Eurgh. I have to go out to dinner in an hour, and I don't want to. It's weeeeeeeird. Ya know when you cannot be assed to sit in company, but don't want to be alone either? Don't fear, I'm not doing the whole depression thing again - I'm just being all changeable and not knowing what I want. No. Scrap that. There are two things that I really want to do, but I'm not going to do either of them because I would be cutting my nose off to spite my face. And I may not be the most delightful to look at already, but I can't help but feel that losing my nose isn't going to do me any favours. I suppose I could start dating tramps or people made of poo or something. Then again I'd still have my eyes. Maybe I'll be involved in some kind of surrealist's carhorse accident where I lose almost all of my sensory faculties and end up spending the rest of my life courting emaciated, excrement-coated transients down at the local crack-den. You see I say 'local' but I've no idea where it is, or even if there is one. I'm assuming there is. My whole city looks like it's taking regular hits from the bong of crack. Can you tell I don't really do drug terminology? In fact, I don't really do drugs at all anymore. People kept making me feel guilty - although some of that incentive is crapping up the croupier - and so I just stopped. Shame. I miss them. Well. Not really. But. Yeah. They were a pleasant distraction. Like smoking. Which I am determined to give up - but I need to order everything else first because otherwise I'm never going to get below 10 a day. I was doing so well, and then a few things went wrong (which I'm not going to speak about until they are resolved) and then I just kind of fell apart and had a few days of old-habit-quantity-consumption. Which was awful. And made me feel rubbish physically because I was unused to consuming that much nicotine, and made me feel really guilty for doing such a lamentable job of cutting down. I got all the way down to 50% and then stumbled. Speaking of which: earlier I went to walk into the kitchen, and for some reason I seemed to forget how to function normally and I walked straight into the door-frame and bit my lip. It was awful. I don't have Cormac McLaggen's excuse either: he had been confunded! Harry Potter, anyone? Anyone? No. Fair enough. Haha. One of my friend's nickname is Voldemort. Well. It's not, but it is from now because I've just decided that it is. Yes. That's what I've spent most of my week doing: reading Harry Potter. Again. For like the hundredth time this year. Exciting news at work though! I get an Oxfam brand t-shirt - so then I can be totally sanctimonious. Plus it'll feel nice getting some kind of pseudo-recognition. The job is losing its appeal at the moment, I want to get more hands-on, and one of my favourite colleagues seems to have gone AWOL. I need to track her down for easter/summer, otherwise I'm not sure if I'm going to want to go back or not. I guess it depends on what's going on in my life in summer: I cannot see that far ahead, unfortunately - as I am not Sybil Trelawney. I wish I was. Wow there are a load of red-lines on my screen now.
Sorry for the boring rambling but I'm just trying to kill some time before I have to get ready for this dinner. It's with my dad. Which is nice. Don't see a lot of him. Damn you, divorce. But yeah. I just can't be bothered. Especially given the fact that my brother has been invited as well. Not that this is going to make any difference to my dad and I: if my brother turns up you will never see me again as I will have been forced to eat my own head in surprise. Selfish and unreliable are two words which leap to mind quite readily whenever he is mentioned. It's quite amusing really because most people don't know that I have a brother. It's not that I'm ashamed, or that I hate him or anything. No, I'm just... hugely indifferent to the way he behaves. I am a firm believer that it is our choices which make us who we are, not necessarily how we act or were born - if that is the case for him, alas it would appear that he's a selfish bugger. Speaking of things which are going to surprise people, this year I'm planning on keeping my birthday a total surprise. Not in the sense that I'm going to throw myself a surprise party and then jump out at myself and then have to leap across to myself to show myself that I'm shocked at my own ingenuity and brilliance. That'd ruin my self-esteem and street-cred (which I can assure you is large). No, I just mean that I'm not going to tell any new people when it is; and not remind anyone when it is, either. It falls at a rather unfortunate time, anyway, as it coincides with most people's returns to home - but not all. Hence I never get to see my university friends, or my friends from home. This year I am just embracing that; irrespective of the fact that I'm turning 21. Which is a depressing thought in and of itself. God. That's so old. I'm so old. Oh my god. Someone's going to have to book me into a care-home or something soon. That'll be so awful. CRUSHING SENSE OF MALAISE, PEOPLE. I think it'll be interesting, also there's that whole cycle of guilt when people give me stuff. Because I've never really had to worry about money, I sometimes forget that other people only have like £4 a week to spend and stuff - and then when I am reminded of this I can't help feeling that their money would have been better spent somewhere else, rather than on a gift for me. I appreciate the sentiment, but I'd much rather they just came down and bought me a drink or made me a card or something. The gesture is great, but they shouldn't have to temporarily bankrupt themselves just to get me something. Maybe this year that won't be a problem; though, of course, my mother is bound, by her maternal instincts, to spoil me rotten. Unfortunately, so is my father. This year is going to be horrible, I expect. I've got a few plans though, regardless or these trepidations. I'm going to go to work in the morning - assuming I'm not too hungover - and then there'll be some abortion-y joint-thing with Katie in the evening, no doubt. I offered to host simply so I wouldn't have to drive and then stay/not drink, or get two taxis/a train and a taxi. Yes, that is the effort I would have to go to. Admittedly I limited her to 'one friend only', but I feel that this is a reasonable restriction. I mean, I'm not hosting a brothel here people. So I can go to work, and then that's about it. My mum is bound to be in London for those few days, so I won't see her until two days after at the very earliest. My dad travels so he'll probably be away - so it's down to just... getting on with it I guess! I shall have to see where my social standing is at when the interminable date roles round. There's slim possibilities that my life might be slightly less crushingly mundane by then - so that's something to maybe look forward to possibly. So. Yeah. Go figure out when my not-so-eponymous-birthday is. And then if you figure it out don't tell anyone. I'll give you a clue: the day the sun stretches its arms the widest, and bells are heard a'ringing; look for me, silently singing underneath the shadow of our biggest druid's remains. That's brilliant, that. I am well proud of how little time it took me to come up with that slice of inspiration. Ignoring how useless it is, good luck!
Have totally spent the week digging up some 'old' music - and when I say 'old music' what I really mean is stuff I haven't listened to in over 6 months because I've found a whole heap of other stuff instead. I was so happy to hear Asking Alexandria, Broadway, Panda *insert the thing here that the HTML coding disallows from this site* Penguin, &c. that I got rather over-excited and started dancing around - and then, just to crown off my show, Visual System Turismo, by The Glamour Manifesto, came on and I literally started weeping at how awesome it is. I was all about that. Seriously. If you don't know what that last song is, then you should probably be rounded up, shoved into a cannon, and fired into the sun; but because I'm so forgiving, I will grant you this opportunity to redeem yourself by googling it, listening to it, and then basking in its unrivalled fabulousness. Everything they make is so good. I wish I could own a fucking real copy of that album. I looked everywhere I could, and the only version I could find was download. Which sucks. I always try to own my music legally, because I really enjoy having a load of CDs. It's so therapeutic to just be able to look through them all and dig up your old memories. That kind of tangibility adds a whole new level to the listening, as well, as opposed to the immateriality of the download. I don't like the download. Shame so much of my stuff is American-only, and I can't find anywhere to get a decent import. At least, not for under £40 - and for 20+ CDs that's rather a lot.
Speaking of things that bear no relevance to what I've just been talking about: I'm going to go and see a hypnotist. Yes, that's right. I've seemingly exhausted more respected medicines, and my insomnia persists despite loads of visits to the doctors and pharmacists. My tether has run out completely: I simply can't go any more weeks with only sleeping 10 or so hours for the whole fucking 7 day period. It's too much. Or not enough, depending on your viewpoint. So I'm going to go and get hypnotised. Holistic medicines have been utterly useless, and I don't know if any of you have ever eaten any herbal sleep-aids but they taste absolutely fucking disgusting, smell worse, and make you feel like shit. I tried some Nytol bollocks, simply because I've gone through everything else readily available, and it did sweet fuck all for my sleep and instead gave me stomach cramps which kept me up even longer than is usual. What the hell. A natural sleeping remedy which lists one of its possible side-effects as 'gastro-enteritis'. What the jesus!?
OK, I think that's all I have to say. I need to go and put on a shirt for my meal out or something. I left my gorgeous shirt at university, which is kind of annoying, but I'm going back there tomorrow even though for some reason I have to catch a bus-replacement for half of my journey, which exponentially and fantastically fittingly doubles the length of the journey. Who'd've thought that, eh? So yeah. One day I'll fall asleep holding your hand :).
Well that was the longest thought-turned-to-sentence I've ever read but anyone who so appropriately combines the concepts of fox hunting with baby-drowning is certainly on the right path :-) Look no further for a worthwhile cause: www.campaignfordecency.org.uk
ReplyDeleteStill not convinced? Read this story (just one of so many, sadly): http://www.huntinginquiry.gov.uk/evidence/pellow.htm