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At seventeen minutes past one this morning, I got a text message saying "he he ha ha hoo" from a friend of mine. I ignored it. Around half an hour later, I got another: "Hi! D says he sent you a message but won't say what. Either way he'd be up for a threesome with you ? he's mentioned it a few times." Aside from the fact I've never met the mysterious "D" and I can't say I really fancy my friend, there is the minor factor that I am engaged to someone else too. Nevertheless this matter is intriguing me.
M is a very confused person, it seems to me. Confusion is not an unusual condition, but M's is such that it tends to rub off on other people. Namely me. I don't know how to treat him. I know I shouldn't worry, and his moods will pass if I leave him alone long enough. I know that he can brush aside friendly insults, but I still apologize profusely for teasing him, when normally wouldn?t think twice about it. If I flirt with him, does he take me seriously? Why do I worry about all these little things so often?
A pervading issue in our household at present is that of A Dog. I'm firmly against the idea. Carl seemed to have given in, but now I'm wondering if his desire is beginning to manifest itself in other ways: He's in the kitchen FRYING fish fingers. Most normal people would grill them. Health issues aside, the damn things tend to disintegrate if you plonk them in a frying pan. That fact seems to have escaped him though, as he is now trying in vain to flip them over. "Go on fishie, there's a good fishie,.. Thaaats it..There's a good boy."
She looked at me then, with a smile that said, 'Hey, we're alive, we're happy and nothing is wrong in the world.' A new top, in her usual favorite colour, Predictable, but somehow fresh on her. I grinned back With 'Has she dyed her hair?' on my mind. Her usual cross-wristed wave, so cheerful and carefree. All is forgiven, as is all she saw we my good points. Why did she stand out, so poignant this morning? She looked so radiant, magical, I can lose myself in the tenderness of her smile, Then the world is content, unhurried, and relaxed.
I am beginning to worry about my time management skills. Last night, I spent three and a half hours on the computer, fiddling with sound effects for our show. The end result was less than two minutes long. I know if I ever hear the song in question again, I should not be held responsible for my actions. Meanwhile, the prospect of exams looms on the horizon. I should be studying early hominid fossils, and memorizing Nuer marriage alliances. As it is, we sat in a café all afternoon staring at our files, trying to absorb information via osmosis. Help.
Friendship is a wonderful thing; it can join the most random group of people together for no reason. I took a moment to study my group of friends when we were all out together the other day. We are all so different, Mark can find an innuendo is practically anything, Shoo has a fantastic sense of self-ridicule, Clare is quietly weird, I am loud and sarcastic, and Sophie provides the balancing factor with her diplomacy skills. We all get along really well, and yet I can't think of a single thing that we all have in common. Except perhaps laughter.
I thought I had escaped them. Thought I would never have to suffer sights like that again. But they are back, and they are coming to get me. GOLD CLOWNS!!!! For those who don't know, GOLD CLOWNS are solid gold pendants, about 3 inches long, and very heavy. They cost around £600, are usually accompanied by equally huge gold loop earrings, and worn by girls with bleached hair, white trainers and mysteriously orange faces. I thought Durham was a safe haven, but these hideous, evil objects seem to have followed me. WHY?! How can these things ever be considered attractive?
There is an advert on TV at the moment for some sort of insurance company or something. It is the most delightful commercial I've seen for a very long time. It features three piglets running down a specially mown runway, before taking off majestically into the air. The moment is captured beautifully –the nobility of the animals and the pride on the farmers face, coupled with suitably magnificent music. I find it so uplifting, and not just because I have the utmost respect for pigs. Unfortunately, this is irrelevant, as I cannot remember what the advert is trying to sell.
Around 70,000 years ago, in the midst of the last ice age, our Neanderthal relatives were covered with hair. Well, we assume so. They would have had to protect themselves from the cold somehow. Our ape cousins have hair. So it is not too presumptuous to think our predecessors did too. We seem to have lost most of ours over time though, probably due to the earth's climate changing, and the temperature rising. Body hair becomes less essential in the heat. If we continue this train of thought however, doesn't it imply that premature baldness is linked to global warming?
Ode to Robin. (Written after receiving four hours of calls to my agony aunt service) What am I supposed to say, when nothing goes your way? Do I listen to your fears, try and dry your heart-felt tears Or fight to keep your demons at bay? Should I try to understand what it is that you've got planned? I've really no idea how to calm your innate fear So my advice is somewhat underhand. I don't think you take heed of your dark and secret need Preferring to forget, rather than dwelling on regret I know someday you will succeed.
Thinking, but stuck for ideas. Everyday seems so complicated. I long to live a simple life where I am not so emotionally involved with other people, where I am not so affected by other people's problems. Perhaps a more selfish life. Every little insignificant event seems to blow me away, taking me to emotional extremes. Today we finally achieved something we had been working on for a long time. Strangely, along with the excitement I felt, there was also sheer relief that it had been dealt with. Tonight I feel drained psychologically .I need to replenish mental energy for tomorrow.
Words are running away from me, I can't think of a thing to write. Well, I must be doing ok because lines of text are appearing on the screen in front of me. I think there must be a reason behind that. I could of course just write garbage everyday – stream of consciousness drivel. A bit like this really. But then I have to know when to stop. I have to limit myself somehow. And there is always the constant danger of looking back and thinking – my god, couldn't I have thought up something more interesting than that?! Oh well.
A little drunk tonight. Red wine is supposed to be the sophisticated choice of drink. And nowadays I'm so sophisticated that I know which ones are nice and which are alcoholic vinegar. Shoo bought Vogue magazine yesterday. She spent the afternoon teaching me the difference between a skirt from Top Shop and one by Max Mara, and why this particular design was £250. I honestly could not tell the difference. But as I resigned myself to a life of Poundland fashion, I prided myself that at least I love red wine. Shoo only drinks white, uncultured cretin that she is.
Today my friend spent £120 on a pair of tan-coloured flip-flops. For that, I could buy over 26 pairs of my favorite colourful and funky flip-flops, should the need possess me. There's a lot of groovey stuff I could buy for that actually. Over 52 pints in the pub across the road, or nearly 100 at the university bars, for example. Around six Wonderbras. If I was lucky, a return trip to London on Virgin trains!! £120 would pay off two months of my phone bill. Come to think of it, I?ve just paid £96 for a mini-cruise to Norway...
It's strange where inspiration comes from. Carl has just appeared and demanded I make him a cup of tea. He kissed me, but I can't say it was very pleasant, as he desperately needs a shave! But now I am thinking and writing about him. I didn't plan this relationship, like many things in my life it Just Happened to me. But I am so happy that it did. We seem to want the same things out of life, which is just perfect. Morbidly, I try to imagine life without him, but I just can't: he is everything I want.
Today was hot and sunny, quite shocking for May in the northern hemisphere. It's strange how seasons affect your mood - despite the fact I hardly slept last night, I woke up feeling so positive and carefree and cheerful. Everything was bright and clear, and there were the Beautiful Children playing footie in the street before school. They always look happy and smiling, how kids ought to be. I got a bus into town past the big Angel, which looked incredible; uplifting somehow. Beautiful day. A day when you should drink ice-cold beer all afternoon. Which is just what I've done.
I want to be a Nuer. I like their ideas about marriage. It's very important for a man to have lots of children to carry on his name. Even if the man dies, he can still have children. His wife has to marry his brother to replace him, yet still remains married to his ghost, so any children she has are still his. His wife could also marry his sister and borrow sperm from someone else. Any child a woman has is automatically the child of her husband, regardless of whether this is biologically true. Sounds pretty funky to me.
Don't you think I know what it feels like? To be so totally and utterly in love with someone that you lose sight of yourself? It hurts. It's uncontrollable. All-consuming. You hope and pray for simple indifference – anything is better than knowing she hates you. And if she comes near, you sweat, you panic, and you lose all sense of rationality and self-control. You lose any confidence you ever had. And you can't tell anyone incase words get back to her. You'd rather torture yourself for eternity than risk her ridicule. It is self-destructive, dangerous, unending. But also hopelessly addictive.
Why do universities set exams during the sunniest part of the year? Why are cash machines always miles away from the pub? Why are tampons so expensive? Why are buses always late when it’s raining? Why does my hair go skanky when I’m already self-conscious? Why can I remember phone numbers but not people’s names? Why do you need the loo more when you know you can’t go? Why do some people never suffer hangovers? Why are people’s birthdays always the day BEFORE you remember them? Why do my sandals never fit properly? Because Fate is a sadist, that’s why.
There's no light coming in the front window this afternoon, and yet sunshine pours down the stairs, reflecting off my ancient and crumpled posters so I can no longer make out the images. My phone beeps irritatingly until I give up and reply to Robin's daily message. I can hear snatches of conversation as people walk past outside. The Beautiful Kids are back, this time racing their on their scooters. The fish float aimlessly around their tank, looking vagually intelligent. Then Carl appears in the doorway, and now I have to get up and start concentrating on my life again.
Writing these words every day is a bit like drinking. I enjoy it. I could quite happily waffle away on here all day, just as I could drown myself so easily in the bar. But there has to be limits on it. I have to write a hundred words. Seven lines on the screen. Never seems enough does it? Have to stop before I lose all coherency, just like in the bar. Before I make a complete twat of myself. Can't spend more than the seven quid in my wallet. Have to stop, or else I will be forcibly removed.
Exams really do bring out the worst in people. Not only am I stressing, and taking it out on everyone else, I have become an incessant people watcher. In my last exam, I kept noticing one bloke really looked like he needed the loo. A few girls around me didn't look too confident, but gave off the air that they didn't care. Next to them were the people who weren't doing too well either and trying not to look too bothered, but were obviously as nervous as hell. Those who had finished (like me!) tried not to look too smug.
Today, after a horrifically difficult exam, the Powers That Be decided to drench me as I walked home. I was only wearing a t-shirt because I'd naively assumed it'd be fine. My shoes came undone, and the wet laces whipped round my ankles. When I got home I found Niagara Falls on my doorstep, as the gutter had split. I then had to stand under Niagara Falls while I searched through my bag for my keys. Eventually I got the (now swollen) door open. I stood on the mat for a moment, dripping, and thinking how cruel life is sometimes.
I am having a slobby day... (sitting around in a giant purple tee-shirt and neon red tracky-bums and pink flip flops... oh so tasteful!) I've got no energy, but don't feel sleepy. MY EXAMS HAVE FINISHED!!!! I SURVIVED THE LOT!!! it really is such a relief... I can relax again and I just feel GREAT, on top of the world! And I'm gonna tell everyone about it! It's such a nice feeling not having anything at all to worry about. I haven't had that feeling for a very long time, it seems. and its sunny and warm .... happy day!
Something bothers me about this place. I've been living here eight months now and everything seems to be normal (apart from the black mould growing up the wall in the bathroom, the slugs in the shoe pile, the split gutter and the mural on the wall upstairs nailed up at a very strange angle). The neighbours seem normal. The street is terraced and looks a little like the open credits on Coronation Street, but since we're now Oop Norf I guess that's normal too. BUT THERE ARE NO BIRDS. Ever. Not even when I put bread out for them Hmmm….
Continuing yesterday's thought process, I am beginning to construct a conspiracy theory about the Lack Of Birds. Another thing that seems to be a Very Northern phenomenon is the sheer number of bakeries and pasty shops up here. I walk past SEVEN on route between my lecture halls and the bus station. There must be a lot of meat required to fill seven shops with freshly-baked pasties every day. What exactly goes into a Cornish pasty? (CORNISH pasties, freshly baked on the premises in DURHAM!) . How about pigeon pie? Sea-gull and cheese wraps? Starling rolls? Roasted breast of sparrow?
I am happy. Life seems to be going my way, and I feel really relaxed. But somehow it's not enough. I've got a sudden desire to disappear, run away. Throw a few things in a bag and get on the first plane I can. Don't care where. It's totally irrational, and I know there's no way I could. But I don't know where this feeling comes from. It's not as if it's the first time. Consciously, I'm happy here, with Carl, uni, my friends.. Maybe I'm too impatient for the next challenge. But what exactly am I running away from?
I don't know why I wrote all that yesterday. The thoughts are still there, but maybe they shouldn't have been shared with the world in general. I think this website is a form of blatant exhibitionism. If you are not showing off your literary skills, you are opening your heart and soul to anyone who dares to read it. A bit like a literary Big Brother (which, incidentally, is on in the background, and I'm trying unsuccessfully to ignore it!) What is worse than the spleen-venting, is the fact that I'm pretty sure nobody is remotely interested in this drivel!
I'm writing this late, and apparently it's the Queen's jubilee. There was a rather saddening attempt at a street party in our town. An old granny in a wheelchair, wearing a plastic hat with the Union Jack printed on it and a tight elastic strap underneath, was wheeled out to watch the goings on. A few local families strung balloons between their houses, with rather scary looking pictures of the Queen printed on them. The Beautiful Kids, otherwise so cheerful, were forced out to Enjoy Themselves, all dressed in red white and blue. Then it rained, and everyone gave up.
Having slagged off the jubilee, it's now time to attack the other national obsession of the moment: the World Cup. Never having been any sort of sports fan, it bores me stupid. Football seems to be a permanent fixture on TV – it's never just a winter thing any more. Now, there's football on the TV for several hours a day, blotting out everything else. Except of course, other national treasures like Big Brother, coverage of the Jubilee and that classic celebration of fine arts and culture, The Eurovision Song Contest. Of those, I remain undecided as to which is worse!
WE HAVE A CAR!!!! This is a major development in life, the universe and everything. I'm going out on Thursday, and FINALLY, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I don't have to run home early, in true Cinderella style, in order to get the last bus. Not that I can drive mind you. No, that would be asking too much. Carl can drive though. So, he can be One's chauffeur. Which means I can drink on Thursday too. What fun I'll have! I can't believe I've finished my first month on such a lame subject.
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