Tag Archives: growing up

One that makes you larger, one that makes you small

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Rest on my table by my bed

In your brightly coloured dress;

Signs of were and is and might still be

All piled together in white and pink.

I may acknowledge but I resent

I want what it was and what it wasn’t.

These days I can’t seem to make

My own mind amidst the contradictions.

It’s not your fault-

Or maybe it is- I know not.

So I keep staring.

So…April came a’knocking

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And he found me in a peculiar fugue, dear friend. It would seem that my mood slingshots from hyper-happy to furious to stressed beyond measure (which is accompanied by the urge to burst into tears). In between there are bouts of serenity, usually when I’m curled up in a quiet corner, reading something, or while at a coffee shop, people-watching. I used to despise early 20th century literature for the proclivity of its characters to wax poetic over the futility of existence, yet never actually doing anything to shake things up. Now I fear that this is what my outer existence has become. (My mindscape is as busy, loud and chaotic as ever. And thank gods for that!)

It could be spring blues. Or it could be further confirmation that 2016 is out to screw us over. Whichever school of thought I find myself inclining towards each day (like I said: chaotic mind) I think I’ll aim for more of those peaceful moments. I know that the next couple of years will result in more stress than what is definitely healthy for anyone. So let’s see: maybe if I actually try to find these short retreats I will eventually not feel guilty for taking a break. Maybe even not feel like I’ve wasted my day if I roll out of bed after eight.

Will I still be infuriated by the words “Don’t worry/panic about it”? No doubt. Will I still daydream of trips that I have neither the money nor the time for? For certain. Will I still find any social interaction with people I’m not familiar and comfortable with (and that is a short, short, short list) tedious at best, terrifying at worst? Why are you even asking? But maybe, just maybe, at the end of the day I will also be able to go to bed at night and not feel like I accomplished nothing. Maybe (if I’m very lucky) I’ll be able to look at a person and read their thoughts from their expression, not my projected fears and insecurities. I dream small because I have found that mountain-high dreams only result in crushing disappointment.

After all I could care less about being great. I just want to be happy.

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.

In a fugue

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It’s been a…weird day. I woke up and fell asleep three times (no thanks to the assholes that thought loud music and open windows are appropriate in fucking midnight), got tenderly reminded by my bank of both my distressingly low account balance and jobless state and realised that my end-of-term o’clock mini-depression arrived just on time. What do I mean by that? Well, you know that state of constant hyper-awareness that you live in when you have a looming deadline, when everything is super intense and you begin to wonder exactly how many shots of espresso are in that cup anyway? To paraphrase Count Dooku, “Twice the high, double the fall”. Suddenly I don’t have deadlines (except for the blog-related ones). Suddenly my readings are for mid-April rather than mid-next week. Suddenly I realise I’m not quite sure what to do with myself now. Oh, I have ideas, things I want to do, things I kind of have to do (like laundry). But how?

All these thoughts in my brain before even breakfast, they just made me want to crawl back under the blankets and pretend the world ended. But if I’ve picked anything after four years in England is that the best thing to do is to ignore what the whining in my head says. So I pulled myself out of bed and in a half-decent attire and walked to town. Maybe a nice breakfast would help…To give credit where credit is due Aubrey’s  vanilla ice-cream, caramel biscuit, espresso crepe made me feel a little better. But not for long. 😦 So I moved on to the next thing on the list of things that usually work: walking around with music. And then the next: bookstore browsing. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I’d feel better for a few minutes and then go back to wanting to cry in a corner. Or lay down and stare at the ceiling/sky. So I gave up. Yup! Don’t expect a miracle to happen. Not this time.

I walked home, fixed me some lunch and sat down to watch Hocus Pocus and the Witches of Eastwick back to back. And here I am now, still in that damn fugue state, only with two more movies to quote from and more dishes that need washing. I guess I’ll just have to chuck today in the Life-sucks bin and hope that tomorrow will be a little better. Or that a miracle will land on my lap. Hm….I wonder if I could get away with lighting anything bigger than a tea-light….-suspicious glance at ceiling fire alarm-  You gotta admit, sometimes you have to use the less conventional methods…

 

 

 

 

 

 

P.S. And before anyone panics, no, that does not mean I’m planning on setting anything/one on fire. I’m not the freaking Joker!