Today is the 14th October
and I’m starting again.
Disinterest
I want to get into writing again *whine whine whine*
Realisation
I’m not that human after all.
What a difficult realisation to stumble upon. Let me explain.
I’ve always seen myself as a romantic, drifting along the jagged rocks of human emotion, forever in touch with my feelings, even if not entirely sure what they are. Impassioned, if you will: horrified; dumbfounded; fearful… All at the same time! A superficial examination would prove this to be correct for I am a rather emotional person, visibly displaying signs of rage, compassion and all else whenever I am stirred.
However, go a little deeper. Are these signs actually pure emotion? Awakened by random events over which, one would assume, I have little or no control? I’m not so sure. Whenever I find myself alone and bored my imagination takes hold and I wander off into the realms of fantasy. Imagining situations, plausible situations, involving myself and the people around me. These are not simply abstract because I seem to throw myself fully into these imaginary events, bringing me to the brink of hysteria at times, considering how I would react if faced with such an instance and most importantly: how I would feel. Now, I have been lonely and bored on numerous occasions and have envisaged many, many events, constructing many, many emotional and physical reactions. With multitudinous scenarios locked away in my brain box, it’s only a matter of time before one of these ceases to be imaginary and penetrates that veil of reality, and I find myself face-to-face with the beast of my own mental creation.
Which is never nice really.
And despite my belief that I am a hopeless romantic, a locked box bursting with emotions appropriate for spontaneous events, I find myself replicating my imaginary self: a sympathetic glance and pout here, a comforting arm rub there. I suppose a lot of people do this to a certain degree, say you are in a competition that has been whittled down to the final two and you are one of them. In this situation you are likely to consider how you might react if you lose – you don’t want to come across as a sore loser, surely? You want to congratulate the winner and look dignified – and even better, how you’ll react when you win! Without coming across as arrogant you’ll shake the hand of that loser stood beside you, offer a supportive smile, “we both did our best and that’s all we could do…” and collect your prize proudly because you were the better person and you deserve it. We would all want to be in the latter camp, no?
It really doesn’t matter. In both instances I’m trying to look like a good person, hiding any evidence of envy or signs of smarminess. I’ve calculated my response to the nth degree so that no one can see how much of a bastard I can be.
Or perhaps my initial hypothesis was wrong. In our society (yuck, I was trying to steer away from sounding pretentious and if there was ever a phrase that was a defining sign of pretentiousness, that is it) I see cases for constructed response every day. Girls being friendly to one another and bitching about them the second they’re gone – surely that’s some evidence for pre-conceived attitudes?
I don’t want to be like that. I want to be able to express my feelings on a whim; those around me might be shocked or initially appalled by my response but will admire my openness.
… But there I go again.
Oh I don’t know, do I? Maybe yoga will help.
i feel like i’ve licked an iron
Day two of self-pity.
I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain I’m in pain.
from the depths of delirium
Is that grammatically correct? Oh I DON’T CARE. I have a tiny white pimple sat on my tonsil. Bastard. Ever since I found out exactly what my tonsil was (I always thought it was two dangly things… I was brought up in a Christian household) I have been constantly worried that every tingle at the back of my throat is the dreaded tonsillitis. Everyone had tonsillitis when I was 7. Someone had it FOUR TIMES. It has recently made a dazzling comeback at our 6th form, smacking people in the throat in quick succession. This time it would appear that it is I who is to be the leper for the next few weeks.
I probably have flu as well. Is the flu part of tonsillitis? My heart hurts. I think I have heartburn. What IS heartburn? I ate too many chocolate fingers yesterday and got indigestion. My eyelashes keep falling out. I have an itchy neck. Why not throw the plague into this walking fountain of illness? People will be afraid to look at me in case I release spores.
I’m going to see The Mighty Boosh on Tuesday. I’m worried they won’t top Dylan Moran on Friday; a short but constant giggle-fest in that kind of “random” humour that no one really seems to do better than Dylan Moran. Or Bill Bailey. Or Chris Morris. Or Charlie Brooker. And maybe Steve Coogan. And Frankie Boyle. Oh shut up.
It had better be good. I’m seeing it twice.
Right. Impending head explosion. I have to go to Meadowhall first to buy a coat because I fail to have one that is thicker than a feather.
