Wednesday 30 May 2012

Putting Off Leaving

I should really be packing.

This Academic year is at its end and I'd decided that once the farewell barbeque was out of the way I might as well travel back to my spiritual point of origin. However, since no relative of mine lives in the house I grew up in anymore, I pretty much revolve around it, randomly hitting various other locations during orbit. For the most part, my summer will consist of me staying in a multitude of spare rooms with sporadic access to the internet whilst wearing clothes out of a small suitcase and working in customer service. Call me old fashioned, but I much prefer it when summer is a time for relaxing.

In all fairness, that's pretty much what I've been doing here and, I suppose, why I've subconsciously been putting off leaving in an effort to try and stay. Sure, I had various University-related engagements to tend to, but now that they're all over until the next lot start up again in mid-September, I've relied on excuses to keep me fixed in place; yesterday's barbeque was pretty much the main, and quite frankly, only one I had. Today has an air of "morning-after cleaning" about it after the bowls of half-eaten cold pastas and potato salads litter the tables, untouched trifles still sit in under blankets of cling film, plates and rubbish are overflowing from the sink and the bin in equal measure and there's a whiff of charcoal smoke still laced into last night's clothes and the wooden coffee table we naturally assumed it would be okay to put the disposable barbeques on provided we put a bit of concrete down first. Regrettably, we have no spare concrete and resorted to using a thin piece of slate. As a result, the wooden table proudly displays two black rectangles as a loving reminder of the exact position on the table where we once decided to have barbeques.

Naturally, I've not bothered to begin with the cleaning ceremony, although at the time of typing I can hear movement in the kitchen coming from my housemates. This stirs within me two thoughts: 1) I feel guilty for sitting here and not helping to clean up, and 2) I hope they save some of that leftover food as I have nothing else in the house and plan on gorging on such food for the next two days. Also the fact that I'm not cleaning the kitchen reminds me of the fact that I'm not cleaning this room, in turn remnding me that I'm not packing up the essentials for my proposed day of travelling tomorrow.

Incidentally, tomorrow marks a special occasion where I am. The almighty, hallowed bit of fire that was ignited by the sun itself in Olympia, Greece, smuggled through air-traffic customs and passed along by various people by way of golden sticks will come through the section of country which happens to exist just down the road from where I'm currently sat... at 8am. I didn't plan to stick around to see it but it's funny when shit comes together like that. Later on during the day I can then make the various train journeys from where I am now to where I'm going to spend the summer months. Therefore, that gives me some 20 hours or so to finally sort out the room, decide what to take on my travels and what to neglect for three months, polish off the last of the leftovers, clean up the rest of that kitchen mess and, if possible, find some time in which to sleep. Instead, I've been typing letters into a machine to form words that few people will ever read.

Like I said, I should really be packing.

Wednesday 23 May 2012

Slightly More Optimistic Than Usual

To paraphrase that old children's song: The sun has got his hat on, hip hip hip hooray, now everyone can start complaining that it's too fucking hot rather than too fucking cold. I've used this time of yellow daylight, as opposed to grey daylight, to wear cooler clothing, stand outdoors and gaze at bees and stuff in a fairly awestruck manner. There's just something about the summer months that feel so jolly to me, which is weird since I'm pale, burn easily and tend to suffer from hayfever so badly that a single sneeze could shatter a wine glass at fifty paces. Maybe it's the potential and oft speculated, yet never actually checked out, confirmed and diagnosed Seasonal Affective Disorder outweighing the neck-wringing winter time with an extra dose of optimism. Maybe it's the fact that I was born in June and something deep within the season resonates with my very being. Maybe it's the fact that Eurovision's on next week (or this week [or last week and I need to catch up {more brackets in brackets!}]) and it's always fun to spend one of the first nights of summer doing exactly the same as what I've done for the last six months - stayed in, watched TV and not gone outdoors.

Outdoor time seems more appropriate nowadays though and these once depressing babbles of nothing will hopefully soon transform into slightly more optimistic babbles of nothing. Case in point, this. I've spent the entire day trying to think of something to ramble off onto this thing for your eyes to look at and your brain to attempt to make sense of, but there's a reason why I'm suddenly typing this out at 7:45pm rather than any "normal" time. The muse of creativity has escaped me, or it never even passed by in the first place, but I probably saw it in the background as an extra on Casualty or something last week. (I'd just like to clarify that that's obviously a lie... I don't watch Casualty. Is Casualty even still on these days? Why am I here?) Kicking my thought process into gear has proved rather difficult lately which just goes to show that, despite being slightly more optimistic than usual today, I'm still crap. The only difference here is that today I actually feel alright about it.

With creativity barely existing within the realms of my mind/body/soul/television, I've had to resort to doing productive things, you know, that serve some kind of purpose. I'm coming up to the end of my first year dwelling in this student house and all throughout the year, myself and my living colleagues have had to suffer the sight of an overgrown garden that seemingly hasn't been attended to since the Ancient Romans probably constructed a road in the same spot. Needless to say, it was a jungle out there. It's okay though, we learned to keep the kitchen blinds constantly closed so that we'd never have to look at it, not that we could because the world was in a state of perpetual darkness over the winter period anyway. But, of course, I speak of this overgrown, jungle-like garden in the past tense now. After sitting indoors for most of the afternoon and realising what a glorious day this is and questioning why I'm not on the opposite side of the walls surrounding me and arguing back that I don't have a reason to go outside at all, I stopped myself and realised that since nobody else is uprooting that mess in the back for us, there was only one thing for it. Well, technically two things: gardening gloves and a rake (well, actually that's three things if you count the gloves separately).

Two-and-a-half hours and one aching, arched back later, most of the wild foliage is either in one of three black binbags, ravaged in a pile of dead leaves and loose roots or, in the case of one particular corner of the contained area, still untouched. It were a big job, yanno. It's nice to know that the garden will look clear at somewhat tidy (or at least tidier than it was) during the summer months when nobody will be here to enjoy the space. And we'll all come back in September, the freak of nature that is the entirety of the ground will have disobeyed the super-strength weedkiller and smatterings of table salt we thought might work to stop things growing and the place will end up another impassable jungle for us to look at in the dull grey light of winter from the kitchen window, but never for us to venture into.

Ah, the circle of life. Que sera, sera. Etc. Happy summertime.

Wednesday 16 May 2012

Ego

Now I'm not one to toot my own horn, particularly. On that note, "tooting" one's own horn just doesn't sound right to me. If anything, horns "honk" rather than "toot". To say that horns "toot" is like saying serial killers just like playing "Morgue". Gotten away from myself again. I don't honk very often, but I feel justified in doing this since I'm, you know, human.

Human beings are naturally ego-centric. I don't mean that in the sense that we're all arrogant and don't care for anyone else as long as we live. 'Ego' is the Latin word for the self - quite literally, 'I'. We can spend our lives saying we care about other people but in all honesty, it's our actual nature of being that means we really care about ourselves more. Sure we can look after others who are perhaps less fortunate than ourselves or take on board the differing opinions of others and see certain situations through their eyes, but before all that, we come first.

It is because of this that I've decided to keep this one short. I've been writing and submitting far too much this week, even to the point where I was told to stop and leave them alone now. Let's back up a shred, shall we?

Some time ago (don't ask me how long exactly, time's become one continuous blur of internet, television and sub-consciousness), I happened upon the Top Ten Of Interest. Sounding like a vague obscure reference to Futurama, my curiosity was obviously roused. People write amusing top ten lists of stuff and then send them in. Writing opportunities. Yay. I figured I could do that too, except I got halfway through my top ten list, realised it was crap, got bored and started a completely different one that lasted over 4,000 words. That's more than any assignment I've stressed over during this entire year. I'm yet to hear back from those in charge; chances are they've succumbed to old age and possibly starvation if they didn't have a burger to hand at the start of it.

Today also just so happens to be National Flash Fiction Day and Twitter's going crazy with over three posts an hour on the subject. I ended up writing this for the cleverly (if a little ambiguously) titled journal FlashFlood. The journal said they were accepting up to three submissions from a single person, meaning I felt obliged to provide them with a second story which prompted them to tell me, in a politely written line, that I'd already had something accepted and to please leave them alone, but thanks all the same. Turns out they wouldn't have minded three submissions straight off and they'd pick the best one of yours to include. Oh well, ho-hum.

During the composition of this lot of words that nobody's really going to read, another thing by the name of Write-In is currently going on for the next couple of hours. Well, one would rightly assume you could write a 100-word story in less time it takes you to polish off that cuppa you just made. So yeah, why am I still doing this? Shut up and leave me alone! I can't care about you right now, I've got myself to think of!

Wednesday 9 May 2012

Free Time

My current sleeping pattern is refusing to subside. Okay, I know, as a student it's perfectly normal for me to stay up late enough that I just about see the sun coming up and wake up late enough to see it disappear. But I'm not normal. Actually, on that note, what is normal? I see so many people claiming how they're not normal and how they're happier and better people for it. It's become so common that I'm invariably starting to judge such people as "normal". Except I shouldn't. There's no such thing. Every human is different and normality, in terms of one's own personality and upbringing, is subjective so please, disregard this entire opening paragraph.

-ahem-

My current sleeping pattern is refusing to subside. Okay, I know a lot of students stay up late enough to see the sun just coming up and wake up at- oh fuck it, I'll just get on with it.

Typically, throughout this academic year, I've been going to bed around 1am, allowing me to catch sleep at a reasonable hour whilst also allowing me to stay up long enough to catch endless repeats of Family Guy. Apart from those few days when I've had to attend a 9am lecture, I've generally awoken at around 9:30am - 10am at the absolute latest - to give myself time to prepare for the day ahead. However, now that assignment deadlines have all been and gone and because I am not assessed for anything under exam conditions, the amount of engagements I must attend are few and far between. In my anticipation of this time, I thought of all the wondrous things I could do with this newfound spare time. I could read books I've been meaning to all year but never had the chance. I could play long lost video games and subsequently reminisce about my childhood whilst sat looking out of a window, my elbow on the windowsill, my hand cradling my head, a short yet contented sigh and an "oh, golly" look in my eyes. I could cook and eat more healthily, paying extra care and attention to the vegetables I'm steaming in a seemingly novel fashion (put chopped veg in a sieve over a pan of boiling water and put the lid on top... actually works wonders). I could go for a walk. Where? It doesn't matter! I have free time, dammit!

Except I don't cook healthily, I don't read any of the books I've been intending to and I don't sit at a window gazing out and thinking of jolly memories past. I lie in bed and think of all the bad things that have ever happened to me, or that I've ever done to other people, or all the good things that never happened to me and question why this is, but I don't receive an answer because God, in my experience, either doesn't exist or he/she/it's been giving me the silent treatment since day one. I have free time now, and that's the problem.

I even said it earlier; I have fewer and far-betweener engagements to tend to now that I literally don't have a reason to get up. Sure, I could do all those things I wanted to, but they'd require me to get out of bed, get dressed and walk about a bit, only to end up changing again and going back to bed. Even getting an early (or at least what I'd consider "early") night doesn't help. The other day I tried going to sleep at midnight and the voices in my brain (which, incidentally, does not make me mentally insane, I'm reliably informed that many other people experience this too, that includes you. Yes, YOU! How many other you's do think I'm talking to right now?) recall all the bad things that ever happened to me, or all the bad things I've ever done to others, or all the good things that never hap- okay, I'm just lazily repeating myself a lot in this now. Anyway, the point is I tried going to sleep at midnight and was still awake around 3:30am. The knock-on effect of this is that I don't end up waking until at least 1pm and even then I lie there allowing my brain-noises to pick up where they left off for another hour and a half. By then enough time has passed for me to feel like there's nothing left to do with the day.

Case in point: yesterday. I finally managed to vacate the bed and move to the computer chair (all the while wrapped in a double-sized duvet) at around 1:30pm and spent what I believed to be a short amount of time watching video clips on YouTube and, for some reason, reading the Wikitravel page on the United Kingdom, just to see how British people are portrayed to foreigners wishing to vacation over here. If you don't believe me that such a thing exists, look at this. Look at its size. Look at its numerous sections. Look at how tiny the scroll bar is at the side and bear in mind that while I skimmed maybe a section or four, I must've read at least 80% of the page in its entirety. When I actually looked at the clock again it was 6:30pm. By the time I'd cooked and eaten it was time for bed again, although not before animated repeats on BBC Three forced their way into my eyes and ears. Once I'd plunged the room into total blackness once again, the time read 1am; the typical time for me to curl up and let the soul-crushing reminiscence begin once more.

You know how I always hate blogs that read like diary entries? I very much loathe myself right now.

Wednesday 2 May 2012

A Triptych

Now that this year's University assignments are all completed and the fact that I currently lack a job or other regular engagement means that I've stayed indoors for large portions of the day recently. It's not all bad: I've caught up on a couple of books I've been meaning to read, played videos games I've been meaning to play, checked Facebook approximately 700 times a day, slowly made my way through devouring the contents of the kitchen and written, submitted and received the rejection email for a short fiction piece from an online short fiction project. If anything, I've had an accurate taste of what's to come in my life in the near future.

The fact that I've not had much of a main aim or focus in life as of late means that things have become kind of sketchy, which is always a problem whenever I sit down to write one of these things. Usually they work by focussing on one particular aspect of something that happened to me or somebody close by recently or of some thought that had recently occurred to me. Occasionally, tangential narrative will weave their ways into the main body of stuff but ultimately the main focus returns in some form or another. Unfortunately times will come when life feels as though it's drifting, time seems like it's disappearing into a vacuum and sentences take almost three times as long to think up and type out because I'm currently distracted by the images of American Dad! on the TV despite the fact that I've muted the sound so that I'll concentrate on this.

In light of this obvious sketchiness, I'd like to present to you a triptych (that's three little things making up one big thing, like Simpsons' Halloween Specials) of stuff that's happened over the last two or three weeks or more - provided I can remember that far back - in bitesize chunks (like a watching BBC2 at 4am around the GCSE exam period) for you to read if and when you feel like.

Chess

I recently discovered my computer has Chess Titans - which, as it happens, is actually just Chess - as part of its in-built games package. Normally I'd been sticking to the card-based games (FreeCell, Solitaire, Spider Solitaire) as forms of light boredom alleviation. I've even challenged myself to playing Solitaire with Vegas scoring so you only get the chance to go through the deck once, and upping the ante on Spider Solitaire to Medium - Two Suits.

It's been a long time since I've played Chess and I remember that whenever I played in the past I always lost, causing me to become angry and frustrated with the game, even one particular time running away and crying and having to be consoled by my friend/Chess adversary about how it's just a game. It's not just a game though. It's a frickin' IQ Test. It's a routine operation of causing one's opponent into a corner with no way out by using all your cunning, strategy and basic common sense. I've been known to lack these in my lifetime, or at least not pay attention to them when they're there. Basically, when it comes to Chess, I suck.

Strangely, I've been getting more addicted to playing a one on one brain battle against whoever programmed Windows 7 with the Artificial Intelligence it carries. I actually have a newfound love for Chess, but not a love as in Love love, more of a love as in Gran love, more of an admiration that doesn't take up too much of your time. Needless to say, I've managed to dupe the computer's faux-knowledge into surrendering a couple of victories to me after many many losses and perhaps one day - when I'm feeling confident in my own strategic abilities - maybe, just maybe, I'll slide the computer's skill level up to 2.

Sleeping Pattern

When you have no time constraints or set engagements to fulfil, hours of the day needn't matter anymore. Actually, that's a lie. On certain days you'll need to know when it reaches 6/7/8/9pm so that you know you won't miss The Apprentice or The Big Bang Theory or other miscellaneous television broadcast. But you have nothing to get up early for and no reason to go to bed at a reasonable hour. The daylight hours and the night-time hours blur together and, ultimately, don't matter when you never leave the confines of your own house. Anyway, I've got no idea why I'm writing this in 2nd person; my sleeping pattern is buggered. So much so that I wrote all the above stuff last night (or early this morning depending on how you view it - it was in the dark hours if that means anything to you) whilst my brain was still working to some extent, whereas I've only managed to tap out this one paragraph after getting up in the afternoon and sitting here for an hour downing tea.

This bit makes no sense and feels all rambly - ignore at will. Or at least you could ignore it if only you hadn't just read it.

Online Writing

I tend not to use Twitter other than to advertise this thing, but my lack of followers means a lack of views on here. A lack of views on here makes me feel like I'm doing this for no particular reason other than to give myself something to do every now and then. That is what it's for essentially, but a small part of me likes to think I'm reaching out to a wider audience providing entertainment, humour, apathy or even mild rage. As far as integrating myself into the Twittersphere (or whatever the cool kids are calling it these days) goes, I enjoy seeing announcements for online writing submission things. Several projects take place online relating to all kinds of free writing with the rewards being "Look, we published YOUR thing on OUR website! Now other people can read your thing and know that you exist. Also, cash prize? Are you high? Christ we barely have enough money to feed ourselves. Perhaps you missed the point of an ONLINE project. You get personal gratification, not material gain, et cetera and blah blah."

In the last few weeks, hell, in the last few months, I've written something (that was really crap about a woman lost in the woods being chased by an unknown assailant or something that had no dialogue or characterisation or anything that makes it technically decent) and submitted it to one of these online things. (I'd like to pause for a moment and apologise for my overuse of the word "thing" to describe certain... things. My tired brain is facing immense difficulty trying to label them more accurately.) I was instantly informed that my submission may face scrutiny for up to a month whilst those in charge ran some quality control. Less than a month, or to use a more accurate term, one day later I received the rejection email. Huzzah! I'm a failed writer. Now I can watch TV, heat up leftovers, kid myself that I'll actually read a book at some point and ultimately go back to bed at 4am. Ah, the high life.

And now that the third part's over, imagine (if you want to) the closing credits of the aforementioned Simpsons' Halloween Special since no such video actually exists on YouTube for me to link to.