’ve gone all Delusional on them, they still care about me.

And that’s what inspires me to be a better person. If they can stand a psychotic, delusional bitch like me, I can at least try to be the best person I can be.

Though I probably will never remember to put that stupid pillow on my bed.

To sum it up; yes, there are good and bad people in this world. But no one is purely good or bad; people can do bad things with good intentions, just like good people can have selfish motivations for doing something seemingly unselfish.

Also, what even is a good person? Because there are so many ways a person can be flawed, so there’s no way someone can be perfect. But what makes someone a good person? How many flaws are they allowed to have? Answer below, nonexistent reader, in the comments.

Back to my role as the spawn of Satan.
Also, my grandparents will be here soon. Eeeeeek! O_O
Yours truly,

Cat Madigan

Overactive Thinking

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My day began the second my poster decided to fall from it’s place on the wall.

What would most people think? Oh, it is only the tape wearing down, or perhaps The poster is far too heavy, it wasn’t going to stay there for long.

However, I am an insane bitch. And I was still slow from sleep. So my first thought was that my mind had come for me. Again.

It was at that moment that Daniel tapped me on the shoulder, scaring the living day lights out of me once again. Bastard.

Daniel just laughed. You’d think he’d be more despondent, considering how he is a figment of my imagination, therefore he would probably inherit my growing depressive outlook on life. But at least he’s in a good mood this morning. Does that mean I’ll be happy today? Can’t say. I suppose if Daniel is happy, it means that some part of me is too.

I ask him why he is in such a good mood. He grins, and tells me about how he gets to spend this day with Rae. There’s not much I know about Rae, though I have met her on several occasions. I wouldn’t think her any more than 3 or 4 years old, and she looks nothing at all like Daniel. But when I ask about this relationship between them, he just shakes his head. Not allowed to say, he tells me once again. But as I raise an eyebrow at him, he hastily informs me it is not like that. He is very close to her mother though. Who this might be is a mystery to me, though I am certain it is not her.

Daniel is watching me type, an amused look on his face. He doesn’t tell me his age, but he looks like he’s in his 30s. He’s often made jokes about me dreaming of older men; jokes that usually end with me throwing something at him, forgetting for a moment that of course, it would go straight through him.

He has dark hair, nearly black, which now reaches his shoulders. His eyes are the same strange hazel, the type that could look green, gold, grey, or blue, depending on whatever’s around him. They’re what makes me curious the most. But more on that another time, perhaps.

What bothers you? he asks, knowing already what it is. In a smug tone, Daniel tells me that I want to ask him something, but I’m afraid to. So I ask him, and watch with cruel satisfaction as his face falls, the happiness radiating moments ago disappearing with my query:
“They still haven’t found her, have they?”

Daniel’s silent for a moment, but he quickly regains his composure. That was unnecessary, he tells me.

“Yes it is,” I insist. “I have a right to know. What news of her? Surely they would’ve located her by now, it’s been more than a few months.”

It is not that simple, he told me. And you shouldn’t be worrying about her; for all you know, she’s dead.

“Then why are you worrying about her?” I retort. “If you worry about her, I worry about her! You are part of me, and she is part of me too. Both of you are part of my delusions.”

If even your delusions are telling you that you’re worrying too much, what does that say about you? Daniel asks.

I roll my eyes. “I’d like you to leave, if you aren’t going to tell me anything else,” I say coldly.

Daniel gives a mock bow. As you wish, my lady, he adopts a posh, butler-esque tone before he vanishes.

He’ll be back, I know. He knows I’m typing this, he’s too nosy not to want to have a peek before I post this. Hmmph. Daniel’s allowed to peek at all aspects of my own life, yet I’m only allowed a slither of his own.

Then again, why am I so curious to want to know the life of one of my hallucinations?

Now who’s the crazy one?

Yup…still me.

I Don’t Feel Like Dancing

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I enjoy dancing. As long as it’s under these circumstances:
-The music’s good.
-The dance moves are awesome, or at least, I am capable of doing them.
-I’m with my friends, so they can hide me in case I look like an idiot- which is usually the case.
-I’m also alright with dancing by myself, in my room, where no one can see me- with the exceptions of the people in my head of course, but they are worse dancers than me. Plus they’re not real.

NONE OF THESE CIRCUMSTANCES FALL UNDER THE AGENDA OF MY PHYS ED CLASS.
PLUS I DON’T KNOW IF THE ABOVE SENTENCE MAKES SENSE.
AND WHY AM I TYPING IN CAPITAL LETTERS, WHAT AM I, MY MOTHER?

What I am attempting to say, without the shouty capitals, is that my physical education class is doing DANCING. Group dancing, to be more specific, we’re doing a routine. And it is shit. Solid gold shit! My friends MJ and Speedy would probably be horrified by it. And when I say horrified, I mean they’d be on the ground, writhing in pain, screaming, “WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?”

Guess what the opening words of the song are?
“Baby squirrel, you’re a sexy mother****er.”
Quality music right here, imaginary ladies and gentlemen!

In other news, my friends and I are planning to kill some Year 8’s. Hopefully in the most painful way possible. Before I can explain why, however, I have to introduce the members of this merry band of assassins.

Snugglepot- The one who always ends up making references to something dirty- 95% of the time it’s by accident.
The Evil Friend- Overly excited about the idea of slaughtering said year eights, Evil is in love with all things crime, murder in particular. Enjoys writing stories, preferably with lots of gore.
Bad Dog- Obsessed with wolves and occasionally tries to enslave my friends, most commonly Teacup. I’ll explain later, if I can be bothered.
Pinky- Pinky, Pinky and the Brain Brain Brain Brain BRAAAAAIN.

So why would a bunch of girls want to attack a bunch of Year 8’s? The answer is simple. They are picking on Teacup.

Now Teacup is about two years younger than the rest of us, but maturity wise, she is far ahead of her fellow students in Year 8, who are currently spreading rumours about her. And we have not seen Teacup in a week, so you can imagine what we make of that, nonexistent reader.

What confuddles me is how a group of girls, just two years younger than us, could be so much crueler than we were two years ago. Two years ago, the most horrible thing that someone could’ve done was to play Justin Bieber within our hearing range. People knew about bullying, obviously, and knew that people could be horrible, but for some reason, I never really noticed any bullies in our year, though whether that’s just me, I don’t know. People were nice in Year 8. At least to me, anyway, (can’t imagine why). Things are slightly different now, as people get older, and they change, but if we have a problem with something, we either keep it to ourselves, or say it to that problem’s face.

What could be the cause of a sudden change in this generation? Is there a reason why the lower half of the school is the one that’s picking on each other? Why are thirteen year olds the ones who bitch more, opposed to us older humans, who have increasingly more things to bitch about?

Another point for my confuddled brain to remember; there was definitely bullying in primary school, I have clear memories of being called names and being left behind by the other kids. And all my friends have had experiences of being bullied, I’m not the only one. So did those kids in primary school just grow out of it, as we progressed into the world of high school? What factors could influence one group of people to grow out of bullying, but cause another group to participate in it?

Ok, philosophical mode is now switching off…. Stay tuned for updates on this ongoing…thing.

So, imaginary fan base, here is Question of the Day! Yes, I am holding that, no I do not care that just about every blogger probably has one.

What are your thoughts about this? Everyone of you invisible fans will most likely have different experiences, maybe you had bullying in your invisible year eight class, maybe everyone was friends in invisible primary school, and now everyone hates eachother in Invisible High school. What do you guys think has influenced this change?

I leave you with a picture of a sexy mother****ing squirrel. Thankyou Bruno Mars for ruining squirrels for me.

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Cat Madigan out.