Thursday, December 30, 2004

keeping number 3

Resolutions I wrote in my notebook yesterday.

1) Be organised.
2) Be tidy.
3) Be myself.

I then realised that keeping number 3 would completely negate numbers 1 and 2. I gave up.

I tried again today, 5 minutes ago.

1) Stop wanting what I can't have.

I failed. That pesky number 3 again.


Wednesday, December 29, 2004

declaration of independence

I'm sitting on the train on the way back from Basingstoke when an old school friend comes rushing in and sits down near me and Danielle. She's all gushing and smiling and so incredibly friendly that I'm suspicious. I'm being paranoid.
"So what are you up to these days?" She grins like she really wants to know, and I'm frightened because I don't know why.
I mutter about 6th form, A-levels, stuff, applying to uni.
"No, what do you do? Where do you go, what pubs and clubs?"
"Umm. I'm 17."
She looks expectant.
"Yeah..?"
I am forced to admit that I do not go to pubs and clubs, that I do not get served, have never been served, and will probably still be flashing ID when I'm thirty. She looks sympathetic. She's probably been getting served since she was 9. I decide not to mention that I probably could get served if I was capable of applying make-up, keeping a straight face and lying without blushing.

My school buddy continues. Why wasn't I at her eighteenth birthday party?
I remember, through a haze, that at the eighteenth birthday of another acquaintance (I wasn't invited to that one, but I infiltrated it quite nicely. Half the people had forgotten who I was. "Ohmigod, it's you, Roxanne!" said this guy who was in my class for five years, hugging me), this girl had invited me to her party.
"Why weren't you there, you bitch!" she squeals, in what I think is a teasing way.
"I was in Scotland, my nan died, we had to go to her funeral."
"Ohmigod, I'm so sorry!"
"S'alright," I smile, "You didn't kill her, did you?"
School buddy looks at me and then pretends that I never said anything and continues. I love making people do that.
"It was a good bash though. I was a bit disappointed, a lot of people didn't show, but never mind, it was nice, just my close friends, you know?"
Danielle and I umm and ahh over this. Yes, big parties are nice, but isn't it better to spend quality time with the ones you love?
"Yeah..." her facial expression doesn't change, it's almost an afterthought. "Only about a hundred people in the end..."
I wince as my jaw hits my kneecap.

Later, Danielle and I are still in awe of this. We console ourselves, they can't all be her close friends, acquaintances maybe but even the most popular girl would be pushed to raise a hundred people for a party. She's just flaunting it to big herself up, right? Right? We're not losers, are we??

That was Monday. Yesterday, I was talking to a friend who had just gone through his phone book and found himself with a list of acquaintances about 250 people long. I was stunned. But thinking about it, I can see how it happens.
I'm like that. I have lots of people who I would like to keep in touch with, if I was organised enough to have a phone book that is. I don't claim to have a list of people 250 long, but I know far more people than I ever really think about, or will ever really be close to.

That's the thing. You can have as many people as you want around you, or in my case, as many different circles of friends as you like, but you can't be close to all of them. For people who collect people, that's kind of the point. The guy with 250 people said that out of all the many people he'd ever met, he'd written a list of 20 people he'd like to be close to. That's still an awful lot of people in my eyes, but it's a good excercise.

Try it. Think of all the people you'd call a friend, or a mate, or a bitch, or whatever you call them. Then think. How many of these do I think I'll always be friends with? How many do I really know? How many really know me? How many of the people I'm surrounded by can I actually talk to? That last one's important. Count the number of people you can talk to, and if there's not enough, then damn well start learning to talk to people better.

*******
I don't wanna be your other half; I believe that one and one make two.
Alanis Morrisette.

Speaking of talking and sharing... I'm never sure how much you're meant to share on a blog, but I figure I've told whoever's out there plenty already so... I broke up with my boyfriend of 11 months on Monday night. It's unbearably sad, all of a sudden every song on the radio is one of ours, every thing someone says is our private joke, every film I own is one we watched together. We are entering, dear readers, a whole new era for me. That's right, I'm going for a little of the old 'self-enforced singledom' that I never even considered til last summer.

A friend of mine had gone on a DNA discipleship course a year previously and had just finished the compulsory year of singlehood that the course imposes on its members for the year after they finish. Uh? The course is meant to be such a radically life-changing experience that the rulebook insists that to start any new relationships immediately afterwards, while you're still emotionally and spiritually vulnerable is potentially bad news.
I don't know if I like the level of interference in that rule, but I deeply respect the thought behind it. Everyone needs time on their own, to sort their head out, figure out what they want, make sure they're OK. I strongly believe that I am a whole person, with or without boyfriend. I'm not feeling very whole right now, I'm confused and not entirely confident about myself or anything I'm doing.

What I want is to dash out and find myself a replacement boyfriend. I want someone to cling to, I want to be weak and completely and utterly co-dependent. But I'm not going to. I depend on my God and myself, my family and my friends, not the nearest bloke who'll take me. On Monday night, my ex told me that he wanted me to be happy. He said something to the effect of - you should go and be your own person, go and do whatever it is that makes you OK, find a way to sort yourself out and make yourself happy. So I'm going to. And there's no way I can do that in a relationship - I'll do it single or not at all.

Monday, December 27, 2004

popcorn

I just finished reading Popcorn by Ben Elton yesterday. I got it free from Ottakars while I was frantically Christmas shopping on Friday (cue big thank you to the nice Mr Ottakar) and I spent a very happy Boxing Day reading it with my mince pies (if 'mince pies' is Cockney rhyming slang for eyes then that sentence was so good). Not very Christmassy, my gran said. To be fair, she's very right. It's sex, violence and Hollywood all the way, granted it's not actually advocating those things (my limited literary understanding gives me the subtle feeling that it's actually taking the piss) but it's not something I would have let my grandma flick through, given the option.

Without giving away too much, one of the many things Ben Elton lampoons in this book (including but not limited to - Quentin Tarantino, Hollywood, the Oscars, model-turned-actresses, the concerned mothers of middle America, most of the the rest of middle America, most of the human race) is the media. More specifically, the news and the way it's presented to us, the gormless masses. Parodies are fun, you read them with a pinch of salt (can you read with seasoning?) and you maybe learn a lesson. Despite my uncontrollable delight that someone has finally had the balls to take the mickey out of Tarantino (haha!!!), I thought Elton took the whole thing a bit far. Yeah, American news broadcasting is somewhat sensationalist. I get it. Stop saying it, we get the point.

Thing is, today I've been studying the news pretty carefully, trying to find out about the tsunami in south Asia, and I've actually started to see his point.

The Daily Mail today. The headline was "SWAMPED", printed over a picture of the sodden devastation in Sri Lanka. Swamped? Ok, well that sounds somewhat insincere... "10 page news special, with eye-witness accounts and in-depth analysis". Ok, people want to read about it, that's a fair enough thing to have on your front page.

So I look through the ten pages, and notice that each one is headed with the title "WAVES OF DEATH". Ok, I've had enough. I throw the Daily Mail down in a hissy fit and switch on the TV. Same thing.

25,000 people they reckon are dead out there now. And it seems like the news outlets are almost revelling in it. Do they really think we need phrases like "Death came out of the sea", "The day they thought the world was ending" to appreciate the scale of this horror? Are they trying to be upsetting and melodramatic?

Of course they are. What's sensationalism without some good old emotional manipulation? Damn you Ben Elton, I never used to be cynical.

Sunday, December 26, 2004

christmas...

Christmas is about God and Jesus.

I've been a lot closer to God recently, but not in a Christmas centred way. It's been kind of a one-sided friendship, if God were one of my girfriends he'd be saying something along the lines "yo, listen up girl, i'm sick and tired of always dealing with your problems. When we gonna deal with my problems? Hello, the anniversary of the birth of my only son coming right atcha and all you can think about is problems with your goddamn boyfriend??".

I'm glad God isn't my girlfriend. I'm also glad none of the girlfriends I do have are blunt enough to ever give me that much of a going over, although I probably deserve one by now. The point is, despite showing up at midnight mass and going over the Bethlehem and manger bit in the gospels, and singing along very loudly to Songs of Praise, I feel, yet again, like I've missed the point. Completely. I haven't even got the wrong point, I haven't found any point at all.

Christmas is not about presents. Has my Christmas been about presents?
Didn't get to buy as many as I wanted, didn't receive as many as I would've liked. Didn't have much fun choosing and wrapping, on account of the lack of time (I did my Christmas shopping in 40 minutes on the 24th December, beat that). Still have loads of presents to buy, I'm gonna have to hand them out at New Year's and try to make a gimmick out of it. Not really feeling the presents this year.

Has my Christmas been about commercialism? Yeah right. I had to break into the Christmas money that my Grandma left me from beyond the grave (which was upsetting and creepy) just to get presents for my parents. I didn't even get a kick out of yelling about the pimping Regent Street lights (The Incredibles? What in the name of all that is good and pure do The Incredibles have to do with Christmas?). I haven't even enjoyed spending, which is unlike me. Not even anti-commercialism has lit the fire this year.

So what's the point of my Christmas been? Here's the thing, I know the inevitable conclusion is that Christmas is about God, but it's just not. It never has been, I can honestly say that Christmas is about as un-spiritual as my year gets. I am not a hypocrite, or at least I spend a distressing amount of time trying (and often failing) not to be, so I'm not even gonna pretend to have found the real meaning of this time of year. There is no way I can hold my head high and claim that at the most materialistic and greedy point of my calendar, I'm celebrating a religious event, because I'm not. I'm really not.

I celebrate God in the summer, and I thank God for the beauty of the world in the autumn and the spring, and in the winter I draw near him and immerse myself in him ready to re-evaluate myself and my commitment to him ready for the new year. At Easter I think about the sacrifice, not the chocolate. But at Christmas? I read my bible as much as I can and pray to show that I am trying to make this about God, and I hope he appreciates it, but the truth is I really don't know what it is I'm supposed to be doing, what big lesson I'm supposed to be re-learning each year.

There's nothing new year. My life as a Christian is pretty much about this feeling. The feeling being "OK, I don't know what I'm supposed to do or feel, I don't know what everyone else is doing or feeling so I'm just gonna do what I can and hope to figure it out later". I've figured out that this isn't a bad thing. Most Christians are making it up as they go along, in fact, everyone is. Christians, non-Christians, atheists, Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims... We're all kind of figuring it out as we do it, hoping that we're getting it right, or at least not getting it too wrong.

**********

Nature's incredible and unpredictable force (as the man on the news put it) has struck again.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/4125481.stm

Bbc.co.uk says about 7,000 people in South East Asia are feared dead, ITV news reckoned about 10,000. When the numbers get that big, it's difficult to comprehend the actual scale of what's happened. 10,000 people is my college, plus Yateley School and its Sixth Form, plus Frogmore and its Sixth Form... 10,000 people is almost all the delegates at a Soul Survivor conference. It's still just a very big number, 10,000 individual and unique people, with feelings and emotions and histories and they're all just gone and we can't even begin to understand it.

It's weird, weird. Those of you who are of the praying persuasion, tell your friends.

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

shaky little legs

First Sight
Philip Larkin
Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.

As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth's immeasureable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.


This is one of my favourite poems, aside from it being high time that I give it some exposure (everyone read it and like it!) it actually seems kind of appropriate right now.

Having spent the last few days in the upper reaches of North-East Scotland, it's kind of disappointing being back in England where everything is noticeably un-snowy. (As a side note, if you're ever in Scotland near Christmas and stuck for something to do, go and stand still on an icy high street and let the frantic shoppers push you along. Great, cheap and only slightly dangerous fun.) So I've got snow on the brain. And lambs too, since I had a weird dream about one. In the dream there was a pathetic shivery lamb in a frozen field, standing in a giant icy puddle. Its legs were trapped in the ice because it had fallen through but it wasn't strong enough to climb out onto the ice and get away (I blame this on a nature programme I watched in which something similar happened to a bird in Peru..). Being the hero that I am, I slid my way across the ice and stomped the ice around the lamb, breaking a path to the edge so it could scramble out onto the grass. Any dream analysers want to have a go at that one?

I happened to have this dream on Sunday night, whilst staying in a Travel Inn in Aberdeen. Why is it significant? Well, on Saturday night, because life's funny with its timing, eight members of my family simultaneously developed an explosively nasty stomach bug. Explosive being a very accurate word to describe the bug's effects. Nuff said. Having spent all of Saturday night and the wee hours of Sunday morning inspecting the u-bend of our Travel Inn bathroom, I spent the rest of Sunday flat on my back, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out if I was in fact still alive. On determining that I was, in fact, some kind of living creature still, I got up and tottered around the room for a while in search of water. Tottering, she says? Yes, tottering. Much like a newborn lamb... Although maybe not so pleasing to the eye. It was good, in a way. Nothing like projectile vomitting to help you appreciate the little things in life, like standing up, being able to eat a whole meal without it returning in a "2for1" style revenge attack. When you've been ill, you kind of re-learn how to live your daily life.

But the whole newborn lamb thing goes further than that. Some of the more observant amongst you may have noticed that I haven't exactly been the most cheerful of souls recently. That is actually a spectacular understatement, but I have whinged enough! It does feel a lot like I'm starting again. I'm starting to appreciate all the stuff that I've been taking for granted, like the fact that I have a family, several wonderful sets of friends and most importantly, my whole life ahead of me to make mistakes and figure out how not to make mistakes.

Like in the poem. The lambs are tottering around in the freezing cold and they're thinking, damn, it's kind of cold and bleak, is this all there is? And all around them, growing under the snow, there's all the amazing beauty of spring and summer, all the grass and trees and flowers that we take for granted is there waiting for these lambs that have absolutely no idea of how good it's gonna get. It's a comforting thought. Winter's my favourite season but I'm aiming for the metaphor - I've had my December, my new year's on it's way and my Spring's just around the corner - utterly unlike the snow.

lots of love.

PS. Thank you to everyone who's been praying for me and my family and supporting and just generally being wonderful. You rock my socks.



Wednesday, December 15, 2004

before i go

I'm leaving in the morning to go to Scotland for Gran's funeral. I haven't much time. Have some bullet points.
  • Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was voted Empire's film of the year, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that I have taste.
  • Pepsi Max in extreme quantities has the potential to mess with your digestive system in a most unattractive way.
  • Marks and Spencers do great Hoisin duck tortillas at the moment, go get one.
  • Last night I had a dream that I was living in a giant house with all the Duncalfes... If any of you are listening, I'm sorry I ate all the food in the fridge and your dad got mad at me, it was only a dream and it wasn't my choice to do it.
  • Ecclesiastes is my favourite book of the Old Testament. There is a time to live and a time to die... Sometimes scripture speaks to you, and when it does you kind of have to listen.
  • The best way to drink tea is to add milk and one sugar, bite each end off a Twix bar, insert one end into the tea and suck the other one. Who'd have thought biscuits could act as straws..?
  • Eyeliner is a tricky thing to apply. Wanna look like Mortiis? I can show you how...
  • God is strong, God is listening, God is the best friend you'll never have anywhere else.
  • Everything is going to be fine.

Colourblind, Counting Crows

I am colorblind

Coffee black and egg white

Pull me out from inside

I am ready

I am ready

I am ready

I am taffy stuck and tongue tied

Stutter shook and uptight

Pull me out from inside

I am ready

I am ready

I am ready

I am...fine

I am covered in skin

No one gets to come in

Pull me out from inside

I am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding

I am colorblind

Coffee black and egg white

Pull me out from inside

I am ready

I am ready

I am ready

I am...fine

I am.... fine

I am fine

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

seventeen reasons why i need to count to ten

Reasons why I am so angry that I could rip the head off a teddy bear. Actually no, I could never do that.

1) Due to a quirk of fate, for the first three months of next year I will be spending upwards of 8 hours a week in the company of one of the few people in the world who I find it extremely difficult to love. What would Jesus do? If I pretend to honestly believe that Jesus' reaction to this guy would be to smack him upside the head with a ring binder, does it justify me doing it?

*****

4) The play we're studying makes Christians look like pathetic, clingy and downright stupid losers. Calloo, callay, oh frabjous day.

5) I have a mosquito bite on my arm. It's December. Why?

6) She's not doing it intentionally, I know. But, oh Lord, she's making this whole thing so much more difficult. Wanna make me cry and simultaneously run the fuck away? Talk to me like I'm 7 and get all sentimental, as if you're the only one who's lost someone, as if you're the only one brave enough to express it in that awful, quavery voice. I know I'm hurting. Do I look like I want to discuss it with you?

7) That I can't discuss how I feel with anyone. I feel like I'm screaming into a room that's full of people and I'm sure they'd all love to chat, but they all speak a foreign language so I'm holding pillows over their ears so they can't hear at all. I'd rather not talk to anyone, my words come out wrong and I can never get out what I'm trying to say.

8) That I am still the same stupid girl I was two years ago. I haven't grown up. Not even a little bit, not even at all.

9) That people have funerals. Why? Let's dress up in black and go together in black cars in awkward silence to the place where they will burn my grandmother and all sit on hard wooden seats and cry out loud, with her body in a wooden box, freezing cold, just feet away. Let's hate every single fucking second of it, listening to some man who NEVER EVEN MET MY GRANDMOTHER talking about what a blessing she was and then lets all have the cheek to lie about it, and say how beautiful it was. Funerals are not beautiful. If I die tomorrow, have a party. Play my favourite songs and get completely wasted and don't let anyone wear black.
If I die tomorrow, please don't turn my funeral into an occasion that is harder to deal with than my own death.

10) That I can't stop whinging. My dad has lost his mother. My cousins have been landed with the task of going back to gran's flat and clearing it out. There are orphans and starving people. Some people feel like this all the time. I hate that I feel so sorry for myself.

11) That life is not fair.

12) That, at 17, I still get surprised when I'm reminded that life is not fair.

13) That I don't understand why God has done this, or is doing this. Some light at the end of the tunnel would be great.

14) That I'm still getting mad at God, when he's the only light I actually have in the tunnel at all.

15) That now, when my family actually need me to be strong and supportive, I can't stand to be around them. I deal in my own way. I deal on my own, or with the help of a person who's right at the time. All of a sudden now Granny has died, I'm expected to be an open, communicative pillar of strength. I am not. I am angry and weepy and frightened and I feel about 5 years old.

16) That I am no longer 5 years old and so no longer allowed to act like a child, but am not mature enough, in any sense, to act like anything else.

17) Most of all, I hate that I'm letting all these things affect me. I hate that I'm angry, all the time.

Monday, December 13, 2004

peace perfect peace

This is gonna be difficult. Maybe it's too soon but I figure writing about it will help me sort my head out.

My weekend went well, for the most part. My fabulous 9 hour shift at Tesco left me in a surprisingly good mood; an old friend's 18th birthday party was good fun, I caught up with lots of great people I haven't seen in a while; I had a lie-in on Sunday morning (first one in weeks) then went shopping with my family. The sickening irony (is it even irony? or is it just crap timing?) is that I felt for the first time on Sunday afternoon that maybe things were looking up. I was starting to feel genuinely happy for the first time in months.

At about 6:35, I was in the kitchen, unwrapping an M&S sandwich when the phone rang. It was my uncle Ian in Aberdeen. My granny died in her sleep at about 2o past 6 on Sunday evening. Life's funny like that. She'd been in and out of hospital for months. A few weeks ago, my dad actually travelled up to Scotland to say goodbye because they thought she wouldn't last the week. She was getting better, that's what gets me. She was sitting up, the day she died she had a conversation with my aunty, the first time in ages she'd recognised anyone. She went to sleep in the early afternoon, then she passed away about 10 minutes after my aunty left the hospital and went home.

I've been preparing myself for this. I actually thought I'd gotten used to the idea. I nipped into church for a couple of minutes last night and had a bit of a cry. Then I was fine. I fell apart this morning. I spent most of the day trying to stop myself from crying and failing miserably. It's not just granny, it's every single, stupid thing that's been bringing me down for months and this is just the final straw. I can't hack it. I really don't know what to do.

We have to go to Scotland for the funeral in a few days time. I have to worry about catching up on work and postponing mocks and getting time off work when all I want to do is curl up and sleep. I have to put on a brave face for my mum and dad, because they'll get upset if they think I'm upset. I have to go to my drama group and audition for a play tonight. I couldn't care less. I just want to sleep.

I'm trying to think about it like this: now, she's not suffering anymore. She's resting in peace, she's up there with my Daddy in heaven and she doesn't ever have to worry about anything ever again. I'm glad for her in that respect.

Spoke to my old english teacher today. I told him what happened (he's more a mate than a teacher) and we had a whinge about how horrible death is. Then he pointed out the obvious by saying, it must help when this kind of thing happens to have some kind of religious belief to lean on. He's right of course.

I'm leaning. It'll be fine.

Saturday, December 11, 2004

curtains

15 days until Christmas. Number of presents bought: None. Number of urges to take an axe to the jukebox in the cafeteria: 1,000,000,000 (oddly enough, the exact same amount of times that BandAid has been played on said jukebox in the last week).

Well, that's that. The last night of the Christmas production went very well. The cast turned out brilliant performances, the technical crew didn't miss a single cue, we finished the present on time and, due to a humorous misunderstanding, so did two other groups of people. Dave, Tom and Rebecca (with their three identical sets of presents) were dead chuffed with all concerned. We had a good aftershow party, they brought us champagne, we danced to Bohemian Rhapsody and The Darkness (as only drama students can) and spent an emotional ten minutes giving each other 'well done, I love you' hugs. It was perfect. Really.

Let me give you an insight into how it normally works.
Before I perform, I get nervous. Very nervous. It's not just being scared of messing up, it's the thought that there's gonna be all of those people and I'm gonna be out there in front of them. After the nerves comes the calm. The calm is when it all starts happening and I finally remember to focus, and I can think straight and everything's fine. At the same time that I am calm, I am terrified. That's the buzz; being utterly petrified but completely focused and calm all at once. Then, as stuff finishes, there's the adrenaline. That's the fun part. I get completely hyper and incredibly happy because I've done good and I've got the buzz. It's the most beautiful feeling in the world, second only to the Holy Spirit and complete contentment. I get it every time. It's one of the main reasons why I do drama, performing rocks my socks.

But not this time. This time, these three nights, I didn't get nervous at all. I thought, it could go wrong, but it probably won't, and even if we suck and don't get any laughs, I don't care. No nerves, no calm, no buzz, no adrenaline. I was bored on stage. I know that I wasn't bad, I was good, but I could have been so much better, and I hate that feeling. I'm getting annoyed. I'm on such a downer recently, I can't seem to enjoy anything. It's like nothing's enough to snap me out of this stupid mood I'm in.

Apologies for being so negative recently, the worst is past, I promise. Here are some reasons to be cheerful.

1) We are pushing to have the word baboonatic added to the English language. It's kind of like lunatic, but crazier. Spread it.

2) McDonalds have started selling Curly Fries. McDonalds is a heinous, corrupt, immoral, multinational, greedy, capitalist beast of a company, shamelessly attempting to act like they're healthy and integrity-tastic when they're obviously not. McDonalds restaurant are heinous, eerily cheerful, pikey-infested grease pits, and the toilets are always, always repulsive. However, those Curly Fries are damn good.

3) Idlewild are releasing a new album early next year (www.idlewild.co.uk).

4) 24-7prayer are 5 years old next year, and are having a giant party. (www.24-7prayer.com)

5) BandAid 20 is selling well. The musical part of me wants to weep; the part of me that is a human being is overjoyed. (http://bandaiddilemma.net - for those of you get grizzly like a bear at annoying Christmas songs).

6) There is nothing, but nothing, more satisfying than going to bed when you're exhausted and knowing, deep down, that however awful you feel, stuff will eventually be alright.

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

for your consumption

Why shouldn't you get changed in a room full of Pokemon?
In case they Pikachu.

http://www.mrandmrswheatley.co.uk/cunningstunt.html

http://gangstaname.com/index.php

Watch... Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, because it's beautiful.

Listen to... Manic Street Preachers, of course. Also, listen to the Cranberries, you'll be glad ya did!

I'm too sleepy to post. I'm stuck in college for at least another 12 hours. Someone leave me a message and say hello, make my day!

I love you all.

Monday, December 06, 2004

call me irresponsible

I'm listening to: This is my truth tell me yours, Manic Street Preachers (I haven't removed this album from my cd player for about a week now).
I feel: Tired. Deeply in need of a sandwich.
Where am I?: At home, recovering from another lengthy rehearsal. Went well. Our big scene with all the bible-bashing (literally - Venita hits Leon with a copy of the New Testament) actually worked tonight, we got big laughs and my teacher told me I had a gift for comedy. Good stuff, if only I could keep a straight face.

I'm disturbed, I have to say. We have an abundance of AIDS awareness posters around college at the mo, which is fair enough and actually a very good thing. But in the spirit of being topical, the tutorial staff have simultaneously implemented a new sex education course. I'd only just recovered from the trauma of listening to Mrs Leeper talking about her 'first time', and that was years ago. Now it's happening all over again. Bet you the nightmares wil come back.
It's kind of grim getting sex education at 6th form. I know it's probably very necessary and worthy, and many people will benefit as a result of practical demonstrations with Percy the Plastic Penis(TM) but it still repulses me. I could bear it if the teachers weren't involved. Maybe that's the point. Hearing my middle aged tutor talking about the benefits of water based lubricants is the best advert for abstinence I think I've ever heard. They should recruit her to the Silver Ring Thing, she is the anti-aphrodisiac.

D'you think if I put my hand up and said, "I'm a Christian, you know, that whole 'no sex before marriage thing'?", that they'd spare me this torment? It's worth a try...

Anyway, I believe the point of this post was to talk about responsibility... Ah yes. Last Wednesday, Louise asked me to be a leader at Soul Survivor next year. This is terrifying for everyone concerned (if you've ever met me, you'll understand why). I'm not responsible enough to have a pet. Would you trust me with your children? Granted, youth are not hamsters, but it's still worrying.

It's got me thinking, I'm supposed to be doing youth work at the church in my gap year after my a-levels, now I'm wondering if it's a great idea. It's probably me being paranoid, maybe I can rise to the occasion and all that but in the meantime I'm trying to grow up. Not in the sense that I'm tottering around in high heels, more that I'm actually trying to take responsibility for stuff. More on my inevitable slide into adulthood will be written later, when I figure out how to get police checked, and if stealing doorstops from college counts as an actual offence. If they don't know, then surely..?

I'm so tired. I want christmas to come, for all the wrong reasons. It's not about the religious side of things, it's not even about the presents. I just want to sleep for two weeks. Is that so wrong?

Saturday, December 04, 2004

I'm tired of being tired

I'm listening to: My Little Empire, Manic Street Preachers.
I feel: Tired and fat.

From 9am til 10pm, Thursday and Friday. From 9am til 5pm today and tomorrow. From 9am til 10-11pm Monday-Friday next week.

These are the hours, displayed on the internet for all (all bored enough to be here) to see, that I have been and will be spending at college in the near future. The Christmas season is indeed upon us, which means that as well as my normal college hours (9am til 4:15) I'm spending the majority of my free time in rehearsals for our Christmas production. They Shoot Horses, Don't they? will be performed on the 8th, 9th and 10th of December at Farnborough 6th Form College... Be there or... live someplace real faraway! (I've been talking in an American accent and i can't shake it...hot damn.)

My character in the play is a bit of a joke. It's a good part, yeah, but there was definitely a healthy sense of humour at work when I was given it. I play the Vice President of the Mothers' League for Good Morals. My part consists of brandishing a ridiculously large bible and spouting scripture at the assembled chorus. How appropriate. Dave must have noticed my WWJD bracelet and struck casting gold. I laugh. I laugh out loud.

Hum ti tum. At the moment we're doing technical rehearsals, which are actually the most boring things on this green earth. "Ok, that's great, now everyone get up and do it again." "That was good, do it again with the lights." "Sorry guys, music hitch, one more time?" 45 minutes later... "Great guys, one last time then we can move on."


Whatever. Minger.

I've somehow ended up organising a present for the drama teachers at college, a big old 'thank you we love you we're sorry we stressed you out' card and some booze. Fabulous. So, in between frisking the first years for contributions to the fund (the fund being the front pocket of my hoodie, suspiciously clinky) I've been down to Tesco to buy cards and a giant photo frame. We're gonna fill the frame with photos and "they shoot horses.." in cut and paste letters. While i was in Tesco, my 'team leader' Ben came over and grabbed me (literally) by the scruff of the neck. Oops, says I, remembering that I was supposed to be working today and had to blag a day off on the grounds of being "incredibly unavoidably busy". Tum ti tum. Ben asked if i wanted to work tomorrow. Apparently the managers haven't yet informed him that I'm in the 'unreliable' bad-books for cancelling my overtime. They will. Poo. What's worse than working at Tesco? Working at Tesco with managers who think you're scum.

Tried on my costume today. Makes my bum look big. I know, it's a cliche, but the fact that millions of women have said similar things about their own posteriors does not diminish the size of my own. I noticed something today. When skinny girls say they're fat, everyone tells them to shut up. When I say I'm fat, everyone changes the subject.

Screw it, I'm going to eat pie. :D

Friday, December 03, 2004

The High Fidelity effect

I'm in a list-making mood.
"All time top ten favourite funeral songs? A Laura's Dad Tribute List... 'Tell Laura I love her', Laura's Mom could sing it, it'd bring the house down."

Music to fall asleep to:
1) Breathe In, Lucie Silvas
2) White Ladder, David Gray
3) Afterglow, Sarah McLachlan
4) Adiemus
5) Anthem of the Free, Soul Survivor 2003

Feel good songs of the moment:
1) Beautiful Day, U2 (always my favourite)
2) Whatever Makes You Happy, Sugababes
3) History Maker, Delirious?
4) Tsunami, Manic Street Preachers
5) Come Together, The Beatles

Feel bad songs of the moment:
1) Mountain's High, Delirious?
2) What You're Made Of, Lucie Silvas
3) My Happy Ending, Avril Lavigne
4) Wake Up, Rage Against the Machine
5) Protege Moi, Placebo

Tear-jerkers:
1) The Scientist, Coldplay
2) With or Without You, U2
3) Hurt, Johnny Cash (the most depressing song I've ever heard)
4) Let it Be, The Beatles
5) Hands Down, Dashboard Confessional (bittersweet memories)

Classics:
1) Drops of Jupiter, Train
2) Bittersweet Symphony, The Verve
3) Crash and Burn, Savage Garden
4) Place your Hands, Reef
5) Bitch, Meredith Brooks

Songs to belt out on the piano:
1) Here With Me, Dido
2) Torn, Natalie Imbruglia
3) Head over Feet, Alanis Morrisette
4) Moon and Back, Savage Garden
5) Unsung, Vanessa Carlton

God-songs:
1) Amazing Grace
2) Whole World in His Hands (Tim Hughes version, thank you)
3) Praise You (Shackles), Mary Mary
4) Inside Outside, Delirious?
5) Obsession, Delirious?

Hmm. Apparently I'm in a very Delirious place right now.

Thursday, December 02, 2004

There's a loaded gun in the wings

We're using a real gun in our play at college. Granted, we're only firing blanks but it's a real live firearm, has to be kept in a locked case and everything in case someone nicks it and holds up a bank. It's quite intriguing... Last year we had giant japanese swords for fun stage-fighting, and spears. This year it's an evil gun, or gonne if you will. It doesn't look as cool, but oh my is it tempting.

Thing is, as much as I love the drama students at my college, some of them are beginning to grate. I know that this play is meant to be fun and a bit of a laugh and that some people are really only there for the enrichment points, but really, where is the logic in standing and complaining (loudly) that the play is crap when the reason it's crap is that you're not putting any effort in! I was very close to having a catfight with this one girl. She was talking about how 'shit' the play is and how 'shit' the teachers were and how lazy the crew were. I managed to resist the urge to hit her with my fake money (long story) and said something along the lines of "the play is as good as you make it...the teachers aren't actually getting paid any extra for doing this... the crew are doing twice as many hours as we are...try and relax, don't get stressed."

I felt quite proud for not calling her a whinging little kid and telling her to shut the hell up. It was an achievement of willpower. So, I wandered off to visit Liz across the stage.
"How's ye doing Fi?"
"Not too bad... Trying to make the most of things..." It was a very boring rehearsal, I have to say. "How's you?"
"Rebecca's driving me crazy!" (Rebecca is our very shrill and patronising, if well-meaning, director)
"I know!" I hissed, my mask of goodness slipping, "I swear, that loaded gun is looking more and more tempting every second..."
Me and Liz share an evil giggle. We don't mean it. Rebecca's irritating but she's not that bad, i have no intention of attempting to murder her. I'm not even considering it that seriously. But...
The girl next to Liz chimes in.
"I'm sorry, but you guys are so bitchy, Rebecca's doing her best, leave off can't you?"

DOH! I think I was just told. Now I feel stupid, and kind of annoyed. I'm getting into such a righteous rage about the excessively negative first years that it's making me snippy and bitchy, causing aforementioned first years to put me well and truly in my place. We live, we learn. Or something.

I know what I was meant to be writing about. I was intending to do an incredibly boring but necessary 'who am I?' post. Philosophical "well who really knows who they are in this crazy life anyway" ramblings aside, I'll make it short and sweet.

My name is Fiona Kennedy. Also known as: Feebz; Febo; Fatass-Fi; Sackbut; Angelic Fruicake (though not often); Mugwump; Bible-bashing liberal. I am 17 years old and I'm living with my parents in Yateley, Hampshire, England. I'm doing the second year of my A-levels at Farnborough 6th Form College, have applied to do a gap year before going to study drama at university. I've been a Christian for... *counts* 17 months (wow) and I can honestly say, difficult as it's been, that becoming a Christian was the best decision I ever made. This is not a testimony, it's just something you have to know about me to figure out where I'm coming from. My favourite colour is green. Closely followed by red but I think they clash. My favourite flowers are tulips and freesias. If I grow up, I'd like to be a princess. If not, I'll stay working at Tesco until my brain frazzles and my soul decides to emigrate. I'm kind of a geek, in that I voluntarily read history books and know far too much about Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. However, my close friends at college (the self-named 'Nerd Herd') tell me that I'm not actually geeky enough to be a geek. I talk far too much, swear too much, eat too much, giggle too much, rant too much and get tired too often. I'm irritating as hell but if you stand still long enough I'll write you a humorous limerick and you'll get over it. You can call me Fi: I sometimes forget to wash behind my ears but you'll learn to love me. : )

Quote of the day: "What actually is a hobo? Because I get called it quite often and I'm not sure if it's a good thing." - Harriet, an incredibly posh and incredibly ditzy English student.

"Lassitudes? Why, they're the treats you give to dogs who help you rescue children from wells!" - Paul, my very funny but very weird English teacher.

In local news... Liz has said I can use her car as a fridge during the winter months. I'm touched and overjoyed that, now that I only want hot food, cold food is suddenly abundant. I still haven't had any university offers. I'm not afraid...

Wednesday, December 01, 2004

We jammin!

It was beautiful. Two guitars, one set of bongoes, one biscuit tin/drum, several pairs of knees and many voices. How we jammed.

Many things have changed in the landscape of my Wednesday night. B-bobu (Bible-Bashers of Britain United) is the house group I went to all of last year, and very good it is too. September '04 saw the birth of a sister group: Valid. Valid, (pronounced in best Ali-G stylee wit a gangsta flik ov da fingaz) is like B-bobu, but for college age yoof and in a different house. Seeing as everyone there is over 17 and there's only about 7 of us each week, it should be very sedate and grown up. Not so. It's all good though, tonight we had a joint meeting with the young 'uns from B-bobu so we could pretend that we were only being childish because they were there...

We talked, we prayed, one thing led to another and we ended up jamming for about an hour. I'd like to call it worship, because most, but then Dan noticed that the chord progression to 'lord i lift your name on high' is kind of similar to Busted's 'Year 3000' and we kind of digressed. It was good though. I converted a biscuit tin into a giant drum...it was harder than it sounds.

Great evening, I'm really buzzing. It's immense just to be able to hang out and worship together like that. I feel like I should do some positive-pushing here, because not every Christian can hang out like we do every Wednesday night... www.opendoorsuk.org

This is the best mood I've been in for ages. I should explain, really... I haven't even done a 'who i am' post yet but for those who know who I am but don't know what's going on - I haven't exactly been a happy bunny in recent months. God's been making some major changes, or rather I've finally allowed God to make some major changes and it's kind of an upheaval. Everything's changing and I'm very stressed and very tired and very emotional. Good stuff. But it's good, I've finally taken the advice it seems I'm forever giving other people and started to actually depend on God. It's an awesome feeling. I'm scared, but someone's taking care of me.

Something Beth said tonight: "When you're down, he'll help you stand again."
Summed it up damn nicely, I thought.

No one else has wellies, do they?

One of the best things about going to a college this big (about two thousand students at last count) is the variety of people. This alone doesn't outweigh the bad things (the big class sizes, crowded corridors), but it's definitely a plus.

You can look at it two ways: on the one hand, there's so many different kinds of people; on the other hand, there's so many people who all look, act and think exactly the same way. Don't worry, I'm not about to go all non-conformist on you (my days as a rebel ended when I threw out my Slipknot posters) but it gets me down, when everyone seems to be so superficial. You see whole crowds of girls walking down corridors that are all wearing the same clothes. Literally. I don't know if they plan it, but if one of them wears tight blue jeans and heels, a cream fur-lined jacket and a pink t-shirt then, dammit, the rest of them will too!

The thing is, here, even the non-conformists look the same - dressing in black isn't quite so cool when twenty of your mates do it too. When I was 13 and filled with angst, Farnborough 6th Form was my ultimate. Everyone I knew who went there was interesting and unique, they all wore crazy clothes and rebelled. And, now I'm here, that's the problem. Everybody wears crazy clothes. There is absolutely nothing you can do to stand out in this place, because there's so many people that someone else will be doing it too.

It really, really got to me last year. I've always prided myself on being a unique person and, at school, I was. I was the crazy one, I wore weird clothes and did weird things and I was known for it. I went to Farnborough and all of a sudden I well and truly blended in. It took me down a definite peg or two. It sucked, but go figure, I'm probably a better person for it because now I really don't care. Not in the way that the girl who wears the tophat and suit to college doesn't care, not in the way that the girl with the mohican doesn't care, but in my own, special and unique way I just don't care about standing out and fitting in anymore. I can honestly say that I wear what I want and the hell with it. ...Well, kind of. My polka dot wellington boots were definitely intended to stand out. What can I say? No one else in the college seems to have them, and it's nice to know I can still make people stare.

Anyway, the original point of this post (I tend to talk too much, you'll learn to love it) was that the sheer amount of students in the college means that I'm forever being asked to take part in some kind of coursework experiment. At the moment it's English Language experiments (I've done three in the last two weeks!), which are usually fun. The last one was about language acquisition (apparently I have a natural flair for Japanese, although what relevance that has to English...) and today I got dragged into one about types of conversation.
I had to sit on a bench opposite my friend Marie-Claire (they were to scared to ask a stranger to do it so we pretended) and have a conversation about drugs while the guy whose coursework it was filmed us. It was, for some reason, incredibly embarassing.

I've realised over the past few weeks that i absolutely hate watching myself on film. This is news to me, because I love making films, but when it comes to watching them back, I go the most curious shade of pink... In Drama we watched our exam piece back on video and the only comment I could make was "why did no one tell me my arse looked fat in that costume?", to which my teacher replied, "we knew, we just thought we'd keep it secret". Humph.
The point is, this is kind of worrying. I'm applying to do drama at university, I want to get involved in the film industry if I grow up, so what am I doing developing a fear of watching myself on screen?? I've always been hyper-critical of myself, but this is much worse. I can't help thinking, is that what everyone else sees when they look at me?.

Never mind, I reckon it's like hearing your voice on tape. Everyone hates the way their voice sounds on tape because it doesn't sound like it does in your head. But, of course, no one else hates your voice when you talk. We all pick up on the bad things about ourselves on tape and film, but that doesn't mean everyone else will, right? Right?