I hate being stuck at home on a Friday night. Home home I mean. Uni home isn't so bad.
Everybody else is out. Everybody still at uni. Everybody who's parents didn't move to the middle of the countryside where they know nobody. Everyone is celebrating or partying. And I'm stuck here. Alone.
Can't stand music practice anymore. I've got so bad I just can't face it. Shame with a concert on Tuesday. No more letters to write. No more housework to do. Barely 30 pages of my last book left. Nobody to call - they're all out. Nothing on TV to watch. Too dark now to go walking. Nothing left to do on the internet. Just feel like a bit of a loser really, nothing but me and my computer.
The really pathetic thing is that I'm not having any real emotion: just boredom and lethargy and frustrating. Nothing worth writing about. Back when I was bitter and twisted and angry and self-loathing and I had soul then I could write. I wrote dark, twisty, horrible things that yanked on the heart strings and called out to people. Things that still call out to me now. Now I'm nice and sensible and I only feel that way when I'm drunk - too drunk to play the guitar really. I write about sadness and it has no soul in it; I write about love and it sounds cheesy. So now I don't write. One of my biggest joys and I sacrificed it with some pills for the sake of being normal. Maybe if and when things end with OtherHalf I'll come off the pills and get my soul back. Drink a bit, cut a bit, get a little messed up and write things to make the blood run cold.
Not long til results now. Less than 10 days. Feel a little sick. It's stupid. We all know I fucked up, we all know I didn't fuck up so bad I won't get a 2:1. All that's left is a matter of pride, and they don't even release the exact marks for 2 weeks - just the initial class list. Still makes me sweat a little to think about it.
I'm going mad here. Can't stand to be at "home". It's not my home, it's never been home. It's suffocating. Just a few more days. A few more days and I can go back to uni.
Friday, 6 June 2008
Thursday, 5 June 2008
Fat-Bottomed Girls
So I'm standing in WHSmith and they have racks of magazines, birthday cards and so on as you go round the labyrinth to get to the checkout, presumably with the idea that you might say Oh yes, half price Haribo, THAT'S what I came into the stationery store for! Anyway I happened to glance at the girly magazines to pass the time and there were two making a point about certain very skinny celebs. One of them was running a story on Girls Aloud, and the other had one of the same photos plus photos of somebody else, I forget who. Anyway they're really laying into these (admittedly unhealthily looking-) skinny girls and I'm just thinking about the whole teenage girl psyche of must-lose-weight.
Don't get me wrong, I'm fully aware that we all have our body hangups - regardless of age, or gender, or actual physical appearance. We'd all like to be a bit thinner, a bit better toned and so on. But it does tend to be the teenage girl and young woman demographic who not only want to be slimmer, but want to be unnaturally slim. I find this especially odd seeing as I don't know any men who support the stereotype. I suppose the age at which it begins is one where girls are less likely to have platonic male friends, or even male friends that they fancy who are sufficiently willing to make comments about not liking uber-skinny girls.
However, as I moved around the queue-snake I saw another magazine. One which made a big deal about so-and-so has lost a stone and a half; and look at this great new diet; and you could lose a stone by summer... For all the effort that the world is going to to try and undo the media's effect so far, I really wish that a minority of magazines and programmes wouldn't continue to mess with girls' heads.
Don't get me wrong, I'm fully aware that we all have our body hangups - regardless of age, or gender, or actual physical appearance. We'd all like to be a bit thinner, a bit better toned and so on. But it does tend to be the teenage girl and young woman demographic who not only want to be slimmer, but want to be unnaturally slim. I find this especially odd seeing as I don't know any men who support the stereotype. I suppose the age at which it begins is one where girls are less likely to have platonic male friends, or even male friends that they fancy who are sufficiently willing to make comments about not liking uber-skinny girls.
However, as I moved around the queue-snake I saw another magazine. One which made a big deal about so-and-so has lost a stone and a half; and look at this great new diet; and you could lose a stone by summer... For all the effort that the world is going to to try and undo the media's effect so far, I really wish that a minority of magazines and programmes wouldn't continue to mess with girls' heads.
*Clench*
People on the tube irritate me so much. Trains irritate me so much!
I'll admit there's a sweet nostalgia in the cross-London dash. It reminds me of sixth form when Phil and I would regularly go on our barrier-jumping way (often because we could rather than anything ticket-related) with suitcases full of food from our parents on the other side of the city - who apparently, having fairly well deserted us and left us to our own devices to do A-levels were more willing to give us something tangible than the money to buy it ourselves. Slightly ironic seeing as neither of us did drugs, he didn't drink and I barely did; and had we had the money to ourselves it would have gone a dang sight further!
But nostalgia aside, people on the tube really get under my skin. People who get on to the Circle Line at Paddington (for those not in the know, even in non-rush hour this means the train will get very full having been previously empty) and decide that - due to politeness or fear or whatever other excuse - that they will refuse to sit in adjacent seats to those already seated. Now this seems quite reasonable until you realise that:
* Those people who get onto the train first are those who are relatively mobile
* Those people who get on later are more likely to be those with big bags who actually want to sit down.
* That by leaving the only available seats as those between lots of people it means the only way to get a seat is to fight through them and annoy them all immensely.
What possibly annoys me slightly more is that people will then stand in the gaps between those seats and still not sit in them - both "wasting" seats as it were, and making anyone who's not feeling incredibly rude unable to get to the empty seat and sit in it.
I also get irritated at young teenagers, and young trying-to-look-pathetic women, who want the world to know that they are just unable to stay upright on a tube. It's not hard honey, bend your knees. Quite soon after I started making a weekly or biweekly trip across the capital I learned the art of staying upright, not only without looking like an idiot, but without having anything to hold onto at all. Unless the train brakes hard bending your knees and swaying is enough to keep your centre of balance - and if he does brake hard then a whole bunch of other people will go flying far worse because they're all so relaxed thinking that one hand on a rail is enough to keep them upright.
As for trains, it annoys me that you can run for a train only to find that 16 carriages have come in, but only 8 are leaving - i.e. that you need to run (still with the huge huge bag) to the other end of the platform. Thankfully this time, I made it. Then you find that the train is rammed - until that is you've fought your way through the first 3 carriages of rammed-ness only to find that after that the train is quite empty. Seriously, why would anyone who hasn't just run for the train not just move up the train to begin with!? Madness
Enough ranting for now...
I'll admit there's a sweet nostalgia in the cross-London dash. It reminds me of sixth form when Phil and I would regularly go on our barrier-jumping way (often because we could rather than anything ticket-related) with suitcases full of food from our parents on the other side of the city - who apparently, having fairly well deserted us and left us to our own devices to do A-levels were more willing to give us something tangible than the money to buy it ourselves. Slightly ironic seeing as neither of us did drugs, he didn't drink and I barely did; and had we had the money to ourselves it would have gone a dang sight further!
But nostalgia aside, people on the tube really get under my skin. People who get on to the Circle Line at Paddington (for those not in the know, even in non-rush hour this means the train will get very full having been previously empty) and decide that - due to politeness or fear or whatever other excuse - that they will refuse to sit in adjacent seats to those already seated. Now this seems quite reasonable until you realise that:
* Those people who get onto the train first are those who are relatively mobile
* Those people who get on later are more likely to be those with big bags who actually want to sit down.
* That by leaving the only available seats as those between lots of people it means the only way to get a seat is to fight through them and annoy them all immensely.
What possibly annoys me slightly more is that people will then stand in the gaps between those seats and still not sit in them - both "wasting" seats as it were, and making anyone who's not feeling incredibly rude unable to get to the empty seat and sit in it.
I also get irritated at young teenagers, and young trying-to-look-pathetic women, who want the world to know that they are just unable to stay upright on a tube. It's not hard honey, bend your knees. Quite soon after I started making a weekly or biweekly trip across the capital I learned the art of staying upright, not only without looking like an idiot, but without having anything to hold onto at all. Unless the train brakes hard bending your knees and swaying is enough to keep your centre of balance - and if he does brake hard then a whole bunch of other people will go flying far worse because they're all so relaxed thinking that one hand on a rail is enough to keep them upright.
As for trains, it annoys me that you can run for a train only to find that 16 carriages have come in, but only 8 are leaving - i.e. that you need to run (still with the huge huge bag) to the other end of the platform. Thankfully this time, I made it. Then you find that the train is rammed - until that is you've fought your way through the first 3 carriages of rammed-ness only to find that after that the train is quite empty. Seriously, why would anyone who hasn't just run for the train not just move up the train to begin with!? Madness
Enough ranting for now...
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
When it rains it pours
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm still alive underneath this shroud
Rain.
I'm busy packing to go home for a few days - which may either mean lots of updates or few depending upon how dire things are back there...
And then...?
I'm sat in my departmental library, having just handed back some old textbooks. There are all these books here that I haven't read... all these books that I never will. The future seems a bit empty without the chance to learn any more.
I had this great plan that after finals I'd actually do some decent (academic) reading for pleasure - just read all the interesting stuff I never had time to. Except then there were bills and someone offered me vaguely-academic work that will give me some cash for socialising, and some extra CV points, and has the advantage of being over 10km away so I'll cycle far enough doing that to not need to go to the gym (misplaced card, so this is definitely a good thing).
I hope to come back here. I really do. The plan was a year out and then back. But that was really resting on me getting a 1st. I'll get a 2:1, and there's still enough funding for my subject to do further study somewhere. But probably not here.
Just makes me think about all the afternoons I lay on my bed doing nothing, or hung out in the common room. All the essays I rushed. All the papers I just skim-read. If I had my time again would I do it differently? Or would I fall into the same traps? Do all finalists feel like this?
I had this great plan that after finals I'd actually do some decent (academic) reading for pleasure - just read all the interesting stuff I never had time to. Except then there were bills and someone offered me vaguely-academic work that will give me some cash for socialising, and some extra CV points, and has the advantage of being over 10km away so I'll cycle far enough doing that to not need to go to the gym (misplaced card, so this is definitely a good thing).
I hope to come back here. I really do. The plan was a year out and then back. But that was really resting on me getting a 1st. I'll get a 2:1, and there's still enough funding for my subject to do further study somewhere. But probably not here.
Just makes me think about all the afternoons I lay on my bed doing nothing, or hung out in the common room. All the essays I rushed. All the papers I just skim-read. If I had my time again would I do it differently? Or would I fall into the same traps? Do all finalists feel like this?
Monday, 2 June 2008
The best kind of rain
I was stood outside the department, texting OtherHalf.
The first raindrop hit my screen and I looked up. Shrugged. Kept writing.
Another drop. Another.
Big fat drops that were almost warm on the skin. Didn't make you squint. Made you so wet.
But so soft, so warm, so fat.
I could sit in rain like that for hours and never mind.
The first raindrop hit my screen and I looked up. Shrugged. Kept writing.
Another drop. Another.
Big fat drops that were almost warm on the skin. Didn't make you squint. Made you so wet.
But so soft, so warm, so fat.
I could sit in rain like that for hours and never mind.
Coming out
The problem with nights that you know will turn into late drunken nights, but that you don't want to have, is that they tend to turn into late, mellow, contemplative nights instead. Which are nice, but still of little use if you're ill and have to be up early.
Since finishing finals I've had at least 5 "nights out" - 6 if you count last night. So my fluey disgusting bug is no better than before.
On Friday I was out with my coursemates - well that was the theory anyway. Actually it turned into dinner with 1 of my coursemates who's a good friend (Doc), 2 of my coursemates who I barely know and then general mellowness following with a few more of the previously absent coursemates who had numerously fallen asleep, had late trains, been invited elsewhere etc and the first coursemates flatmates.
One of my friends (Worrier) is seriously underdeveloped emotionally (and bear in mind this is 1. coming from me of all people and 2. coming from somebody that knows as many messed up people as I do). You know the stereotype: girls school, never met any boys, doesn't know how to flirt or how to kiss or that women can enjoy sex (none of these obviously are major emotional lacks, but they're all linked together). She's always been a worrier. She's always had low self esteem. But it's never been so apparent as that night quite the extent that this is to.
A lot of her complete lack of self worth (and I do mean complete - it's bizarre once you realise it) seems to stem from not only having never had a boyfriend, but having never had the feeling of wanting one. She's convinced that anybody who wants her must be not worth having, but she's also apparently never had a crush; never really wanted somebody to want her back. She's fancied people in films but that's as far as it goes.
She's also excessively tactile (again, this comes from me, so bear in mind how extreme a statement it is). I've seen that many times: mainly from friends who fit another stereotype, this time the parents-divorced-at-10-lived-with-my-dad stereotype of those who have been deprived of affection and at the first opportunity go overboard: they want to be touched, hugged, loved at every possibly moment. In Worrier's case this is exclusively directed at women, and passes the boundaries of just-good-friends quite a lot of the time: stroking knees, playing with hair...
This all seems a bit tenuous but more and more over the last couple of weeks Doc and I have agreed. We're becoming pretty certain that Worrier is actually a lesbian and hasn't realised it yet.
There are other options obviously, including the rather extreme example of asexuality, which I'll admit to knowing little about. But seeing as we both independently reached the same conclusion, it seems like a possibility.
Since finishing finals I've had at least 5 "nights out" - 6 if you count last night. So my fluey disgusting bug is no better than before.
On Friday I was out with my coursemates - well that was the theory anyway. Actually it turned into dinner with 1 of my coursemates who's a good friend (Doc), 2 of my coursemates who I barely know and then general mellowness following with a few more of the previously absent coursemates who had numerously fallen asleep, had late trains, been invited elsewhere etc and the first coursemates flatmates.
One of my friends (Worrier) is seriously underdeveloped emotionally (and bear in mind this is 1. coming from me of all people and 2. coming from somebody that knows as many messed up people as I do). You know the stereotype: girls school, never met any boys, doesn't know how to flirt or how to kiss or that women can enjoy sex (none of these obviously are major emotional lacks, but they're all linked together). She's always been a worrier. She's always had low self esteem. But it's never been so apparent as that night quite the extent that this is to.
A lot of her complete lack of self worth (and I do mean complete - it's bizarre once you realise it) seems to stem from not only having never had a boyfriend, but having never had the feeling of wanting one. She's convinced that anybody who wants her must be not worth having, but she's also apparently never had a crush; never really wanted somebody to want her back. She's fancied people in films but that's as far as it goes.
She's also excessively tactile (again, this comes from me, so bear in mind how extreme a statement it is). I've seen that many times: mainly from friends who fit another stereotype, this time the parents-divorced-at-10-lived-with-my-dad stereotype of those who have been deprived of affection and at the first opportunity go overboard: they want to be touched, hugged, loved at every possibly moment. In Worrier's case this is exclusively directed at women, and passes the boundaries of just-good-friends quite a lot of the time: stroking knees, playing with hair...
This all seems a bit tenuous but more and more over the last couple of weeks Doc and I have agreed. We're becoming pretty certain that Worrier is actually a lesbian and hasn't realised it yet.
There are other options obviously, including the rather extreme example of asexuality, which I'll admit to knowing little about. But seeing as we both independently reached the same conclusion, it seems like a possibility.
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