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December 14 New blog!Don't get too excited- this is just to say that my usually technophobic parents have somehow managed to access this blog. This makes writing a proper blog quite difficult as it would actually mean them gaining an understanding of my feelings, which just isn't right. My mum came to me with a pained expression on her face.
"Bex, you called me idiotic, she said in an injured tone.
"Mum, I haven't written anything on my blog that I haven't tried to already say to you a million times before in real life," I replied, truthfully.
So yes, I am going to start a new blog, under a non-googlable pseudonym. I'll circulate the ad amongst people who used to read this old blog.
Watch this spaaaaace :) Or read my new blog, which will probably/hopefully be more entertaining. September 06 The end (for now.)I don't even know how to begin writing this blog. This is perhaps the single most difficult blog that I have ever considered trying to write.
This is probably the closest I will ever come to writing a "final blog." The reason behind this is that over the next few weeks I will be extremely busy sorting things out for the next year of my life. The plan now is that I will stay with Bruce Monday-Friday, commute home Friday evening, work Saturday and Sunday, and then commute back to London Sunday evening. I can't find the words to describe it all. I am trying to remain fairly succinct but I can tell this blog will be a long one.
I am excited, and scared, and relieved, and apprehensive, but most of all, I am ready for the next stage. "BUT BEC WHY ARE YOU LEAVING US?!" I hear you cry, "WHY NOT CONTINUE WITH THE BLAWG?" The simple reason behind this is illustrated perfectly in my difficulty writing this blog- it's simply becoming too difficult to fit everything in. My life is simply too busy right now for me to document everything. And, in a way, I no longer feel the need to.
I started this blog in year 9, when I was 13 years old, and naive and stupid. To an extent these adjectives are still fairly apt, but the progress I see when I look back through my blogs is clear. This blog has encompassed a mind-boggling amount of my life, and it has made special the fairly ordinary events of a fairly ordinary teenage girl who one day saw a "spaces" icon at the top of her contact list and clicked on it out of idle curiosity. This blog has detailed when I have been upset, or happy, or angry, or just simply fancied writing.
It's an incredible thing, when something becomes such a massive part of your life that it affects your thought processes. I've always intrinsically been obsessed with documenting things- I wrote a diary from years 7-11 (and burnt them all on a big fire yay!) and I have numerous sketchbooks and scrapbooks with my memories in them. I just think there's something so beautiful and fascinating about reading the thoughts, feelings and experiences of other people, no matter how trivial they perceive their ideas to be. But, the blog has been the most persistent of all my modes of documentation.
It became often at times a coping mechanism when I found things difficult, or scary, or just needed to write it all down to work things out. Sometimes I wanted to share my ideas or things I found funny. The blog was about reaching out to people and then experiencing that sense of elation and achievement when something you write has an impact on someone's life. I can't tell you how amazing that feeling is- that somebody gives a damn about your ideas!
This blog is a fascinating record for me to read back through, and in a way I really regret deleting the year 8 and 9 entries, no matter how lazy and rubbish they were. I could write properly, but I chose not to, for some reason (something to do with fitting in and being popular I think...how foolish was I!) and in a way it would have been a brilliant illustration of how I've come to accept myself a lot more for being who I am, which is not stupid, or mainstream, or conventional.
I liked to smooth things over that were really going on in my life on here too, if that makes any sense. When my family was falling apart around my ears, I knew that by blogging that it was all ok, or at least, that I could give the impression that it was all ok. It wouldn't be too much of an exaggeration to say it saved me, along with the amazing support of Sam, or course. It is remarkably soothing to just sit, you and a computer, a blank slate, and just start typing. Don't think about it too much, don't try and be too clever, don't make it too edited and artificial. And when you pretend things are ok, you help pull yourself out of the dark place you could be in if you can't find an escape.
Jesus, even typing that out brought tears to my eyes, when I think back to how it was compared to how it is now. The fact is, I don't feel the same need to blog like I used to. This is probably evident in the huge synapses between blogs when I am off on adventures. I still think "hmm this is material for the ol' blog!" but rather than sitting down and typing it all out, now I just tell somebody, usually Bruce if he isn't with me, and we laugh about it, or feel sad about it, or get angry about it together in person. Maybe I have outgrown the blog?
I don't know. So anyway, my family are delighted that I am moving out, although as predicted, my mother was a bit anxious.
"You will come home at weekends won't you?" she said, "otherwise I'll never get to see you."
"Yes mum."
"Oh good. Can we all come and visit at some point?"
"Yes mum."
"Oh good. We'll miss you."
"Mum! I'll be home every weekend!"
I was worried about suggesting le plan to my family, as I was concerned about how they would take it. The thing is, I see myself as being a central member of my family. I am the middle person age-wise, and I am the link in the middle that cuts through the bullshit and tells people not to be stupid. I don't believe it makes me arrogant for saying that. Both my parents leant on me heavily when they split, and my position in the family is more prominent than Rob and Dave as I am the high-achieving, "sensible" oldest child. And a girl. I was and still am worried that they'll all go crazy without me there, or at least, the boys won't have the courage to stand up to my frequently idiotic mother like I do.
But then I thought to myself that I need to live my life for myself, not for them. It is fabulous that I have been given this opportunity to live so near to Camberwell (I am not going to describe the exact location...mainly because Bruce had forgotten the address when I asked him about it.) and I need to seize it with both hands and have an amazing new life. I need to produce the best artwork I have ever done in my life, and I need to make an impact and get somewhere over the next year.
I am so excited to be able to feel a part of everything now. Every single bloody time a friend has mentioned "accommodation" over the past year (it is Steph's every other word) I have felt a twinge of utter sadness and frustration that I am immediately excluded from the conversation with one word. But now I can join in with the adventure! It's going to be immense.
And now I think I shall talk about Bruce, because ultimately, he is the most useful and brilliant thing this blog has given me. Our friendship and then relationship began with a single click 3 or 4 years ago, when I posted the question "is it possible to be in love at the age of 14?" (true to form he gave a cryptic response with no definite conclusion). And now, as I say goodbye to this blog for now, he is still there, holding my hand as I go out into the real world and live with him in our flat. Words cannot express how awesome this makes me feel, knowing that my life will be like an extended version of the Whitby holiday, where I can wake up every day and just see him. The flat itself is nice apparently too, in that rather than it just being a big room with a cooker, washing machine, bed and toilet crammed in, it actually has separate rooms- a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom! Much as I love Bruce, it'll be nice to have a bit of space to do my own thing. Definitely.
And so I think I shall end this blog, the final one for now at least. I can't imagine that I won't write another at some point. But, for now, I shall leave you Adrian, Steph, Sam, Bruce, Harriet, Phil, Toby, sometimes Roy, Kim, and whoever else regularly reads it, and I can only thank you for sharing my life with me over the past few years of regular blogging. Now it is the year of change!
It's about bloody time.
Bye. September 01 BLABLAHBLAHAHAHABLAHHmmmm! University research is so dull.
So here I am, sitting in front of my computer, just less than three weeks before I am due to start at Camberwell. And actually, I'm not too bad. I thought I'd be freaking out a little, but all I feel is just a sense that things are changing for the better.
I applied for my student railcard today which gives me a third off rail fares, and is therefore very useful. This is still a small fortune a week that I will have to spend in travelling in and out of London every day, but ne'er mind. Provided Clintons wants me for another year my earnings cover it nicely. I was intending on applying for a student photocard too today for reduced prices on the underground, but I can only do this when I have enrolled on the course OFFISHLY, and that will be on the 16th September. This is a pain.
So then I started doing some more University research, and had second thoughts (triple, quadruple?) about applying for Oxford. The reason behind this is that the deadline for applications is 14th October, which is insanely early. I want to carefully consider my other options before I apply, and I think if I did that after only 2-3 weeks of being at Camberwell, it'd be a bit rushed. You see, the thing is, when most people apply for Oxbridge, they are usually so fixated on getting there that I don't think they properly consider their other options, which isn't aided by the ridiculously early deadline. So right now I just feel that maybe it isn't for me.
But who knows, I have an open day with them soon. My mind could be easily changed again.
In terms of other places I am considering, I pretty much just looked at the Guardian and the Independent's league tables, and looked at their top rated unis for art and design. I figure that if I'm going to do this subject, I need to do it at a prestigious, respected uni for art with lots of sexy contacts. It made me proud to see Camberwell popping up in the top few, and so that's one I'll definitely consider putting down. It'd be great if I just went there, fell in love with the place, and stayed to do my degree. A third of people who do the foundation diploma course do the undergrad course too, so who knows, maybe I'll be one of them.
Other places include: the Slade for fine art, Goldsmiths for fine art, Brighton for illustration, and possibly Newcastle, Leeds or Lancaster, which have all been rated highly too.
The big question really will be what my specialism will end up being. Will I just stick with fine art? Drawing? Painting? Illustration? I know that I probably enjoy being set a task more and having to visually represent it, rather than just going "hmmm I feel inspired by the trees!" and having to just produce artwork of my own from nowhere. I enjoy helping people who aren't visual to see their ideas on paper and to try and communicate something that otherwise just exists in words. Then also, Bec could combine her love of art and english together! Hooray!
Anyway, now I shall share with you all my secret plan, that is to do with the aforementioned travelling costs over the next year. Basically, Bruce will be living in London somewhere, and it is my intention to spend as much time staying with him as possible. This will be particularly handy when I have lectures that go on til 6-7 in the evening, where I would be knackered by the time I got home. If I can stay with him in London (he is aware of this plan btw, I'm not just springing it on him now) I can save myself time, money, and parental bother! Hooray!
Now, I call this a secret plan in that my parents have yet to know about it. Technically, I am 18, so they can't legally stop me, but they would just read it as "aaaah Bex is moving out with her lover man!" and freak out, especially my idiotic mother. THIS IS NOT WHAT IS HAPPENING. I would still be living at home, and would definitely be around at weekends because of Clintons. However, if I could stay a couple of nights with Bruce, it would be a massive help (and be lovely because I could see more of him :D)
By technically living at home it also means that if things went terribly wrong between me and Bruce, (as they have done before...) then I wouldn't be homeless. So, win! I am for once in my life being sensible and not reckless. Hooray!
Anyway, I am now off to do...things. I don't really know. I am aware that most of this blog has been extremely dull rambling about universities, which I find one of the most dull, uninspiring, difficult, tedious topics on the planet. It is so much hassle, indecision and uncertainty that I can only envy my friends who have already sorted it all out.
One day it'll all be brilliant. August 24 AAAAI was going to write this blog about results day and it would all be sexy and chronological and planned and coherent. HOWEVER I changed my mind when I was at work today, and I saw a Cliff Richard calendar hanging on the wall.
Is it me, or is Cliff Richard a douche? Now, I don't often use the word "douche" because my brothers do, nearly as much as they use the word "douchebag." However, there I was, having spoken to Sam, who popped in and laughed at me trying to assemble some cardboard gift boxes, and I saw this man on the wall behind the till. And I just thought to myself, "What a douche." Now, the image on the front of the calendar is far better than this one in that Cliff is standing in front of a sunset in a string vest top (I kid ye not.) I can't even emphasise how hilarious, yet horrifying it is. It even out-douched the Zac Effron (sp?) calendar hanging next to it. I know! I may get it for Phil for his birthday! I already have a few potential cards in mind. ANYWAY results day came and went, so I suppose I should give it a mention. I met up with everyone outside the school and I didn't feel remotely nervous, which was odd. Seriously, not even a trace of nerves, when usually my nervous energy could power a very big thing that requires lots of power. Perhaps a fat person's mobility scooter? Steph, in contrast, was visibly jangling. I was happy with the results, but then I came home and read the Daily Mail, and felt utterly depressed. I got four As and a distinction in English, which apparently means I am part of the "one in seven students got 3 As plus." My achievement suddenly didn't feel too spiffy, as I read these horrific stories about people who got 6, 7, 8 As. It was insane. Then, I felt even more depressed when I read that they are definitely bringing in the A* grade the year after I have left, for those who achieve 90% +. This would have meant that I would have been eligible for an A* in Art (100%) English (95%) and Psychology (93%). I was fuming. AND THEN I learnt they were planning on adapting the questioning style into more of an open-ended sort of thing, which basically makes it more interesting and also more difficult to achieve the top grades. RAWARAHWHTHAHGRAHDHAHDH I thought. Or something like that. But anyway, what can I do. My Grandad said the other day, "Bex, if there's one thing I've learnt, there's no point in grumbling." I think it'd be a fairly difficult habit to erase, somehow. Rob got back from V Fest today, and he was sunburnt, tired, but happy. I felt like punching him, however, when he admitted he didn't go to see Pendulum, who are AMAZING TO THE MAX, because "nobody wanted to go and see them with me." I said to him that if it'd been me I'd have gone by myself, especially after paying for a ticket. Hell, they would have been the reason I'd have gone in the first place. He ruefully said that he also had particularly wanted to go and see them, but in the end watched the Killers. He also didn't see Calvin Harris or Fatboy Slim, neither of which are especially awesome but I imagine the atmosphere would be intense. All in all, I was not impressed by his choices at all. Harriet's crew were better, and hopefully Phil's enthusiasm made up for my not being there. Steph apparently shielded her ears for most of it, so I think it's best I wasn't there, or I would have picked her up and launched her head first into a mosh pit to show her good and proper. Only as a concerned and caring friend, of course. Anyway I'm off to go do stuff now. I was planning to do this art competititon entry today, but I think the subject matter "down the prom" is so shite I can't be bothered. I'm going to do some arting, but not that. I was only doing it in the first place really to help out a friend, whose Mum is running the competition. I don't even know what I'd win. Also, I have a feeling the winning entry will involve scenery in some way, with boats and trees and bollocks like that. I can't emphasise enough my loathing of scenery. Give me a nice person to paint any day. PLAYBOY WHALE.
August 11 Waspish.So. Yeah. Blogs. I remember those.
The problem with blogs is that the longer you leave it, the harder it is to come back to them. Quite often in real life, situations arise and I think to myself "hmmm, that's material for the ol' blog!" but they just never make it on here. Maybe I should remove this pressure of having to note every occurence in my life and just stick to how I am feeling in the present.
Right now I am a mixture of happy and angry. Things in my life that have made me angry are:
-My car stereo is broken. When I went to Whitby, I came back and my petrol was down to a quarter, and my stereo was broken. This is the product of my parents' fabulous combined efforts- Mum drove Dave somewhere for a picnic in it which explains the petrol, and Dad tried to turn down the volume at some point and the button is effectively stuck. I was so fuming on my way to work on Monday, having discovered this, that I was nearly in tears and I was shaking in rage. I mean, I was away for three days! THREE! LEAVE MY THINGS ALONE!!! Especially as I am completely funding all my petrol now- it's just cheeky that she a) didn't ask to borrow it and b) didn't replace the petrol. My car is my absolute pride and joy and I love zooming along in it listening to music. GRRRR face.
-Bruce has decided that it is a good idea to work from last Saturday until Thursday of next week, without a day off. Now, on the one hand it's "hooray money!" but then on the other I am extremely sad that our precious holiday is being wasted. Time will be scarce when we go to Uni etc, and a good work/life balance is so crucial right now. We basically came home from Whitby, and then haven't seen each other since, which is ridiculous.
"You're never satisfied, Bex" my Mum said, when I told her why I looked so miserable, "One minute he doesn't work enough and then the next too much." But this is my point entirely. Why does it have to be so black and white? Why can't things just be at a happy balanced medium?
However, now let's celebrate the things that are making me happy right now:
-Whitby itself was a lovely break. I really just did not want to come back. We packed the days and nights full of...things, and it really went far too quickly. Fortunately as well, EUR (Bruce's car) survived the trip, despite being what is sometimes called an "old banger." Well, I say survived, as in we didn't die. The wing mirror did however fall off while we were going along at 70mph down a motorway.
"BRUCE!" I shrieked, grabbing his arm.
"GET IT!" he replied, as the mirror dangled and flapped around everywhere on a single wire.
And so there we were, driving along, me with my hand out the window holding his wing mirror until we found a service station to pull over in. My fingers got rather chilly.
-My dad got a new job! Hooray! It's a temporary contract but with good long term prospects, apparently, if he's good enough at...whatever he does. Reconciliations analysis and systems implementation. Yes. Maybe he can afford to get me a new car stereo now, the fool.
-I just went for a meal with my grandparents and it was tasty.
-My cousins may be commissioning me to do them a portrait. I love a good portrait.
-I have a day off tomorrow! Woop! I worked Saturday, Sunday, Monday and today, and also I shall be working Thursday, Saturday and Sunday of this week. I thought I may as well, if for no other reason than because my boyfriend is busy doing whatever important things he does. Ok, that makes me sound pathetic, so I have to admit that actually my primary motivation is dosh. Also, I really like working there!
At Clinton's, I really get on well with everyone, which is so nice (and a change from Recess.) By working throughout the week I get to know people better because it is quieter, like for example today, when I got to know Richard and Kurtis better. Both are really awesome and funny, but in different ways, and it makes the time go so much quicker when you are flapping bits of cardboard to "I believe I can fly" on the Clintons stereo, or pretending to be a slag like the ones on the fronts of the cards in the rude section.
"You know, I thought to myself what a slag immediately when I saw you then," exclaimed Richard, bowled over by my impression.
My boss Rosey, and my supervisers, are all older ladies, who like their tea breaks and looking after all us young ones. We get three breaks a day, much to the disgust of my brother, and they frequently buy us all cakes and biscuits for our efforts around the shop. However, I must say, even though I am delighted with my job, it isn't the most taxing or stimulating of jobs. I felt a little suicidal as I plodded up and down the gift wrap aisle today to see which stock needed putting out for the gazillionth time. Four days in a row at Clintons is hard work, and my concentration waned to the extent where I was completely forgetting to give people their change on the tills and things.
One man stands out in particular from today as being a bit of a wanker.
"Can you fold my paper?" he demanded as I served him at the till.
"Yes Sir, of course," I said, smiling sweetly, and folded the sheet of wrapping paper.
"Not that much," he exclaimed, grabbing it clean out of my hands and unfolding it, "there, now, put it in the bag."
"But Sir it won't fit in that bag now that you have unfolded it."
"Yes it will."
"I'm afraid it won't, Sir."
"Try."
I thought to myself, sod it, just do it to shut this idiot up. So I sort of curled it around slightly and wrestled it in, with it all poking out the top.
"See," he said.
"Right you are Sir! (You prick!) Have a nice day! (And don't hesitate to lay down in the road!)"
-I am going for a meal with the chaps soon, which will be a wonderful opportunity to catch up and have lolz.
-I have lots of my programme to watch! It is called Desperate Romantics, or something like that, and it is a drama about the Millais and co artist trio and Lizzie Siddle, their ginge model. I love it. Apparently I can catch up on it on BBC online or something. All this new-fangled technology! Give me a pen and paper any day!
I guess I have inadvertently structured this blog by describing the events from when I last blogged, rather than focusing on the present like I said I would. However, I guess indirectly that is sort of the same thing, as these are the events that are clouding my current state of mind.
My most prominent delight atm though is that I can go to bed later and have a lay-in in the morning. Bliss. August 03 SqueezyIt's been a fairly manic few days, but I thought I'd squeeze a blog in before I schnell to Whitby with Bruce on Wednesday morning.
I can't even remember what my last blog was about. Was it that book? Anyway, I reckon perhaps a blog on the events of the past 24 hours or so are in order. Basically, it was Steph's birthday! We all went round there and merriment was had. Phil lovingly stroked Roy's muscular, denim-clad thigh, Sam drank a tank of alcohol and molested some children, and I had more alcohol than I ever had done before in my life.
I felt absolutely fine whilst I was sitting down throughout the evening, and I had a wonderful time, seeing everybody again and laughing until my sides did the cliche-ed (sp) hurting. It was only when I stood up to go home at the end of the evening that my consumption caught up with me. And my God, it caught up with me.
I staggered home with Bruce and Roy, and my little brother Dave opened the door. I walked in, grabbed a door to steady myself, but unfortunately that gave way too, and I ended up in an unceremonious heap on the floor, yelping and giggling as I went down. Bruce tried to steady me but he was very drunk too, and the pair of us wobbled everywhere, while Dave said suspiciously, "Are you two drunk?"
Bruce and I somehow managed to get upstairs and slumped sideways on my bed and lay there, fully clothed and I still had all my makeup on. Phil sent me a text to check we got home alright and Bruce replied a terribly coherent "Yeahwe." And so began the hellish next 12 hours, where Bruce was sick, and I was in a sleepy drunken daze. My Dad popped his head round the door at about 7 and whispered, "are you alright?" and I explained as best I could that we'd perhaps had a bit to drink.
In the morning I felt dreadful. My stomach was churning, but I was determined not to be sick, and so I laid very still (still in my clothes from yesterday) and breathed deeply to encourage the nausea to pass. Bruce felt better, having emptied his stomach hours before, and so he looked after me like I did him on New Years. He brought me toast when I felt my stomach could take it, and orange juice, and he laid with me and stroked my back gently.
Fortunately now I am fine! I am well again and I am watching this horrific program about teenage girl drug users on the streets. It puts my problems in perspective, let's say. It annoys me when people point the finger at these girls though, and go "mermermer look at the slaggy drug users." The reason they take drugs is because they were born into a shitty life and they want an escape. It's a stupid route to take, but the problem won't be resolved with programs like this, I don't think, which is mainly just voyeuristic really.
Anyway, now I am going to have a bath and then take myself to bed. I have a busy day planned tomorrow, where I shall review my finances, attempt again to set up online banking (an absolute nightmare- Barclays is so shite) and then perhaps buy some nice things to take to Whitby with me.
Eeeee I'm so excited! I shall blog when we return! :D July 24 Unsettling Christians.Today, I'd just woken up when I got a phone call. I scrambled for it, and said "hello?"
"Hello, this is Tom speaking, and I was just ringing to confirm you are still available to model for us next Friday?" a kindly elderly voice said. If you've ever seen the Vicar of Dibley, he sounded exactly like the guy who plays "Hugo." But anyway, he was from the Christian Art group that my Nan knows people from, and they needed a model to draw, so I volunteered. I won't need to get naked, and I get 15 quid at the end of it, so I thought why not?
"Yeah, I'm available," I replied. Now the thing is, my voice first thing in the morning tends to be really gravelly, and deep. I have no idea why this happens, but unfortunately, I must have sounded rather odd down the phone.
"Right, right, good, ummm, do you have any questions?"
"Yes, actually- I was wondering if there was anything in particular you would like me to wear?" I said in my deep, throaty voice. I meant it completely innocently, but the poor man down the other end obviously had some very Unchristian thoughts, as he started stammering and laughing nervously for a couple of minutes.
"No, no, umm, we tend to focus on the head anyway," he stuttered, and then hastily bid me goodbye.
I laughed to myself, and then texted Bruce, about my upsetting elderly Christians with unintentional kinkiness.
"Ha, he's probably gone off worried that he's booked some godless nudist now! GOOD WORK I say to this!" Bruce replied.
July 20 He's just not that into you.I have just spent the afternoon reading a fascinating book that came free with my beloved Cosmopolitan magazine, called "He's just not that into you." You may have heard of it as there was a film adaptation, or perhaps even have been lucky enough to see it, as I am quite eager to, having spent the afternoon poring over it and going "ha! of course!" about every point it makes.
Basically, this intriguing read is about the excuses women make about men's behaviour (not saying that there aren't men out there also with their fair share of heartbreak, but it is primarily written for women, I believe.) Basically, it goes through all the excuses women make rather than just accepting that a man she likes isn't interested, and I really believe that if all women just read this book, learnt to accept the message, and deal with it, people would be more happy in relationships.
The blurb on the back reads:
He's just not that into you if he's-
The book says that men will never have the guts just to say to a woman that they simply aren't interested in her, and will instead do cowardly things like disappear from her life, or have an affair, or just act really coldly in the hope that she will do the dirty work and end the relationship for him. Therefore, by not making excuses for these actions ("he's tired, stressed, busy, has intimacy issues, has family problems, wishes I'd lose weight, etc") and by simply accepting that the man is an idiot who can't admit his disinterest and prefers to string you along, you can cut ties and find somebody who is into you. I read this book, and of course, I still have fairly limited dating experiences as I am still only 18 years old. But already, in some situations that I think back to, I do just think to myself "how could you not get that he simply wasn't into you?" Boys who were reluctant for me to come over to meet their family, boys who were insulting and didn't treat me with respect. I just think to myself now, having read this book, "how could you not have read the signals?" The thing is, when a girl likes a guy, she tends to really like him. And we just don't want to accept that he is the anything less than perfect ideal that we have in our heads, because then it leads to acute disappointment. The warning signs at the beginning of the relationship are ignored because women like to consider themselves "the one that can change him." And inevitably, they aren't, and spend their time waiting for him to change (and never actually doing so.) This book teaches women to have enough respect in themselves to just find someone who really loves them, can't keep their hands off them, wants to talk to them often, will go out of their way to make them feel happy and secure. The thing is, we're conditioned from so early on to feel slightly pathetic for wanting these things. We are all conscious of the needy, insecure girls that boys complain about, and so will try to come across as being the cool, "I don't mind if you sleep with other people" kind of girl. No girlfriend wants to whinge, but unfortunately, this can mean putting up with dreadful behaviour and pretending to be cool with it (which I have done so many times at the risk of appearing needy). Examples spring to mind such as "do you mind if we don't walk together, because I'm embarrassed to be with you when you're wearing that skirt?" "Can't you speak more like a teenager, you sound like a freak," "My friends don't like you." "No I don't want to come for a walk down by the river, cba..." "You're obsessed with relationships." "Take your hair out of a ponytail because I don't like it like that." "Don't make up stupid words and phrases." "I used to die a little inside when you straightened your hair." "Well, she was there and she was very attractive." "What the fuck do you want from me?" How wonderfully easier those things would have been to take if I'd only figured he's just not that into you!" I don't feel bad about the guys who said those things now, though, because I just think it all sounds really silly when I read back through it. Plus, I am now with a wonderful man who does treat me with lots of respect, and in fact encourages the little eccentricities I possess. He walked for a day in the sun just to see me for a brief half an hour (at the time I was a little freaked out but I've come round now to thinking it's romantic) and he really does try to make me happy (and succeeds). For example, we're going to go on a short break soon to Whitby, where I spent a lot of my childhood, to celebrate my 18th. Everything he does is so thoughtful and imaginative, and he makes me feel special and loved. Even just little things like reminding me about my contact lense pots when I'm going out in the evening and my eyes might get itchy, to baking me cakes, to helping me when I am trying to be practical (cars and computers :S ) to letting me take up most the bed....well, I think he might be into me a bit. Going back to the book though, there is a rule in it that intrigues me, as I have mixed opinions about it. It says that boys should always be the ones to ask girls out, rather than the other way round. And whereas I am usually all mermermermer equality rox and in modern times it should be perfectly acceptable for girls to assume previously male roles, actually, on this one, I am inclined to agree. However, I'm not sure if it's a gender thing or a me thing. I know that I prefer to be asked out, rather than to do the asking, because then I know that the guy is definitely interested, and isn't just humouring me so as not to hurt my feelings. Ditto the whole who says "I love you" first thing. Somehow it feels more meaningful when the guy brings these things up, because of that whole cliche of men not being able to discuss feelings very well and women being the ones to wear their hearts on their sleeves. Evolutionarily, it's always been that men compete to be selected, and women are the selectors. This basically means, and the author of the book says, that a man enjoys a bit of a chase, and it will feel more of an achievement if he feels he has landed someone a little unattainable. And as for the women, I can't speak for the whole of womenkind, but it is nice to be wooed and to genuinely believe that a guy has fought hard to get you and keep you, rather than you always trying to keep him happy. My Dad and brother got really cross when I aired this view, as they are both quite shy with the ladies, and said that I don't appreciate how difficult it is to pluck up the confidence to ask a girl out. However, my feeling on the matter is that a girl won't want to date a guy whose shyness outweighed his liking for her. Why would you want to date somebody who couldn't even express in the first place how important you are to them? When you ask a person out (I have done so myself, yes) you put yourself out there to look silly, and you lay bare your feelings for them, at the risk of rejection. If a man isn't willing to do this, regardless of how shy he might be, then chances are, he's just not that into you. I'd be interested to know everyone's thoughts on this blog.
July 13 ...in which our heroine realises that actually, her life is quite good!I've been looking over my finances, and basically, I really believe that in my last blog I was being a little dramatic. I had a convo with Dad earlier, and he assured me that I am definitely 100% going to Camberwell and that he has it sorted. He was horrified that I even doubted that I would be going. However, he has also strongly suggested that I no longer discuss our financial situation on here because it is a private family matter, which is fair enough I guess. So basically, just take it from me that it really is all going to be fine because I have been enlightened by new info from my Dad, and through reviewing my finances I know I can do it.
I was on the phone to Edge earlier and she made a horrific suggestion, but with the best intentions. She suggested I sell my car so as to save money on the various expenses, which left me stunned as it hadn't even occurred to me. I mentioned it to Mum afterwards and she absolutely hit the roof at the idea, which I predicted. I can see both sides really; Steph 1 says that if I really couldn't afford the transport to Camberwell then it would make sense to cut out the biggest drain on my resources, whereas Steph 2 pointed out that now I have my license I am going to bloody drive thank you very much. Also, the insurance and tax are sorted for a year, so really from now on it's going to be MOT and petrol that will be the expenses. And, through looking through my finances, I realised that actually I can do it. So, hooray!
All it means is that occasionally I may have to pass up on the odd expensive social occasion, which is fair enough really as I can imagine that everybody is saving up for University. Steph apologetically mentioned that she'd lapsed into Supersteph mode and had sat down and worked out how much available money I will have a week...which provoked a reaction of what?why?ohit'sjuststephbeingsteph from me. However, in a way it was nice to know that she cared (I like to think this is the case rather than nosiness!) in contrast to my parents who aren't the best at listening to what I have to say.
But anyway, this is the last I shall mention of my finances from now on. I think my problem is that I am far too honest on here, and treat this blog sometimes as more of a diary than as an article for people to read. I like to write it all down, though, for some reason. I like to think that sometimes people can relate to what I am writing about and can feel closer to me. Who knows.
In other news, work is going well- I actually really enjoy it! Except for one person everyone has been lovely and friendly and respectful, in comparison to Recess where the manager was a fat slag. The work itself isn't difficult at all, and my days go pretty fast as I seem to have crazy amounts of breaks I also really like working weekends at the moment, because throughout the week I use my time to enjoy myself or be productive. This week my aim is to art things up and get some pieces ready for the exhibitions. I'm quite excited about it actually, as I haven't done any art in a very long time, which is strange. Also, tomorrow Bruce's mechanic father (as in a car mechanic, not as in a robot) will look over the Becmobubble and tell me how much my MOT is likely to cost me. It is so worth it, keeping my car. The cost of petrol could be expensive over the summer, but it should dip dramatically when I go to Camberwell. The freedom that vehicle gives me though, is just indescribable. Just knowing I could pop in it and go wherever I want (within reason) is an incredible feeling, and I also still feel that buzz of achievement at having passed my test.
Anyway, I reckon I should sleep now. I chucked Bruce out at half 11 as I was very tired, but for some reason I knew that if I didn't sit and write this blog now, it wouldn't get written, and I do think it is an important one to write. And it's woke me up a little bit, actually.
I shall leave you with a thought from my Clintons friend, Kurtis. He is a camp black dude and is utterly delightful and enthusiastic about everything. "Becca Becca Becca! If you were turned into a snail, it'd be weird because you'd go from having two feet to just like, one, and you'd try and use two and just flop around everywhere." July 08 Money, my life, me.It's strange how now I have left school, I am busier than ever. But then, I think that's a bit of a rubbish excuse for not writing blogs. It's more that I just haven't been in a blog writing mood, I think. But now, as I sit here looking out the window at the grey sky outside, having spent too much time today watching a certain Mr Kyle shout at the teenage mothers, drug addicts and benefits sponges, I feel in the mood for writing one.
I am feeling a little restless at the moment. It feels like I am drifting and waiting for my life to begin, really. I have things to look forward to, but then also things to dread. I wouldn't say I am depressed, but I could be happier, let's say.
The money situation is absolutely abysmal at the moment in my house. As Dad is on a temporary contract, there is worry that when it terminates in December or Jan or whatever that we'll be screwed again, so we are being really careful at the moment with money. And I hate it! Really, really loathe it. However, it also makes me re-evaluate my lifestyle, and I am sad to say that it looks like something will have to go. Things that used to be inconsequential and barely given thought to, such as contact lenses, or my car, are now just draining my bank account, despite the fact that I got quite a bit for my 18th and am now earning a bit a week at Clinton's. So, it looks like I will have to make a decision at some point between the two of them, and I think that it would have to be contact lenses, as they are one of the best things that I have ever done to get them. They absolutely change your life, and the thought of wearing my glasses every single moment of every day makes me feel very depressed indeed.
I really don't know, though. Maybe I will somehow be able to afford my Becmobubble still. I guess when I go to Camberwell, though, I wouldn't be using it as much anyway. It's just the freedom that I get from having a car and being able to drive is immeasurable. And as regular readers of this blog will know quite well, I'm something of an independent spirit, and don't enjoy being at home much. I guess also, when you think about it, without it, I wouldn't have been able to go to Chelmsford and Maldon and harass people with CVs so easily, and get my job at Clinton's.
Right now though, all I can do is just make the most of having the both of them.
Then there's the additional worry of how on earth I am going to afford to commute to London every day for the next year. While it is the cheaper option in comparison to staying in Camberwell, it is 3000+ pounds for a season ticket, and I don't think I can get discounts with that. I could get a student railcard, however, and get a third off regular prices, which could be better. GARHHH I WISH I HAD MONEY!
It doesn't help when I read about footballers earning 60000 pounds A WEEK. That really makes my blood boil. These stupid, prissy, preening peacocks skipping around aimlessly kicking an air-filled sphere get 60000 a week for their trouble. It is disgusting. Then I hear about Paris Hilton, who is a prime example of being famous for... being famous. She paid thousands of pounds so her dogs could live in a Doggy Mansion. They have their own jacuzzis and everything. I find it so utterly frustrating that these people are rewarded for being stupid, yet I cannot afford a sodding season ticket to Camberwell!
I think the moral of this story is just to become one of Paris Hilton's pets.
Then there's also the palaver of universities to sort out. I was thinking the other day that if I decide to art, I can't do it by halves. I would have to launch myself into it fully, which means applying for the most famous and difficult to get into places. So, I think I shall apply for Oxford! My attitude is that I have nothing to lose, except my confidence in my ability and dignity. And hey, they aren't that important, are they?
SO ANYWAY, I am aware that this blog so far has been a bit of a string of worry. This is what happens when I get left alone by myself all day every day! I think far too much. However, my life isn't all bad at the moment at all. For the first time, I feel like I have control over my life again. When you are at school, it is so easy just to let it drift by and just do what other people want you to. Since leaving, there's the realisation that I am back in the driver's seat and it is up to me to take my life in the direction I want it to go in. I had an interesting thought the other day that I shared with Bruce, and that was that it would actually be possible to just start my life from here and give up on education. I could work full time at Clinton's, and he at Tesco, and we could just move in together, and start the next chapter. Bruce laughed and echoed my feelings that while it would be nice for a while, we would both end up extremely bored and depressed and hating our lives and maybe even resenting each other.
Don't worry though- that isn't a serious suggestion of mine. I don't want to sell my soul to a card shop, and spend my days selling endless rolls of giftwrap. And my inner nerd will always be seeking edumacation in some way, so university is my definite plan next year. And, I believe Bruce feels the same way, because it would be a waste of his genius to be stacking shelves when he could be building rockets and things. It does all make me think of this film called Sliding Doors though, with Gwyneth Paltrow (or however her name is spelt) where life splits up into different possibilities and outcomes. Perhaps in a parallel universe somewhere I am waving goodbye to education as we speak.
You know what, though? It is ace being 18. I absolutely love it, although it annoys me that I only get IDed when I mention it. I met Bruce at the pub across the river the other day, and not only did the guy behind the counter not ID me, but he filled my glass right up to the top, told me to have a big mouthful, and then filled it up more for me. Out of politeness I did so, but it did trigger in my head that perhaps my politeness wasn't so great in this situation, as I would need to drive home afterwards! Fortunately I was fine and not over the limit, and so drove back at 15-20mph to annoy Bruce in the car behind me.
Other good news is that I have lots of exhibitions lined up soon. The first one is just the one round at the school, which I have to go along to this evening and stand in front of my artwork (I am thoroughly sick of these pictures now, seeing as I have viewed them all in about ten different locations) and work out how to respond well to comments about them. There's also the paranoia I get that the faults I see in my work, which are glaringly obvious to me, will be equally obvious to everyone else looking at the picture. But anyway, in September the big painting of Rob and Dave will be exhibited in Anglia Ruskin Uni, which will be cool, alongside Scott, Kenny and Chris' stuff. It'll be a bit of a sausage fest of an exhibition, as my brother would delicately describe it, but never mind. It's just a bit sad that Rachel, Poppy, Hannah and Cian, who are the other ARTISTS OF THE FUTURE as the Essex County Council grandly described us, are otherwise engaged. Bah, 50% attendance isn't too bad going for artists!
Then, hopefully, I need never see the painting of Rob and Dave again! I need to come up with some artwork for Interior Angle in Chelmsford, as they want a piece of work from everybody involved in the Arts Trail. Then, I need to come up with a postcard design to sell in a cafe opening in September, apparently. And on top of all this crazy artiness, I am coming up with ideas for this competition Charlie wanted me to enter, because apparently not enough 18 year olds do, or something, as it is the upper age limit for it. So, the conclusion of this story is: lots of art to do!
It's just a pity that I am lacking DOSH. It hinders the ol' creativity a bit, unfortunately.
Also, I should probably go and artify myself for this evening. There's no way I will look so arty as Scott, who will probably need some sort of industrial scaffolding to hold up his hair, but hopefully my artwork will speak more than my appearance, rather than the other way round. KERCHING! |
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