It is actually quite tempting to not post until tomorrow so that it's exactly a month since my last entry. It is this kind of thinking that had me rather unquestioningly supporting Hillary for prez (come on the synchronicity: Bush, Clinton, Bush, Clinton). It's also why I like even numbers more than odd, they are much more ordered and neat. When I was about 10 (maybe... I have no idea really) I had a book called Awaiting Developments which I loved deeply. It was actually a really odd book about a girl who had a fascination with counting things out, she'd always count her footsteps etc. and it would have to be a certain amount. I am not quite that far gone, luckily. The actual plot was about an old house with a garden being turned into a block of flats. I still remember there was a line in it about her brother being able to spit a watermelon pip at the fence of their garden from the kitchen window and that maybe this said more about her brother than the distance to the fence. This really isn't an important line so I have no idea why I can still remember it. I always assumed that the whole craving patterns and order thing was normal, just as I've always assumed everyone really wants to be a writer... Though I hear some people don't (although I don't really believe them, you get to show people a whole new world, one of your creation. You could justifiably strut about the house wearing a shawl and glasses with a cup of earl grey clasped in your hands and a wistful expression: this would be work!). Perhaps some people like the number... 17 or something ridiculous. People is this world have some crazy ideas. Of course humans are not simple so despite the craving of order my room is invariably messy. This is because I am lazy, mostly. Also, I really enjoy putting on a good dvd/podcast and putting it all in order. I am indeed an Odd Girl.
So I've had a word document open for ages with "Smart Kids" because I apparently was going to impart my thoughts on this topic. I think the general point was that smart kids are bloody annoying. I was never a really a smart kid. I am a pretty slow learner and in kindergarten I still couldn't remember the alphabet (and was terrified that this would be discovered). In Prep I had a disastrously bad teacher called Mrs. Tomao who had a mass of curly hair and a very red face. Unsurprisingly we used to call her Mrs. Tomato. I remember making a lot of things out of cardboard boxes. Apparently she forgot to teach us anything because she was going through a divorce. And even with an overly intensive Grade 1 (with the terrifying Mrs. Forster) I wasn't really into reading. In fact in grade 2 my father was summoned to school to be told I really wasn't reading at the level I should have been. Of course after this I became crezily into books. But even then I never thought reading meant I was that clever, the way that kids acted about it made me think it was a bad thing and when adults said it was a good thing I didn't really believe them. So no I wasn't a Smart Kid, I was much more a Luna than a Hermione. It wasn't til later high school that my reading meant that I knew things. In primary school it just taught me how to go off into an other world. Generally not a completely different world (no dragons) just a little bit different. My memories of Monday mornings before school a filled with dad telling me to quit day dreaming.
So tell me about you. Favourite number? Wannabe writer? Luna or Hermione? (Or who knows, Neville!).
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Monday, 28 January 2008
You know what I mean.
So It's been a few weeks since I last bored you with my thoughts. Not as much time has passed as I had thought though. I have been putting the time to good use by watching a lot of Angel, working and sweating on trams. But you already know this don't you? There has been some friends staying and beer in the sun but you know that too. You don't know that I've been watching the freckles on my feet darken with mixed feelings. But perhaps you know me well enough that I don't need to tell you this. Perhaps you also know that I have concocted various daydreams in which I run into cute!tutor. Mostly the concern in these daydreams is what I am wearing when this happens as well as the secondary quandary of whether I should sleep with him on our first (no doubt) passion-filled encounter. I'm not entirely joking about this (you probably know that too). Sadly no encounters have occurred despite making a deal with the romance gods that I didn't mind if I was wearing my daggiest clothes, as long as I saw him it would be ok. Don't look so worried, I'm not really that obsessed. I just need something to think about and it seems more practical than lusting after vampires (but you know Angel really doesn't do it for me, it's all about Lindsey and perhaps Spike). As an aside: how great is it that a fairly small character from Angel has a Wikipedia page (of course perhaps this says a lot about people who write Wikipedia articles) and I'm not linking to Spike because you really are a hopeless case if you don't know what I'm talking about there. I have also been thinking about grown up things: the correctness of Australia Day, the Decline of the American Republic and how exactly tennis works. All warrant further investigation. On the first topic it seems that Australia really isn't anything to be proud of. Although telling people that can lead to interesting results. Tell me are you proud to be an Australian? (cnnn newsticker: blogger asks question in vain attempt to generate comments from her two person readership). Would you wear an Australia flag tshirt? I wouldn't and I think it's probably a complete misdirection of middle class guilt as well as a wish to look like a cool lefty and not a bogan. Ok I am going to move because my back is hurting and I have to pretend to be a normal person an not an internerd to my housemates. For posterities sake I will say that life remains fleeting and random and unfair and last week was a reminder of that. Do you know why it all happens? (Patrick Verona will never be the same again).
Sunday, 6 January 2008
This is a piece I had in my end of semester creative writing folio which went surprisingly well. It remains a mystery to me why. However as you know, I am not above double usage so here you go. It is clearly non fiction although certainly not entirely the truth (a piece of truthiness, you might say). It had a ridiculously wanky title which I can't bring myself to reproduce here.
My father had come to visit me; he’d decided at the last possible moment that he would. Over the weekend, when I didn’t have to teach, we took the train up to the mountains, so different to the flat brown noise of Hanoi. Here there are picture postcard mountains reaching towards the sky, topped with thick, creamy clouds. Even here there are rice paddies though, the Hmong (and other hill tribes) carve steps into the sides of the mountain and dig channels to keep the seedlings irrigated. The rice paddies chime bright green against the deeper green of the steeper, unusable mountain tops.
The town of Sapa is losing its rustic charm. There are some pretty almost Swiss style guest houses and there’s the market, filled with vegetables and strange looking powdered substances. However, the thing most visitors to Sapa remember isn’t any of this; it’s the hordes of hill tribe girls who patrol the streets. They are dressed in their traditional clothes, heavily embroidered velvet tunics with lashings of silver jewelry. As we leave our guest house they pounce.
“Hello, what’s your name? Where are you from?” they trill, some venturing to grab an arm. They have learnt that unlike the Vietnamese who happily barter over everything and push past vendors a hundred times a day we westerners are hostages to our inbuilt politeness.
“Hello.” I offer, putting on my best ‘I am not a fool, and also I have places to be’ face. My father, enamored by the authenticity of it all, picks up where I left off.
“We’re from Australia.” he says.
“Oh Australia, the crocodile hunter, g’day mate!” says one of the older looking girls. Her English is unaccented, here learning English is the way to earn money and this is more incentive than my students back in Hanoi have. My father laughs mildly back at her and I push him up the road as the inevitable happens.
“You should buy some jewelry for your daughter.” the girl continues, shoving a collection of bangles, necklaces and earrings into our faces. My father looks imploringly at me.
“I already have enough, thank you.” I say, politely but firmly and I grab my father’s hand and pull him up the road. The girls spot another group of westerners and give up on us.
We wander up the slight incline of the main road, keeping our eyes averted from anyone wielding jewelry. Choosing a café, we are ushered to a table.
“You have to ignore them.” I say.
“It’s worse than in Hanoi, or Halong Bay.” My father replies with a shake of his head. He’s smiling though; in my family we celebrate this kind of thing. My parents met while traveling, they adore culture and they had quietly lobbied for me to take a ‘gap year’ while my friends’ parents pushed their children headlong into further study or work.
***
The next day we have booked to go on a two day walk in the mountains. Our guide shows up wearing the uniform of young men in this part of the world: well pressed, slightly flared dark slacks with a t-shirt and dress shoes. He collects us from the front desk of our guest house and like school children and we obediently follow him out. His name is Tam he tells us as we make our way down a steep and muddy track. We pass people working in the rice paddies, pulling out seemingly random chunks of the vegetation. They are mostly wearing their traditional dress and I wonder cynically if the owners of the guest houses in Sapa rush down early in the morning to make sure no one’s wearing any Nike t-shirts.
The set of huts we come to is obviously a well worn part of the tourist trail. There is a water powered mill, slowly grounding an improbably small amount of rice. There is a small child selling small embroidered bags. The hill tribes look so different to the ethnic Vietnamese. Their skin is darker, their hair more brown less back. This little girl has slightly curling hair and a large smudge of dirt on her cheek. My father buys a bag, the walking tour was very cheap and it’s probably financed from kickbacks. If we were to make a brave stand against the cute little girl holding bags and friendship bracelets it would be unlikely to make any difference. The sternly worded passage in the Lonely Plant guide which urges travelers to only buy from the shops in Sapa has yielded little response.
By the time we reach the homestay where we’ll be staying the night there are flecks of mud up the back of my legs and I have fallen down twice. For dinner we sit at a low table outside with the family who live in the house and Tam. The middle of the table is filled with plates piled with food there are spring rolls, vegetables cut into shapes and a variety of meat dishes with lots of garlic and onion, and of course the ever present potato chips. Halfway through the meal someone produces a drinking bottle filled with rice wine. I am caught between wanting to impress my father with my already well honed ability to handle rice wine and an equally childish desire to remain innocent in his eyes.
***
On the train ride back to Hanoi the carriage jolts along the track and I entertain thoughts of my immediate demise.
“I had a really good time,” my father says. “I was impressed that you kept up, with the hiking.” I realize he’s probably referencing the photo albums full of me at different ages looking morose and unimpressed by various holiday locals, sitting on park benches refusing to go any further.
“Good and yeah, I’m a grown up now.” I say, laughing at him. Of course, the ridiculous happiness I felt at the end of the well planed and executed trip said otherwise.
My father had come to visit me; he’d decided at the last possible moment that he would. Over the weekend, when I didn’t have to teach, we took the train up to the mountains, so different to the flat brown noise of Hanoi. Here there are picture postcard mountains reaching towards the sky, topped with thick, creamy clouds. Even here there are rice paddies though, the Hmong (and other hill tribes) carve steps into the sides of the mountain and dig channels to keep the seedlings irrigated. The rice paddies chime bright green against the deeper green of the steeper, unusable mountain tops.
The town of Sapa is losing its rustic charm. There are some pretty almost Swiss style guest houses and there’s the market, filled with vegetables and strange looking powdered substances. However, the thing most visitors to Sapa remember isn’t any of this; it’s the hordes of hill tribe girls who patrol the streets. They are dressed in their traditional clothes, heavily embroidered velvet tunics with lashings of silver jewelry. As we leave our guest house they pounce.
“Hello, what’s your name? Where are you from?” they trill, some venturing to grab an arm. They have learnt that unlike the Vietnamese who happily barter over everything and push past vendors a hundred times a day we westerners are hostages to our inbuilt politeness.
“Hello.” I offer, putting on my best ‘I am not a fool, and also I have places to be’ face. My father, enamored by the authenticity of it all, picks up where I left off.
“We’re from Australia.” he says.
“Oh Australia, the crocodile hunter, g’day mate!” says one of the older looking girls. Her English is unaccented, here learning English is the way to earn money and this is more incentive than my students back in Hanoi have. My father laughs mildly back at her and I push him up the road as the inevitable happens.
“You should buy some jewelry for your daughter.” the girl continues, shoving a collection of bangles, necklaces and earrings into our faces. My father looks imploringly at me.
“I already have enough, thank you.” I say, politely but firmly and I grab my father’s hand and pull him up the road. The girls spot another group of westerners and give up on us.
We wander up the slight incline of the main road, keeping our eyes averted from anyone wielding jewelry. Choosing a café, we are ushered to a table.
“You have to ignore them.” I say.
“It’s worse than in Hanoi, or Halong Bay.” My father replies with a shake of his head. He’s smiling though; in my family we celebrate this kind of thing. My parents met while traveling, they adore culture and they had quietly lobbied for me to take a ‘gap year’ while my friends’ parents pushed their children headlong into further study or work.
***
The next day we have booked to go on a two day walk in the mountains. Our guide shows up wearing the uniform of young men in this part of the world: well pressed, slightly flared dark slacks with a t-shirt and dress shoes. He collects us from the front desk of our guest house and like school children and we obediently follow him out. His name is Tam he tells us as we make our way down a steep and muddy track. We pass people working in the rice paddies, pulling out seemingly random chunks of the vegetation. They are mostly wearing their traditional dress and I wonder cynically if the owners of the guest houses in Sapa rush down early in the morning to make sure no one’s wearing any Nike t-shirts.
The set of huts we come to is obviously a well worn part of the tourist trail. There is a water powered mill, slowly grounding an improbably small amount of rice. There is a small child selling small embroidered bags. The hill tribes look so different to the ethnic Vietnamese. Their skin is darker, their hair more brown less back. This little girl has slightly curling hair and a large smudge of dirt on her cheek. My father buys a bag, the walking tour was very cheap and it’s probably financed from kickbacks. If we were to make a brave stand against the cute little girl holding bags and friendship bracelets it would be unlikely to make any difference. The sternly worded passage in the Lonely Plant guide which urges travelers to only buy from the shops in Sapa has yielded little response.
By the time we reach the homestay where we’ll be staying the night there are flecks of mud up the back of my legs and I have fallen down twice. For dinner we sit at a low table outside with the family who live in the house and Tam. The middle of the table is filled with plates piled with food there are spring rolls, vegetables cut into shapes and a variety of meat dishes with lots of garlic and onion, and of course the ever present potato chips. Halfway through the meal someone produces a drinking bottle filled with rice wine. I am caught between wanting to impress my father with my already well honed ability to handle rice wine and an equally childish desire to remain innocent in his eyes.
***
On the train ride back to Hanoi the carriage jolts along the track and I entertain thoughts of my immediate demise.
“I had a really good time,” my father says. “I was impressed that you kept up, with the hiking.” I realize he’s probably referencing the photo albums full of me at different ages looking morose and unimpressed by various holiday locals, sitting on park benches refusing to go any further.
“Good and yeah, I’m a grown up now.” I say, laughing at him. Of course, the ridiculous happiness I felt at the end of the well planed and executed trip said otherwise.
I am open minded, if by open you mean closed.
The level to which I can NOT cope with uncertainty is quite ridiculous. I like to believe that this is due to my independent and forward thinking attitude and not because I am a crazy person. Clearly the latter is true. The fact that I even vaguely function in society is astounding. See, I thought one of my housemates was getting home today so whenever I left the house today I left her little notes saying where I was/when I'd be back. Each time I'd have this massive internal debate about whether a note was required. But she still isn't here so I think she must have got the day wrong...? Anyway, increasingly irrational thoughts followed to the affect that she'd clearly decided not to come home because she finds me annoying. So irrational.
Anyway. Christmas was nice. I don't think I'll recap much because anyone who's reading this already knows the details or is able to ask if they want to know. It was a very secular holiday for me this year which I consider A Good Thing. Falls was also enjoyable, although less great at times. Damn other people messing up my plans/event. What really annoys me at Falls is that it's not considered okay to do anything alone. The only child in me really enjoys being able to do stuff without running it past the committee of people I'm with, I am quite happy getting some food by myself, you needn't look at me in a way implies that you are shocked and horrified by my loner-dom. Humph.
Anyway moving off the "What I Did Over My Summer Holidays" theme to the the "Stuff that I Thought" theme.
I pride myself on my ability to be able to see both sides of an argument (Thank you Mr. Martin, debating teacher to the stars). However, more and more I find myself simply unable to deal with people who hold different opinions to me on some things. I can't respect them, I can't focus on the things we have in common, I even find sometimes I can't argue with them. It's as if I get some kind of error message telling me our brains are running on different software (I know this is a stupid analogy and I'm embarrassed about it already). This really bothers me because I think understanding is important. I believe in negotiating. And negotiating only works if you can try and find common ground with those who seemingly you don't have any with. I don't know why this is, maybe I feel more confident in my beliefs now? I have become more liberal towards things in recent years (what with no longer be a stupid 16 year old [and now being a stupid twenty year old]. Whenever I feel like just yelling at someone that they are stupid I have this image of my mother poking me with a stick and casting her guilt eyes of motherly doom on me while saying "be understanding, show some empathy". This is Very Concerning. In an attempt to reduce the ridiculous vagueness of this point let me tell you (dear reader) that I find it difficult to cope with people who: are "pro-life", pro death penalty (and so often both at once! Stupid people why must you torment me!?), anti gay marriage, people who believe climate change is influenced by humans and that we can save the world through a reliance on coal technologies (Mr. Giuliani, I am looking at you), people who think that you should choose what degree you do at uni based on how much money you could earn... etc.
Anyway. Christmas was nice. I don't think I'll recap much because anyone who's reading this already knows the details or is able to ask if they want to know. It was a very secular holiday for me this year which I consider A Good Thing. Falls was also enjoyable, although less great at times. Damn other people messing up my plans/event. What really annoys me at Falls is that it's not considered okay to do anything alone. The only child in me really enjoys being able to do stuff without running it past the committee of people I'm with, I am quite happy getting some food by myself, you needn't look at me in a way implies that you are shocked and horrified by my loner-dom. Humph.
Anyway moving off the "What I Did Over My Summer Holidays" theme to the the "Stuff that I Thought" theme.
I pride myself on my ability to be able to see both sides of an argument (Thank you Mr. Martin, debating teacher to the stars). However, more and more I find myself simply unable to deal with people who hold different opinions to me on some things. I can't respect them, I can't focus on the things we have in common, I even find sometimes I can't argue with them. It's as if I get some kind of error message telling me our brains are running on different software (I know this is a stupid analogy and I'm embarrassed about it already). This really bothers me because I think understanding is important. I believe in negotiating. And negotiating only works if you can try and find common ground with those who seemingly you don't have any with. I don't know why this is, maybe I feel more confident in my beliefs now? I have become more liberal towards things in recent years (what with no longer be a stupid 16 year old [and now being a stupid twenty year old]. Whenever I feel like just yelling at someone that they are stupid I have this image of my mother poking me with a stick and casting her guilt eyes of motherly doom on me while saying "be understanding, show some empathy". This is Very Concerning. In an attempt to reduce the ridiculous vagueness of this point let me tell you (dear reader) that I find it difficult to cope with people who: are "pro-life", pro death penalty (and so often both at once! Stupid people why must you torment me!?), anti gay marriage, people who believe climate change is influenced by humans and that we can save the world through a reliance on coal technologies (Mr. Giuliani, I am looking at you), people who think that you should choose what degree you do at uni based on how much money you could earn... etc.
Saturday, 22 December 2007
Insert suitably obtuse and wanky post title here.
Is it just me or is there a totally hot cowboy style guy on the Commonwealth Bank website? He is like a smoother skinned Heath Ledger. I bet you're glad you're reading this aren't you? So I did attempt to leave the house today. Well I left and came back. I waited 30 mins for a bus to come, the whole time it was raining and freezing plus my skirt kept blowing up (I was wearing a skirt on a freezing day because we don't have a washing machine yet, hence I haven't washed my jeans recently. Too much information? Therefore I am totally going to be a typical student who brings her dirty clothes home over the holidays. Ok this bracket has got a little out of control). I took the whole thing as a sign that instead of going to a goodbye bash for a girl from work where I wouldn't know anyone I should come home and put on my ugg boots and watch Angel. I'm pretty pleased with the decision. Of course I'll never know if my soulmate was at that party and I've missed him/her now...
Sorry I keep getting distracted by Angel's brooding gaze, you know how it is.
The other day I was watching the final of Six Feet Under. There's this bit in it where Clare is lying on her bed saying that she has no idea what she wants to do with her life. It occurred to me that I've never really had that feeling. I've always had a couple of plans on the go, sometimes I wasn't sure which plan to go with but I had a plan. I had things that I wanted to do. Sure there are times when I wasn't exactly overjoyed by what I was doing but I've never seriously considered giving up on it... Anyway this is clearly a symptom of my nerdy, feel-good attitude to life. (And why, sadly, even if I had been born a few years later and despite kind of thinking My Chemical romance are ok I could never really be an emo). The concern is that sometime in the future I will have some kind of crisis about the direction of my life.
Speaking of sub-cultures, I feel like I need one. Since becoming the kind of person who buys stuff at opp-shops I have discovered this: while I don't mind the odd hippy clothing item, generally I'm all about the preppy look. I suppose this is because I've always dressed rather conservatively... One of my friend's in 'Nam, who we shall call HK was really into the preppy look. But being from London she was a little better at it and from what I can tell it was very much a statement. The whole Belle and Sebastian twee pop thing? Which we don't really have here... well there are some traces of it in the indie scene. The point of this particular ramble is as follows: I know I'm wearing a Ralph Loren shirt, a knee length skirt, flat shoes and a top that looks like part of a twin-set but I'm doing it ironically.
Ooooooh zombie cops! yay!
Ok my stomach just made a rumble that sounded like thunder so I'm going to eat (a tres exotic meal of rice, tuna, corn and parmesan cheese).
Sorry I keep getting distracted by Angel's brooding gaze, you know how it is.
The other day I was watching the final of Six Feet Under. There's this bit in it where Clare is lying on her bed saying that she has no idea what she wants to do with her life. It occurred to me that I've never really had that feeling. I've always had a couple of plans on the go, sometimes I wasn't sure which plan to go with but I had a plan. I had things that I wanted to do. Sure there are times when I wasn't exactly overjoyed by what I was doing but I've never seriously considered giving up on it... Anyway this is clearly a symptom of my nerdy, feel-good attitude to life. (And why, sadly, even if I had been born a few years later and despite kind of thinking My Chemical romance are ok I could never really be an emo). The concern is that sometime in the future I will have some kind of crisis about the direction of my life.
Speaking of sub-cultures, I feel like I need one. Since becoming the kind of person who buys stuff at opp-shops I have discovered this: while I don't mind the odd hippy clothing item, generally I'm all about the preppy look. I suppose this is because I've always dressed rather conservatively... One of my friend's in 'Nam, who we shall call HK was really into the preppy look. But being from London she was a little better at it and from what I can tell it was very much a statement. The whole Belle and Sebastian twee pop thing? Which we don't really have here... well there are some traces of it in the indie scene. The point of this particular ramble is as follows: I know I'm wearing a Ralph Loren shirt, a knee length skirt, flat shoes and a top that looks like part of a twin-set but I'm doing it ironically.
Ooooooh zombie cops! yay!
Ok my stomach just made a rumble that sounded like thunder so I'm going to eat (a tres exotic meal of rice, tuna, corn and parmesan cheese).
Saturday, 8 December 2007
Billion year old carbon
So I'm going to try for a less confessional tone in this entry. But if you feel like complaining about this sudden avalanche of mediocre prose you should be sure to realise that I got an 83 in auto fictions, at Melbourne University no less. It's actually a quite bizarre experience to be able to make that kind of comment after all my years of chip-on-my shoulderness about going to state schools. Of course now I have the double whammy of "I got into Melbourne Uni after going to state school". Having said all this I really only think Melbourne Uni is all that great for comedic effect.
I am thinking of taking up yoga. And I have only been living in Brunswick for one week. I mostly just like the idea. It would also give me a legitimate reason to buy yoga pants. Perhaps it will help shift my extra three kilos? I'm not sure, I have a feeling it is more about aligning chakras and so forth than something as superficial as weight loss. Classes start January 10, we'll have to wait and see if I'm still enthused then.
Other things I plan to do:
Read:
Fear of Flying
The Picture of Dorian Gray
The Beauty Myth
No Logo
Lady Chatterley's Lover
+ all the books on my reading list for my lit subject (which I just tried to access and couldn't, making me feel both annoyed and like a loser)
Watch:
Casablanca
Festival
Sicko
Ok so now I've written a shopping list style entry. Oups.
I am thinking of taking up yoga. And I have only been living in Brunswick for one week. I mostly just like the idea. It would also give me a legitimate reason to buy yoga pants. Perhaps it will help shift my extra three kilos? I'm not sure, I have a feeling it is more about aligning chakras and so forth than something as superficial as weight loss. Classes start January 10, we'll have to wait and see if I'm still enthused then.
Other things I plan to do:
Read:
Fear of Flying
The Picture of Dorian Gray
The Beauty Myth
No Logo
Lady Chatterley's Lover
+ all the books on my reading list for my lit subject (which I just tried to access and couldn't, making me feel both annoyed and like a loser)
Watch:
Casablanca
Festival
Sicko
Ok so now I've written a shopping list style entry. Oups.
Friday, 7 December 2007
Tyre tracks across my back
Hello, once again time has passed quite without my permission and it is December. Today at work I listened to some truly awful Christmas carols while on hold (it did impress me that they change the music, or maybe it's Jingle Bells all year round?). I'm not going to talk much about moving stuff because that's pretty boring. The new house is feeling less "new" though which is good. I have been working so much that I haven't really had time to properly get to know it yet. It still smells are little like paint too. But here I am in my large "California Style" bungalow, on the route 55 tram line, Brunswick West. Do you ever stop and wonder how this (by which I mean life) happened?
I continually have these realisations about myself. I realise that's terribly self involved and teenager-ish of me but whatever (plus, I have a blog, this didn't tip you off to the fact you'd be subjected to this behaviour?). Today I was involved in a ridiculous flurry of texting on the way home. When I left work I had 7 messages in my inbox, when I got home? 18. Anyway, one of these conversations was between myself and a friend from uni, who we shall call D. D is really cool, a little bit older than me and we had a lot of classes together. We have done the meeting up for study sessions thing, the getting a beer/coffee thing and the getting quite drunk together thing (after exams). We text, email and occasionally even call. Not regularly or anything but we are in contact. The friendship context is important. So I sent her a quite amusing (I thought) message saying we should get together to commiserate over/celebrate our results. She replied pretty much immediately saying that sounded perfect, that she was working this weekend but did I want to catch up for a drink on Monday? So now, objectively I realise that that message is really very nice and friendly. However when I first got it there was this voice in my head that interpreted it as her saying "I'm clearly way too busy and important to meet up with you". Which makes NO SENSE. I hadn't even suggested we meet up this weekend so she wasn't turning me down. Plus work is a pretty valid reason given she's a waitress who often works weekend shifts. So the question is, what the hell is wrong with me?
It is perhaps worth noting that the voice I heard sound a little like queen of my little group of primary school bullies. I am relatively happy with blaming her for this. Although I'm not convinced that I was bursting with self confidence before that point, I'm pretty sure that's why I got bullied. Plus it's not like I'm a ridiculous puddle of nerves on the floor. I am a relatively functional individual... I do stuff. I just assume that people hate me/are trying to give me the brush off. I suppose it could be worse, I could be great at social stuff and never DO anything. I find those kind of people insufferable. The way my brain works is a mystery (of course it would make life very boring if it wasn't). I'm sure my insane need to plan fits in here somewhere (and if you're reading this, person who I had that conversation with you should really have let me know you're reading this when I saw you).
Okay, this is all so self obsessed I may vomit.
The take home message from this entry is you should download Old Men by Chris T - T. (I think you have to download this podcost to get that track).
I continually have these realisations about myself. I realise that's terribly self involved and teenager-ish of me but whatever (plus, I have a blog, this didn't tip you off to the fact you'd be subjected to this behaviour?). Today I was involved in a ridiculous flurry of texting on the way home. When I left work I had 7 messages in my inbox, when I got home? 18. Anyway, one of these conversations was between myself and a friend from uni, who we shall call D. D is really cool, a little bit older than me and we had a lot of classes together. We have done the meeting up for study sessions thing, the getting a beer/coffee thing and the getting quite drunk together thing (after exams). We text, email and occasionally even call. Not regularly or anything but we are in contact. The friendship context is important. So I sent her a quite amusing (I thought) message saying we should get together to commiserate over/celebrate our results. She replied pretty much immediately saying that sounded perfect, that she was working this weekend but did I want to catch up for a drink on Monday? So now, objectively I realise that that message is really very nice and friendly. However when I first got it there was this voice in my head that interpreted it as her saying "I'm clearly way too busy and important to meet up with you". Which makes NO SENSE. I hadn't even suggested we meet up this weekend so she wasn't turning me down. Plus work is a pretty valid reason given she's a waitress who often works weekend shifts. So the question is, what the hell is wrong with me?
It is perhaps worth noting that the voice I heard sound a little like queen of my little group of primary school bullies. I am relatively happy with blaming her for this. Although I'm not convinced that I was bursting with self confidence before that point, I'm pretty sure that's why I got bullied. Plus it's not like I'm a ridiculous puddle of nerves on the floor. I am a relatively functional individual... I do stuff. I just assume that people hate me/are trying to give me the brush off. I suppose it could be worse, I could be great at social stuff and never DO anything. I find those kind of people insufferable. The way my brain works is a mystery (of course it would make life very boring if it wasn't). I'm sure my insane need to plan fits in here somewhere (and if you're reading this, person who I had that conversation with you should really have let me know you're reading this when I saw you).
Okay, this is all so self obsessed I may vomit.
The take home message from this entry is you should download Old Men by Chris T - T. (I think you have to download this podcost to get that track).
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