LOL at the mash-up of titles.
I'm watching Freaks and Geeks, half-way through the only season. Shall report back when finished.
Girls is very inspiring. I like Lena Dunham, enough to realise that I don't 'love' her. Like, she's not your typical female icon, idol or role model, in that she hasn't done anything particularly note-worthy (she's no Princess Di) and she's not amazing pretty, skinny or fashionable to render her into that category of 'I may be stupid and useless but at least I look good' - she's just so normal. She's the every-girl. She's 20-something, curvy in the wrong places, likes to show off her chunky thighs, flabby bum and gnat-bite boobs. She's pretty fearless (or at least, appears it) and writes about sex, relationships, friendships and gender in such an open, new, all-encompassing way which I kind of wish I could do. I take it on face value that Girls is very similar to her own life, and therefore I imagine that the things which are told are in fact mini-biopics of her past: she actually did date a guy called Adam who made her watch as he wanked. But that may not have happened; the way she tells it, the way we recognise Hannah as such a normal person, makes you believe it's true.
I love the characters. Jessa, Marnie and Shoshanna are all so similar to people I know, yet completely individual. None of this Sex and the City bullshit of 'which one are you? you can only be one, because they are all so different, and obviously, the female gender can be broken down into four distinctive sub-categories'. Jessa shits on sub-categories. Shoshanna is like an adorable version of Rhianmor circa 2008/2009. Its incredible listening to conversations on a TV show that I've had in real life. GOD I LOVE GIRLS.
[Note, I am not a lesbian, 'Girls' refers only to the TV show, not the young female homo-sapiens]
I've got lists everywhere. Lists of what to read, what to watch, what to buy next, what to watch after I've watched those things on my list, what to want to read, what to hope, aspire toward, dream of....
I am a list machine. Is there a career in that?
Monday 25 February 2013
Saturday 16 February 2013
The Least Patriotic Saint's Day
Saint Valentine's Day. I have the typical single person's response of "its so materialistic, consumerist bullshit invented by Hallmark blah blah negativity misery blah". But honestly, most holidays are. I've yet to see the money-making potential of St George's Day, but it will no doubt happen. Every 'day' that is a national known thing - Christmas, New Years, Shrove Tuesday, Easter Friday / Sunday / Monday, Mother's, Father's, St George's, St Patrick's, Valentine's, Halloween, Guy Fawkes'... I'm sure there's more, just can't think of them... They are all consumer driven, profit driven, just another day to make money, but at least you can smile and enjoy the day too.
So I don't want this to be an anti-Valentine's day rant. I know that if I were in a relationship, I'd have celebrated it in some way. I know that last year and the year before, I enjoyed it. I can't remember 2010... I remember 2009 and it was pretty shocking, despite being in a relationship (shudder). But honestly, if you have someone to enjoy it with, if you have someone to tell that you love, it's a good thing. Sharing love and smiles is always good, no matter what the price tag.
So, last night after my shift at the pub finished, I drove home from Norwich very speedily as I was aiming to get to the Dragon before last orders was called, but then I spoke to the person I was planning on seeing, and it turns out he's not at the pub. He's at home, lying on his floor, ill, possibly crying, going through the motions of realising what actually happened to him two days prior: his girlfriend had broken up with him. He was alone, and ill, and felt like shit. So I said I'd go see him. I could have gone to the Dragon, where all his friends were out, expecting him, and had a few bevvies. But no, I manned up to the role of Best Friend (female) (- his male best friend had already spoken to him, but didn't seem to say any of the right things -) and went to his house at 11.30pm, chatted briefly to his father, sat down with non-alcoholic beverages and chatted. I didn't even say much. I asked him what had happened, if she'd told him why. And he just opened like a book, like he always has done, and through talking about, realised how he actually felt: he knew he had done shit wrong, but he didn't know why. He knew she had reason to break up with him, he just didn't see it coming at all.
And as he discovered these things, I tried to keep myself detached from the situation, as truth be told, the girlfriend had been asking for my advice for months about their situation. Calling me in the middle of the day complaining about him, unable to figure out what to do about the boy she loved but drove her insane, and I gave her every piece of advice I had through my extensive knowledge of breaking hearts and dealing with the consequences of that; most of what I said seemed to pass straight through her ears. Her mother and sister had been saying the same things as me, but obviously all our advice was not being heard.
I am still friends with both of them, as I refuse to 'take sides'. Ben wants me too: he wants me to pick him and 'dump' her, but I have to remember that he didn't pick sides when his two best friends broke up.
I felt useful last night. I listened, I helped him through his thoughts and made him smile for the first time all day. We had a drink and watched the BAFTAs together, and I left his house at 3.30 in the morning, hoping he'd go straight to bed from being so sleepy, and not laying on his floor crying about his abandoned heart.
Some people don't know how or why we are friends, and more people don't get him, his humour, or his way of life. But I have never questioned our relationship, because I know that every now and then, we truly need each other. He's my oldest, closest and cruelest friend, he makes me smile and I love him with all my heart, and as much as I will remain friendly with Jasmine, I can't promise her that I'll ever be closer to her, or anyone else, than I am with him, because we are like brother and sister, as if blood or family connects us together, knowing each other so well that sometimes words aren't needed, and sometimes there aren't enough words; there's 23 years of history between us and we've never actually fallen out.
Today, I have reason to be here, to be in Norfolk: last time he was heartbroken I wasn't here, but this time I am, and I will help him as much as I can. Today, if nothing else, I know that my life and Ben's life are connected: our fates are entwined in some way.
So I don't want this to be an anti-Valentine's day rant. I know that if I were in a relationship, I'd have celebrated it in some way. I know that last year and the year before, I enjoyed it. I can't remember 2010... I remember 2009 and it was pretty shocking, despite being in a relationship (shudder). But honestly, if you have someone to enjoy it with, if you have someone to tell that you love, it's a good thing. Sharing love and smiles is always good, no matter what the price tag.
So, last night after my shift at the pub finished, I drove home from Norwich very speedily as I was aiming to get to the Dragon before last orders was called, but then I spoke to the person I was planning on seeing, and it turns out he's not at the pub. He's at home, lying on his floor, ill, possibly crying, going through the motions of realising what actually happened to him two days prior: his girlfriend had broken up with him. He was alone, and ill, and felt like shit. So I said I'd go see him. I could have gone to the Dragon, where all his friends were out, expecting him, and had a few bevvies. But no, I manned up to the role of Best Friend (female) (- his male best friend had already spoken to him, but didn't seem to say any of the right things -) and went to his house at 11.30pm, chatted briefly to his father, sat down with non-alcoholic beverages and chatted. I didn't even say much. I asked him what had happened, if she'd told him why. And he just opened like a book, like he always has done, and through talking about, realised how he actually felt: he knew he had done shit wrong, but he didn't know why. He knew she had reason to break up with him, he just didn't see it coming at all.
And as he discovered these things, I tried to keep myself detached from the situation, as truth be told, the girlfriend had been asking for my advice for months about their situation. Calling me in the middle of the day complaining about him, unable to figure out what to do about the boy she loved but drove her insane, and I gave her every piece of advice I had through my extensive knowledge of breaking hearts and dealing with the consequences of that; most of what I said seemed to pass straight through her ears. Her mother and sister had been saying the same things as me, but obviously all our advice was not being heard.
I am still friends with both of them, as I refuse to 'take sides'. Ben wants me too: he wants me to pick him and 'dump' her, but I have to remember that he didn't pick sides when his two best friends broke up.
I felt useful last night. I listened, I helped him through his thoughts and made him smile for the first time all day. We had a drink and watched the BAFTAs together, and I left his house at 3.30 in the morning, hoping he'd go straight to bed from being so sleepy, and not laying on his floor crying about his abandoned heart.
Some people don't know how or why we are friends, and more people don't get him, his humour, or his way of life. But I have never questioned our relationship, because I know that every now and then, we truly need each other. He's my oldest, closest and cruelest friend, he makes me smile and I love him with all my heart, and as much as I will remain friendly with Jasmine, I can't promise her that I'll ever be closer to her, or anyone else, than I am with him, because we are like brother and sister, as if blood or family connects us together, knowing each other so well that sometimes words aren't needed, and sometimes there aren't enough words; there's 23 years of history between us and we've never actually fallen out.
Today, I have reason to be here, to be in Norfolk: last time he was heartbroken I wasn't here, but this time I am, and I will help him as much as I can. Today, if nothing else, I know that my life and Ben's life are connected: our fates are entwined in some way.
Thursday 7 February 2013
With or Without You
I had another dream about Whall last night. If I had been keeping track, it'd be in the 30s by now, for sure. But I haven't been keeping track, because I'm trying to forget the dreams, ignore the dreams, and hopefully they'll go away.
They really aren't going away.
The weird thing is that they're happening now. They didn't happen when I broke up with him, or for the following year and a half whilst I was with Martin (maybe once or twice, but nothing like this). I got home and BOOM, my head let something through that it had been holding back for so long. And all summer I had these dreams, and I'd tell Ben, and he'd laugh, and I'd tell Henry, and he'd tell me I wasn't over Whall. How do you know when you're 'over' someone, though? Because I have gotten used to life without him in it, I just miss him. But maybe I never had a chance to get 'over' him, so, maybe I'm not? I don't know. It's very confusing.
Anyway, summer ended, uni mark 2 began, and now, in my penultimate month of my taught masters (officially finish in September, but lessons end before Easter) I still have these dreams. Sometimes he's the main character, I'm there, he's there... sometimes it's awkward, sometimes he smiles, a couple times we get back together, one time we never broke up; recently he was being friendly, and we were discussing our lives post-break-up; I never expect him to be there, yet he always is, sometimes just in the background with Dukie, sometimes as the first person I meet in a dream. He's this constant face, this desperate grasp of my brain to not forget what he looks like, how his voice sounds, the smell of his aftershave, of his clothes, the way he walks, the way he laughs, the way I feel when I look at him: his eyes, his stare back at me, always with a slight smile in his eyes, so I knew when he was pissing around, or the sense that whatever it was he was looking at, or he saw in me, that he truly did love it. Maybe my head just wants that again: to see the love in someone's eyes.
My sadistic memory won't leave me alone. Most days I can wake up and get on with life and not think about these things. Not dwell on how I've broken so many hearts, pushed guys away, or just run away. Not dwell on what might have been if things had been different. Not wonder what that person is doing now, if they're better off without me, or if we truly are destined to be together, and therefore I should just wait for fate to bring us together again. Not consider how that person may feel about me, now, after two and half years. Are they still mad? Are they indifferent?
Most days I can wake up and get on with life; when I've had a dream about an ex-boyfriend, my whole day starts spinning. Its hard to grasp any reality when your head is living in the past.
There is only one thing that I can figure out: these dreams won't just go away. My dreams are constant, they do tell me things, and they only stop when things are resolved. So I need to resolve things; I need to see him. But he won't. He refuses to even acknowledge my existence, let alone be in the same room as me for long enough to hear that he hates my guts, or whatever it is that he might say to me.
So, in the cruel contradiction, I will forever be tortured by my own memory of the man I thought I'd end up marrying until I broke up with him because I was falling in love with someone else. I never had that with anyone else though: as much as I loved them, and hoped things for the future, I could never actually visualize the house, the garden, the children and the pet dog. I saw my future with Whall, and it terrified me. And now I'm forced to re-live that decision on an almost weekly basis.
I want to go all eternal-sunshine on my memory.
I want someone else to think about, so my dreams may be surpressed.
I want to fall in love again. As great as it is to know that there are a few guys who would happily be Number Sixteen (Coates being the obvious one), I don't just want a number sixteen. I want number sixteen to be the last one.
I really don't want to hit the twenties, basically. Moral of the story, I'm scared of being a big ho-bag.
I also really miss the two people who were my best friends in the whole world this time last year. I haven't seen either of them in a while and it upsets me. I haven't spoken to one of them in a while because I don't really know what to say to them. This blog entry has become a complete mish-mash of thoughts. I suppose it is a good representation of my head, at least.
Bastille: Flaws; Pompeii; Bad Blood. It's my new groove.
Also, the title refers not to the original by U2, but the cover by the first man I 'loved' (if you can call weird obsession and adoration love?):
They really aren't going away.
The weird thing is that they're happening now. They didn't happen when I broke up with him, or for the following year and a half whilst I was with Martin (maybe once or twice, but nothing like this). I got home and BOOM, my head let something through that it had been holding back for so long. And all summer I had these dreams, and I'd tell Ben, and he'd laugh, and I'd tell Henry, and he'd tell me I wasn't over Whall. How do you know when you're 'over' someone, though? Because I have gotten used to life without him in it, I just miss him. But maybe I never had a chance to get 'over' him, so, maybe I'm not? I don't know. It's very confusing.
Anyway, summer ended, uni mark 2 began, and now, in my penultimate month of my taught masters (officially finish in September, but lessons end before Easter) I still have these dreams. Sometimes he's the main character, I'm there, he's there... sometimes it's awkward, sometimes he smiles, a couple times we get back together, one time we never broke up; recently he was being friendly, and we were discussing our lives post-break-up; I never expect him to be there, yet he always is, sometimes just in the background with Dukie, sometimes as the first person I meet in a dream. He's this constant face, this desperate grasp of my brain to not forget what he looks like, how his voice sounds, the smell of his aftershave, of his clothes, the way he walks, the way he laughs, the way I feel when I look at him: his eyes, his stare back at me, always with a slight smile in his eyes, so I knew when he was pissing around, or the sense that whatever it was he was looking at, or he saw in me, that he truly did love it. Maybe my head just wants that again: to see the love in someone's eyes.
My sadistic memory won't leave me alone. Most days I can wake up and get on with life and not think about these things. Not dwell on how I've broken so many hearts, pushed guys away, or just run away. Not dwell on what might have been if things had been different. Not wonder what that person is doing now, if they're better off without me, or if we truly are destined to be together, and therefore I should just wait for fate to bring us together again. Not consider how that person may feel about me, now, after two and half years. Are they still mad? Are they indifferent?
Most days I can wake up and get on with life; when I've had a dream about an ex-boyfriend, my whole day starts spinning. Its hard to grasp any reality when your head is living in the past.
There is only one thing that I can figure out: these dreams won't just go away. My dreams are constant, they do tell me things, and they only stop when things are resolved. So I need to resolve things; I need to see him. But he won't. He refuses to even acknowledge my existence, let alone be in the same room as me for long enough to hear that he hates my guts, or whatever it is that he might say to me.
So, in the cruel contradiction, I will forever be tortured by my own memory of the man I thought I'd end up marrying until I broke up with him because I was falling in love with someone else. I never had that with anyone else though: as much as I loved them, and hoped things for the future, I could never actually visualize the house, the garden, the children and the pet dog. I saw my future with Whall, and it terrified me. And now I'm forced to re-live that decision on an almost weekly basis.
I want to go all eternal-sunshine on my memory.
I want someone else to think about, so my dreams may be surpressed.
I want to fall in love again. As great as it is to know that there are a few guys who would happily be Number Sixteen (Coates being the obvious one), I don't just want a number sixteen. I want number sixteen to be the last one.
I really don't want to hit the twenties, basically. Moral of the story, I'm scared of being a big ho-bag.
I also really miss the two people who were my best friends in the whole world this time last year. I haven't seen either of them in a while and it upsets me. I haven't spoken to one of them in a while because I don't really know what to say to them. This blog entry has become a complete mish-mash of thoughts. I suppose it is a good representation of my head, at least.
Bastille: Flaws; Pompeii; Bad Blood. It's my new groove.
Also, the title refers not to the original by U2, but the cover by the first man I 'loved' (if you can call weird obsession and adoration love?):
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