Before I start, I'd like to offer my sincere thanks to Annabegins, noyoudont and Emma for their assistance in customising this layout -- and thanks, too, for anyone who offered to help or sent me instructions on how to work with it myself. As you can see, I have scrapped the e.e. cummings quotes, and have decided so far not to replace them with anything else.
If it wasn't for the fact this is a brand-new layout I wouldn't be using it today, instead I would be using my old, grey comatised design I bring out and dust off for occasions -- like today -- when I just really want to take a razorblade and slash my arms up. It's kind of funny, I can almost visualise the cuts on my skin. And I don't feel the least bit bad about it, either.
I know that it's bad to think about it, since it will in turn make such things easier to think and from there it's hardly a step at all to acting them out. Perhaps it is fortunate that it's summer and such acts of self harm would not go unnoticed, and dammit, I'm not meant to do that shit any more. Seems my medication takes the edge of my depression just enough to get by, but not enough for me to feel like living from one day to the next. Neat, huh?
I wish I hadn't come back yet, but I have an interview tomorrow and I'm broke, and was hungry. But I don't have the peace I need here, I'm persistently being bugged to work, to get a job, to look for a journalist position, learn to drive, and I'm finding it all hard to take. Which is probably why self harm, or worse, seems so attractive to me. It's almost perverse.
And as for last entry's promise of a prize for the most right answers, it is hardly worth mentioning since only three people appear to even read the entry. Makes me wonder just who is reading this, and if anyone is why they often choose to remain silent.
Wednesday, 30 June 2004
Monday, 28 June 2004
Stolen
Instructions: On your current playlist, hit shuffle and pick the first twenty songs on the list (no matter how cheesy or embarrassing), and write down your favourite line of the song. Try to avoid putting the song title in the line. Then, have your friends comment and see if they know the songs. (yeah, I know it's so very LJ, but I am still seeing how the template looks without updating properly. whoever gets the most right gets a prize -- I can guarantee nobody will get all of them)
1. Get out of my head, get off of my bed -- yeah that's what I said
2. When your heart’s that cold a little gunfire warms the soul
3. It makes me feel like I’m a man when I put a spike into my vein
4. I’m falling in love too fast, with you – or the songs you chose
5. They know who is righteous what is bold, so I’m told
6. If you can judge a wise man from the colour of his skin then, mister, you’re a better man than I
7. We’re sick of being jerked around
8. He's just a drunken, gambling man, dealing with the hands of desire's game
9. You left a stain on every one of my good days, but I am stronger than you know
10. Am I scaring you, too? I'm just scared of losing you.
11. You can tell a woman that you love her face to face, or you can do it from a phone call that can’t be traced
12. When you’re alone and you got the shakes so am I, baby, and I got what it takes
13. I heard a voice from on high, clear like a light in the sky, it said: “Quit blowing each other up”
14. She never loved me, why should anyone?
15. Look into my tired eyes, you’ll see someone you won’t recognise
16. Every time she sneezes I believe it’s love
17. Well me, yeah, I got hitched and, yeah, we’re still friends – I don’t see her often, still I get the kids at weekends
18. The ignorant people sleep on their backs like the doped white mice in the college lab
19. We were brought up on the space race, now they expect you to clean toilets – when you’ve seen how big the world is, how can you make do with this?
20. If you were smart you’d send her home on BART before the real trouble starts – cos who’s she gonna slap when she sees me in your lap and you say you’ve had a change of heart?
1. Get out of my head, get off of my bed -- yeah that's what I said
2. When your heart’s that cold a little gunfire warms the soul
3. It makes me feel like I’m a man when I put a spike into my vein
4. I’m falling in love too fast, with you – or the songs you chose
5. They know who is righteous what is bold, so I’m told
6. If you can judge a wise man from the colour of his skin then, mister, you’re a better man than I
7. We’re sick of being jerked around
8. He's just a drunken, gambling man, dealing with the hands of desire's game
9. You left a stain on every one of my good days, but I am stronger than you know
10. Am I scaring you, too? I'm just scared of losing you.
11. You can tell a woman that you love her face to face, or you can do it from a phone call that can’t be traced
12. When you’re alone and you got the shakes so am I, baby, and I got what it takes
13. I heard a voice from on high, clear like a light in the sky, it said: “Quit blowing each other up”
14. She never loved me, why should anyone?
15. Look into my tired eyes, you’ll see someone you won’t recognise
16. Every time she sneezes I believe it’s love
17. Well me, yeah, I got hitched and, yeah, we’re still friends – I don’t see her often, still I get the kids at weekends
18. The ignorant people sleep on their backs like the doped white mice in the college lab
19. We were brought up on the space race, now they expect you to clean toilets – when you’ve seen how big the world is, how can you make do with this?
20. If you were smart you’d send her home on BART before the real trouble starts – cos who’s she gonna slap when she sees me in your lap and you say you’ve had a change of heart?
Thursday, 24 June 2004
Sometimes I don’t want to understand her
Today I walked out of the pouring rain into the post office where the song Summer Holiday was playing. At first it made me smile, in spite of myself – “we’re going where the sun shines brightly”, since in this city it hardly seems to ever stop raining. But as I stood in that queue while the guy in front of me debated football with the clerks behind the counter and took his sweet time doing whatever the hell it was he had to do I realised something. It wasn’t the radio I was hearing, instead the song was on a damned loop. The same song was playing over and over and over. How the three members of staff in the post office didn’t go insane I don’t know. They probably already had, and that’s why a Cliff Richard song was playing endlessly.
For some reason, I can smell the coast today. This city is miles from anywhere, let alone miles from the coast, but the torrential downpours all day must have come from the ocean. I would not have been altogether surprised to have seen the occasional fish or frog in the puddles – why the city council can’t fit drains that can cope with the constant fucking rain I don’t know. It was probably cheaper to put in small drains and some man with a big cigar and a pot belly gives himself another payrise. The whole world’s coming to an end, I swear.
If Cliff Richard’s Summer Holiday wasn’t bad enough, the person who lives next door to me and whose bedroom wall apparently shares mine was also playing the same song on repeat – I don’t know the artist or the title, but I know that it involved repeating the words fuck you endlessly. I stood against the wall and called myself using my mobile. It made me smile as I heard his stereo’s high-pitched whine from the interference block out the music.
And here we are, another day. It rains, it floods, another ambulance screams past on its way to somewhere or another. Someone tonight will probably get stabbed to death in an argument about who is the best football player on the same team. I can’t say I feel all that terrible about the idea.
For some reason, I can smell the coast today. This city is miles from anywhere, let alone miles from the coast, but the torrential downpours all day must have come from the ocean. I would not have been altogether surprised to have seen the occasional fish or frog in the puddles – why the city council can’t fit drains that can cope with the constant fucking rain I don’t know. It was probably cheaper to put in small drains and some man with a big cigar and a pot belly gives himself another payrise. The whole world’s coming to an end, I swear.
If Cliff Richard’s Summer Holiday wasn’t bad enough, the person who lives next door to me and whose bedroom wall apparently shares mine was also playing the same song on repeat – I don’t know the artist or the title, but I know that it involved repeating the words fuck you endlessly. I stood against the wall and called myself using my mobile. It made me smile as I heard his stereo’s high-pitched whine from the interference block out the music.
And here we are, another day. It rains, it floods, another ambulance screams past on its way to somewhere or another. Someone tonight will probably get stabbed to death in an argument about who is the best football player on the same team. I can’t say I feel all that terrible about the idea.
Saturday, 19 June 2004
Warning: badly punctuated and very rambling
I’d start by saying it’s late. But it’s not that late, not really. It’s a little after 11 on a Friday night. I couldn’t be bothered to cook any of the few bits of food I have – which is not a lot, unless you want soup or beans – so I sent out for pizza and charged it to my credit card. I’ve got compensation coming in and will clear the debt soon enough, so a pizza is no big deal. I feel anxious or wound up. It could be a side effect of restarting the medication after half-stopping it. I’m alone in my flat, which isn’t so surprising when you consider that I live on my own. I have been through the address book on my phone repeatedly, hoping that out of nowhere I will hit upon someone to call. But even with the compensation coming in, I can’t afford international phone calls and however great the internet may be for having friends all over the globe, when you really want to talk to someone you realise just how far away everyone else is. Even San, just in London, seems a world away. I could call friends back home – but however much some of them might say that they’re there to talk to, they aren’t. Not really. Not in a way that I could call them on a Friday night a talk about any of this. I met [Charley] for a few drinks earlier and it was good. We’d never met before, and didn’t know all that much about one another, but it was good company – she was good company. Even though I had originally wondered what she might mean when she asked if I wanted to meet her for coffee, it was completely platonic – which is fucking great when I so often feel I fall in love too easily, or at the very least develop wild inappropriate crushes. But just the same, the only light in the room is my desk lamp and the glow of the monitor. My heart feels like it’s beating too fast – although I pause and put my hand against my chest (did you know, you can see my heartbeat even through the two shirts I am wearing? It surprised many doctors, until they concluded in all their great experience and wisdom that it just must be unusually near the surface, or some thing) and I can’t tell. It doesn’t feel to my hand like it’s beating too fast, but I feel a little short of breath and my hands are restless. It’s not panic, or even anxiety exactly – I wouldn’t say I’m worried, so much as troubled – but at the same time. At the same time, I don’t know. My head reels off the various inappropriate crushes I have and then I return to thinking of San and wondering – worrying maybe – what is in store for us, when I might see her next or whatever. I really am a mess. What do I want from life? What exactly has kept me alive – other than a fear of the unknown? I want to travel, I want to see how big the world is. Sadly I can’t focus on the day to day – although there’s movies I want to catch, bands I want to see, records I want to hear and books to read, they aren’t enough. A desire to see more and do more does interest me. Also a desire to find more from my own life, maybe it’s a symptom of my illness – the eternal underlying mania that every now and then comes out like this week and that gives me that immature thought that I am special. A kind of messiah complex. A thought that I could find my way to becoming pure energy, a kind of Buddhist enlightenment means lawnmower man or something. I want to be the clouds dropping rain. But what do I want, really? A job I enjoy, and do well. Security – not having to worry about what is coming next. The usual, peace on earth but I don’t think I’m holding out much hope on that one. I want to meditate in the desert again. I want to live in a monastery and live a purely simple life of a bed and plain white walls. I want to be a fire lookout in a national forest, even if the job is so reportedly amazingly dull and lonesome it induces breakdowns. And now I stop. The words or thoughts aren’t coming, except it still feels too damn light in here – even with just the glow of the monitor. I’ve stopped. Nothing feels resolved or any different, except my heart has returned to a normal pace. I found an old address book when looking for a mislaid address. It’s full of numbers for people I don’t talk to, or incorrect numbers and addresses for people I still know. I found my grandmother’s old address and phone number. I had stopped using this address book by the time she died, the summer before from the look of it. I wonder to myself now, in that stupid dreamer sort of way, that if I call this number I have for her if there might be some chance that she will answer. The area codes for London have since changed so that number wouldn’t even work – which encourages me to try calling it all the same. I wouldn’t be calling anyone any more, so in some made-for-tv-movie sort of way could it happen that I’d get to talk to her, one last time? Maybe get to say goodbye this time.
Wednesday, 16 June 2004
This life has taken its toll on me
Much of the last entry can be disregarded.
Uber-Jay was so shortlived that had I not mentioned the feeling in my last entry it would have gone unremarked. Instead the feeling that I could take on the world has been quickly replaced by a feeling like the world has largely forgotten I exist and how it would be just so much easier to step in front of a train.
I stood in the shower this morning and as the too-warm water fell on my face I wished I was dead. It's not an uncommon feeling. I have had enough, this life has taken its toll and I don't much feel like carrying on.
I had a job interview, and it didn't go badly -- but I think the fact I can't drive and haven't passed a single fucking one of my exams yet might stop me being offered one of the two vacancies they have. I didn't mention that last part to them, by the way, I more coyly suggested I am not the most academically brilliant person and had some resits to take, but was expecting to pass them without a problem. The truth is I have no more idea if I will pass my exams next week, or if I will find them any easier than the original ones.
As I stood at the station, waiting for my train back I observed casually how many high-speed trains just fly through the station, and how it would be all-too-easy to 'accidentally' get that little bit too close to the edge.
I have since seen my doctor, who says that last week's pains in my stomach and side are nothing to worry about if they have gone away, she also could find nothing untoward in that place guys dread to check for lumps. But most of all she was not the slightest bit happy that I wasn't taking my medication. She didn't seem as interested that on Monday I was Uber-Jay and nothing could stop me, so much as that now I am incredibly unhappy. She says this is not the time to stop the medication.
I wonder what she would have said, had I told her the thoughts I am writing about today.
Last night I lay on my bed, screaming out in my mind for someone to hear me, for someone to help me. Someone to just come and take me away, because I don't want this any more. Needless to say, nobody heard me.
So at the end of this we find me now back on the medication, realising that I am actually not a fictional, half-robotic and undead serial killer (and probably should not compare myself to such things), and -- yes -- I do realise that if I want anyone to hear me I should try screaming outside of my own head next time and maybe try calling someone instead.
Uber-Jay was so shortlived that had I not mentioned the feeling in my last entry it would have gone unremarked. Instead the feeling that I could take on the world has been quickly replaced by a feeling like the world has largely forgotten I exist and how it would be just so much easier to step in front of a train.
I stood in the shower this morning and as the too-warm water fell on my face I wished I was dead. It's not an uncommon feeling. I have had enough, this life has taken its toll and I don't much feel like carrying on.
I had a job interview, and it didn't go badly -- but I think the fact I can't drive and haven't passed a single fucking one of my exams yet might stop me being offered one of the two vacancies they have. I didn't mention that last part to them, by the way, I more coyly suggested I am not the most academically brilliant person and had some resits to take, but was expecting to pass them without a problem. The truth is I have no more idea if I will pass my exams next week, or if I will find them any easier than the original ones.
As I stood at the station, waiting for my train back I observed casually how many high-speed trains just fly through the station, and how it would be all-too-easy to 'accidentally' get that little bit too close to the edge.
I have since seen my doctor, who says that last week's pains in my stomach and side are nothing to worry about if they have gone away, she also could find nothing untoward in that place guys dread to check for lumps. But most of all she was not the slightest bit happy that I wasn't taking my medication. She didn't seem as interested that on Monday I was Uber-Jay and nothing could stop me, so much as that now I am incredibly unhappy. She says this is not the time to stop the medication.
I wonder what she would have said, had I told her the thoughts I am writing about today.
Last night I lay on my bed, screaming out in my mind for someone to hear me, for someone to help me. Someone to just come and take me away, because I don't want this any more. Needless to say, nobody heard me.
So at the end of this we find me now back on the medication, realising that I am actually not a fictional, half-robotic and undead serial killer (and probably should not compare myself to such things), and -- yes -- I do realise that if I want anyone to hear me I should try screaming outside of my own head next time and maybe try calling someone instead.
Monday, 14 June 2004
Sunshine in the morning
It's Monday morning, and Tom has now left again. He actually left about this time yesterday -- give or take -- but I can't get online on a Sunday here. I really didn't get the impression he was any better off for having stayed with me. I hope that he doesn't think unfavourably of me, I try to be a good friend but I have issues of my own, no experience in psychiatric counselling or the like and at the end of the day I'm only human. He goes to Japan in about a month, to teach English. Says he will probably stay in Asia for a few years, dig stuff.
As for me, I've actually stopped taking my medication. I didn't mean to, I've just lost them and since I'm seeing my doctor this week anyway I think I will say that I want to give them up for a while. She will probably disagree, like she did last time I said it, but it's my decision. Aside from a slightly dizzy feeling today that is probably why the advice leaflet says not to just stop taking them, I'm doing fairly well. Yesterday I anticipated a return to my uber-Jay state, which is the feeling I got a few years ago when I stopped taking my medication. Actually, it was the feeling I got when I just about scraped through some of the most intense and debilitating bad moods that came first after stopping the medication. Uber-Jay was a reference to Jason Voorhees in Jason-x, but I felt like I was stronger and better than before.
I've sworn off beer...for the time being. Not for any good reason, but because I want a flat stomach and without being able to afford gym membership this is a good start. Cutting out the booze should also help with the moods. I'm also not drinking soft drinks, instead subsisting on water. I shall also endeavour not to snack between meals, and possibly even undertake some kind of fitness regime in my bedroom. See? Uber-Jay. Stronger, happier, more productive.
Or I would be more productive if I stopped writing this and went back to my flat to revise for next weeks exams.
As for me, I've actually stopped taking my medication. I didn't mean to, I've just lost them and since I'm seeing my doctor this week anyway I think I will say that I want to give them up for a while. She will probably disagree, like she did last time I said it, but it's my decision. Aside from a slightly dizzy feeling today that is probably why the advice leaflet says not to just stop taking them, I'm doing fairly well. Yesterday I anticipated a return to my uber-Jay state, which is the feeling I got a few years ago when I stopped taking my medication. Actually, it was the feeling I got when I just about scraped through some of the most intense and debilitating bad moods that came first after stopping the medication. Uber-Jay was a reference to Jason Voorhees in Jason-x, but I felt like I was stronger and better than before.
I've sworn off beer...for the time being. Not for any good reason, but because I want a flat stomach and without being able to afford gym membership this is a good start. Cutting out the booze should also help with the moods. I'm also not drinking soft drinks, instead subsisting on water. I shall also endeavour not to snack between meals, and possibly even undertake some kind of fitness regime in my bedroom. See? Uber-Jay. Stronger, happier, more productive.
Or I would be more productive if I stopped writing this and went back to my flat to revise for next weeks exams.
Friday, 11 June 2004
Company, good or otherwise
Tom has come to stay, once more. It all started with a text message the other night. He asked me how the exams were going, I replied, and asked him how work was for him. He said he hadn't been in recently, since he's spent the last 10 days in bed, depressed. I tried to offer advice, encourage him to leave his bed and do something, but I'm not sure he was listening.
So I called him the next night, to see how he was. Conversation is suddenly incredibly difficult, he has withdrawn almost completely into himself. Voice low and apathetic, nothing to offer, no interest in conversation. I'm hardly the most stable of people, yet suddenly I find that I'm trying to be talkative and interest and encouraging while sympathetic. In the end, I invited him to come stay. I stold him I don't have anything much interetsing to do, since I have to revise, but he's welcome.
In person it's almost more unbareable than on the phone. Don't get me wrong, I love the guy -- we've been friends since the first year in Derby, and although we've had some minor disagreements over the years we've remained friends. Just the same, I'm finding his intense depression very hard to deal with. I couldn't very well leave him in Hull to sulk and stay in bed, and I figure at least here I can keep an eye on him -- make sure he eats, make sure we leave the house, even entertain him here or there.
He apologised last night as we sat in the pub, in silence, for not being very good company. I told him I didn't invite him here to entertain me. I invited him here because I care, and want to do anything I can for my friend. It just doesn't seem to me that there is a lot that I can do.
He keeps disappearing for lengths of time. This morning he went to brush his teeth in my flat, and was gone long enough for him to have scrubbed his entire body clean with a toothbrush. He has now left the computer lab here at the university to use the bathroom, and even given that he didn't know where it was and he had to find it, it isn't far. It's not as far that it should be taking him this long. I feel the need to check up on him, see what he's doing.
I have no idea how long he plans to stay for, but he is welcome with me for as long as he wants to be here. I just don't know how to help him, and not being outgoing myself it can be very awkward.
The way I see it, though, is that this can't be any worse for him than staying in bed and not eating. That's what I hope, anyway.
So I called him the next night, to see how he was. Conversation is suddenly incredibly difficult, he has withdrawn almost completely into himself. Voice low and apathetic, nothing to offer, no interest in conversation. I'm hardly the most stable of people, yet suddenly I find that I'm trying to be talkative and interest and encouraging while sympathetic. In the end, I invited him to come stay. I stold him I don't have anything much interetsing to do, since I have to revise, but he's welcome.
In person it's almost more unbareable than on the phone. Don't get me wrong, I love the guy -- we've been friends since the first year in Derby, and although we've had some minor disagreements over the years we've remained friends. Just the same, I'm finding his intense depression very hard to deal with. I couldn't very well leave him in Hull to sulk and stay in bed, and I figure at least here I can keep an eye on him -- make sure he eats, make sure we leave the house, even entertain him here or there.
He apologised last night as we sat in the pub, in silence, for not being very good company. I told him I didn't invite him here to entertain me. I invited him here because I care, and want to do anything I can for my friend. It just doesn't seem to me that there is a lot that I can do.
He keeps disappearing for lengths of time. This morning he went to brush his teeth in my flat, and was gone long enough for him to have scrubbed his entire body clean with a toothbrush. He has now left the computer lab here at the university to use the bathroom, and even given that he didn't know where it was and he had to find it, it isn't far. It's not as far that it should be taking him this long. I feel the need to check up on him, see what he's doing.
I have no idea how long he plans to stay for, but he is welcome with me for as long as he wants to be here. I just don't know how to help him, and not being outgoing myself it can be very awkward.
The way I see it, though, is that this can't be any worse for him than staying in bed and not eating. That's what I hope, anyway.
Monday, 7 June 2004
A return
It felt like old times when I got off the bus in north London to go see San. I used to always take the underground in London, it was faster and simpler than the buses -- but it's also very temperamental, and so one day when the engineering works made it difficult to go straight to San's I started taking the bus. Since then I have become a bus-convert -- I like to sit on the top deck and stare out fo the window at the city. Sure, it takes longer but you don't get the feeling you could be trapped in a tunnel and it's more interesting.
I got to San's and although it had been less than a week since we last saw each other, things were different. There was a renewed passion between us, a rediscovered desire to just sit on the couch and make out that I can't remember us doing in Leicester.
Our plans for the day were simple. The Tate gallery of Modern Art were hosting an Edward Hopper exhibition, and being a big fan of his work it went without saying that we would go. When I called the gallery, however, I discovered that booking in advance was "strongly recommended". We went anyway, and although it couldn't have been very late in the afternoon we were told (after standing in line forever) that the earliest we could be admitted was 17.30. We booked tickets for 19.00 instead -- so we could take our time with the rest of the day.
It was one of those days where you can forget everything else. I could forget about exams in Law and Public Affairs, and my search for a job. I could even forget the uncertainty of what might happen between us.
The exhibition was more or less all I could have hoped for. Hopper's canvases were often bigger and more dramatic than I had expected, and I was only slightly disappointed that the exhibition hadn't included New York Movie.
It was late when we got out of the gallery -- having been side-tracked on our way out because I wanted to see something by Damien Hirst -- and we decided to walk a different way to the way we'd come in. Instead, we crossed the Thames on the Millennium Bridge, taking our time to look at the lights of the city and to stop and stare down-river and the lights of Tower Bridge. There was some confusion over where to catch a bus from -- San has no sense of direction -- but we were in no real hurry to get home.
The first time I ever met San we went to the Tate Modern gallery, and she tells me now she thought I hated her because I was so quiet. I tell that I loved her even then, and had always tried to be sure I knew where she was the whole day -- but didn't think it necessary for us to be at each other's side the whole time. I uphold that Saturday wasn't meant to have any significance, I would have wanted to see the exhibition wherever it was being held. It was just coincidence we'd spent the day together there once before.
The questions still remaining are: Is San right, and were we complacent seeing each other all the time? Will it be better to have a chance to miss one another now? Will our relationship stand up to this change of pace? And of course, what the sam hell am I doing with my life?
Tune in next time for all this and more...
I got to San's and although it had been less than a week since we last saw each other, things were different. There was a renewed passion between us, a rediscovered desire to just sit on the couch and make out that I can't remember us doing in Leicester.
Our plans for the day were simple. The Tate gallery of Modern Art were hosting an Edward Hopper exhibition, and being a big fan of his work it went without saying that we would go. When I called the gallery, however, I discovered that booking in advance was "strongly recommended". We went anyway, and although it couldn't have been very late in the afternoon we were told (after standing in line forever) that the earliest we could be admitted was 17.30. We booked tickets for 19.00 instead -- so we could take our time with the rest of the day.
It was one of those days where you can forget everything else. I could forget about exams in Law and Public Affairs, and my search for a job. I could even forget the uncertainty of what might happen between us.
The exhibition was more or less all I could have hoped for. Hopper's canvases were often bigger and more dramatic than I had expected, and I was only slightly disappointed that the exhibition hadn't included New York Movie.
It was late when we got out of the gallery -- having been side-tracked on our way out because I wanted to see something by Damien Hirst -- and we decided to walk a different way to the way we'd come in. Instead, we crossed the Thames on the Millennium Bridge, taking our time to look at the lights of the city and to stop and stare down-river and the lights of Tower Bridge. There was some confusion over where to catch a bus from -- San has no sense of direction -- but we were in no real hurry to get home.
The first time I ever met San we went to the Tate Modern gallery, and she tells me now she thought I hated her because I was so quiet. I tell that I loved her even then, and had always tried to be sure I knew where she was the whole day -- but didn't think it necessary for us to be at each other's side the whole time. I uphold that Saturday wasn't meant to have any significance, I would have wanted to see the exhibition wherever it was being held. It was just coincidence we'd spent the day together there once before.
The questions still remaining are: Is San right, and were we complacent seeing each other all the time? Will it be better to have a chance to miss one another now? Will our relationship stand up to this change of pace? And of course, what the sam hell am I doing with my life?
Tune in next time for all this and more...
Wednesday, 2 June 2004
Farewells
Sometimes it feels like my life is punctuated with goodbyes. Over the past few years I have given up thinking of anywhere as home for any length of time, given up thinking of anything as permanent. Anything, that is, except for goodbyes. It might sound over dramatic, but saying goodbye, so long, see you later –- these seem to become permanent farewells.
I stood in the car park of San’s flat and watched her leave. I’ve never been properly introduced to her Dad, and have no idea if he knows who I am or if San even has a boyfriend. Just the same, without caring if he would see and ask her questions I held her hand, wiped away her tears, and kissed her goodbye. I then just stood and watched the car pull out, and drive away. I lingered a little to watch her flatmates leave too. Then I sat down on the curb and wondered what to do next.
I remember years ago, Fiona and I spent New Year together and at that time I had held her in my arms and thought how I could spend my life with that girl, if only given the chance. Just a few days later, I stood in a bus station in London and watched her crying, as her bus drove away. We said it would only be temporary, we’d pick up where we left off when I got back from Utah – we’d be a little older and a little wiser and it would be good. But of course that didn’t happen. She moved on, or I moved on, and what we intended to be a brief farewell really did turn into goodbye. The couple of times we have met in the years since then haven’t changed that.
I have moved from city to city, moved back home, left again, and then now face the prospect of moving back once more with little to show for it. I don’t feel at home anywhere, and I have so many nights that feel like my last night in town.
San knows I’m scared this is it, and I think she feels the same. It will be at least a month before I see her again – after we are used to seeing each other almost every single day. Even then I don’t know what I’ll be doing, or how long for – but San will return to Leicester this September, and possibly on to Maryland in January. I don’t know if we will make it.
I want somewhere that feels like home. Not somewhere where I feel I’ve been forgotten that I’m here, or somewhere that I only get to call home for only a few months or a year. I want to see the world, but I want somewhere to return to. And as sappy as it sounds, I want a love.
I stood in the car park of San’s flat and watched her leave. I’ve never been properly introduced to her Dad, and have no idea if he knows who I am or if San even has a boyfriend. Just the same, without caring if he would see and ask her questions I held her hand, wiped away her tears, and kissed her goodbye. I then just stood and watched the car pull out, and drive away. I lingered a little to watch her flatmates leave too. Then I sat down on the curb and wondered what to do next.
I remember years ago, Fiona and I spent New Year together and at that time I had held her in my arms and thought how I could spend my life with that girl, if only given the chance. Just a few days later, I stood in a bus station in London and watched her crying, as her bus drove away. We said it would only be temporary, we’d pick up where we left off when I got back from Utah – we’d be a little older and a little wiser and it would be good. But of course that didn’t happen. She moved on, or I moved on, and what we intended to be a brief farewell really did turn into goodbye. The couple of times we have met in the years since then haven’t changed that.
I have moved from city to city, moved back home, left again, and then now face the prospect of moving back once more with little to show for it. I don’t feel at home anywhere, and I have so many nights that feel like my last night in town.
San knows I’m scared this is it, and I think she feels the same. It will be at least a month before I see her again – after we are used to seeing each other almost every single day. Even then I don’t know what I’ll be doing, or how long for – but San will return to Leicester this September, and possibly on to Maryland in January. I don’t know if we will make it.
I want somewhere that feels like home. Not somewhere where I feel I’ve been forgotten that I’m here, or somewhere that I only get to call home for only a few months or a year. I want to see the world, but I want somewhere to return to. And as sappy as it sounds, I want a love.
Monday, 31 May 2004
My life was ruined when the Green Dragon closed
It was about 8am today when my phone rang. It was late enough in the day not to be an "Oh God, what's wrong?" sort of feeling when it rang -- but just the same, I didn't know why anyone would be calling.
I answered to San in fits of tears, telling me it hurt to pee and asking me to take her to the hospital. Of course, I paused only to dress and headed over to her flat -- where I expected I would wake the whole place up.
I'd forgotten that today San and various flatmates were meant to be going on a road trip to Blackpool, and kind of final group bonding outing for the girls. So they were all already awake, and reassuring San while she looked up things like "cystitis" and "urinary tract infections". With San suitably convinced that she wasn't dying of anything, and that I hadn't passed on anything I might have caught off any random slutty (and entirely fictitious) girl, she dressed and a plan was made.
We would take San to the chemist we knew was open, she'd tell them what was up and most likely they'd say to see a doctor when the surgeries reopen and to drink lots of water. And then with a free space in the car, I'd accompany the hotties -- sorry, flatmates -- on their roadtrip to the coast.
These things never really go to plan. The chemist couldn't help, because they weren't sure if San had cystitis or a urinary tract infection, and so San insisted on going to the hospital while the others went to Blackpool, without us. They practically begged San to go with them, and San even said I could go. But, really -- if San wouldn't, then I couldn't leave her.
The hospital.......
...................gave San a prescription, and said to see her doctor. They could have done that tomorrow, and we could have gone to t'pool. But never mind. San took me to the hospital when I needed her to, twice, and instead we just had a low-key day together and I cooked a roast dinner tonight.
San leaves Leicester tomorrow, I've got about a month left. She said she turned down a place at Derby university originally because she felt it would be weird seeing all the places we'd gone to when she was visiting me there. But now she feels that way about it here, I won't be here next year -- but first I've got a month without her here. The weekends without her seem quiet enough.
I answered to San in fits of tears, telling me it hurt to pee and asking me to take her to the hospital. Of course, I paused only to dress and headed over to her flat -- where I expected I would wake the whole place up.
I'd forgotten that today San and various flatmates were meant to be going on a road trip to Blackpool, and kind of final group bonding outing for the girls. So they were all already awake, and reassuring San while she looked up things like "cystitis" and "urinary tract infections". With San suitably convinced that she wasn't dying of anything, and that I hadn't passed on anything I might have caught off any random slutty (and entirely fictitious) girl, she dressed and a plan was made.
We would take San to the chemist we knew was open, she'd tell them what was up and most likely they'd say to see a doctor when the surgeries reopen and to drink lots of water. And then with a free space in the car, I'd accompany the hotties -- sorry, flatmates -- on their roadtrip to the coast.
These things never really go to plan. The chemist couldn't help, because they weren't sure if San had cystitis or a urinary tract infection, and so San insisted on going to the hospital while the others went to Blackpool, without us. They practically begged San to go with them, and San even said I could go. But, really -- if San wouldn't, then I couldn't leave her.
The hospital.......
...................gave San a prescription, and said to see her doctor. They could have done that tomorrow, and we could have gone to t'pool. But never mind. San took me to the hospital when I needed her to, twice, and instead we just had a low-key day together and I cooked a roast dinner tonight.
San leaves Leicester tomorrow, I've got about a month left. She said she turned down a place at Derby university originally because she felt it would be weird seeing all the places we'd gone to when she was visiting me there. But now she feels that way about it here, I won't be here next year -- but first I've got a month without her here. The weekends without her seem quiet enough.
Sunday, 23 May 2004
All day staring at the ceiling
It's Sunday, and San has only just started talking to me again.
We didn't even really have a row. She and I don't really argue, she has said before that she thought we should argue more -- though I can't remember exactly why, maybe it was for the making up afterwards? I can't say.
Anyway, on Friday it was much like this. I went over to San's, she was tired from the night before and so she slept while I used her laptop -- mostly trying to sort out a mess on ebay that we got ourselves into. But that's a long story in itself, and generally requires a passing familiarity with different models of Nokia mobile phones.
So San slept for an hour or so, until a friend of hers stopped by to pick up some clothes she had left behind the night before. San was in a bad mood with me when she woke up -- because she had a dream that I was ignoring her, and when she woke up it seemed to be real. I think that's where it started -- San can take hours to calm down once she's got mad, even if she forgives you.
After her friend left I think I mostly finished what I was doing online and San got out of bed to use her computer herself. Once she was using it, however, she was behaving exactly how she described I was behaving in her dream -- that is, more or less ignoring me. Eventually I got fed up with it, and with nothing better to do decided to go home. San showed so little interest that it annoyed me further, though I didn't show it.
San got the hump that I was leaving, and wouldn't so much as hug me goodbye. The argument for the rest of the day was, from her side, that because she was a little grouchy I got in a mood and just walked out.
The way I tell it is like this. When it's not sunny, San will be in a bad mood. When San has a cold she claims -- literally -- that she is dying. She will insist over and over that she feels like she is dying. So she was in a bad mood, and when I felt ignored I did decided to leave and when she made no indication of wanting me to stay, or noticing I was there, I was less inclined to stay. I did not just walk out, I even asked San for a hug before I left and she refused me.
By the time I got home I wasn't really that annoyed any more. I find it hard to hold a grudge for long, and I was more bothered about trying to get it sorted out. I called San and we tried to talk about it, but she was mad at me and didn't want to talk to me, and even when I explained to her how I felt and apologised there was no apology forthcoming from her.
Like I say, that was Friday and only now is she talking to me again properly. She confirmed yesterday when I spoke to her she was still mad at me, and expected to be for the rest of the weekend. All because I apparently walked out, when she knows full well that I didn't even.
Next weekend San moves out of halls here in Leicester for the summer, and it will be at least a month before I leave here. What happens between us after that -- after being used to seeing each other whenever, to not even knowing where I will be in a few months time, not to mention San most likely going to college in Maryland from January. It feels very familiar and I wonder if San isn't pushing me away to make anything that comes next easier.
We didn't even really have a row. She and I don't really argue, she has said before that she thought we should argue more -- though I can't remember exactly why, maybe it was for the making up afterwards? I can't say.
Anyway, on Friday it was much like this. I went over to San's, she was tired from the night before and so she slept while I used her laptop -- mostly trying to sort out a mess on ebay that we got ourselves into. But that's a long story in itself, and generally requires a passing familiarity with different models of Nokia mobile phones.
So San slept for an hour or so, until a friend of hers stopped by to pick up some clothes she had left behind the night before. San was in a bad mood with me when she woke up -- because she had a dream that I was ignoring her, and when she woke up it seemed to be real. I think that's where it started -- San can take hours to calm down once she's got mad, even if she forgives you.
After her friend left I think I mostly finished what I was doing online and San got out of bed to use her computer herself. Once she was using it, however, she was behaving exactly how she described I was behaving in her dream -- that is, more or less ignoring me. Eventually I got fed up with it, and with nothing better to do decided to go home. San showed so little interest that it annoyed me further, though I didn't show it.
San got the hump that I was leaving, and wouldn't so much as hug me goodbye. The argument for the rest of the day was, from her side, that because she was a little grouchy I got in a mood and just walked out.
The way I tell it is like this. When it's not sunny, San will be in a bad mood. When San has a cold she claims -- literally -- that she is dying. She will insist over and over that she feels like she is dying. So she was in a bad mood, and when I felt ignored I did decided to leave and when she made no indication of wanting me to stay, or noticing I was there, I was less inclined to stay. I did not just walk out, I even asked San for a hug before I left and she refused me.
By the time I got home I wasn't really that annoyed any more. I find it hard to hold a grudge for long, and I was more bothered about trying to get it sorted out. I called San and we tried to talk about it, but she was mad at me and didn't want to talk to me, and even when I explained to her how I felt and apologised there was no apology forthcoming from her.
Like I say, that was Friday and only now is she talking to me again properly. She confirmed yesterday when I spoke to her she was still mad at me, and expected to be for the rest of the weekend. All because I apparently walked out, when she knows full well that I didn't even.
Next weekend San moves out of halls here in Leicester for the summer, and it will be at least a month before I leave here. What happens between us after that -- after being used to seeing each other whenever, to not even knowing where I will be in a few months time, not to mention San most likely going to college in Maryland from January. It feels very familiar and I wonder if San isn't pushing me away to make anything that comes next easier.
Thursday, 20 May 2004
Saturday night
I wasn't planning to update quite yet, but since barely anyone actually still reads this I might as well -- especially since I found my notebook in my bag. So this will be part three of my writings from Ireland.
-----
Saturday night, 8.30pm
I almost feel as if I am at home here. I'm pleased to see Juan-Manuel (one of [Dave]'s flatmates) come home, even if our conversations are limited and in broken English. I just like him, he seems like a genuine, and honestly friendly person. I love to listen to him talk, imparting his 30-odd years of life lessons in his clumsy and stilted English.
And there's Julie, too. I have no romantic or sexual designs on her -- which is unusual, I just like her, and am happy to just be around her, causually.
I feel, in some way, as if I belong here, or at the very least that I am welcome here, with these people.
Not to leave out Dave, my very generous -- and modest -- host.
I spend the days mostly on my own at the moment, or I go to the pub, and I can almost forget how so very cool, and -- yes -- welcoming he is. I didn't realise that he was a shy person, and often he can't be convinced to discuss what is on his mind. Even though he knows that I know, or I at least have an idea, of the basics -- but just the same he can't be drawn on it.
----
The second entry ends there, almost abruptly. I can't remember now if I was writing that before we were going out, but it seems to but off suddenly -- as if I had to stop writing in the middle of a train of thought. But I like it like that.
-----
Saturday night, 8.30pm
I almost feel as if I am at home here. I'm pleased to see Juan-Manuel (one of [Dave]'s flatmates) come home, even if our conversations are limited and in broken English. I just like him, he seems like a genuine, and honestly friendly person. I love to listen to him talk, imparting his 30-odd years of life lessons in his clumsy and stilted English.
And there's Julie, too. I have no romantic or sexual designs on her -- which is unusual, I just like her, and am happy to just be around her, causually.
I feel, in some way, as if I belong here, or at the very least that I am welcome here, with these people.
Not to leave out Dave, my very generous -- and modest -- host.
I spend the days mostly on my own at the moment, or I go to the pub, and I can almost forget how so very cool, and -- yes -- welcoming he is. I didn't realise that he was a shy person, and often he can't be convinced to discuss what is on his mind. Even though he knows that I know, or I at least have an idea, of the basics -- but just the same he can't be drawn on it.
----
The second entry ends there, almost abruptly. I can't remember now if I was writing that before we were going out, but it seems to but off suddenly -- as if I had to stop writing in the middle of a train of thought. But I like it like that.
Monday, 17 May 2004
She's gone
So, Rie has gone.
Friday night San and I got a train to Derby to see Rie one last time, at least for the forseeable future. It was a typically-Rie evening. I called her from the station after we had been waiting for a while, and it turned out she wasn't in Derby herself but had been visiting friends somewhere else. So I had to call her friends Anouska and Ben, who I vaguely knew from Derby -- mostly Ben -- to get them to pick us up. It could have been very awkward, but Anouska is an outgoing person who likes nothing better, it seems, than to make a fuss of people. We talked plans for the night and after Rie arrived we headed out into the night.
Like I say, it was a night typical of Rie -- I barely saw her all night, she spent the night flitting between where we were sat and talking to the DJ she had a crush on, and god knows where else. Photos were taken and stories were told. And Rie lost the keys to the flat where she had recently been staying and where me and San were supposed to stay the night. So instead, Anouska gave us sleeping bags and pillows and a duvet and we slept on her living room floor.
It was sad to say goodbye to Rie. To hug her and call her a butt-monkey and know I might never see her again. I don't know how Matt took the news that his recently-ex wife was leaving, or how he reacted when he said goodbye to her the day before.
I know she will be fine, she's a survivor -- in comparison to some of the other things she has been through in her life, this is nothing. She will see her family and some of her oldest friends again, and I expect for her life will more or less pick up where she left it, before she met Matt and everything changed.
Friday night San and I got a train to Derby to see Rie one last time, at least for the forseeable future. It was a typically-Rie evening. I called her from the station after we had been waiting for a while, and it turned out she wasn't in Derby herself but had been visiting friends somewhere else. So I had to call her friends Anouska and Ben, who I vaguely knew from Derby -- mostly Ben -- to get them to pick us up. It could have been very awkward, but Anouska is an outgoing person who likes nothing better, it seems, than to make a fuss of people. We talked plans for the night and after Rie arrived we headed out into the night.
Like I say, it was a night typical of Rie -- I barely saw her all night, she spent the night flitting between where we were sat and talking to the DJ she had a crush on, and god knows where else. Photos were taken and stories were told. And Rie lost the keys to the flat where she had recently been staying and where me and San were supposed to stay the night. So instead, Anouska gave us sleeping bags and pillows and a duvet and we slept on her living room floor.
It was sad to say goodbye to Rie. To hug her and call her a butt-monkey and know I might never see her again. I don't know how Matt took the news that his recently-ex wife was leaving, or how he reacted when he said goodbye to her the day before.
I know she will be fine, she's a survivor -- in comparison to some of the other things she has been through in her life, this is nothing. She will see her family and some of her oldest friends again, and I expect for her life will more or less pick up where she left it, before she met Matt and everything changed.
Thursday, 13 May 2004
A dirty news bomb irradiating the reader with facts
I don't have my paper journal here with me today, so there will unfortunately be nothing from Ireland today. I'm not sure what more I have in there that's worth reading anyway, but the other entries will follow with some kind of more prosaic ramblings like before.
Instead today I just feel like writing about what's on my mind. I don't want to talk about "the beheading", I said my piece in the forums and I find it upsetting. Nuff said.
I've been working the past two nights in a Royal Mail sorting office, sorting parcels -- or "packets" as they are called. It's not very interesting, but talking to the guy next to me is entertaining enough. I start work at 9.30 and finish at 6am. Like today, I go home, go to bed, and get up around midday. Then I am spending the day being a journo and trying to find news, interview people from the fostering and adoption agency or whatever and try not to think "I'm tired".
Next week I resit my first law exam. A lot of fun there.
[Rie] emailed me today to say that on Saturday she is going back to America, never to return. Just the other week she was talking about moving to London, and inviting me to come and stay with her in Derby. Now she has broken up with her boyfriend and is leaving, and I might never see her again.
I used to be in love with Rie. Or maybe not. But there was a time, when I was first leaving in Salt Lake and missing Fiona, that I would see Rie every weekend and we would just hang out and wrestle or do fun stuff. And I had a crush on her, She didn't mention it at the time, but she liked me too. But she was married to Matt, and it was Fi that I really wanted and nothing ever happened about it. In Derby when we lived together and she broke up with Matt we talked about a marriage of convenience, where we would get the appropriate visas for each other's home countries, But it was more of a joke than a real idea.
The adoption agency aren't calling me back. I might save the copy to disk and work on it from there. I also have a whole stack of letters to send to newspapers. Aren't I just a dirty bomb of interesting info today?
Instead today I just feel like writing about what's on my mind. I don't want to talk about "the beheading", I said my piece in the forums and I find it upsetting. Nuff said.
I've been working the past two nights in a Royal Mail sorting office, sorting parcels -- or "packets" as they are called. It's not very interesting, but talking to the guy next to me is entertaining enough. I start work at 9.30 and finish at 6am. Like today, I go home, go to bed, and get up around midday. Then I am spending the day being a journo and trying to find news, interview people from the fostering and adoption agency or whatever and try not to think "I'm tired".
Next week I resit my first law exam. A lot of fun there.
[Rie] emailed me today to say that on Saturday she is going back to America, never to return. Just the other week she was talking about moving to London, and inviting me to come and stay with her in Derby. Now she has broken up with her boyfriend and is leaving, and I might never see her again.
I used to be in love with Rie. Or maybe not. But there was a time, when I was first leaving in Salt Lake and missing Fiona, that I would see Rie every weekend and we would just hang out and wrestle or do fun stuff. And I had a crush on her, She didn't mention it at the time, but she liked me too. But she was married to Matt, and it was Fi that I really wanted and nothing ever happened about it. In Derby when we lived together and she broke up with Matt we talked about a marriage of convenience, where we would get the appropriate visas for each other's home countries, But it was more of a joke than a real idea.
The adoption agency aren't calling me back. I might save the copy to disk and work on it from there. I also have a whole stack of letters to send to newspapers. Aren't I just a dirty bomb of interesting info today?
Monday, 10 May 2004
The much-delayed
I know it's been forever since I last updated, and for that I am sorry. Life has been getting in the way just lately, with nights spent at San's when I locked myself out (yes, again) or weekends spent in Hull with Tom. I did actually write an entry about the Wednesday night in Ireland, but I accidentally navigated off the page and lost it all. I know it was weeks ago now, but I figure if anyone is reading at all then you won't mind what I write.
---
Wednesday (the first) night.
The flight to Cork itself was short and unremarkable. I stared intently out of the window on the descent into Ireland, trying desperately to see if I could spot the Spire that I had read about. [Dave] found this very amusing when I told him later I hadn't seen it, since the Spire is in Dublin and not Cork so he would have been very surprised if I had seen it.
Dave met me at the airport without a hitch. Among the crowd of friends and relatives looking for their own individual passengers I saw him, waiting for me. It makes a real difference to arrive somewhere to see someone waiting for you. We stepped out of the airport into the night and pouring rain and waited for the bus into the city. Dave said he felt bad that my first impression of Ireland was to be waiting for a bus in the rain. But the truth was, my head was reeling and buzzing. Ahead of me was a week, if not of adventure then certainly of good times and new experiences in an unexplored city. The truth is, I hardly noticed the rain.
On the walk from the bus station to Dave's house we stopped at a bar for a drink -- a recurring theme of the week is stopping at bars, although the last night I think was a record. We sat at the bar and talked and I had a feeling not so much of being somewhere new, but of somewhere known to me, but forgotten. It felt like I'd been there before, in some half-remembered way. It's difficult to explain. The feeling wasn't of deja-vu, an odd disquiet when something echoes a dream, but rather more was just familiar. Perhaps it's that sometimes one bar is often much like the next, whether it is in England or Ireland or North America. Maybe it was that Dave and I already knew each other, have known each other for several years, but have only spoken on the phone twice and never met before.
All the same, the bar was what you'd expect on a dark and wet night in the middle of the week. A few friends were sat in a corner talking and drinking, the bar tender was polishing glasses or reading the newspaper, when he was around at all.
I don't much remember now what we talked about. It wasn't anything life changing, and if it was important or personal I didn't feel the need to record it in my notebook. Maybe we discussed past relationships, current friendships, the state and direction of our respective lives. Maybe we talked about films or tv, I couldn't tell you.
After one drink we continued our short walk back to Dave's house. I don't remember it as a short walk. I remember the dark and the rain, and constantly looking around me at all of the streets and houses. So in my memory the walk was both short, because it was almost no distance at all -- even when you don't know where you are or where you are going -- but at the same time it seems much longer, since I was seeing everything for the first time.
We got to the bar where we had arranged to meet friends -- other diary friends, namely [Cat], Dan, [Joe], Naomi and [Tara], along with Cat's friend Anne, who doesn't have a diary and most likely won't be mentioned again. Probably ever.
The bar was the Bodgea, described in my very-short Cork guidebook as Dublin chic comes to Cork. Since I have no idea what Dublin is like I don't know what that means, but the bar was very impressive. A huge place, with impossibly high ceilings and a sweeping expanse of floorspace, and huge lampshades hanging from the lights. A bar like that you might find in London, but there would no doubt be a door charge and a dress code and you'd need proof of earnings before being served. In Cork it was none of those things, just a very cool bar with people enjoying their night.
Dave and I walked in, and I was immediately struck by the size and scale of the place, along with feeling intensely nervous about all the people I was about to meet -- people whose diaries I have read and have emailed and chatted to, but never actually spoken to any of them. We looked around but couldn't see our friends, so we decided the best course of action would be to head to the bar, get some drinks, and then armed with a couple of pints try to find them. I think I just wanted a drink.
In what may be a recurring of my stay, Dave ran into some other friends of his on the way to the bar (he had already known the other customers in the earlier bar), and while he stood talking to them Cat spotted us, and came over. We hugged briefly, then I told Dave I was going to the bar to get our drinks and where we would be. And that's exactly what I did. I was introduced to everyone at the table, who were far less scary than I had expected. Since there are my Thursday-morning thoughts and deconstructions of various people I won't go into any real detail about them -- also because any commenting here might reveal their individual identities in the Thursday morning entry. It's enough to say that everyone was very welcoming, considering that I was practically a stranger to them I was pleased to find that I was firmly treated as a friend.
I commented to a couple of people in the course of the night that I felt I had the attention span of a cat. I was constantly looking about me, there was different conversations going on around the table -- that each required my full attention if I was to decipher what was being said through the accents and the general noise of the bar, there was different things to be seen, and naturally different people I wanted to talk at great length to about everything in the world. This is starting to sound like I had drunk too much, if you imagine it as a blur of colours and noises and accents and conversations and music and body language I would study when I couldn't hear what was being said. I was drinking probably too much too fast, but I was nervous as hell and trying to project myself as someone interesting and at least a little outgoing or confident, rather than the moody and pensive individual most people know me as. Not that how I was projecting myself wasn't real, but more a side to me that has to be consciously projected sometimes rather than being allowed to show through naturally. In the circumstances, it made sense.
All too quickly the bar was closing and we were going to an alternative club -- by all accounts the definitive alternative club of the city. Dave had to go home because he'd been up early that morning, but left me in the capable charge of the others -- once armed with the knowledge of his address, if not exactly how to get there. "It's near a bridge" I said, and everyone laughed. Cork is full of bridges. I may as well have said he lived on a hill, and now I think of it, I probably did.
The club was good -- although not as good as it used to be in its previous incarnations at different venues, as many people told me. I couldn't get the girl behind the bar to understand my accent above the music and resorted to trying to point at what I wanted from the fridge. Instead of a bottle of beer I got some white wine cooler thing. Luckily for me, Cat took pity on me when I moaned to her about it and took it off my hands and bought me a beer in exchange.
As with many nights, the later parts become less clear. I remember Tara good-naturedly dragging me back onto the dance floor whenever I wandered off, and at the end of the night Tara and Dan took me to a kebab fast-food place -- it seemed strange, because although kebabs are almost compulsory in England after a night out we don't have -- to my knowledge -- any big places dedicated to kebabs like Abrakebabra was. Sometimes I really feel almost like a stray animal, like when Kyle took me in when I was down and out in Salt Lake City, or this night when I was in new country with no idea how to get home on my own and no money left. Tara and Dan looked after me, got me food and let me share their cab ride home.
I only regret I didn't get the chance to see either of them again after that first night, but I hope there will be other opportunities.
---
Wednesday (the first) night.
The flight to Cork itself was short and unremarkable. I stared intently out of the window on the descent into Ireland, trying desperately to see if I could spot the Spire that I had read about. [Dave] found this very amusing when I told him later I hadn't seen it, since the Spire is in Dublin and not Cork so he would have been very surprised if I had seen it.
Dave met me at the airport without a hitch. Among the crowd of friends and relatives looking for their own individual passengers I saw him, waiting for me. It makes a real difference to arrive somewhere to see someone waiting for you. We stepped out of the airport into the night and pouring rain and waited for the bus into the city. Dave said he felt bad that my first impression of Ireland was to be waiting for a bus in the rain. But the truth was, my head was reeling and buzzing. Ahead of me was a week, if not of adventure then certainly of good times and new experiences in an unexplored city. The truth is, I hardly noticed the rain.
On the walk from the bus station to Dave's house we stopped at a bar for a drink -- a recurring theme of the week is stopping at bars, although the last night I think was a record. We sat at the bar and talked and I had a feeling not so much of being somewhere new, but of somewhere known to me, but forgotten. It felt like I'd been there before, in some half-remembered way. It's difficult to explain. The feeling wasn't of deja-vu, an odd disquiet when something echoes a dream, but rather more was just familiar. Perhaps it's that sometimes one bar is often much like the next, whether it is in England or Ireland or North America. Maybe it was that Dave and I already knew each other, have known each other for several years, but have only spoken on the phone twice and never met before.
All the same, the bar was what you'd expect on a dark and wet night in the middle of the week. A few friends were sat in a corner talking and drinking, the bar tender was polishing glasses or reading the newspaper, when he was around at all.
I don't much remember now what we talked about. It wasn't anything life changing, and if it was important or personal I didn't feel the need to record it in my notebook. Maybe we discussed past relationships, current friendships, the state and direction of our respective lives. Maybe we talked about films or tv, I couldn't tell you.
After one drink we continued our short walk back to Dave's house. I don't remember it as a short walk. I remember the dark and the rain, and constantly looking around me at all of the streets and houses. So in my memory the walk was both short, because it was almost no distance at all -- even when you don't know where you are or where you are going -- but at the same time it seems much longer, since I was seeing everything for the first time.
We got to the bar where we had arranged to meet friends -- other diary friends, namely [Cat], Dan, [Joe], Naomi and [Tara], along with Cat's friend Anne, who doesn't have a diary and most likely won't be mentioned again. Probably ever.
The bar was the Bodgea, described in my very-short Cork guidebook as Dublin chic comes to Cork. Since I have no idea what Dublin is like I don't know what that means, but the bar was very impressive. A huge place, with impossibly high ceilings and a sweeping expanse of floorspace, and huge lampshades hanging from the lights. A bar like that you might find in London, but there would no doubt be a door charge and a dress code and you'd need proof of earnings before being served. In Cork it was none of those things, just a very cool bar with people enjoying their night.
Dave and I walked in, and I was immediately struck by the size and scale of the place, along with feeling intensely nervous about all the people I was about to meet -- people whose diaries I have read and have emailed and chatted to, but never actually spoken to any of them. We looked around but couldn't see our friends, so we decided the best course of action would be to head to the bar, get some drinks, and then armed with a couple of pints try to find them. I think I just wanted a drink.
In what may be a recurring of my stay, Dave ran into some other friends of his on the way to the bar (he had already known the other customers in the earlier bar), and while he stood talking to them Cat spotted us, and came over. We hugged briefly, then I told Dave I was going to the bar to get our drinks and where we would be. And that's exactly what I did. I was introduced to everyone at the table, who were far less scary than I had expected. Since there are my Thursday-morning thoughts and deconstructions of various people I won't go into any real detail about them -- also because any commenting here might reveal their individual identities in the Thursday morning entry. It's enough to say that everyone was very welcoming, considering that I was practically a stranger to them I was pleased to find that I was firmly treated as a friend.
I commented to a couple of people in the course of the night that I felt I had the attention span of a cat. I was constantly looking about me, there was different conversations going on around the table -- that each required my full attention if I was to decipher what was being said through the accents and the general noise of the bar, there was different things to be seen, and naturally different people I wanted to talk at great length to about everything in the world. This is starting to sound like I had drunk too much, if you imagine it as a blur of colours and noises and accents and conversations and music and body language I would study when I couldn't hear what was being said. I was drinking probably too much too fast, but I was nervous as hell and trying to project myself as someone interesting and at least a little outgoing or confident, rather than the moody and pensive individual most people know me as. Not that how I was projecting myself wasn't real, but more a side to me that has to be consciously projected sometimes rather than being allowed to show through naturally. In the circumstances, it made sense.
All too quickly the bar was closing and we were going to an alternative club -- by all accounts the definitive alternative club of the city. Dave had to go home because he'd been up early that morning, but left me in the capable charge of the others -- once armed with the knowledge of his address, if not exactly how to get there. "It's near a bridge" I said, and everyone laughed. Cork is full of bridges. I may as well have said he lived on a hill, and now I think of it, I probably did.
The club was good -- although not as good as it used to be in its previous incarnations at different venues, as many people told me. I couldn't get the girl behind the bar to understand my accent above the music and resorted to trying to point at what I wanted from the fridge. Instead of a bottle of beer I got some white wine cooler thing. Luckily for me, Cat took pity on me when I moaned to her about it and took it off my hands and bought me a beer in exchange.
As with many nights, the later parts become less clear. I remember Tara good-naturedly dragging me back onto the dance floor whenever I wandered off, and at the end of the night Tara and Dan took me to a kebab fast-food place -- it seemed strange, because although kebabs are almost compulsory in England after a night out we don't have -- to my knowledge -- any big places dedicated to kebabs like Abrakebabra was. Sometimes I really feel almost like a stray animal, like when Kyle took me in when I was down and out in Salt Lake City, or this night when I was in new country with no idea how to get home on my own and no money left. Tara and Dan looked after me, got me food and let me share their cab ride home.
I only regret I didn't get the chance to see either of them again after that first night, but I hope there will be other opportunities.
Tuesday, 27 April 2004
Thursday morning
My apologies for making people wait for me to get my ass in gear and start copying up entries from my paper journal -- I hope I haven't built it up too much, because it's really not that detailed or interesting. It's also edited in places.
----
Thursday morning, 11 am
I'm sat in a strange girl's bed, in Ireland. I'm hungover, tired and eager to see what is out there. I've tried climbing on the bed to look out the skylight at the city, but I think I might fall off.
The worry that whoever this girl is whose bed I slept in might come back and find me here has mostly dissipated now I'm dressed. I guess that she has probably gone home for Easter, wherever it might be for her. (note -- I did not sleep with her, just slept in her bed. Have not so much as met her at this point)
Everyone seems nice. I hadn't known what to expect, but it's good -- they are all good people. I'm a little concerned that [blank] doesn't like me, however. But as San would no doubt tell me, 'they' don't know me yet.
[blank] is a hottie, and I had no idea. I know, it sounds shallow, but it's true. Am I surprised? I don't know, I didn't know what to be expecting. But 'they' are an incredibly nice person, too. What's weird is how platonic I feel. I like that way though.
[blank] seems oddly familiar. Quiet, easy-going, and laid back -- perhaps to a fault. But I could be basing that more on [blank]'s rants than on anything else. 'They' seem kind, loving and generous -- although perhaps without any great convictions.
----
That is where the first day's scribblings end. I've removed individuals names and am going to refrain from any retrospective analysis of personalities, mainly because that's better left to my private thoughts. I don't want to have to choose my words carefully for potential readers, either, although I wouldn't ever have anything bad to say about the people I met. Just the same, I've tried to disguise the identities of people mentioned here.
Since this was so short, I might later on write some blog-style ramblings about the first night itself -- much like my entry about the Wednesday. We shall see. Maybe I could host a poll about it?
----
Thursday morning, 11 am
I'm sat in a strange girl's bed, in Ireland. I'm hungover, tired and eager to see what is out there. I've tried climbing on the bed to look out the skylight at the city, but I think I might fall off.
The worry that whoever this girl is whose bed I slept in might come back and find me here has mostly dissipated now I'm dressed. I guess that she has probably gone home for Easter, wherever it might be for her. (note -- I did not sleep with her, just slept in her bed. Have not so much as met her at this point)
Everyone seems nice. I hadn't known what to expect, but it's good -- they are all good people. I'm a little concerned that [blank] doesn't like me, however. But as San would no doubt tell me, 'they' don't know me yet.
[blank] is a hottie, and I had no idea. I know, it sounds shallow, but it's true. Am I surprised? I don't know, I didn't know what to be expecting. But 'they' are an incredibly nice person, too. What's weird is how platonic I feel. I like that way though.
[blank] seems oddly familiar. Quiet, easy-going, and laid back -- perhaps to a fault. But I could be basing that more on [blank]'s rants than on anything else. 'They' seem kind, loving and generous -- although perhaps without any great convictions.
----
That is where the first day's scribblings end. I've removed individuals names and am going to refrain from any retrospective analysis of personalities, mainly because that's better left to my private thoughts. I don't want to have to choose my words carefully for potential readers, either, although I wouldn't ever have anything bad to say about the people I met. Just the same, I've tried to disguise the identities of people mentioned here.
Since this was so short, I might later on write some blog-style ramblings about the first night itself -- much like my entry about the Wednesday. We shall see. Maybe I could host a poll about it?
Thursday, 22 April 2004
Start at the end
Despite that there isn't a time difference between England and Ireland, and with it no jet lag, I'm still a little out of it today. I might as well start at the end, and then write up the bits and pieces from my paper journal over the next few days.
My flight was at 9.20pm, which meant that the airline had 'recommended' I check in two hours before, which seemed unnecessary for a flight that was just under an hour long. Dave and I got to the airport around 8. We'd left the house in plenty of time, stopped at a bar for a drink, continued to the bus station, checked what time the airport bus was, went to another bar for another drink, and got to the airport for 8. I checked in and no problem so far. We got something to eat, and -- yes -- went to the airport bar for more drinks. I wanted to squeeze out the last of the time I had left with Dave.
I remember at some point over drinks telling Dave that out of principle I had decided that I wouldn't board the plane until they were prepared to ask for me by name. I was joking, of course, but even though there was one announcement which prompted Dave to ask me if it was for my flight, I ignored it. I told him we had plenty of time yet. I guess he must have heard where it was going. Only when we were finishing our drinks and thinking it was about time I got over to the departures did I hear them call me by name. It makes you feel kind of special.
Security seemed in too much of a hurry to get me through to bother checking me too thoroughly -- I set off the metal detector as always, but that could have been the coins in my pocket, my belt buckle or my steel toe capped boots. On my journey out at the airport I had been made to remove my boots and x-ray them, because security said they were large enough to conceal something in. In Cork, they just patted me down and made me empty my pockets.
I was personally escorted across the runway to the plane, whereupon in the driving rain the zip on my rucksack broke open, spilling cds and odd socks and spare t-shirts across the floor. But I managed to stuff it all back in, get the bag shut and get onto the plane -- where I shrugged my shoulders and grinned sheepishly at the other passengers. I don't think they were aware that it was my fault they were still sitting there and not in the air -- but dammit, it wasn't even time yet.
In some karmic law-of-the-universe way, I waited an hour at the airport in England for my taxi to turn up. My plane was due to arrive at 10.20pm, and I'd told the taxi to pick me up at about 11 -- since I figured planes never take off on time, and there would probably be delays and I'd have to wait forever for my luggage, and all the rest. The plane was early, my bag came out almost right away, and when the taxi driver arrived at 11 he couldn't see my flight number on the tv screens because by that time it had been and gone. So it was closer to 12 by the time he found me, I'd been wandering about with my bags on a luggage trolley trying to look as best as I could like someone waiting to be picked up.
I got home, called San because I had missed her all week, and went to sleep. My brother woke me up with a text message at 8 am, asking me to call him. I went back to sleep after talking to him, only to be woken up again an hour later with a phone call about a shirt I'd bought from a catalogue but returned because its colours didn't match the pictures and I didn't like it. I was groggy, but I think what they told me was my shirt wasn't defective but, yes, it doesn't match the picture and they'd give me a refund. I don't remember why they said it wasn't the same, but I'd rather the cash.
And so here I am. I've found that I missed the deadline for submitting my music reviews to the student paper, and I've got shedloads of work to do if I am to stand a chance at passing this damn course.
My flight was at 9.20pm, which meant that the airline had 'recommended' I check in two hours before, which seemed unnecessary for a flight that was just under an hour long. Dave and I got to the airport around 8. We'd left the house in plenty of time, stopped at a bar for a drink, continued to the bus station, checked what time the airport bus was, went to another bar for another drink, and got to the airport for 8. I checked in and no problem so far. We got something to eat, and -- yes -- went to the airport bar for more drinks. I wanted to squeeze out the last of the time I had left with Dave.
I remember at some point over drinks telling Dave that out of principle I had decided that I wouldn't board the plane until they were prepared to ask for me by name. I was joking, of course, but even though there was one announcement which prompted Dave to ask me if it was for my flight, I ignored it. I told him we had plenty of time yet. I guess he must have heard where it was going. Only when we were finishing our drinks and thinking it was about time I got over to the departures did I hear them call me by name. It makes you feel kind of special.
Security seemed in too much of a hurry to get me through to bother checking me too thoroughly -- I set off the metal detector as always, but that could have been the coins in my pocket, my belt buckle or my steel toe capped boots. On my journey out at the airport I had been made to remove my boots and x-ray them, because security said they were large enough to conceal something in. In Cork, they just patted me down and made me empty my pockets.
I was personally escorted across the runway to the plane, whereupon in the driving rain the zip on my rucksack broke open, spilling cds and odd socks and spare t-shirts across the floor. But I managed to stuff it all back in, get the bag shut and get onto the plane -- where I shrugged my shoulders and grinned sheepishly at the other passengers. I don't think they were aware that it was my fault they were still sitting there and not in the air -- but dammit, it wasn't even time yet.
In some karmic law-of-the-universe way, I waited an hour at the airport in England for my taxi to turn up. My plane was due to arrive at 10.20pm, and I'd told the taxi to pick me up at about 11 -- since I figured planes never take off on time, and there would probably be delays and I'd have to wait forever for my luggage, and all the rest. The plane was early, my bag came out almost right away, and when the taxi driver arrived at 11 he couldn't see my flight number on the tv screens because by that time it had been and gone. So it was closer to 12 by the time he found me, I'd been wandering about with my bags on a luggage trolley trying to look as best as I could like someone waiting to be picked up.
I got home, called San because I had missed her all week, and went to sleep. My brother woke me up with a text message at 8 am, asking me to call him. I went back to sleep after talking to him, only to be woken up again an hour later with a phone call about a shirt I'd bought from a catalogue but returned because its colours didn't match the pictures and I didn't like it. I was groggy, but I think what they told me was my shirt wasn't defective but, yes, it doesn't match the picture and they'd give me a refund. I don't remember why they said it wasn't the same, but I'd rather the cash.
And so here I am. I've found that I missed the deadline for submitting my music reviews to the student paper, and I've got shedloads of work to do if I am to stand a chance at passing this damn course.
Wednesday, 14 April 2004
Saw things so much clearer
I really should award stickers for one thing or another every entry -- whether it be for being able to correctly identify where the entry's title comes from, or just some obscure reference in the entry itself. Last entry's sticker was won in record time, so I'm interested to see who will win this one.
There's not a whole lot to say today. After all my sulking, I'm actually sorta glad to be back in Leicester. I like having the space to myself, I like cooking for myself when I feel like it, and I like just lying around on my bed listening to music or reading. I found I could plug my computer's speakers and sub-wooofer into my cd-mp3 player, so with my newly burnt cd of epic length I am just enjoying doing nothing.
After I got out the pool yesterday and dried off I found a worrying red rash over one arm. I got chills as I examined it and remembered photographs of the rash that comes with meningitis. But I lacked all other symptoms, so I just got dressed and ignored it. Since I am not dead today, and the rash has gone away, it was probably a reaction to the washing powder or something. The strange thing about me is that I have a kind of death wish. If in the shower I come across what can only be described as a lump in a place guys dread, what do I do about it? Nothing. If I come out in a rash which could mean that I have developed meningitis and without medical attention could be dead in days, what do I about it? Ignore it. But it's a nice day out, so let's not dwell on that.
The sun is shining and it's warm out, and for what I have of the day I'm trying to get a few jobs done before the taxi picks me up for the airport, and my trip to Cork. All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go (and no, you don't get a sticker for that reference), and I guess this is my way of saying that if you don't hear anything from me for the next week, that's why.
There's not a whole lot to say today. After all my sulking, I'm actually sorta glad to be back in Leicester. I like having the space to myself, I like cooking for myself when I feel like it, and I like just lying around on my bed listening to music or reading. I found I could plug my computer's speakers and sub-wooofer into my cd-mp3 player, so with my newly burnt cd of epic length I am just enjoying doing nothing.
After I got out the pool yesterday and dried off I found a worrying red rash over one arm. I got chills as I examined it and remembered photographs of the rash that comes with meningitis. But I lacked all other symptoms, so I just got dressed and ignored it. Since I am not dead today, and the rash has gone away, it was probably a reaction to the washing powder or something. The strange thing about me is that I have a kind of death wish. If in the shower I come across what can only be described as a lump in a place guys dread, what do I do about it? Nothing. If I come out in a rash which could mean that I have developed meningitis and without medical attention could be dead in days, what do I about it? Ignore it. But it's a nice day out, so let's not dwell on that.
The sun is shining and it's warm out, and for what I have of the day I'm trying to get a few jobs done before the taxi picks me up for the airport, and my trip to Cork. All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go (and no, you don't get a sticker for that reference), and I guess this is my way of saying that if you don't hear anything from me for the next week, that's why.
Monday, 12 April 2004
The last day
Once again, it's my last day 'back home' before I return to Leicester. I can't say I desperately want to stay here, for a small town this place has more than a fair share of trouble and violence. But I miss my friends, and I miss the cat, and I miss not living alone. Just the same, you face forward, or you face the possibility of shock and damage (in the words of Emma, whoever knows what that's from gets a sticker).
This afternoon, after perhaps too much wine at lunch, I took a nap on my bed with the cat. Actually, the cat was already asleep on the bed -- but he was willing to share with me, if I didn't take up too much space. Which was good for him.
So it's back to Leicester I go, for all of about a day and a half, before I fly off to Ireland for a week. It's about time that I went somewhere new, digged stuff, had an adventure. Dave is letting me sleep on his couch, for which I am eternally grateful, and armed with a camera and a notebook I shall see the sights and... well, dig stuff. I'd take my battered copy of On The Road or The Dharma Bums, but perhaps the books I read when I travelled across the USA don't have the same relevance in Cork.
Outside it's a bright spring day. The sun is shining, but the air is still cold -- and I'm grateful that I didn't have to work today.
-- and as a post-script to this entry, I'd like to point out that my diary-x email is now rejecting all mail, because someone out there is using it as their return address for all kinds of shit. So for now, you have to use the comments box if you don't know how to reach me any other way...
This afternoon, after perhaps too much wine at lunch, I took a nap on my bed with the cat. Actually, the cat was already asleep on the bed -- but he was willing to share with me, if I didn't take up too much space. Which was good for him.
So it's back to Leicester I go, for all of about a day and a half, before I fly off to Ireland for a week. It's about time that I went somewhere new, digged stuff, had an adventure. Dave is letting me sleep on his couch, for which I am eternally grateful, and armed with a camera and a notebook I shall see the sights and... well, dig stuff. I'd take my battered copy of On The Road or The Dharma Bums, but perhaps the books I read when I travelled across the USA don't have the same relevance in Cork.
Outside it's a bright spring day. The sun is shining, but the air is still cold -- and I'm grateful that I didn't have to work today.
-- and as a post-script to this entry, I'd like to point out that my diary-x email is now rejecting all mail, because someone out there is using it as their return address for all kinds of shit. So for now, you have to use the comments box if you don't know how to reach me any other way...
Monday, 5 April 2004
Must see
As you might have noticed, this new layout didn't really give me the opportunity to list my favourites -- or 'required reading'. This is a shame, because unless I make a point of saying "Hey, go look at the links!" I don't think anyone does, and these truly great people go unread. I might make a separate special entry of good reading.
This is on my mind, because I want people to go read Kara's blournal. I'm not actually sure how she would like to be known, so don't be surprised if that link's name changes.
Having left d-x in favour of writing on her own domain, Kara is now writing sans inhibitions once more in a new setting, and I wanted to take this opportunity to refer you kids to it. Because she's damn good, and a cool person to boot, and should not go unread. ever.
Also, she is currently taking suggestions for aquatic pets if anyone has any ideas. These pets must like playgrounds, and slides if possible. And be well-tempered.
This is on my mind, because I want people to go read Kara's blournal. I'm not actually sure how she would like to be known, so don't be surprised if that link's name changes.
Having left d-x in favour of writing on her own domain, Kara is now writing sans inhibitions once more in a new setting, and I wanted to take this opportunity to refer you kids to it. Because she's damn good, and a cool person to boot, and should not go unread. ever.
Also, she is currently taking suggestions for aquatic pets if anyone has any ideas. These pets must like playgrounds, and slides if possible. And be well-tempered.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)