Femme Fatale

Today, I have been fazed by complications.

It is Sunday evening and I have once again lost my weekend in a haze of crazy nocturnal activity inbetween lazing around in bed. In fact, my whole week has been unproductive in its entirety.

Here's some tips:

If the boy you're kind of seeing (but not really seeing because you've only actually seen him once so how can you call that exclusive but that's besides the point) calls you up at half two in the morning when you're with your friends who are down for the weekend except that they're not really your friends and you kind of might have had a little thing with one of them at some point, then a) don't answer the phone and b) do not let the boy who you kind of had a thing with but not really and who is quite attractive with an amazingly sexy voice and also a proper Real Doctor take the phone from you and speak to the boy because the boy who you're kind of seeing but not really seeing might think that you're the kind of girl that does that kind of thing every Saturday night, when really, you're not that kind of girl at all.

Oh dear.

I am so so tired. I am so confused. I have been like this for over a week. I have a report due and a viva voce next week and I can't think and I'm not sure and I just want someone to talk to who is a) a girl and b) understands. Someone who doesn't resent me, because it's not as if I do go around suggesting that all of the boys are after me but I can't help it if somehow it's true. I'm not trying to be a homewrecker or a cocktease or arrogant bitch or whatever you want to think, I just want to get along with people. I just want to be friendly and have fun and yes, maybe flirt a little, too. But so can you, you know.

This is why I don't want to drink. I do not like myself when I am drunk. Alcohol is not an excuse.

Oh dear.

On the jukebox: Elton John ~ Are You Ready For Love?

Magic Moments

Today, I have been exhausted.

Weirdest week ever?

Hmm. Hmmm.

Too much caffeine; too little sleep. So many men; so little time. It appears I've been doused in some sort of boynip that means I'm a magnet for males of all sorts. The girl with the golden touch. Beautiful, bittersweet irony. You wait forever for a bus and then...

Honestly, I'm not used to this attention. And seriously, all in one week?

Where did the time go? I feel like I'm drifting along in a fantasy world and I'm not sure whether I want to face reality. Bizarre. I can't afford to be distracted at the moment.

It is really, really odd.

On the jukebox: Razorlight ~ Who Needs Love?

Zoning Out

Today, I have been surrounded by testosterone.

Distracted.

Boys. Everywhere. All the time. Filling my mind and my work and my home and my days and my nights.

I am not a girly-girl. But I am not one of the lads. However, in my type of work, I am in the minority gender which probably shouldn't make a difference, boys are people too, after all. But I miss having girl friends.

I know it shouldn't really be this way, and maybe it's somewhat in my head, but I kind of feel like I'm on display anytime I walk any place. I kind of feel like I have to be extra girly to counteract all the boyish banter that flies around. I kind of feel like I'm being teased or talked about, constantly. I kind of feel like the ladies loo is the only place I can really escape. I kind of feel like sometimes I just need a female there to understand.

Everyone is so far away these days. IT'S RUBBISH.

Frustrated.

On the jukebox: Britney Spears ~ Boys

Minding Gaps

Today, I have felt far away.

I don't think I know of many people in a relationship where it hasn't been long distance at some point. It's practically unavoidable in this day and at our age. And it sucks.

However, most people I know are near each other for at least some of their year/time/life, so what do you do when there's the situation where neither of you lives near each other for any time. When you'll always be at least three/six/twenty-four hours away in between the days you're not seeing each other? I mean, what's the point?

How do you even go about starting a relationship with someone who lives a million miles away? How do you do the whole getting to know you without becoming incredibly intense very quickly because you have no option other than to spend the entire weekend/holiday together, because there is no other time otherwise, you have to fit in as much as you can as soon as possible before it goes away again. And it doesn't just apply to relationships, but friendships, too.

All the travelling and planning and constant goodbyes, it wears you down. Is the result really worth it? Is distance really the deal breaker, or is it something else? How can you ever know when you don't have the chance to find out?

Why don't we all just live in little villages and never venture beyond the bordering woods? And then the people you are closest to emotionally coincide with the people closest in proximity. Sure, life would be less interesting, but a lot simpler, too.

Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out.

On the jukebox: Chris Isaak ~ Wicked Game

Dancing Queen

Today, I have had a good, good night.

I've had enough of clubbing. Once in a while, it's fun to dance a bit, for a couple of hours, but I find it hard to hack the whole night in such a stinky, sweaty place stuffed full of students. Three years is enough, and I didn't even experience or enjoy it particulary during those years. Despite that, if I let go and decide that okay, I don't do alcohol and okay, I don't have to do this every week and okay, almost everyone is younger and thinner and more drunk than me then somehow, it becomes a lot easier to have a good night.

Last night was fun, in several respects.

I like music. It's too loud, but I know a lot of the songs and so I can sing along. I like dancing. I really like dancing. And I can go crazy spinning and jumping and skipping and no-one thinks any less of me, because they don't need to know that I'm not drunk. The clarity of mind that comes with being sober is amazing because you have potential to act however you like whilst being fully aware of what you're doing, but the fact that everyone else is suitably inebriated to do the things you'd quite happily do without inhibition anyway, means that you don't look like too much of a fool or a weirdo.

I like watching and meeting people. It's easy to almost invisibly observe the amusing behaviour or casually participate in interesting exchanges with people you wouldn't so much as smile at if you saw them anywhere else. But you don't have to be best friends, or even flirtation potential, you can still have a common link in conversation. A sort of suspended reality in which any interaction is possible. It kind of makes me a bit sad that we have to have alcohol to be able to talk to people we don't know. How else do you just strike up a conversation with someone without thinking that there's an ulterior motive? What kind of world do we live in?

Anyway, when I get tired and hot from dancing a lot, I sit or stand and I watch for a bit and sooner or later someone will come up to me. And they will give a glance or a gesture, or they will try to sing in my face, or grab me around the neck or the waist and get me to join in. And there are some you can immediately shrug off and they'll stumble away without a second thought. But some might actually try and chat, which is hard in a place where you can't even hear yourself think and the sound is so loud it moves in your body. But they try and they make an effort to actually find out what you're like, rather deciding that what you look like or the fact that you're female is good enough for what they want.

So, you figure that the place is full of people younger and thinner and more drunk than you. But a few aren't. And maybe you have an air of maturity, or the focused eyes and unswaying stance of sobriety but somehow it's the person who also doesn't drink who catches your eye, or the post-grad who is here on a one-off social that happens to be drawn to you. And so you talk, or you get a drink, or you dance, and it's fine and comfortable and no expectations are held and somehow, in this dire dismal heaving hovel, you've found some sort of enjoyment that you couldn't have previously conceived.

The fact remains: I don't really like clubbing. But if you make the effort to make it a good night, accept that it's going to be loud, and lads are going to push their luck and girls are going to act inconsiderately and it's going to be rammed and there's going to be people having sex in the corner of the club because some people have no shame, then you accept that it's not going to be the most fun you've ever had, and you go in knowing all that, you might just find that it can be more fun that you expect.

I'm so tired and it feels like I haven't slept at all, which isn't far from the truth. I ache all over and I can't wait for bedtime. I had a good, good night, though.

Oh, to be a student.

On the jukebox: Black Eyed Peas ~ I Gotta Feeling

Wild Child

Today, I have stayed in.

There are many benefits to being an adult. Independence is one of them. I can go out any night of the week and while people care where I am or if I'll be around for dinner, no-one will expect me to give them a play-by-play or demand that I do what they say. I don't need to consult anyone else to do what I want to do. This ties in with the freedom of being single, which is not to be sniffed at. Yes, it would be nice to cosy up in bed with a boy and a blanket, but there's always time for that.

Last week was a heavy week, socially speaking. I was out four of five evenings, but home before midnight for all but one of them, which is the best way to be, especially when there's a full working day ahead of you. And for your benefit, and for my own personal reminder that I have not gotten too old and boring just yet, I shall lay it out for you...

First was drinks with an old housemate to celebrate her birthday. Not a late one, because we're past the big two-one now and now it's just a flinch with every digit that's added. Eeek, how ancient are we? A good chance to catch-up and find out more about the daily life of someone I used to see every day, but now average around once a month, which is odd but not that odd.

Next up was the band. I'm with the band, haven't you always wanted to be able to say that legitimately? Well, I did. I was on the guest list and I didn't pay for entry and I was that oddball that dances madly and knows the words to this niche folksy indie band that no-one's heard of. It was awesome. The main act wasn't half bad either. And afterwards? We went for drinks with the band; we got bought drinks by THE BAND. On the whole, it was a cheap yet fantastic evening. Though I was one of the youngest ones there, which was also strange to see in a place that's usually filled with people a similar age to me.

In complete contrast, the following night was Disney on Ice, which was filled with people a quarter of my age, as well as those who were at least a decade or two older. I love that I'm at such an age and place in my life that I can appreciate both of these totally different experiences on consecutive nights. The ice-skating was amazing, the princesses beautiful and the princes handsome, as it should be. And it was full of wishes and magic and dancing and singing and all the stories we know and adore. Wonderful.

As the weekend arrived, it was a crazy night out at the neon glow bowling alley. We were the last ones left there and I lost quite spectaculary across two games, even without an ounce of alcohol in my system. But it was ultimate fun and lovely to be able to spend time with people I only tend to see once or twice a season. Even if I did feel like a bit of a seventh part of a six-wheeled car especially when the talk swung 'round to engagement rings. I'm fairly sure I'm going to live the cliché within the next five years or so. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. But there's still time, always time.

So mixed in with the chemistry, the cooking, the lab and the laundry, that was my week. Living with your friends is like having a slumber party every night and yesterday my housemate put Archers in the fruit salad. Today, I made a snowflake out of filter paper and I still get excited about christmas.

I may be an adult, but I'm not all grown-up yet.

On the jukebox: Peter Pan ~ You Can Fly

Playing House

Today, I have been part of a family.

It's really quite odd and I'm not sure what to make of it all until I stand back and take a look and all of a sudden, I'm a grown-up?

I leave early in the morning, and I arrive back after dark. The only time to shop is in the evenings and weekends, but we've got a house of mouths to feed, so it has to get done somehow. We cook communally, it's weird because I've never done that with housemates before and it's strange having to consider what to make for a substantial meal, because it used to be that I'd eat whatever, whenever and not care. But it's lovely to come back to a hot home-made supper and not have to worry about what to eat for tea that day.

So I'm meeting people and spending time with workmates who have jobs and houses and paychecks and only go out at weekends and I come in and start to make dinner for everyone and put away the food and take out the bins and do the washing up. And I put the laundry on and I sit down and relax, for the first time all day at almost 9 o'clock at night.

I catch up on the internet and I check my bank balance. I have a report to write, emails to send and calculations to complete, but they can wait until tomorrow, because it's half past ten and I'm shattered.

Oh, to be a student.

On the jukebox: Malvina Reynolds ~ Little Boxes

Go Fish

Today, I have been fishing.

You know, often people say fishing is a dull past-time. I find it frustrating more than anything else. You wait for ages, dangling the bait in the river, and you wait and you watch and you hope... yet at the end of the day, you may come away with nothing but a sense of defeat despite the fact that you haven't lost anything, you just haven't gained anything, either. How unsatisfying.

Then again, there may be a day where you hang out your maggot and a fish takes at the first dip. Suddenly, you feel the tug and the struggle and you tweak the line and you know if you move an inch in the wrong direction, you'll lose it, the animal will swim away and you'll have nothing to show for it. But if you play it right and you pull it at just the right angle, at just the right moment, you know, you might reel in something worthwhile.

However, once you get that fish out of water, more often than not, you find it's not all that fantastic and the rush, the adrenaline - that excitement that you experience when you finally get the fish you've been longing to catch for so long - just dribbles away almost immediately. It's an awful lot of waiting for a terribly brief reward. Is it really worth it? In the end, all you're left with is an ordinary fish that looks like any other fish and so you throw it back to the sea and hold out for the next one and hope it's bigger and better and wish that when you get it, you'll want this one more than before.

After all, there's plenty more fish...

All cats love fish, but fear to wet their paws

On the jukebox: David Gray ~ Babylon

Book Worm

Today, I have read.

I love bookshops. Truly. I don't read all that much anymore, so it's a little odd but still, I like being there, surrounded by all the beautiful books most of which I will never touch, let alone read. It so wonderful to crawl inside a book and temporarily forget the world outside and I suppose I get a sense of that just by being there. And I adore university libraries. All that specialist knowledge! All those theories and case studies and all in so much more detail than I could ever absorb in my lifetime! I am a geek.

I want to make use of it all, like look up psychological traits or philiosophical concepts or physical explanations or foreign phonetics to find out real meaning for the way we behave or the way people think or the way the world works and talks. The kind of stuff that I'm interested in on a surface level, but never enough to want to study as an actual qualification. There's just not enough reason or drive for me explore them all properly.

Yet still, I like to hang around in bookshops. They're always so quiet and peaceful and I feel like they'll be full of intellectual types who sit and read Plato over coffee while discussing whether the epistemological view of the universe is still valid in an existentialist world. Not that I fit in with that as I'm not a literary type, as you might have guessed. But yes, I love bookshops.

Sometimes, I consider what books to buy. But I'm so bad at actually sitting down to read something that takes longer than two pages to get into. Even the classic gems, like Pride and Prejudice, or The Catcher in the Rye or...Twilight. I've got less than half-way into each of them and given up because I just don't make the time to read regulary. Naturally, I have the time, but in this land of instant gratification, I find it hard to sit and read and not feel like I should be doing something else more productive. Of course, the internet is successful in taking away any of that kind of guilt, which is a both a blessing and a curse.

So I would ask for recommendations, but I won't be buying any books anytime soon - I've got a huge backlog to get through and I don't have the money to buy stuff I know I won't use. I'll continue to visit bookshops though. They make me feel all serene inside and sometimes, I just need that escape when there's a raging storm brewing under the covers of my mind.

On the jukebox: 6 Day Riot ~ Run For Your Life

Remember Remember

Today, I have lost my safety specs.

I am eating toffee popcorn at half ten in the morning. I have had three bowls of crunchy nut cornflakes. I eat sweet cereal when I'm sad. It's my chocolate substitute.

TGIF, eh? I didn't want to go in today. I did, anyway, and when I get there, I discover I don't have my safety specs. The only thing I can't do my day without, and I don't have them. I can't borrow them, because I need to go through the lab to ask around for a spare set. Catch-22. So I try to text. No network coverage. Message sending failed.

I have to go home. I'll get the bus. Three pounds down the drain for a ten minute round trip, but it'll save time. I don't have change. I walk.

Moment of truth, I arrive at the house. No sign of specs. I want to cry. I lie on the bed instead and stare at the textured ceiling and get up and make a cup of tea and now I am eating toffee popcorn and drinking tea at eleven in the morning.

I'll go back in half an hour. I'll have lunch. I'm not hungry, but I'll eat lunch. I'll go to the lecture. I won't listen. I'll try to sort out my goggles issue. I'll do it. I will.

Today is not a good day, for reasons known and then some.

Thunder only happens when it's raining.
Players only love you when they're playing.

On the jukebox: The Corrs & Fleetwood Mac ~ Dreams

Blogful Thoughts

Today, I have had time to ponder wonderfully.

A fair while ago now, I started a blog. It saw a substantial stint of writage, but hasn't had action for the last couple of years or so. It was open to the whole internet at first, until I belatedly discovered that the whole internet meant that people close to me were privy to my embarassingly honest inner thoughts. From then on, it became limited to a few people who were effectively strangers. And then I decided I wanted to know more strangers on the internet, so I started a new blog.

Of the sites I frequent, I realise I am unusual in one particular aspect - as far as I am aware, no-one I know or have met reads this blog. I gather from various mentionings that many of the people I read know another blogger in person or at least better than I would claim to know any of you.

It's part of the thing that makes this whole writing online deal a bit of a weird thing to be doing. I can't have a personal website where I let anyone know what I'm doing without becoming immediately contrived as I find that I simply can't be straightforward in what I write because half of this isn't really who I am. Who writes like they talk, after all? I can't have a totally anonymous blog without finding myself interacting with people to a certain extent, and anyway, as has been proven before, you can never be sure who is watching secretly...

I fall into the internet when I need a comforting crutch to support myself. It's so easy and so avaliable that it's hard to resist, and maybe there's a metaphor in there somewhere. But yes, I could become entwined in all of it, absorb it and feel all warm and fuzzy and full of big bales of yay. But then there comes a point when you're really alone. And no-one's posted anything today, and there's no new comments to make everything okay. Or if they do or there are, you find it doesn't really help anyway. And I think sometimes it's at that point when you realise that although it's convenient and fills a void partway, it's never going to fill your little world right up, and this is definitely becoming somewhat double meaning'd.

So I'm left in this kind of no-man's land. I write, but what I say is carefully guarded and somewhat - unavoidably - forced, in a way. It's not natural, because I don't know how to say it all without considering what people might think when they read it, how they are quick to draw conclusions and make assumptions before I so much as hit the enter key. I trip over myself with stupid analogies to dress up the regular confusion that comes with life.

At the end of it, I suppose it comes down to this latent desire to show off. I don't know what I'm showing off, exactly, but I'm pretty sure that's it. That's all it ever is. Attention-seeking drama queen; mistress of mystery.

What else would you expect?

On the jukebox: Adele ~ Make You Feel My Love