Break Point

Today, I have an aching elbow.


"Never fall in love with a tennis player. Love means nothing to them"

You know, when you're playing tennis with someone, a pleasant pastime for a sunny afternoon, it's good to get a little rally going. Nothing too competitive, just a few hits to and fro, keeping your mind and feet active without getting too exhausted, counting up the hits as you go. But after a while, you want to step up the game a little. It's no fun if one person is constantly missing the points, but it makes it more exciting to make the other player work a little harder, you get a kind of satisfaction from being able to get one up on them. As long as it stays just a friendly game, jovially batting it back and forth, there's no harm done. However, once you start trying to catch each other out, really slamming down the ball, whacking it way across the court, so hard they couldn't possibly try to bounce it back, or sneakily just tipping it over the edge so they don't quite see what you did, it can start to become less of a friendly banter and more of a bitter battle. It's not as fun, then. Perhaps you should stop, slow things down, be more open about the serve you're setting up, and yet, you don't want to do that because although you're not playing to win, you still want to keep score. The thing is, though, even if you do succeed, the victory isn't nearly as sweet as it should be and you wonder whether you should have put down the racket a while back, and just gone for ice-cream instead.

I'm running out of energy, but I'm not ready to stop playing the game.

Stuck in a net

On the jukebox: 3OH!3 ft. Katy Perry ~ Starstrukk 

Time Out

Today, I have been led astray.

It is so rare that I give something or someone my undivided attention.

I turn on the computer in order to do work, yet I can't help but get distracted by this or that. How many tabs do you have open at the moment? I'll just briefly check this, while I wait for this page to load. Of course, that's counter-intuitive because the more pages I have loading, the slower each one will run. It doesn't require much incentive to quickly flick away for an instant, just for a 'break' only to find you've spent ten, fifteen, sixty minutes longer than intended.

Again, back to the hidden secrets of textual activity and internetworking. It's quite plausible to have moments where one is simultaneously texting three different people, whilst instant messaging another. No individual recipient need know about the others and the thing is, with technology these days, no-one actually expects you to devote all of your concentration to one task. You were working, but you had your phone on you, didn't you? Well, yes, but that doesn't mean I'm obliged to respond straight away. If I did that with everyone, replied instantly as soon as I received the message, it's quite possible I would never get anything done. Indeed, more often than not, that is the case.

(Incidentally, in writing this entry, I've turned away twice already to reply to a text. Point proven, eh?)

So, it's good you know, to be with someone, face to face and to be able to focus solely on that conversation with that person. It would be rude to get your phone out, those texts can wait. If it was urgent, people would call - I've heard that remains an option, even in these modern times. When there's two of you sitting in the car, or going for a walk, there's not much else to give attention to than each other. Sometimes I don't feel there's enough of a chance to do that, you know, just take some time out to talk. There's always something you should be doing, or even if there's not, television and computers provide enough entertainment to not be concerned with trivial confab. You don't have to have deep and lengthy discussions, of course, silence can be just as welcoming, but it's a relief to know that you can have a chat without diversion, not to be constantly flipping between different focuses and settle on a subject that could lead to interesting discoveries about a person, a history, or an opinion that you might not have realised had you not chosen to give the undivided attention that everyone deserves, sometimes.

You tell anyone who'll listen but you feel ignored
Nothing's really making any sense at all
Let's talk.

On the jukebox: Sondre Lerche ~ Sleep On Needles

Words Worth

 Today, I have only words, and words are all I have.

"Sixty percent of all human communication is nonverbal, body language; thirty percent is your tone, so that means 90% of what you're saying ain't coming out of your mouth."

The subtle and subconscious concept of body language fascinates me. The little clues, hidden meanings that are wrapped within a single twitch of the lips or displayed in a momentary lapse of concentration in which true feelings slip out involuntarily. It's quite astounding how much these signs, sometimes almost undetectable, can have an effect when making decisions on the basis of character, the difference it makes to people's judgement, the large part paralanguage plays when aiming to gauge a person's real intentions, contributing to the gut instinct you have about someone.

This is part of the issue with internet interaction. As you have nothing other to judge a person than what you seen on screen, it means it's easier to create your own concepts of what the person is like, why they're acting like that, what they're really feeling. Indeed, it's far simpler to overcome the initial barriers one may have when meeting someone new, there is less of the awkwardness, uncomfortable silences don't feature and often, quite readily, a false sense of intimacy is created. You are able to say things you wouldn't dare to utter aloud, you can test boundaries in a way you wouldn't be able to in regular communication. Without verbal or physical clues it's more likely that one could misconstrue a situation or a comment.

It's harder to convey raw emotion - pure elation, fierce anger, complete desolation... all reduced to nothing more than stark words on a page, it's harder to feel the pain, share the happiness with only words. Words are an insufficient medium for the expression of feelings. Without face-to-face interaction, it's not possible to show someone they're out of line soley from a raised eyebrow and steely glare; nor to enjoy a private joke with an exchange of a secret smirk. You can't dissolve tension, fear or sadness within a single hug of mutual understanding; wit and humour doesn't always translate as intended. It helps to be adept at using the written language, but really, that's not enough. When lacking the nuances effortlessly portrayed through body language, there arrives the necessity to derive assumptions from mere words. Words are not enough. But they are such a perfect place to start.

If you're born with a love for the wrote and the writ

People of letters your warning stands clear

Pay heed to your heart and not to your wit

Don't say in a letter what you can't in my ear.

On the jukebox: Johnny Flynn ~ The Wrote & The Writ

Spring Forward

Today, I have had a cheese toastie.

It's been a weird week. Full of dates, mates, dangling bait and staying up late.#

First of all, the best football match I've ever been to. That is, the only football match I've ever been to. As I have lamented and rejoiced in before, many of my friends are now boys. Lads who do laddish things like drink beer and watch football. So I went to watch the football with my merry men. It was quite an experience. After the match, we walked home. Most of it was along the canal, and it was lovely and picturesque and romantic and if only one of the boys was A Boy that I wanted to be with, rather than just Friends who I go to the football with. Hey ho. 

Next up, a cinema date that was not a date. That is, two colleagues going to see a film together because it's Orange Wednesday and they are the only ones that wish to see that particular movie. The only snag being the mismatch of sentiment between the two. However, the jury came to the conclusion that it was indeed a Just As Friends meet, and not a More Than Friends date. This involved tears, because rejection -  even when  implict rather than outright - is brutal, but better than the torture of never knowing. Ah well.

So to follow, there was a course social. Involving boys. And when there are boys, there is confusion, there is rarely a way to avoid that. So there were kisses that did not mean what they were supposed to, and inappropriate looks that made for uncomfortable conversations. In the mix was some harmless texting that would perhaps become hurtful, and so by the very act of remaining secret became a malicious act, despite the fact that it was completely innocent. Oh dear.

The rest of the week proceeded in much a similar manner, regarding boys and girls, unrequited feelings, dashed hopes and missed opportunities. An inbalance of attraction: that's what it boils down to in the end. I'm undecided on the whole cross-gender close friendship idea. I think it can work well as part of a mixed group but on a one-to-one basis, only in specific cases. Or perhaps it can work, I just don't think I've ever experienced it myself. Hmm.

In other news: I still have no cake. 

On the jukebox: Eels ~ Hey Man (Now You're Really Living)

Flix Whatever

Today, I have been a member of a forum.

It's in its fifth year of running, and I've been there since the beginning. When I was sixteen, talking to strangers online wasn't a very cool thing to do. I mean, I'd been on chatrooms and such, but the general consensus was always - why talk to strangers when you can have friends in the flesh? Now, it's considered more widely socially acceptable to network with people you've never met (see, for example, Chatroulette) and so it's not so odd to say so any more. Having said that, if I mentioned in Real Life that I write a blog under an anonymous guise, I'm pretty sure I'd  get some askance glances and chiding comments. It is kind of a weird thing to do, really. But as long as no-one finds out, s'fine...

The Forum Whatever essentially maps my journey from the unknown world of endless potential net mates to a niche clique of a dozen or so regulars. If you take a click (and I'm pretty sure your curiousity won't let you resist, after all it's a given that you're inquistive by your very blog-reading nature) you'll see an alternative view of my online alias, with much of the same as you'll find here, except maybe more explictly stated in some cases. If you sign up as a member, you'll discover a new and fascinating way to waste time online, with discussions on everything from Cooking to Chivalry to Cheerleading and beyond. Plus, you can stalk me more frequently with better precision, and of course, that's the intention of everyone reading this, is it not?

Also, the leader of the pack said that if I manage to get three new members to sign up (that is, sign up, stay for longer than a day, and post more than once...) that the forum would be renamed The Flix Whatever in my honour, for a limited period of time and I'd get some cake. That may or may not be a lie, but it's worth a try, aye? 

And so, guys and chicks,
Let’s all say together,
We like to mix
At The Flix Whatever! 

On the jukebox: Fleetwood Mac ~ Go Your Own Way

Dream Weaver

Today, I have daydreamed.

I think about you. Not all the time, but often enough. I see you. Someone with your hair, or of your height, and I have to look twice. It's not you. Of course it's not you, you're not here. But I see you. I sit across the table from him as we drink. I admire his arms, his hands. They're not like yours, I know, but I can see the attraction, I can. I do. I come back to thoughts of you. We chat, it's stilted. We flirt, it's subtle. For a while, I thought I wanted you, I did. I do. But I know you don't. Or at least, not enough. And neither do I, not really. But I want to see you, I want to talk to you. We could be friends? We couldn't be together. It wouldn't work, I know. Yes, I had a crush on you and if you turned up one day with thai food and flowers, I'd be surprised, but I'd let you in. Because truly, in my heart of hearts, I believe I will see you, someday.

An idle Tuesday, at four pm, perhaps.

On the jukebox: Electric Light Orchestra ~ Hold On Tight -  Accroches-toi a ton rêve  

Tick Tock

Today, I have started the final stretch.

It's odd, you know. I've got to know so many people in the last six months that it's strange that in three weeks time I will have nothing more to do with them. Friends? Sure, I guess you'd call them that. But how much of a friend is a person that you've known for such a short while and won't keep up with after that time? I'm really quite sad at the moment. I'm trying to block everything out and not think about it too much and at the same time treasure each little pretty moment, even when it's not going to plan, there are still smiles to be spread, somehow. It's so hard because underneath I feel the clock is tick-tocking and it all be over in a heartbeat.

Have you ever played those video games where you work your way through the area and different parts of the map become revealed to you as you achieve particular goals or find secret passageways or whatever? Well, sometimes I feel it's a bit like that. As an undergraduate, you know the lecture theatres, you know the teaching labs and you know a handful of professors, namely the ones that teach the modules or take the tutorials, and you don't see much outside of that box and you go home and play with your actual friends who doss about as students are wont to do. Standard behaviour.

Once you get to the point when you're working in a real research lab, all day, every day, you begin to discover faces and places you never realised existed, or at least not in the same way you might have imagined it and the strangest part is that you're a legitimate feature of  the whole scenario. This has been somewhat like being a fresher, in respect of finding your feet, getting to know new people and working your way around the area. It's only now that I'm beginning to appreciate the inner workings of the department.

For three years, the postgraduates were our superiors. Now, they are not quite equals, but somehow we've moulded into their routine, become a part of their exclusive group. We socialise together and all of a sudden these previously untouchable boys are joking with me and acting as if I am one of them, albeit of the opposite gender. I am still patronised, I am still near enough the bottom of the academic pile and if there's a dirty job to be done, or an experiment gone wrong, it's bound to be me who's responsible. But I'm not talked about as a third party, or seen as an inconvenient nuisance all of the time. I am a person who has conversation and opinions of value, who has something to offer beyond chemistry. I am a colleague, a companion, a friend. 

In three weeks this will all end. I don't want to do a PhD. But nor do I want to leave university.

I'm really quite sad at the moment.

On the jukebox: Donora ~ Shout