Hola! I just read a very funny post on one of the blogs that I read every day (is it comforting to know that although I am rubbish at getting on with writing them, I'm still reading them regularly? Nah, not so much) and wanted to share the love. I love Go Fug Yourself, full of witty snark and references to incredibly random pop culture, my favourite posts are the sections narrated by the magnificent J-Lo. So here's one of them bits for your edification. It's been quiet in the world of J-Lo 'cause of the twins and quiet on the Britney front, my other favourite narrator, so thank God she's back on track so that they can start mocking her again.
Things are going well in Kitten-Land. I'm currently cream-crackered as we're doing Wind in the Willows at the moment. It's our big Christmas show and we do these every other year because they're so ginormous - lots of props, fancy set and lots of characters played by a large cast who still have to do a lot of doubling. I've got five costumes and six costume changes and it is a little crazy backstage. We had Dress Rehearsal #1 last night and it was a real relief to know that I had time to actually do the changes, although I didn't exactly help myself by putting my boots on the wrong feet. It was like that bit in The Longest Day, except that I had time to change them over and didn't get shot. And I'm not German. And it isn't D-Day. So, okay, not so much like that bit in The Longest Day.
Big Blue and I are happy in our little flat; despite fun and games with mould and condensation, we've decided to extend our Tenancy Agreement. I'm thoroughly enjoying spending time with ToyBoy; we have a lot of fun. He dances with me, we warble away randomly and both of us are those annoying people who snog publicly, which is me making up for lost time from my barren teenage years, I think. Money is still an issue but meh, I'm coping. Family is well, parties are planned and I'm nearly there with Christmas, although I have completely given up on doing cards. The cats are well; Steve has resumed up her habit of snuggling under the duvet with me in the mornings while Meatball bullies Big Blue into playing the Light Game with her. In the rare evenings when we're all in at the moment, they take turns sitting on us while we drink wine and admire our Christmas decorations. It isn't perfect all the time, but it is really nice.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Unoriginality
I feel like the world and his wife is probably writing about money troubles. It's one of those things that everyone has niggling away at them at the moment. But this blog is nothing if not about the niggles in my brain and as a blog starts off as an entirely self-indulgent medium in the first place, you know what you're getting when you come over here.
I used to be really good at money. I knew how much I had and was always able to say no to stuff. I don't know when exactly the switch flipped in my brain that said "you have money so spend, spend, spend until it's all gone" but I wish I knew what to do to switch it back again. I read a financial advice column in the paper about a girl who is in a similar financial situation to me (although she definitely gets paid more because her little treats involve designer names) and the advice was that it's a slog and pretty thankless but the only way to get out of it is to save and pay things off and stop spending. And I, in my rational mind, know that this is brilliant advice. And yet, I keep spending. Annoyingly, this is also tied in to the compulsive eating part of my personality which spends way too much money on food and eats it too quickly. So I know that were I to put a stopper on the spending, I would also be able to lose weight. Which, on both sides, would be amazing. Losing weight would also mean that clothes shopping would be a) possible and b) more fun as it's easier to go charity shop shopping at a smaller size. People my size who give clothes to charity shops tend to have really bad taste in clothes, I don't know what that's all about. Obviously, I buck the trend.
The worst thing about stinting is getting obsessive about the clothes I'm not buying and the food I'm not eating. I hate being the boring girl on a diet who can't think about anything else. Life's too short.
I used to be really good at money. I knew how much I had and was always able to say no to stuff. I don't know when exactly the switch flipped in my brain that said "you have money so spend, spend, spend until it's all gone" but I wish I knew what to do to switch it back again. I read a financial advice column in the paper about a girl who is in a similar financial situation to me (although she definitely gets paid more because her little treats involve designer names) and the advice was that it's a slog and pretty thankless but the only way to get out of it is to save and pay things off and stop spending. And I, in my rational mind, know that this is brilliant advice. And yet, I keep spending. Annoyingly, this is also tied in to the compulsive eating part of my personality which spends way too much money on food and eats it too quickly. So I know that were I to put a stopper on the spending, I would also be able to lose weight. Which, on both sides, would be amazing. Losing weight would also mean that clothes shopping would be a) possible and b) more fun as it's easier to go charity shop shopping at a smaller size. People my size who give clothes to charity shops tend to have really bad taste in clothes, I don't know what that's all about. Obviously, I buck the trend.
The worst thing about stinting is getting obsessive about the clothes I'm not buying and the food I'm not eating. I hate being the boring girl on a diet who can't think about anything else. Life's too short.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Hoorah
So I totally passed my driving test yesterday. It still feels a bit unlikely. I kept putting off getting behind the wheel, mainly because of expense (and it was gosh-darned expensive so that was probably a good decision) but felt a bit strange about not being able to drive. And I have been, more and more, feeling the need, the need for speed. Or just the need to take the cats to the vet without having to disrupt other people's afternoons, or go shopping for furniture, or go on a daytrip out somewhere unreachable by train. I'm only using my Mum's car at the moment and I have no plans to buy my own car but just having that license is incredibly liberating. And such a relief. Weirdly though, I feel under pressure to be excited about it. People keep asking me whether I'm excited and whether I've already had a test spin and when I'm going to go out for the first time ya da ya da ya da. But why do I have to be so goshdarned excited? Is there something wrong with me that I'm mainly just relieved? I kind of feel that I've been so focussed on getting the job done that I'm slightly surprised by the fact that I have to do something afterwards. I think I've just got to get used to it first and I object to having other people's preconceptions forced upon me a little bit as well. Which is generally how I react to most things; a bit complicated, get confused and worried that I don't feel a certain way about things, get annoyed at being expected to feel a certain way about things and then relax. It's busy up in here, you know?
Friday, September 05, 2008
Extraordinarily, Phenomenally Late Review
I was at an event last night for the company of theatre that I belong to. Of course, "event" makes it sound exciting - something with a glitterball perhaps (I discovered this week that I am in fact a camp gay man. Somewhere MuleBoy is nodding his head, "I told her she was camp, I told her". I never realised it was possible for a woman to be camp before but it is true, it has been confirmed. I should have guessed however, I watched Seven Brides for Seven Brothers again the other night and was again captivated by the splendour of the singing and dancing hot men in matching coloured shirts (I have a particular thing for Ben at the moment but it is changeable). I'm also particularly obsessed with one of the brides, Dorcas, who Big Sis and I worship and have patented Dorcas impressions. On looking at the credits I discovered that the actress was Julie Newmeier, who later changed her name to Julie Newmar, aka Catwoman. It's difficult to be more camp, lets face it.)
At this point I realise that I abuse the humble parentheses on a regular basis and decide to return to my original point before being arrested for crimes against punctuation marks. What was my original point? Oh yes, so I am at this event which is dull, no glitterballs and both Big Blue and I had attended the preliminary meeting on Sunday so it was basically a load of stuff we'd heard before. As I am no longer in a position of responsibility, I felt it was my prerogative to sit at the back and be cheeky. Dad was in a heckling-type mood and although Mum asked me to keep him in check, I was more inclined to see what would happen if I encouraged him. Unfortunately he got interested and serious so I got him more wine. Anywho, serious meeting over, we had a chance to look over some archives. I grew up with these and it always feels a little bit like meeting old friends, the plays I wish I'd seen, the plays I saw and loved, the stories I remember and revel in. There's several of my Mum looking beautiful (again I bemoan the cruel twist of fate that caused me to take after my Dad (love you, Dad but you are less pretty)) and one where she looks very cute and tiny but is pregnant with me. I am the only Bench member who can claim to having been on stage pre-natally - in your face, Big Sis. But when I get to modern day stuff, I start getting annoyed at things like press coverage. Mainly because it involves me and I'm selfish that way, although I did get annoyed at a terrible, terrible headline on a glowing review for The Accrington Pals which is one of the many reasons to hate sub-editors. But, although actor me is precious and egotistical enough, director me was annoyed at the lack of credit given to a wonderful cast in the play I directed last year. I didn't cover it in my blog at the time, which I regret, although have mentioned it peripherally. The review focusses on the reviewer's dislike of Ibsen, which seems to be less than the point. So I elect to write my feelings on the play with distance providing a smidge of objectivity.
Being a director is a different beast entirely to being an actor. It is hugely difficult and the two occasions I have directed have caused me to adamantly state that I will never do it again. You never have that feeling of bonding with a group of people because you're never properly part of the team and you just don't get that adrenalin buzz that makes acting my personal drug of choice. There's a hell of a lot of organisation that goes into making a play and although there is a team to help you do it a lot of the time it is the drive to make things happen that has to come from the director that I really struggle with. I'm not a "make things happen" kind of gal. However, The Wild Duck is probably one of the achievements that I am proudest of. I properly, properly loved it. The play itself is beautiful. I understand people's reservations towards Ibsen, it is difficult to really understand the restrictions imposed on characters by society as it was in the late 19th century and the language is different to modern, entirely naturalistic, drama. However, the language in the new adaptation is very melodic, characters are well-defined and plot is pared down from early versions where it is fussy and over-burdened with characters.
The actors mentioned in the review, stalwarts such as Dad, Penfold and Upstage Eyebrow, were all excellent and deserved to have a positive mention. I was glad that Penfold got recognition as I felt that he was pitch perfect as Relling, particularly in the scene with Mrs Sorby and his final fight with Gregers. But I was disappointed that other actors were criticised or not mentioned at all. Mr McB was described as being too mannered and not emotional enough, which was exactly my intention as it worked for the character. As a man who has reentered his family home after years of being away, and having spent the greater portion of that time alone without friends or family, I felt that his inability to relax was appropriate. McB's control over his physicality reflected Greger's control over the situation and his need to suppress himself and his real feelings, which he keeps obscured throughout. I thought McB was remarkable. He changed his voice, the way that he looked and worked so incredibly hard to constrain his normal way of moving that he was almost unrecognisable. Every tiny intonation and gesture meant something and he was fascinating to watch, particularly as he fell apart at the end, clenched fists and wild-eyed as he strives, still, to keep a check on his feelings and bend the world around his ideas.
Beanie was not mentioned at all in the review. Like McB, he was forced to play against type as Hjalmar and, like McB, worked tirelessly to fit into my vision (I slap myself for sounding like a twat). At one stage, trying desperately to communicate what I wanted and failing, he asked whether what I wanted was for him to not sound like him and I was like "yes! That's exactly what I want". Beanie eventually created the perfect Hjalmar: A character who, in his head, is a hero in a melodrama and cuts out anything from his life that doesn't fit with the self-glorifying narrative. Capable of mind-blowing selfishness, leading to negligence and cruelty, he can be unpleasant yet Beanie made him both funny and real and I think it was one of his best performances to date.
The final cast member whose omission from the review caused me pain was McFarley. Her Hedvig was a beautiful creation, and a testament to how hard and good-naturedly McFarley worked. I believe that McFarley was the element of magic that really lifted the production and was shocked that this wasn't recognised.
Everyone did so much to make this production something special, even the actors who only appeared in one scene, and everything that contributed to the overall look and feel of the production was just right. The set (oh, the set! My favourite set), lighting and sound were perfect and the backstage team were kept very busy and have probably been put off herring salad for life.
This has taken most of a day to write and is probably straining your eyeballs. Kudos to anyone who has got this far. I must go, got an evening of camp to look forward to. "Good morning Baltimore..."
At this point I realise that I abuse the humble parentheses on a regular basis and decide to return to my original point before being arrested for crimes against punctuation marks. What was my original point? Oh yes, so I am at this event which is dull, no glitterballs and both Big Blue and I had attended the preliminary meeting on Sunday so it was basically a load of stuff we'd heard before. As I am no longer in a position of responsibility, I felt it was my prerogative to sit at the back and be cheeky. Dad was in a heckling-type mood and although Mum asked me to keep him in check, I was more inclined to see what would happen if I encouraged him. Unfortunately he got interested and serious so I got him more wine. Anywho, serious meeting over, we had a chance to look over some archives. I grew up with these and it always feels a little bit like meeting old friends, the plays I wish I'd seen, the plays I saw and loved, the stories I remember and revel in. There's several of my Mum looking beautiful (again I bemoan the cruel twist of fate that caused me to take after my Dad (love you, Dad but you are less pretty)) and one where she looks very cute and tiny but is pregnant with me. I am the only Bench member who can claim to having been on stage pre-natally - in your face, Big Sis. But when I get to modern day stuff, I start getting annoyed at things like press coverage. Mainly because it involves me and I'm selfish that way, although I did get annoyed at a terrible, terrible headline on a glowing review for The Accrington Pals which is one of the many reasons to hate sub-editors. But, although actor me is precious and egotistical enough, director me was annoyed at the lack of credit given to a wonderful cast in the play I directed last year. I didn't cover it in my blog at the time, which I regret, although have mentioned it peripherally. The review focusses on the reviewer's dislike of Ibsen, which seems to be less than the point. So I elect to write my feelings on the play with distance providing a smidge of objectivity.
Being a director is a different beast entirely to being an actor. It is hugely difficult and the two occasions I have directed have caused me to adamantly state that I will never do it again. You never have that feeling of bonding with a group of people because you're never properly part of the team and you just don't get that adrenalin buzz that makes acting my personal drug of choice. There's a hell of a lot of organisation that goes into making a play and although there is a team to help you do it a lot of the time it is the drive to make things happen that has to come from the director that I really struggle with. I'm not a "make things happen" kind of gal. However, The Wild Duck is probably one of the achievements that I am proudest of. I properly, properly loved it. The play itself is beautiful. I understand people's reservations towards Ibsen, it is difficult to really understand the restrictions imposed on characters by society as it was in the late 19th century and the language is different to modern, entirely naturalistic, drama. However, the language in the new adaptation is very melodic, characters are well-defined and plot is pared down from early versions where it is fussy and over-burdened with characters.
The actors mentioned in the review, stalwarts such as Dad, Penfold and Upstage Eyebrow, were all excellent and deserved to have a positive mention. I was glad that Penfold got recognition as I felt that he was pitch perfect as Relling, particularly in the scene with Mrs Sorby and his final fight with Gregers. But I was disappointed that other actors were criticised or not mentioned at all. Mr McB was described as being too mannered and not emotional enough, which was exactly my intention as it worked for the character. As a man who has reentered his family home after years of being away, and having spent the greater portion of that time alone without friends or family, I felt that his inability to relax was appropriate. McB's control over his physicality reflected Greger's control over the situation and his need to suppress himself and his real feelings, which he keeps obscured throughout. I thought McB was remarkable. He changed his voice, the way that he looked and worked so incredibly hard to constrain his normal way of moving that he was almost unrecognisable. Every tiny intonation and gesture meant something and he was fascinating to watch, particularly as he fell apart at the end, clenched fists and wild-eyed as he strives, still, to keep a check on his feelings and bend the world around his ideas.
Beanie was not mentioned at all in the review. Like McB, he was forced to play against type as Hjalmar and, like McB, worked tirelessly to fit into my vision (I slap myself for sounding like a twat). At one stage, trying desperately to communicate what I wanted and failing, he asked whether what I wanted was for him to not sound like him and I was like "yes! That's exactly what I want". Beanie eventually created the perfect Hjalmar: A character who, in his head, is a hero in a melodrama and cuts out anything from his life that doesn't fit with the self-glorifying narrative. Capable of mind-blowing selfishness, leading to negligence and cruelty, he can be unpleasant yet Beanie made him both funny and real and I think it was one of his best performances to date.
The final cast member whose omission from the review caused me pain was McFarley. Her Hedvig was a beautiful creation, and a testament to how hard and good-naturedly McFarley worked. I believe that McFarley was the element of magic that really lifted the production and was shocked that this wasn't recognised.
Everyone did so much to make this production something special, even the actors who only appeared in one scene, and everything that contributed to the overall look and feel of the production was just right. The set (oh, the set! My favourite set), lighting and sound were perfect and the backstage team were kept very busy and have probably been put off herring salad for life.
This has taken most of a day to write and is probably straining your eyeballs. Kudos to anyone who has got this far. I must go, got an evening of camp to look forward to. "Good morning Baltimore..."
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Crazy Days
Well, it's been manic in my little world. All to the good, though, so don't fret that I've been upset or anything. I'm fine, thanks, how you doing? Good? Good.
We are officially all moved in, although still waiting on several small things to be sorted out. Like a fridge freezer, the water heater to be fixed and a washing machine to be fitted. Our landlord is somewhat feckless and annoying and seems to believe that we are stupid because we have boobs. Our dishwasher and washing machine don't fit in the space under the counter (which yes, was a bit daft with the rubbish measuring) but when I asked the landlord if we could do some kitchen alterations in order to make them fit, his first response was that they should fit, not helpful. After Beanie, Big Blue, Big Sis and I had spent an hour trying to make them fit, we were pretty unequivocal that they wouldn't. However, he knows best and has to see it with his own eyes, which has taken a week and a half to get him to do, during which time we have been unable to use said washing machine because the pipe isn't long enough. Argh.
On the very plus side, though, Big Blue and I are getting along well. She has the slightly disconcerting ability to recommence conversations that I wasn't aware we were having and I have a tendency to watch too much on the box (and this is before we actually get the TV sorted out) and I don't think she'd twigged exactly how excessively I love Buffy (I'm rewatching it again and am on series 6 at the moment). However, yesterday she came home early from her trip to Wales, we put up a table together, Herself (then Himself and the Novelty Flying Disc Kid) popped in for some books, then we picked up the cats (HAPPY, HAPPY, JOY, JOY), had a glass of wine and talked about plays and acting and whatnot.
I also passed my theory test this morning - whoot - and shall be telling my driving instructor tonight so that we can book the proper test. Apparently I am ready - double whoot.
Lastly, things are going well with ToyBoy. After a weekend away, which involved excessive amounts of sitting in a car able to do very little except read and listen to Adam and Joe podcasts (my slightly hysterical giggles prompted my Mum to ask in a slightly worried tone exactly what I was laughing at), the very first thing I wanted to do was see him. And lo, I did, and it was good.
We are officially all moved in, although still waiting on several small things to be sorted out. Like a fridge freezer, the water heater to be fixed and a washing machine to be fitted. Our landlord is somewhat feckless and annoying and seems to believe that we are stupid because we have boobs. Our dishwasher and washing machine don't fit in the space under the counter (which yes, was a bit daft with the rubbish measuring) but when I asked the landlord if we could do some kitchen alterations in order to make them fit, his first response was that they should fit, not helpful. After Beanie, Big Blue, Big Sis and I had spent an hour trying to make them fit, we were pretty unequivocal that they wouldn't. However, he knows best and has to see it with his own eyes, which has taken a week and a half to get him to do, during which time we have been unable to use said washing machine because the pipe isn't long enough. Argh.
On the very plus side, though, Big Blue and I are getting along well. She has the slightly disconcerting ability to recommence conversations that I wasn't aware we were having and I have a tendency to watch too much on the box (and this is before we actually get the TV sorted out) and I don't think she'd twigged exactly how excessively I love Buffy (I'm rewatching it again and am on series 6 at the moment). However, yesterday she came home early from her trip to Wales, we put up a table together, Herself (then Himself and the Novelty Flying Disc Kid) popped in for some books, then we picked up the cats (HAPPY, HAPPY, JOY, JOY), had a glass of wine and talked about plays and acting and whatnot.
I also passed my theory test this morning - whoot - and shall be telling my driving instructor tonight so that we can book the proper test. Apparently I am ready - double whoot.
Lastly, things are going well with ToyBoy. After a weekend away, which involved excessive amounts of sitting in a car able to do very little except read and listen to Adam and Joe podcasts (my slightly hysterical giggles prompted my Mum to ask in a slightly worried tone exactly what I was laughing at), the very first thing I wanted to do was see him. And lo, I did, and it was good.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Flats, Cats and Pirates
Big Blue and I went to the flat last night, armed with tape measures and our Mums. We were met by a rather flustered agent outside trying to warn us before we got there as the previous tenants had literally only just given the keys back and the agent had come in to find it a bit of a state. On our previous visit, we saw the potential for a good flat but the guys living there obviously weren't that house proud, and we were a bit shy to open things in case we found a huge stash of porn, say. Big Blue had the memorable experience of spinning away from a glass tank filled with potential spiders* only to be confronted by a very large pair of boobs on another wall. So I can't say that we were particularly surprised by the state. I was quite surprised at their priorities though, they'd taken all of their posters but left clothes, shoes, a bed and dining room table and chairs. And a slice of pizza on the kitchen counter. Fortunately, though, I think this created quite a positive united front, particularly with Big Blue's Mum who so far has been wary of the whole expedition (I'm sure she'd lose all of her concerns completely were we to get a tumble dryer, although she ain't winning that particular battle). We were all tutting gaily at the state of it and we refused to go back into the master bedroom after nearly losing shoes to the sticky floor (gish) so fun was had by all.
I do have concerns about the flat because I am a born worrier. Other people have always been the major problem in my previous flat experience. Particularly the flat MuleBoy and I rented which had a steadily escalating noise problem with the tenants above. The first people merely walked loudly. The second person had an array of instruments, none of which he could play well (I must admit I used to find it quite funny as he used to play Strangers in the Night and could never, never reach the top note and there would always, always be a pause before he attempted it and failed. It was very Father Ted) and all of which he would play first thing on a Saturday morning. Unbelievably he was topped by the people that followed, who swiftly became our nemesis, nemesisses, nemesees... anyway. An Asian couple who had huge groups over every night for dinner, which would begin when I was going to bed. They managed to be very noisy when it was just the two of them as well; her voice gave me the shivers. There was also the fact that MuleBoy couldn't cope at all and became incredibly angry. I'd managed to live with it and zoned out a lot of the noise but MuleBoy would rail at me for not joining him in being incredibly angry. When I'd actually succeeded in getting to sleep, say, that got rather wearing.
I'm also concerned about the cats. Big Blue, bless her socks, is putting up with the cats coming back to live with me despite being allergic but I'm worried that it may not work out. Also, they're going from living in houses to living in a flat with no enclosed garden, so is it fair on them to give them less space to play in?
I guess my last worry is just about learning to look after myself again - food, money, bills, chores etc. MuleBoy did almost all the chores when we lived together and I barely do very much at all at Mum and Dad's. I've just relied on the fact that with both, I've been in full time work where they haven't and could lean on them heavily in that respect. With Big Blue's proper important job, with added minion, I don't think that's something I can get away with, which means rotas and schedules and things.
On the plus side, we are planning to have a pirate housewarming party. I think about that and all my fears go out the window. Phew.
*It was a tortoise but it could well have BEEN a spider
I do have concerns about the flat because I am a born worrier. Other people have always been the major problem in my previous flat experience. Particularly the flat MuleBoy and I rented which had a steadily escalating noise problem with the tenants above. The first people merely walked loudly. The second person had an array of instruments, none of which he could play well (I must admit I used to find it quite funny as he used to play Strangers in the Night and could never, never reach the top note and there would always, always be a pause before he attempted it and failed. It was very Father Ted) and all of which he would play first thing on a Saturday morning. Unbelievably he was topped by the people that followed, who swiftly became our nemesis, nemesisses, nemesees... anyway. An Asian couple who had huge groups over every night for dinner, which would begin when I was going to bed. They managed to be very noisy when it was just the two of them as well; her voice gave me the shivers. There was also the fact that MuleBoy couldn't cope at all and became incredibly angry. I'd managed to live with it and zoned out a lot of the noise but MuleBoy would rail at me for not joining him in being incredibly angry. When I'd actually succeeded in getting to sleep, say, that got rather wearing.
I'm also concerned about the cats. Big Blue, bless her socks, is putting up with the cats coming back to live with me despite being allergic but I'm worried that it may not work out. Also, they're going from living in houses to living in a flat with no enclosed garden, so is it fair on them to give them less space to play in?
I guess my last worry is just about learning to look after myself again - food, money, bills, chores etc. MuleBoy did almost all the chores when we lived together and I barely do very much at all at Mum and Dad's. I've just relied on the fact that with both, I've been in full time work where they haven't and could lean on them heavily in that respect. With Big Blue's proper important job, with added minion, I don't think that's something I can get away with, which means rotas and schedules and things.
On the plus side, we are planning to have a pirate housewarming party. I think about that and all my fears go out the window. Phew.
*It was a tortoise but it could well have BEEN a spider
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Time Waits for Norman
Random title, I know, guess the reference. Challenge of the week.
This week is kind of a big deal for me, although I've been keeping it a bit quiet, unusually. Perhaps because it shouldn't be, or because it really isn't in everyone else's life. But it's been a year since the structures of my adult life were removed and I was sent crashing to the ground. I've been thinking through, day by day, what was happening this time last year. Today was the first day of the break. I remember the mundanities - separating the CDs and DVDs, ringing the wedding dress shop to cancel my fitting, ringing my parents, packing a suitcase - but it gets harder and harder to remember exactly how I felt. I remember crying endlessly, being so shocked and upset at one stage that I hyperventilated, sleeping for about 15 hours a day as emotional exhaustion hit me, but not how it felt to be there at that exact time. Although that must be a form of preservation, if I were able to recreate that feeling any time then I would never really grow away from it, however useful misery on tap would be for an actor.
It's been a strange year, all told. I have rediscovered myself, however stupid that may sound. MuleBoy and I had a conversation not too long before we broke up about how we'd changed each other. He was proud that he felt I'd changed a lot, becoming more cynical and negative where he had remained the same. That conversation made me really sad. For a start that he didn't feel I had had any effect on him at all after six years and also that he was so proud of what was a pretty depressing achievement on his part. I guess this year has been about me throwing off the shackles of MuleBoy's negativity and getting back to positive, optimistic Kitten. Obviously I am not the same as I was, for a start I'm 28 not 21 and I understand that things like growing older can impact on one's world view, but I feel more like myself now than I have for a really long time.
And today is a good day. I am meeting up with my soon-to-be-housemate, Big Blue, for an excited chat and giggle about our new place and after that I'll be seeing my new boyfriend, who shall be known henceforth as ToyBoy. Although I will remember 17th July as the day that something ended, it feels also like the day when something else began.
This week is kind of a big deal for me, although I've been keeping it a bit quiet, unusually. Perhaps because it shouldn't be, or because it really isn't in everyone else's life. But it's been a year since the structures of my adult life were removed and I was sent crashing to the ground. I've been thinking through, day by day, what was happening this time last year. Today was the first day of the break. I remember the mundanities - separating the CDs and DVDs, ringing the wedding dress shop to cancel my fitting, ringing my parents, packing a suitcase - but it gets harder and harder to remember exactly how I felt. I remember crying endlessly, being so shocked and upset at one stage that I hyperventilated, sleeping for about 15 hours a day as emotional exhaustion hit me, but not how it felt to be there at that exact time. Although that must be a form of preservation, if I were able to recreate that feeling any time then I would never really grow away from it, however useful misery on tap would be for an actor.
It's been a strange year, all told. I have rediscovered myself, however stupid that may sound. MuleBoy and I had a conversation not too long before we broke up about how we'd changed each other. He was proud that he felt I'd changed a lot, becoming more cynical and negative where he had remained the same. That conversation made me really sad. For a start that he didn't feel I had had any effect on him at all after six years and also that he was so proud of what was a pretty depressing achievement on his part. I guess this year has been about me throwing off the shackles of MuleBoy's negativity and getting back to positive, optimistic Kitten. Obviously I am not the same as I was, for a start I'm 28 not 21 and I understand that things like growing older can impact on one's world view, but I feel more like myself now than I have for a really long time.
And today is a good day. I am meeting up with my soon-to-be-housemate, Big Blue, for an excited chat and giggle about our new place and after that I'll be seeing my new boyfriend, who shall be known henceforth as ToyBoy. Although I will remember 17th July as the day that something ended, it feels also like the day when something else began.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Feeling Peculiar
I have been having funny feelings for a while now. It's very peculiar. It's kind of as though I've been picked up and shaken and put back down all jiggled-up. I guess you could chart my emotional and psychological reactions over the year on some kind of map and be quite impressed by the uniformity of its ups and downs but when you live it, it is difficult not to be rather startled by each new crest and dip. I'm quite enjoying the funny feelings, mainly because I am back to feeling as though I am actually 17 again. And I particularly liked being 17. But it means that I don't tend to be entirely in control of my actions and have made some decisions based on how I feel rather than what is the most practical or sensible choice. It is not like me to be quite so spontaneous but it has already led to good things. The pragmatic choices that I've been making, out of necessity to give me some hope and focus, haven't really fit in with my perspective on life and what I really want. To be fair, it has taken me a really long time to decide what that is but I feel that now I can start living and enjoying things on a much more day-to-day basis, rather than planning for stuff I don't want as much as I originally thought I did.
I realise that this is quite a cryptic post but I seem to be talking about twelve different things at once and any clarification would undoubtedly turn into a list. But in case it isn't already apparent, I'm quite happy at the moment, if a little peculiar
I realise that this is quite a cryptic post but I seem to be talking about twelve different things at once and any clarification would undoubtedly turn into a list. But in case it isn't already apparent, I'm quite happy at the moment, if a little peculiar
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Thank you!
Thank you to the very generous people who sponsored me, you are all amazing!
Big Sis and I managed to complete the course in 47 minutes, which was quite an achievement as we weren't expecting to actually run and ended up surprising ourselves with how fun it was. The feeling of the day was amazing - surrounded by strong, brave, supportive and friendly women who were all doing something they believed in. For something that could be a sad day because we were remembering those people we have lost and those who are suffering with cancer, it was a hugely uplifting experience. I think it's an opportunity to feel that you are doing something tangible to fight back. So next year, we plan to do more; keep fighting, keep running and keep remembering.
Big Sis and I managed to complete the course in 47 minutes, which was quite an achievement as we weren't expecting to actually run and ended up surprising ourselves with how fun it was. The feeling of the day was amazing - surrounded by strong, brave, supportive and friendly women who were all doing something they believed in. For something that could be a sad day because we were remembering those people we have lost and those who are suffering with cancer, it was a hugely uplifting experience. I think it's an opportunity to feel that you are doing something tangible to fight back. So next year, we plan to do more; keep fighting, keep running and keep remembering.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Sponsor Me!
Please give me money for racing for actual life! No racing for minor illnesses and injuries for me, I race so that others may live. I say race, I will amble for life.
But seriously, the Race for Life is the event in support of Cancer Research. It's a very important cause and I would really appreciate your support. Please follow this link to my online sponsorship page. As ever, I am leaving it to the last minute but you can still donate even after the event, which will take place on Sunday.
Thank you!
But seriously, the Race for Life is the event in support of Cancer Research. It's a very important cause and I would really appreciate your support. Please follow this link to my online sponsorship page. As ever, I am leaving it to the last minute but you can still donate even after the event, which will take place on Sunday.
Thank you!
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Acting
Is a funny old malarkey and no mistake. I have been ruminating and cogitating since my course and the play about what exactly I want from it. The showcase day was quite interesting, in that it was very long and a real break from any kind of norm. Spending hours and hours doing nothing with people you don't know at all well is quite bizarre. I told the mad South African woman that I loved her, because she laughs at everything (and also told me that the mad Method woman had singled me out as "an actress", some people have it apparently), I ended up quite liking Doubling Girl after finding her hugely annoying for weeks, I rolled my eyes endlessly at the procession of beautiful girls singling out flaws on their perfect skin, I posed in the mirror with my scene partner as we tried to be as unattractive as hugely possible.
I was quite fascinated, after watching the scenes of the morning group during a period of nothing to do, by how much I had lucked out in the scene department. I had grizzled and groused about the fact that I had received a scene where I was playing an older woman, complained that all the other girls got to be ingenues and femme fatales. However, the fact that I was doing a Pinter play and what turned out to be a very funny little scene from The Birthday Party meant that I stood out as I was almost the only person who got to play an actual character. Everyone else just went on stage and played a version of themselves. I do feel that I did well and definitely was one of, if not, the best of the night. However, I had one agent approach me at the end and she then went round and spoke to several other members of the group. She was part of a co-op agency which means that she is as desperate for actors as actors are for agents. I've since heard that several of the other members of the group who are nice people and hands down, drop-dead, gorgeous but quite frankly rubbish have been picked up by actual proper agencies. And that really makes me wonder what the point is. It really isn't how good you are at acting, that's probably the least important thing, it's how lucky, how good you look, who you know, how ambitious and confident you are, with how good you are coming in in last place.
It's interesting because it has made me re-evaluate what I'm doing and why I'm doing it again. After Bronte, which I found to be a hugely satisfying artistic experience, I re-evaluated again. Having spoken to someone recently with no experience of acting and tried to explain why I do it, despite being shy and awkward (I know, I know, difficult to believe), I could only describe it as a different way of being shy, a different way of putting up a barrier between myself and the world. When I assume a character it's with relief because I don't have to be me any more. It was summed up beautifully for me as "hiding in plain sight".
I was quite fascinated, after watching the scenes of the morning group during a period of nothing to do, by how much I had lucked out in the scene department. I had grizzled and groused about the fact that I had received a scene where I was playing an older woman, complained that all the other girls got to be ingenues and femme fatales. However, the fact that I was doing a Pinter play and what turned out to be a very funny little scene from The Birthday Party meant that I stood out as I was almost the only person who got to play an actual character. Everyone else just went on stage and played a version of themselves. I do feel that I did well and definitely was one of, if not, the best of the night. However, I had one agent approach me at the end and she then went round and spoke to several other members of the group. She was part of a co-op agency which means that she is as desperate for actors as actors are for agents. I've since heard that several of the other members of the group who are nice people and hands down, drop-dead, gorgeous but quite frankly rubbish have been picked up by actual proper agencies. And that really makes me wonder what the point is. It really isn't how good you are at acting, that's probably the least important thing, it's how lucky, how good you look, who you know, how ambitious and confident you are, with how good you are coming in in last place.
It's interesting because it has made me re-evaluate what I'm doing and why I'm doing it again. After Bronte, which I found to be a hugely satisfying artistic experience, I re-evaluated again. Having spoken to someone recently with no experience of acting and tried to explain why I do it, despite being shy and awkward (I know, I know, difficult to believe), I could only describe it as a different way of being shy, a different way of putting up a barrier between myself and the world. When I assume a character it's with relief because I don't have to be me any more. It was summed up beautifully for me as "hiding in plain sight".
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Then again, maybe not
I'd probably be rather bored, after all. Hermitry isn't the exciting whirlwind of fun it is occasionally made out to be, you know. Apparently it can be quite difficult to find pizza/pancakes/pyrotechnics. Or so I have been reliably informed.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
Who's That Girl?
Okay, so it has been requested that I divulge more of the details of my extra-special and exciting acting class. I have resisted the last few weeks as I have been struggling with a major concern. I went in the week after my Method triumph and there, in our little studio, was a video camera. And a TV. My heart sunk and remained in the region of my toes for the whole session. I felt completely out of it with the other members of the group and fell apart a bit every time I went in front of the camera. I also found out that I may have to change my name as I've never really liked it and it shows, apparently. I'm considering Wholahay.
My struggle with my appearance plays no little part in my fear and concern regarding being captured on film. But the thing that really bothers me is being confronted with someone who is not me. That woman on film is not me. I resent that it is me. I do not look like that and I do not sound like that. Seriously, who the hell is it? As anyone who has ever been backstage with me on a play, or indeed anywhere where there's a mirror, can testify, I am a little obsessed with my mirror image. I can quite happily make faces at myself for hours. I have a wide and varied number of faces that I pull, and I get really crazy if I have different hair and make-up, I enjoy seeing my face change and look different. But never, in my obsessive study of my own face, do I see the girl on film. I guess what freaks me out the most is the realisation that the mental image I have of myself is not what other people see.
For me, it is kind of hard that, if I want to do this as a job, I have to get used to this. Actually, if I want this as a hobby, I have to get used to this. Because there is no way I can get more control over what she looks like and the way that she moves if I don't study her and try to correct it. I can feel that I'm doing it right but how do I know that I'm communicating it if I don't look at what I'm doing wrong? And that's the worst thing, it's like having to eat fruit or stand on high things in order to be better at what I do. I am forced to confront something I really, really hate and part of me wants to cry or have a tantrum about it. But the perfectionist part knows I'm going to have to get over it and she is both a pedant and really, really bossy.
As a sidenote to this, I feel I have to make the note that you are lovely readers and friends to try to make me feel better about the way I look. But I do not say it because I need reassurance. I say it because it is part of the narrative.
My struggle with my appearance plays no little part in my fear and concern regarding being captured on film. But the thing that really bothers me is being confronted with someone who is not me. That woman on film is not me. I resent that it is me. I do not look like that and I do not sound like that. Seriously, who the hell is it? As anyone who has ever been backstage with me on a play, or indeed anywhere where there's a mirror, can testify, I am a little obsessed with my mirror image. I can quite happily make faces at myself for hours. I have a wide and varied number of faces that I pull, and I get really crazy if I have different hair and make-up, I enjoy seeing my face change and look different. But never, in my obsessive study of my own face, do I see the girl on film. I guess what freaks me out the most is the realisation that the mental image I have of myself is not what other people see.
For me, it is kind of hard that, if I want to do this as a job, I have to get used to this. Actually, if I want this as a hobby, I have to get used to this. Because there is no way I can get more control over what she looks like and the way that she moves if I don't study her and try to correct it. I can feel that I'm doing it right but how do I know that I'm communicating it if I don't look at what I'm doing wrong? And that's the worst thing, it's like having to eat fruit or stand on high things in order to be better at what I do. I am forced to confront something I really, really hate and part of me wants to cry or have a tantrum about it. But the perfectionist part knows I'm going to have to get over it and she is both a pedant and really, really bossy.
As a sidenote to this, I feel I have to make the note that you are lovely readers and friends to try to make me feel better about the way I look. But I do not say it because I need reassurance. I say it because it is part of the narrative.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Big Head May Cause Top-Heaviness
It's true. I am liable to fall over at any point. While I have many crazy little obsessions about myself; the hair in my nose for which MuleBoy did purchase me a nose trimmer (I bet New Variety Girlfriend has a completely hair-free nose), the backs of my ears which are particularly prone to dryness and soreness, and the enormity of my head, which makes me lament my difficulty in finding hats, this post today is about another kind of swollen-headedness than my big, got-it-from-my-dad-gee-thanks-dad-type-mutton-head.
I have been having a big happy ever since yesterday evening about the thoroughness with which I triumphantly kicked ass in class yesterday. And although it's a small scale victory, and, let's face it, it isn't like there were a series of points awarded and I got the most (although if there had been... yeah, yeah, you get the idea) it isn't exactly easily quantifiable. The thing is, that you can know you're good at something, and I do, which I don't think, in itself, is bigheadedness, it's really just accepting a fact about myself - crap at organisation, good at acting - but when you've only been doing it in a selected field you do wonder whether it is a translateable talent. Like, is this something that will be lessened by exposure in a new arena? So doing it well somewhere else and having my talent recognised is reassuring. And really, really nice. I may bounce around some more but, really, especially family members, let me know if it's getting annoying.
I have been having a big happy ever since yesterday evening about the thoroughness with which I triumphantly kicked ass in class yesterday. And although it's a small scale victory, and, let's face it, it isn't like there were a series of points awarded and I got the most (although if there had been... yeah, yeah, you get the idea) it isn't exactly easily quantifiable. The thing is, that you can know you're good at something, and I do, which I don't think, in itself, is bigheadedness, it's really just accepting a fact about myself - crap at organisation, good at acting - but when you've only been doing it in a selected field you do wonder whether it is a translateable talent. Like, is this something that will be lessened by exposure in a new arena? So doing it well somewhere else and having my talent recognised is reassuring. And really, really nice. I may bounce around some more but, really, especially family members, let me know if it's getting annoying.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Note to Self
St Valentine's Day is quite difficult to avoid when single. Next year, take the day off work and spend the entire day hiding under a duvet somewhere.
If no longer single by this time next year, take the day off work and spend the entire day hiding under a duvet somewhere.
Genius, sounds like a plan.
If no longer single by this time next year, take the day off work and spend the entire day hiding under a duvet somewhere.
Genius, sounds like a plan.
Monday, February 11, 2008
I was at the BAFTAs, at least geographically...
In my actor's class this week, I spent some time being a dog. I also had an argument with my character, which involved swapping chairs so that I could BE my character. You'll be glad to know that the dog bit was an extension of the conversation as I had to ask my character if she was an animal, what animal would she be and then I had to swap chairs and answer. I also got told off for acting as though I had been covered in ice. In my defence, the woman leading the class had gone around saying that she had a hose and was spraying us with ice and that it was hailing. If you want me to react, I'm going to properly react. In her defence, she told me I was good so she's not entirely crazy. She is quite crazy though. I must admit, the whole method thing is something I find quite frustrating. A big part of me quite often just wants to get on with it. I'm quite good at looking like I'm buying into it (I was totally the best animal) but that generally comes from the knowledge that they will only let us move on if we look like we're really absorbing ourselves in the exercise. Bits of it are useful; paraphrasing the text so that you can really analyse a scene and what is being said, I do genuinely like being an animal because it's fun and I'm a little odd and it does also help with things like changing voice and physicality - see Beanie in Wild Duck once he fixed the idea of being a bird in his head. It's just the submersion that I object to and the fact that you have to take everything so gosh-darned seriously. Is it bad that I feel myself to be a little too English to really do the whole Lee Strasberg thing? That said, it's all experience and it is kind of cool to say that I'm being taught by someone who was in The Godfather.
It was also kind of cool that I came down off Endell Street and past Covent Garden before realising that I was in the middle of BAFTA land. I assumed it was in Leicester Square and actually resented the whole thing because I couldn't just carry on past the Lyceum. I may even have grumbled out loud about letting me get on my bloody train, stupid BAFTA, grumble, grumble. Then a very nice car stopped by me and I forgot my troubles as it was only Ridley-freaking Scott! Granted I may be less and less interested in him as time has gone on (I liked 80s, sci-fi Ridley best) but it was still pretty damn cool to have an actual directorial legend within a metre of me. Bless him, he'd gone to the wrong end and had to be redirected (much like Blade Runner, the film of a bazillion versions) to aother bit so it wasn't as though I could hang around and do some star-spotting, although my train journey was 2 1/2 hours as it was so I didn't really want to miss it. I watched the ceremony and although there were several people there that I would have got quite excited over (if I'm honest, anyone I recognised), a bit giggly about (Paddy Considine and James McAvoy) and awed by (Joel and Frances), there was no-one there for whom I would have legitimately stayed and risk missing my train for - such as Gorgeous George, Jack Nicholson, Scorsese and Kate "my friend were we ever to meet and me get over the whole worshipping her for being so damned good" Winslet. I can't imagine any of them really buying into Strasberg either, you know.
It was also kind of cool that I came down off Endell Street and past Covent Garden before realising that I was in the middle of BAFTA land. I assumed it was in Leicester Square and actually resented the whole thing because I couldn't just carry on past the Lyceum. I may even have grumbled out loud about letting me get on my bloody train, stupid BAFTA, grumble, grumble. Then a very nice car stopped by me and I forgot my troubles as it was only Ridley-freaking Scott! Granted I may be less and less interested in him as time has gone on (I liked 80s, sci-fi Ridley best) but it was still pretty damn cool to have an actual directorial legend within a metre of me. Bless him, he'd gone to the wrong end and had to be redirected (much like Blade Runner, the film of a bazillion versions) to aother bit so it wasn't as though I could hang around and do some star-spotting, although my train journey was 2 1/2 hours as it was so I didn't really want to miss it. I watched the ceremony and although there were several people there that I would have got quite excited over (if I'm honest, anyone I recognised), a bit giggly about (Paddy Considine and James McAvoy) and awed by (Joel and Frances), there was no-one there for whom I would have legitimately stayed and risk missing my train for - such as Gorgeous George, Jack Nicholson, Scorsese and Kate "my friend were we ever to meet and me get over the whole worshipping her for being so damned good" Winslet. I can't imagine any of them really buying into Strasberg either, you know.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Getting on with things
One of the things that I talk about on here quite frequently, at which point my readership collectively sighs while thinking "Oh God, she's not going to talk about her hair again. Seriously, how much can one person be obsessive about her own hair" at which point I realise that this post will contain mention of my hair and I probably shouldn't make jokes about the fact that I ramble about inconsequential things, such as hair and shopping and weight loss/gain, just in case people start rebelling against my shallowness and do something to end the banality, like forcing me to watch the news and current affairs pogrammes a la Clockwork Orange. Wow, that sentence never even came to a proper conclusion. I'll start again. One of the things that I talk about on here quite frequently is the pressure of being a grown up and how successful I feel I am in this capacity. Normally I come pretty shy of any target of grown-uppedness, see above re: shallow. But I'm starting to think that I am measuring this in the wrong way, namely by comparing myself to other people infinitely more capable and mature, where I should really measure myself against my own achievements and changes. Himself and Herself are marvels and not necessarily people that I could ever hope to match in terms of braininess, organisation, time management and emotional maturity (and I can feel them blush as I type) so there is no comparison. I also strongly suspect that their science-y brains have devised some sort of time travel device so that they genuinely do have more hours in the day than everybody else. Of course, it's always possible that they just don't waste any time, but I think this is rather far-fetched.
However, recently, I am starting to think that I am actually getting there. Not in the way that I thought would happen where I would suddenly know exactly what I'm doing and be in control all the time. But I am doing things that are good for me and trying harder to make the right decisions about things that crop up in my life and I think it's the fact that I am, at least, trying to be better. I may fail, and already have, several times but it is in the trying and in the owning of the failures, rather than blaming other people or circumstances for something where the fault is mine, that is the key to it all.
I think that the last few days have presented opportunities for me to really realise what it is that I want and to try and claim it. For the first time, I have been able to own my appearance in the perspective of what I want to do. The fact that I am a little funny looking makes me distinctive, not wrong. I have made some moves to be the sort of friend I would prefer to be, more likely to make the first move and stop fretting so much about the little things. I am feeling more positive than I have for a long time and I hope it lasts. Thanks for sticking with me, gentle reader.
However, recently, I am starting to think that I am actually getting there. Not in the way that I thought would happen where I would suddenly know exactly what I'm doing and be in control all the time. But I am doing things that are good for me and trying harder to make the right decisions about things that crop up in my life and I think it's the fact that I am, at least, trying to be better. I may fail, and already have, several times but it is in the trying and in the owning of the failures, rather than blaming other people or circumstances for something where the fault is mine, that is the key to it all.
I think that the last few days have presented opportunities for me to really realise what it is that I want and to try and claim it. For the first time, I have been able to own my appearance in the perspective of what I want to do. The fact that I am a little funny looking makes me distinctive, not wrong. I have made some moves to be the sort of friend I would prefer to be, more likely to make the first move and stop fretting so much about the little things. I am feeling more positive than I have for a long time and I hope it lasts. Thanks for sticking with me, gentle reader.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Random Acts of Meanness
I don't understand unnecessary meanness. Now, I'm not always that nice and was occasionally told off by MuleBoy for excessive rudeness to people. On one occasion, he did catch the rudeness but not the reason as one of his colleagues who I met for the first time asked me the same question in a couple of minutes so my second answer was rather shorter than my first, which had been quite pleasant and enthusiastic. On another occasion, I was told off for being mean to his now-girlfriend because she was starting to edge in on my territory and I am pissed off in retrospect that I apologised to her. So I am no stranger to the mean; I have little patience and am a bit of a bitch. However, what I don't understand is being mean to innocent bystanders. On several occasions, I have just walked past somebody and had an insult shouted at me and I'm sure that this is a shared experience (I hope it is, otherwise this implies that my mere presence is enough to rile people to the extent that insulting me is the only option). Last night, I had one of these experiences and it was one of those things that made me question not myself but just the mentality of other people. While waiting for the loo in a pub last night, a drunk guy, waiting for his equally drunk but much funnier girlfriend to come out (we waited together for a few minutes and she kept confiding things to me in a stage whisper about how drunk she thought she might be), started talking to me. He asked me if I was pregnant and my heart just sank. I said no and he said, no, you are, when's it due? I said, I'm not pregnant, I'm fat, and then he tried to touch my stomach at which point I told him to fuck off and walked away at speed. I don't mind people thinking I'm fat because I think I am too. I do mind strangers telling me I am, because their motive is to try and hurt me, otherwise why would they say anything at all?
On the flip-side, for some reason it reminded me of something that happened last year that, whether for the right reasons or not, gave me something of a warm feeling. I was walking home from work and had fallen into step behind a petite girl. I noticed that we were coming past a group of blokes, drinking beer and got that sense of dread that one gets in that situation. They shouted a comment at the girl in front, and I was surprised that they were complimenting her eyes. Then they shouted a comment at me and it was "look at that lovely red hair". I was really taken aback. It was almost as if they were going out of their way to be nice, and not in a predatory, sexual way. So, thinking about it, I might start talking randomly to strangers and tell them nice things. It's odd but, ultimately, quite nice!
On the flip-side, for some reason it reminded me of something that happened last year that, whether for the right reasons or not, gave me something of a warm feeling. I was walking home from work and had fallen into step behind a petite girl. I noticed that we were coming past a group of blokes, drinking beer and got that sense of dread that one gets in that situation. They shouted a comment at the girl in front, and I was surprised that they were complimenting her eyes. Then they shouted a comment at me and it was "look at that lovely red hair". I was really taken aback. It was almost as if they were going out of their way to be nice, and not in a predatory, sexual way. So, thinking about it, I might start talking randomly to strangers and tell them nice things. It's odd but, ultimately, quite nice!
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
New Year
I think it's appropriate to write something new year-y. Like Beanie, my overriding desire is to say a resounding "fuck off" to 2007. What a pile of shite this year has been. Characterised by heartbreak, fear and bereavement, it is very hard to see the good. At work, despite vowing to be more conscientious, I have been spun away from my good intentions and have spent long hours unaware of time passing and things going undone. The people I grew up with are all earning huge amounts more than me and I feel that I have wasted so much time. With my friends, I have continued to be selfish and inconsiderate and, most of all, lazy. I don't know where I stand with half of them, the smallest thing makes me want to run and hide and I often feel that they look at me and think me ridiculous or stupid. I keep having tiny fits of fear where I panic about things, whether it's the wedding where I will see Muleboy and I have managed to gain a stone and my hair looks like shite. At the wedding, where the most I felt was an overriding sense of oddness, I found out he is now living near me and spent a couple of hours in town today afraid that I'd see him and fretting about what I would do if I did. I cook up little Bette Davis style quips that would be perfect but know I'd forget them or stammer them if I saw him.
For my New Year celebrations, I stayed at home, alone. I had phonecalls from Big Sis and my parents, both at separate parties and both of which I was invited to, wishing me a Happy New Year. I ate a great deal of chocolate, drank some fizzy wine and cried a lot. I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind again. It is my favourite film. This title has been a shifting target in the past but this has stayed at the number one spot for a while, probably since I first watched it. There is nothing about it I don't like. It was painful as it is something that makes me think of MuleBoy. We always said that he is Joel and I am Clem. Watching it again, I think this is fair. He chose me because he saw in me something that could rescue him from his life; something that was exotic and different to that that he had experienced before. I chose him because he was decent and good and seemed like a safe harbour. In the end, my difference became something that pushed him away, he could never cope with the fact that I did not, actually, complete him. Which explains why he would choose someone else; so safe, so dull, so much more like an actual girlfriend should be. And so much for my safe harbour. I toyed with the idea, when in New York, to take the train to Montauk to see if it would work and he would be there but he wouldn't have been and it would have been a day in New York wasted. He was never as romantic or as aware of my wishes and feelings as I would have liked. If I am honest, and for some reason I am being, there was part of me that wanted more and was scared about getting married because being in love with him was never the way I expected it. I never expected something extraordinary but I did want more than I got. He always expected me to know that he loved me without him saying anything, he made it clear at times that he resented my presence and got angry when I cried and wanted more from him. He quite often made it difficult for me to spend time with other people and expected me to bend over backwards for him without giving in return. I sometimes wonder what I was thinking but look back and try to remember that in there, when I still was, the good times outweighed the bad. It is all that has happened since then that has made this so difficult to remember. The fact that there was so much deceit in the last couple of months. The fact that he expected me to come straight back to him without any effort to change or to try and actually win me back in any way, as though the fact of him asking should be enough to wipe out the time that I have spent in pain. The fact that him asking has been rendered insincere by his relationship with someone else and he hasn't even tried to redress that in any way. He is a coward and not anywhere near the man that I hoped he was.
The last paragraph underlines another negative point; that I am obsessed still with the situation and will try to harp on about it despite the fact that other people are bored with it and dealing with their own, far more interesting, lives. When my friends are going through happy and sad times of their own, how can I continue with these lines of thought? Shouldn't I be over it by now? Shouldn't I have dealt with it and moved on? But I don't even know how to begin.
So my New Year's Resolutions have to be for me to change my life for the better. It may be in small ways to begin with but that should eventually lead to an overall change. I will eventually come through this and be less insecure, less fat, more focussed. I may occasionally wish that my memory could be erased by Lacuna Inc, but, as the film makes clear, we make mistakes but if we don't learn from them we are doomed to repeat them. I know what I want now. I know where I went wrong. I want to do better.
For my New Year celebrations, I stayed at home, alone. I had phonecalls from Big Sis and my parents, both at separate parties and both of which I was invited to, wishing me a Happy New Year. I ate a great deal of chocolate, drank some fizzy wine and cried a lot. I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind again. It is my favourite film. This title has been a shifting target in the past but this has stayed at the number one spot for a while, probably since I first watched it. There is nothing about it I don't like. It was painful as it is something that makes me think of MuleBoy. We always said that he is Joel and I am Clem. Watching it again, I think this is fair. He chose me because he saw in me something that could rescue him from his life; something that was exotic and different to that that he had experienced before. I chose him because he was decent and good and seemed like a safe harbour. In the end, my difference became something that pushed him away, he could never cope with the fact that I did not, actually, complete him. Which explains why he would choose someone else; so safe, so dull, so much more like an actual girlfriend should be. And so much for my safe harbour. I toyed with the idea, when in New York, to take the train to Montauk to see if it would work and he would be there but he wouldn't have been and it would have been a day in New York wasted. He was never as romantic or as aware of my wishes and feelings as I would have liked. If I am honest, and for some reason I am being, there was part of me that wanted more and was scared about getting married because being in love with him was never the way I expected it. I never expected something extraordinary but I did want more than I got. He always expected me to know that he loved me without him saying anything, he made it clear at times that he resented my presence and got angry when I cried and wanted more from him. He quite often made it difficult for me to spend time with other people and expected me to bend over backwards for him without giving in return. I sometimes wonder what I was thinking but look back and try to remember that in there, when I still was, the good times outweighed the bad. It is all that has happened since then that has made this so difficult to remember. The fact that there was so much deceit in the last couple of months. The fact that he expected me to come straight back to him without any effort to change or to try and actually win me back in any way, as though the fact of him asking should be enough to wipe out the time that I have spent in pain. The fact that him asking has been rendered insincere by his relationship with someone else and he hasn't even tried to redress that in any way. He is a coward and not anywhere near the man that I hoped he was.
The last paragraph underlines another negative point; that I am obsessed still with the situation and will try to harp on about it despite the fact that other people are bored with it and dealing with their own, far more interesting, lives. When my friends are going through happy and sad times of their own, how can I continue with these lines of thought? Shouldn't I be over it by now? Shouldn't I have dealt with it and moved on? But I don't even know how to begin.
So my New Year's Resolutions have to be for me to change my life for the better. It may be in small ways to begin with but that should eventually lead to an overall change. I will eventually come through this and be less insecure, less fat, more focussed. I may occasionally wish that my memory could be erased by Lacuna Inc, but, as the film makes clear, we make mistakes but if we don't learn from them we are doomed to repeat them. I know what I want now. I know where I went wrong. I want to do better.
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