Thursday 4 June 2015
Monday 7 April 2008
Shiny Happy People
It’s been awhile since i’ve said anything. A few times I’ve sat down to type and thought ’why bother’ and ’what’s the point’...feeling highly demoralized these days. Spend all my time just trying to stay afloat of things(what a stupid expression but so apt in my case) and meanwhile life just whizzes by....sans moi.
This isn’t a pity party for myself but simply a fact. Why does it seem like everyone is happier than me?! Sometimes I’ll sit at a street cafe sipping my trademark beverage (skinny wet cappucino with one brown sugar) and get hypnotized by all the cheery grins, spontaneous hugs and camraderie I witness.
Maybe it’s lack of friends? I do have them, I just don’t see them that much. ...and frankly the older I get the more they diminish - being replaced by ’acquaintances’ (yawn) - makeshift ’friends’ who you make do with and who make do with you. Terribly boring. Terribly unsatisfying.
I long for friends of old who would make me laugh till my stomach ached, who would know just what to say when i was depressed, or who would share my enthusiasm over the latest band i’d discovered. Yet it’s not that simple. Everyone has their own life, many have partners, some have kiddies, most have jobs....Maybe that’s the problem. Having left regular full-time employment a few years back I am now that sad cliche of ’struggling artist’, the title of which holds absolutely no glamour, many regrets and a deep panic that things will never work out the way I want them too or dreamed they would.
Of course this is me in full pessimistic mode. There are times when I feel ’sky’s the limit’ but it’s been so long since i’ve had a stroke of luck that I feel like the most mundane and ordinary of characters...a sob story whipped by the mediocrity of everyday...eeking out a bland, plain existence whilst everyone around me enjoys life.
Only three things for this: go straight back to bed, do not pass go, do not collect bugger all....or go do a spot of exercise to raise the happy brain chemicals which are so far letting me down (a walk round the park is the new prozac dontcha know?)...or go put on my threadbare old Cure t-shirt, hide away in my room and make like an angsty teenager while I play (very loudly) my favourite ’moany-groany’ music....starting with vintage Cocteau Twins...
Tara all you happy folk. I’m off to sulk...
This isn’t a pity party for myself but simply a fact. Why does it seem like everyone is happier than me?! Sometimes I’ll sit at a street cafe sipping my trademark beverage (skinny wet cappucino with one brown sugar) and get hypnotized by all the cheery grins, spontaneous hugs and camraderie I witness.
Maybe it’s lack of friends? I do have them, I just don’t see them that much. ...and frankly the older I get the more they diminish - being replaced by ’acquaintances’ (yawn) - makeshift ’friends’ who you make do with and who make do with you. Terribly boring. Terribly unsatisfying.
I long for friends of old who would make me laugh till my stomach ached, who would know just what to say when i was depressed, or who would share my enthusiasm over the latest band i’d discovered. Yet it’s not that simple. Everyone has their own life, many have partners, some have kiddies, most have jobs....Maybe that’s the problem. Having left regular full-time employment a few years back I am now that sad cliche of ’struggling artist’, the title of which holds absolutely no glamour, many regrets and a deep panic that things will never work out the way I want them too or dreamed they would.
Of course this is me in full pessimistic mode. There are times when I feel ’sky’s the limit’ but it’s been so long since i’ve had a stroke of luck that I feel like the most mundane and ordinary of characters...a sob story whipped by the mediocrity of everyday...eeking out a bland, plain existence whilst everyone around me enjoys life.
Only three things for this: go straight back to bed, do not pass go, do not collect bugger all....or go do a spot of exercise to raise the happy brain chemicals which are so far letting me down (a walk round the park is the new prozac dontcha know?)...or go put on my threadbare old Cure t-shirt, hide away in my room and make like an angsty teenager while I play (very loudly) my favourite ’moany-groany’ music....starting with vintage Cocteau Twins...
Tara all you happy folk. I’m off to sulk...
Sunday 9 March 2008
The Sun Only Shines On TV
Lately I've become a little worried about my present state of mind. I made the mistake of renting the entire third series of 'Lost' on dvd a few weeks ago, and I've subsequently done my head in. Given that I can't get SKY, I am being tortured by the fact that the current 4th series is currently playing and i can't watch it. It's all i can think about. I am a girl obsessed.
I am a shade away from becoming a sad loser/psycho lady who bins her job, stops returning phonecalls and becomes a twinkie-eating recluse whose only friends are on the telly. Really, it's starting to cause me mild concern that the inhabitants of the 'island' on the show 'Lost' feel more real to me than most people I know.
The writers are fabulously brilliant for spinning such a convoluted plot, but I don't think that's the reason I'm so hooked. I think it's the premise that you could just one day be going about your not-so-fulfilling, rather mundane life and BOOM out of nowhere be propelled into an alternate reality in which all may not have been created equal, but are nonetheless set on an even playing field and given a second chance at life.
These days I feel like i would kill for that. Imagine having the chance to start over again but this time try a bit harder...put a little more of yourself into the process of living...not make the same stupid mistakes again. Ah well. I suspect though, the problem with time travel would be major congestion and fights breaking out over the masses who refused to come back to the present day and insisted on staying in the past, listening to unfashionable music, wearing dodgy clothes and watching bad tv.
You'd find me in a dark club, dressed in black, wearing the kind of eye make-up that only the truly young can pull off, dancing to music under a blood red sky. Yep, that's where I'd be. Dreaming up dreams, squandering time and hiding from the truth - which the band AHA wised up to many years ago:
"The sun only shines on tv."
I am a shade away from becoming a sad loser/psycho lady who bins her job, stops returning phonecalls and becomes a twinkie-eating recluse whose only friends are on the telly. Really, it's starting to cause me mild concern that the inhabitants of the 'island' on the show 'Lost' feel more real to me than most people I know.
The writers are fabulously brilliant for spinning such a convoluted plot, but I don't think that's the reason I'm so hooked. I think it's the premise that you could just one day be going about your not-so-fulfilling, rather mundane life and BOOM out of nowhere be propelled into an alternate reality in which all may not have been created equal, but are nonetheless set on an even playing field and given a second chance at life.
These days I feel like i would kill for that. Imagine having the chance to start over again but this time try a bit harder...put a little more of yourself into the process of living...not make the same stupid mistakes again. Ah well. I suspect though, the problem with time travel would be major congestion and fights breaking out over the masses who refused to come back to the present day and insisted on staying in the past, listening to unfashionable music, wearing dodgy clothes and watching bad tv.
You'd find me in a dark club, dressed in black, wearing the kind of eye make-up that only the truly young can pull off, dancing to music under a blood red sky. Yep, that's where I'd be. Dreaming up dreams, squandering time and hiding from the truth - which the band AHA wised up to many years ago:
"The sun only shines on tv."
Saturday 19 January 2008
Another Year...
So here i am mid-Jan, wondering why my life is spinning faster and faster away from me. Somehow my days are spent doing pointless and meaningless tasks which don't even bear commenting on. Can't decide whether this state of play is a human condition we all share or whether i'm just a big fat loser.....hmmm
I have waxed prolific (probably too much so) before about the whole idea of 'being a loser' and so i don't need to repeat myself, but I will suggest that the month of January is prone to such lethargic, downtrodden thoughts (sorry mom - i know January's your birthday and all that...)
Apparently more divorces and break ups occur in January than any other month. And apparently more suicides occur during the xmas holiday season than any other time. Those facts would lead me to believe that after all the booze wears off, if you haven't done yourself in then the next, less dramatic step is to do your partner in - unshackle yourself from the misery.
At any rate, I shall sign off now and ask your patience for my pointless missives...i have yet to get an internet connection at home (thanks BT! Lovin' you big time!) so they are infrequent at the moment. But nevermind i'll be back in the proverbial saddle in no time.
I know. You can't wait.
I have waxed prolific (probably too much so) before about the whole idea of 'being a loser' and so i don't need to repeat myself, but I will suggest that the month of January is prone to such lethargic, downtrodden thoughts (sorry mom - i know January's your birthday and all that...)
Apparently more divorces and break ups occur in January than any other month. And apparently more suicides occur during the xmas holiday season than any other time. Those facts would lead me to believe that after all the booze wears off, if you haven't done yourself in then the next, less dramatic step is to do your partner in - unshackle yourself from the misery.
At any rate, I shall sign off now and ask your patience for my pointless missives...i have yet to get an internet connection at home (thanks BT! Lovin' you big time!) so they are infrequent at the moment. But nevermind i'll be back in the proverbial saddle in no time.
I know. You can't wait.
Monday 31 December 2007
I Hate Christmas
I hate Christmas. I really fucking do. Apologies for such vehement expletives, on this, the high holiday of cheer, but the whole point of public publishing is honesty, is it not?
Before you condemn me as some heartless 'Scrooge', let me just clarify that I am
actually not an unfeeling, anti-social bitch. (Whoops, I'd better reign this cussing in before I am declared a potty-mouth and completely dismissed) Fact of the matter is that I am VERY feeling, VERY caring, and VERY sentimental. That is exactly why I find Christmas so painfully excruciating on so many levels.
Invariably there will be rows (either between family members or you and your partner) over whether the turkey has been cooked long enough, who ate the last piece of pie, and why Shrek is playing on telly when there is vintage Top of the Pops to be had over on BBC 2. But all this is bearable, and not what causes my heart to plummet and my soul to whither. Being a reflective day, and one where everyone is closeted in with their nearest and dearest, drinking, celebrating, and generally being jolly and stuffing their stomachs to piggish points, there is very little else to distract you when you mind starts wandering and you begin to recall the many Christmases of your life.
Some memories will be brilliant, but some will be sad. The passing of years smacks you straight in the face and there is no way to deny that you are getting older and the magic you remember as a child at Christmas simply can't be recreated…
I happen to be paired with a 'non-magical' partner. By this I mean I am with someone who is the antithesis of wonder and spontaneous joy. He is very pragmatic in his outlook and likes 'to-do' lists and schedules. He quite simply cannot comprehend the nostalgic joy of watching cheesy Christmas movies curled on the sofa drinking wine and feeling all warm and cozy. (He eshews Christmas music for 'Queens of the Stone Age' and will happily bury himself in writing code and generally faffing about on his laptop throughout Christmas day with scant care and concern for the anti-climatic feel he spreads throughout our home.)
Nonetheless this is still not the reason I hate Christmas. I blame it on the diet of happy families and unrealistic expectations that I was raised on in North America. All my favourite television shows, magazines, and general pop culture itself made me believe and hope and expect that one day I too might have loved ones gathered around a fire, laughing, celebrating and generally enjoying life (and each other).
The truth – at least in my family – resembles that not a bit. We all love each other, but find it increasingly impossible to communicate inoffensively. Some of us are too sensitive, and some of us not enough. Some of us perpetuate false empty cheer, getting annoyed by long faces, and others of us can't help but wear sombre smiles and wry grins whilst attempting to simply 'get through it'.
I think the bottom line is that if you are HAPPY in your life, you have friends, a great job, loved ones, and a contented outlook – well then Christmas is just merry-fucking-tastic. If on the other hand you are miserable, lonely, unfulfilled and generally angst-ridden, then Christmas will merely bring out the worst in you and cause you to slide down that slippery slope of nostalgia and regret.
Before you know it you will be staring blankly at the telly, daydreaming all sorts of crazy thoughts, and pouring booze down your throat faster than is sensible in an attempt to anesthetise yourself from feeling…anything.
On that (not) cheerful note, off I pop to begin my day with a big glass of champagne. I don't feel like it, and indeed would rather curl up in my bed with a good book, some heroin, and loud music, but that can't happen so I will do the next best thing and 'play along'- my pragmatic (and utterly OBLIVIOUS) partner looking on absentmindedly and wondering why I ain't full of Christmas –fucking – cheer.
'Merry Whatever' everyone….'Sister Scrooge' xx
Before you condemn me as some heartless 'Scrooge', let me just clarify that I am
actually not an unfeeling, anti-social bitch. (Whoops, I'd better reign this cussing in before I am declared a potty-mouth and completely dismissed) Fact of the matter is that I am VERY feeling, VERY caring, and VERY sentimental. That is exactly why I find Christmas so painfully excruciating on so many levels.
Invariably there will be rows (either between family members or you and your partner) over whether the turkey has been cooked long enough, who ate the last piece of pie, and why Shrek is playing on telly when there is vintage Top of the Pops to be had over on BBC 2. But all this is bearable, and not what causes my heart to plummet and my soul to whither. Being a reflective day, and one where everyone is closeted in with their nearest and dearest, drinking, celebrating, and generally being jolly and stuffing their stomachs to piggish points, there is very little else to distract you when you mind starts wandering and you begin to recall the many Christmases of your life.
Some memories will be brilliant, but some will be sad. The passing of years smacks you straight in the face and there is no way to deny that you are getting older and the magic you remember as a child at Christmas simply can't be recreated…
I happen to be paired with a 'non-magical' partner. By this I mean I am with someone who is the antithesis of wonder and spontaneous joy. He is very pragmatic in his outlook and likes 'to-do' lists and schedules. He quite simply cannot comprehend the nostalgic joy of watching cheesy Christmas movies curled on the sofa drinking wine and feeling all warm and cozy. (He eshews Christmas music for 'Queens of the Stone Age' and will happily bury himself in writing code and generally faffing about on his laptop throughout Christmas day with scant care and concern for the anti-climatic feel he spreads throughout our home.)
Nonetheless this is still not the reason I hate Christmas. I blame it on the diet of happy families and unrealistic expectations that I was raised on in North America. All my favourite television shows, magazines, and general pop culture itself made me believe and hope and expect that one day I too might have loved ones gathered around a fire, laughing, celebrating and generally enjoying life (and each other).
The truth – at least in my family – resembles that not a bit. We all love each other, but find it increasingly impossible to communicate inoffensively. Some of us are too sensitive, and some of us not enough. Some of us perpetuate false empty cheer, getting annoyed by long faces, and others of us can't help but wear sombre smiles and wry grins whilst attempting to simply 'get through it'.
I think the bottom line is that if you are HAPPY in your life, you have friends, a great job, loved ones, and a contented outlook – well then Christmas is just merry-fucking-tastic. If on the other hand you are miserable, lonely, unfulfilled and generally angst-ridden, then Christmas will merely bring out the worst in you and cause you to slide down that slippery slope of nostalgia and regret.
Before you know it you will be staring blankly at the telly, daydreaming all sorts of crazy thoughts, and pouring booze down your throat faster than is sensible in an attempt to anesthetise yourself from feeling…anything.
On that (not) cheerful note, off I pop to begin my day with a big glass of champagne. I don't feel like it, and indeed would rather curl up in my bed with a good book, some heroin, and loud music, but that can't happen so I will do the next best thing and 'play along'- my pragmatic (and utterly OBLIVIOUS) partner looking on absentmindedly and wondering why I ain't full of Christmas –fucking – cheer.
'Merry Whatever' everyone….'Sister Scrooge' xx
Sunday 18 November 2007
Happy Sunday
You hear nothing from me for ages, and then BOOM - all the sudden the lady comes over all prolific with no less than two entries in under 24 hours. There's a simple explanation: Procrastination.
I should be killing myself packing up boxes, filing my tax return, cleaning flat, making phonecalls, sending emails, paying bills, buying groceries, organising sock drawers...you know, that sort of thing. Instead I find myself glumly hunched over my Mac, lukewarm cappucino to my left (as of yet untouched), and surveying the cold, drab day outside my huge kitchen window.
I actually have so much to do that the temptation to simply bankrupt the day and crawl back into bed with a book looms ever so temptingly in the horizon of possibility. Of course, that's not what will happen. I shall sit here for another twenty minutes or so, head in hands, trying to find a way through the poorly constructed maze which is my mind, and eventually, with a great sigh, I shall push my chair back from the table, click my laptop shut, and shuffle upstairs to get on with it.
I guess it's about that time. Will keep this particular moan short and not so sweet. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm hatching a plan to treat myself to several episodes of 'Lost' which i've saved up but not had the time to watch. A giant dose of escapism with a sprinkling of organic 'Green & Black's' chocolate is just what the doctor ordered.
Happy Sunday people...
I should be killing myself packing up boxes, filing my tax return, cleaning flat, making phonecalls, sending emails, paying bills, buying groceries, organising sock drawers...you know, that sort of thing. Instead I find myself glumly hunched over my Mac, lukewarm cappucino to my left (as of yet untouched), and surveying the cold, drab day outside my huge kitchen window.
I actually have so much to do that the temptation to simply bankrupt the day and crawl back into bed with a book looms ever so temptingly in the horizon of possibility. Of course, that's not what will happen. I shall sit here for another twenty minutes or so, head in hands, trying to find a way through the poorly constructed maze which is my mind, and eventually, with a great sigh, I shall push my chair back from the table, click my laptop shut, and shuffle upstairs to get on with it.
I guess it's about that time. Will keep this particular moan short and not so sweet. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm hatching a plan to treat myself to several episodes of 'Lost' which i've saved up but not had the time to watch. A giant dose of escapism with a sprinkling of organic 'Green & Black's' chocolate is just what the doctor ordered.
Happy Sunday people...
Saturday 17 November 2007
Panic Sets In
I wish I had something interesting to say. As it stands i'm stressed out of my mind trying to do a million tedious but time-consuming tasks these days. I was struck dumb this past week when after countless weeks of hassle, and great expense, I finally managed to secure a new competitive mortgage on my flat...only to discover that my mortgage isn't up for redemption for another year...whoops. "Bye Bye hundreds of pounds...see ya laaaaaater....."
Top of the stress list at the moment though is trying to pack up what feels like millions of personal possessions and getting ready to move into a new place in less than two weeks. When I say 'pack' what i really mean is that this afternoon between reading a really compelling autobiography and doing my second load of washing (rock n' roll i know) I transferred all my belts and scarves and hats into a suitcase. Yep. That's it. (Now if you knew what a fashionista I am and a downright hedonistic clothes-horse, you would understand that this was no small feat...nonetheless it hardly constituted preparation for a giant move - merely an attempt to blot out panic and pretend at being productive.)
At any rate, all my possessions can arrive at the new place in giant bin bags for all I care. A far more worrying dilemma is that the very next morning after the move I'm meant to be on a charter plane to India. I can hear you moaning now, " She's moving into a new place AND has to jetset to Goa to work on her tan before Christmas...must be horrid for her, poor thing"...
But actually it is. First of all, I have not had the time to obsessively do a million sit-ups a day to get in body-baring-bikini shape for major beach action lately...nor have I had my vaccinations sorted so that when a rabid dog bites me I'm not buggered (I actually did almost get bitten by one such foaming-at-the-mouth dog last time I was there so i'm not being a drama queen). I haven't managed to get my Indian visa yet (a feat in itself involving ridiculously long-winded forms to fill out, ugly passport pics to get taken, and puzzling queues to navigate in the early morning) and I'm purposely not allowing myself to imagine the 9+ hour charter flight from hell with annoying fellow passengers.
No, I'm merely trying to work out whether the mad family who are selling us their home will be out on the agreed day, whether they will renege on their word and leave us absolutely NO furniture (thus necessitating Christmas din-din's being eaten on the floor with only a wood-burning fire to give comfort) and whether I am making a huge mistake moving from my central London flat (five minutes walk from Big Ben) to a slightly less central zone 2 (the horror!) location.
Either way it's a done deal, have bankrupted myself in the process, and am paying a premium for a nice enough new home worth probably half of what i'm paying for it, only it's got this amazing balcony off the master bedroom and that's where I'm going to compose my first novel, write a killer track and drink copious bottles of red wine whilst surveying the dirty ol' London.
I've got it all figured out see...
Top of the stress list at the moment though is trying to pack up what feels like millions of personal possessions and getting ready to move into a new place in less than two weeks. When I say 'pack' what i really mean is that this afternoon between reading a really compelling autobiography and doing my second load of washing (rock n' roll i know) I transferred all my belts and scarves and hats into a suitcase. Yep. That's it. (Now if you knew what a fashionista I am and a downright hedonistic clothes-horse, you would understand that this was no small feat...nonetheless it hardly constituted preparation for a giant move - merely an attempt to blot out panic and pretend at being productive.)
At any rate, all my possessions can arrive at the new place in giant bin bags for all I care. A far more worrying dilemma is that the very next morning after the move I'm meant to be on a charter plane to India. I can hear you moaning now, " She's moving into a new place AND has to jetset to Goa to work on her tan before Christmas...must be horrid for her, poor thing"...
But actually it is. First of all, I have not had the time to obsessively do a million sit-ups a day to get in body-baring-bikini shape for major beach action lately...nor have I had my vaccinations sorted so that when a rabid dog bites me I'm not buggered (I actually did almost get bitten by one such foaming-at-the-mouth dog last time I was there so i'm not being a drama queen). I haven't managed to get my Indian visa yet (a feat in itself involving ridiculously long-winded forms to fill out, ugly passport pics to get taken, and puzzling queues to navigate in the early morning) and I'm purposely not allowing myself to imagine the 9+ hour charter flight from hell with annoying fellow passengers.
No, I'm merely trying to work out whether the mad family who are selling us their home will be out on the agreed day, whether they will renege on their word and leave us absolutely NO furniture (thus necessitating Christmas din-din's being eaten on the floor with only a wood-burning fire to give comfort) and whether I am making a huge mistake moving from my central London flat (five minutes walk from Big Ben) to a slightly less central zone 2 (the horror!) location.
Either way it's a done deal, have bankrupted myself in the process, and am paying a premium for a nice enough new home worth probably half of what i'm paying for it, only it's got this amazing balcony off the master bedroom and that's where I'm going to compose my first novel, write a killer track and drink copious bottles of red wine whilst surveying the dirty ol' London.
I've got it all figured out see...
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