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This week my brain is very much cerebral mush. This is mainly because in an attempt to avoid the rat race... from which I have recently resigned (of cowered away from and retreated into eternal despair).... I have returned to Uni to do my Masters in Writing. As this is just a method of further procrastination on my part, when people exclaim "wow, your Masters, that's impressive" I get worried. Very worried. Suddenly, people think I must be a decent writer, scholar and all round go-getter.... I'm not. I don't even really want to be a writer.. As the job description is daily self-deprication, self-loathing and a barrage inferiority complexes. Honestly, I only enrolled in this course as the applications had closed for all the other courses. A lame justification for the fact that I am paying about 15K to do the damn thing.
Now, this being said, the main reason for the brain jelly I'm toting in my cranium is not the course itself, or the lack of life direction.... but the other indivduals enrolled in this course with me. It's all online so people don't hold back... in the slightest (me divulging my life to you is a shining example of this lack of modesty). From what I've gathered, I am the youngest by about 15 years. This isn't the problem. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a soul-wrenching read as much as the next person, but all of these people are, or want to appear, really intense. Just in casual discussion threads they quote Orwell, Hemingway etc. So basically, what I'm trying to say is.... they make me feel stupid. Perhaps I am in the scheme of things, and that's ok. What gets me is, finally I'm in a course where I am asked my ideas.... not just asked to regurgitate other peoples.... I did that for my bachelor's degree and it drove me nuts.
I've never wanted to be a serious writer, or write an epic or anything like that. I just want to be able to write some silly little something that makes people chuckle while reading it on the train, jammed awkwardly between two strangers. The people in my course are just like the beret wearing politics/literature students I tried to avoid all through uni... except now the are older and wiser and hence have more opinions on everything. Granted they are all probably great people, but do we really need poetic prose when engaging in general discussion?
I really have to figure out what I'm doing with my life.....
More often than not, the importance is in the detail. It is these details that vary from indivdual to indivdual that are so fascinating. What is obvious (the TALL man, the STERN lady etc etc) is boring. It's the blueprint that's fun.
My blueprint?
I LIKE:
getting handwritten letters in the mail**old couples in deep conversation**getting back into bed after my morning shower**driving with the window down**curling up inside when it's pouring outside**the smell of sparklers after they have gone out**winning solitaire and watching the cards all streaming down**waking up in the night only to realise you still have hours left of sleep until you have to get up.
I DISLIKE:
sandwich makers who are stingy with avacado**arrogance**when ice-cubes taste like the freezer**the urge i have to bite off hanging fingernails (if that's what they're called) even though the consequences are inevitably painful**nickleback**birds flying into glass
People often talk about themselves in an explainatory way, but it doesn't really give anysort of insight to them. When it comes to what makes you you, perhaps for a change you should sweat the small stuff!
I'd be intreseted in having a snapshot of anyone else's 'blueprint'?!?
I braved up and handed in my resignation last week. Although my actual letter was pretty stock standard, I sincerely hope my boss read between the lines.
Dear Bob,
(To the man on this earth who most resembles David Brent, but surprisingly isn't actually him)
I hereby tender my resignation as position of Media Co-ordinator at Company X.
(I'm leaving, you wanker. Media Co-ordinator? I am a receptionist, obviously hired only to nod, giggle at your awful jokes, and ultimately kiss your solarium-tanned buttocks in order to secure your misguided sense of masculinity and importance. As tempting as it is to stay in this role, I am at a constant struggle with the gag reflex, which in turn prevents me from fulfilling these duties to my utmost, and more importantly makes the immensly challenging task of answering phones even more so.)
As required by contract, I am providing you with one weeks notice, and my final working day will be Friday the 29th of February.
(I have no intention of staying here for a minute longer, and if I were not bound by contract to give you one weeks notice you could bet your beloved framed pictures of you and various B grade celebrities that I wouldn't)
Thankyou for my time here at Company X, I wish you and the company the best for the future.
(I can't believe I stayed here for a whole 5 weeks. Despite your deep-seeded inferiority complex and your constant emphasing that hierarchy doesn't matter here, the fact that your text message alert tone is a depressed male voice droning "excuse me boss, you have a text message" is indicative of everything I have suspected of you. You are a self-important tool.)
Regards,
(Thankyou for providing me with many valuable andedotes for future conversations regarding the biggest tools on the planet)
This bitter backlash from me comes from weeks of being made to feel like brain cells were being eradacated from my brain faster that faster than weeds from Don Burke's garden. They revelled in my inferior position in the office pecking order, and used this opportunity to bombard me with petty demands, made purely for demands sake. Example? "Look, would you mind popping out and picking up a new light globe for my desk lamp? The voltage is not quite right on this one....." . I have also endured "yes, Bob may touch the things on your desk, but you MAY NOT touch anything of his as it is far more expensive". I shit you not. This experience had me wanting to retreat from civilisation and retire to natural living where such pathetic constructions are non-existent. You live to live, and the only retalliation to such a predicament would be pouncing on the perpetrator and gauging out their eyes. Either that or succome to the sadly sumissive role being forced upon me, hence throwing away all that I have ever learnt (educationally and otherwise) quelching my future aspirations, and accepting a mediaocre existence and bleak future.
Instead, I continue to fetch coffees until Friday and then commence my sprint to greener pastures, nuturing the flicker of myself that survived this experience. HOORAH!
I have been living on my own for just over 2 years. This set-up began when I started uni, so at the forefront of my concerns was to find somewhere cheap. First I started my hunt for a potential housemate- basic maths: as tenants increase, rent decreases. So I set up an account on a house-mate finding website, which turns out to be some weird hybrid of an online dating service.... just with more scope for stalkers and the tiring weeding out of freaks. The first candidate I met up with was a 'recovering' psychotic. He was openly paranoid that people were trying to switch his meds with brain-washing tablets. Of the endless stream of social misfits directed my way by the website, he was probably the front-runner. There was also the goth/emo who collected barbies, but gothed them up then displayed them side-by-side in her loungeroom come goth-hate-barbie-shrine. Then there was the alternative, vegan, red-Birkenstock wearing and aggressively pessimistic politics student.... who, as it turned out, was actually reared with a silver spoon up his arse and drove his father's BMW. The others, for the sake of my psychological welfare, I've forgotten about completely. Needless to say, I ended up opting to live solo.
I found a cheap place in a nice area. It was one of 6 in a relatively dingy block of flats.I was soon well acquainted with the catch-22 of cheap rent.... My neighbours.
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My expections after finishing uni were pretty much on par with Little Foot's expectations of The Great Valley in The Land Before Time. However, Little Foot got there fairly easily.... That sadistic t-rex was nothing compared to that crap I'm enduring as Phone Answerer/Dishwasher/Shit-kicker Extraordinaire.
Sitting at my desk, over-hearing conversations which essentially amount to 'my penis is bigger than yours' , I am inspired to create a blog.
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Comment by Julia 1
on Sweating The Small Stuff: The Bits n Pieces That Make Us