Tag Archives: 20s

In which I jump rope

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The rope in question being that beautifully thin line between self-delusion and compartmentalising (and try saying that three times fast!). Those who know me in any capacity know that I can panic easily. Not in the ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh hyperventilating kind but rather in the twenty-scenarios-imagined-in-under-10-seconds kind. Bless my writer’s mind! Of course, on a good day, that means I am pretty much prepared for any eventuality up to and including the zombie apocalypse. On a bad day my inner conversation makes the Everything Wrong video series sound like a panegyric. Add to that my ever-present underlying conviction that just because I think something is a good idea, doesn’t mean other people will think so too (and no, telling me otherwise will do nothing. To paraphrase Dr. Banner; “This one’s brain is  like a bag of cats.”). The result? A compulsive need to drown myself in tears (and I’m not adding Bailey’s to that because that shit is expensive!) whenever the words “covering letter” are mentioned. I can argue till Kingdom Come on Chaucer and Aristotelian philosophy, I can play Devil’s advocate for just about any Dark Side character but ask me to tell why you should hire me and all my words desert me.

I’m at my best when you shove me off the deep end and tell me to swim.   Throw me a Code Red and I’ll deliver. Ask me to explain it well in advance and I’ll sound like a bumbling idiot. Hence, one of the most terrifying questions for me (right up there with “Why should we hire you?” and “How do you feel about x/y/z?”) is “What are your plans?”

guy with plan

Gal in my case but yeah. Homicidal Lunatic from Gotham has a point. I just kind of do things. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Some things I like/enjoy/revel in more than others. But the point is, there is no plan. No, no, no! When other people make plans, God laughs, is that not the saying? When I make plans (and declare them) it’s an automatic jinx. I kid you not, it’s happened waaaaaay often to be a coincidence.

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So, until I have a divine revelation where some sort of deity swears on themselves that no, they’re not messing with me because they’re bored, please world stop asking about my plans. I’ve no plans, alright? I’ve vague ideas of possibly-good things to do. And then there’s the pile of things I should/must/am expect to do. And I try to make them coincide. Somehow. Compromise, compromise, compromise.

It’s not that I want to avoid responsibility or that I wanna stay a kid forever. I’m not bleeding Peter Pan. It’s that most of the time I’m stuck in this weird Limbo where I know all of the above, heck I even acknowledge it, but don’t know how to get out. Why? Partially because I just suck. Partially because when they taught us Home Economics at school they felt it was more important to teach us the difference between “nuclear” and “extended” family instead of, I don’t know, how to adult! stitch

In which I ponder the word home

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Haven’t used this tag in a while, have I? Honestly I only stopped because I was having trouble coming up with names. I know mine a hardly the most imaginative of titles most of the time but let’s just say that usually they are what takes the most time in a post…. Also, this will be one of my all-over-the-place posts. I’ve been slingshotting between angry and hyper all day. Sometimes it sucks being a girl… So what’s with the title? Lately I’ve been doing a lot of interpreting of (sometimes badly) translated texts and that’s got me thinking of how concepts transfer from one language to another, from one time period to another. To use a hopefully not-cliché example, an elf in medieval England would invoke veeeeery different images than what Tolkien immortalised in his work….

  

Shrink the scale significantly (I love alliteration!) and you have a 20-something student wondering what exactly it entails to call a place your home. Is it where you come from? Can’t be because eventually you leave your parents’ house. Is it what official forms, rather unimaginatively, call “permanent address”? Can’t be that either. Students (or at least Yours Truly) have the habits of migratory birds: moving around a lot. Yes, you say, but even migratory birds have patterns. Ok, not my best metaphor but you get the point. Is it the place you feel most comfortable in? I suppose there’s a point there. But how can you feel comfortable in a place where you know you will only be for a very limited amount of time?

One of my flatmates was surprised at the amount of things in my room when she first saw it (posters, throws, books, decorative skulls…) I suppose that over the last few years things accumulated but strangely when my room was still undecorated, although it looked bigger, it also felt kind of…claustrophobic. Like a box… I guess turning it to an explosion of colours and patterns was my attempt to make it feel like a safe place if not a home. I’ve always been the kind of girl who will curl up under three blankets and half a dozen pillows when feeling down. I still remember waking from nightmares and hiding under my duvet not to hide from the shadows but because that was my little burrow and no one but me could enter without my permission. Ironic that I grew up to the girl who watched Rise of the Guardians and wanted to hug the Boogie-man…

But back to my point…(I had a point? Right?) Remember the inevitable playing-Sims phase when you’d spend more time designing houses than actually playing with your characters. Like this I’ve been daydreaming my first home for the last four years. By no means the castles I used to build in Sims 2, it’d be a one-bedroom flat, maybe with a tiny garden I can realistically take care of, but it’d be mine. Everything about it would scream me, because for once I wouldn’t have to co-ordinate with someone else’s preferences. True, I can only afford pre-furnished flats at this point, but the positive of incredibly generic flats is that you don’t need to work someone else’s sense of style. You get a simple basic (like good make-up) and work your way up. Also, the right combination of pillows, trinkets and fresh flowers can transform a room. I would know…

And who knows? Maybe it won’t take me a decade before I can afford to rent (no chance on buying and I’d like to avoid going in debt for as long as possible, thank you very much!) an unfurnished apartment and really let loose creatively. A girl can dream. Until then, that’s what Amazon wishlists are for. I’d stick to Sims, but unfortunately my laptop is not able to support the graphics.

Do I have a conclusion? Some sort of last minute revelation? I suppose if I were truly pressed for an answer I’d say that home is where you truly feel safe. Whether this is your parents’ place, the tiny studio you first rented with your own money, a mansion or the tiny coffee shop that you go to when you’re feeling down because the owner reminds you of your grandmother (and no, for once the example is not taken out of my life) it doesn’t matter. Bottom line, we all need a place to be ourselves and when we actually find it, it’s just beautiful.