Wednesday, 15 December 2010

Getting in the bath with your socks on > Magic mushrooms

After sitting at my desk like a robot trying to read Ulysses, I decided to have a break and read some “young adult” books. (I'm hoping it's still acceptable to read them now I'm twenty without seeming like a creep chasing after their fifteen year old youth and willing it to come back...) I’m not though - after reading them I felt filled with relief that I’m twenty now, I can go to bed after 4am without hurriedly turning off my lamp every time I hear my mum get up and I can say 'fuck' and not get in trouble. (Not in front of her, obviously (I'm not that badass), but through the medium of the internet it's acceptable.) I also don’t miss being all angsty and door slamming all the time. I remember after having an argument I would go to my room and slam my door, but it would never have the desired effect as there would be a gust of air that sort of built up mid-swing and then softened the blow, so instead of a massive, rebellious *SLAM!*, it would be more of a *swiiiish, quiet click*. Until, one beautiful day, I discovered that if my window was open, my door would just fly at the frame and smash into it with that satisfying noise I had been waiting my whole life for. Every time after that, when I was angry, I would just storm up to my room, open my window, and slam the door. It was effort, but totally worth it. 
All this thinking about teenagers (again, not creepy...) made me wonder what it would be like if I ever had my own children and I decided that, instead of having to go through the horrendous ordeal of childbirth and consequently end up despising the child for the rest of its life, I would just adopt one. Not adopt in a ‘come and live with me and I’ll be your new mum’ sort of way, more like when you adopt a dolphin or a tiger. It could send me annual pictures of being fed or playing with a ball with its owners or something. Then, when it’s twenty and awesome, it can come and live with me. Just as long as I didn’t have to tell it all the bad things about the world and ward it off drugs and the likes. I don’t know how I’d properly explain the whole phenomena, I’ve never really been drawn to drugs - I’m crazy enough as it is without suddenly eating a mushroom, going for a wee and then pushing on my stomach and pretending I’m a plastic squeeze toy… Although once, I got in the bath with my socks on and, for at least five minutes, I had literally no idea what was going on or why I felt so surreal when I was doing something so immensely mundane as bathing. I imagine that is what it feels like to be on hard drugs. 

Wednesday, 8 December 2010

Killing Off Nature, Book by Book

So recently, as I have yet to mention, every second of my life has been taken over by a black cloud of dissertation full of tears, tantrums and fruitless hours in the library. I've even started to take nature down with me in the form of suicidal fish, and now, apparently, birds. Staring out of my window pondering what would be the best way of going about faking my own death in order to get away with not finishing my degree, I noticed a bird take one look at the mountain of books in front of me and appear to fall like a ton of bricks from the tree it was in, hurtling towards a more peacful place - one I can only dream of. Anyway, I have since been trying extra hard to do some work, even getting as far to borrow Ulysses from the library and start reading (I know I should have bought it at the beginning of the year, but I didn't, so hold back with your snide remarks, please). Upon opening it, I realised with a sinking heart that the introduction alone was bigger than any book I had ever read, with the exception of the Harry Potter series and, seeing as they are mainly written for children, I didn't think it acceptable to include them. But, such is life, so I added my mark to the 'tick here if you're bored' tally on the library desk and proceeded to read.
As well as powering through epic novels, I've bettered myself as a person by going to all my lectures, despite whether or not I am hungover, asleep or eating. (I don't do much else). I even went to my opticians appointment, which had apparently been overdue since August. I do sort of regret that though, seeing as I accidentally punched myself in the nose when going to push my glasses up, then had an uncontrolable laughing fit when the optician attempted to write with the wrong end of his pen, and then slipped on some ice on the way home and nearly went head first into the canal. The last one was a little bit my own fault though as I saw the gigantic patch of black ice, and then chose to walk over it anyway. I also regret going to yesterday's seminar. It got off to a bad start when my friend said she was ill and wouldn't be going, leaving me to realise when I got to the building that I must follow her every week and, as a result, took a good ten minutes trying to find the room. Then, during his speech about mood alterants and stimulants, my tutor decided to pick up my empty coffee cup as an example. As he was stood proudly in front of my desk, clutching my cup like the Holy Grail, I shrank back in my seat, wishing to God I'd not drawn a huge sheep with a plug coming out of it on the side. (We were doing Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep - it seemed fitting at the time). I got my own back when filling in my Module Evaluation form, suggesting that maybe next time there could be less group work and 'audience participation' as it made the misanthropes sad. I should really learn not to write unhelpful, pointless remarks on forms though. Reading through my own notes in an attempt to gather enough information to shove into an essay, I found a page titled Problems With Positivism, which would have been helpful had I not written, 'It's boring and no one likes it'. I made myself feel better by rewarding myself with a piece of advent calendar every time I spelt 'Nietzsche' correctly without looking. That's one.

Fear not though, there have been some fun and games in the past week or so. On Tuesday I ventured out of Cheshire and went to visit Naomi in Manchester. Despite my attempts to make up a fake illness on the way, come Wednesday I still somehow found myself standing next to an ice rink, wobbling in a pair of oversized, and also ridiculous, ice skates. When it came to the actual skating though, I wasn't as bad as anticipated, falling only once when a man, who was trying to show off by skating backwards, came flying towards me and threw me to the ground. Determined not to be the only one humiliated, I dragged him down in what can only be described as a less than graceful rugby tackle and then proceeded to apologise profusely. I skated off in a what would have been dramatic fashion, had I not gone hurtling like a juggernaut straight into a couple stood by the side. Seriously though, who goes ice skating on a date? Unless you want your date to witness you impersonating Bambi learning to walk, it's not the greatest of ideas.