Time is like… a mega ice cream sundae with loads of fudge and chocolate

Ice cream sundae

My (very poor) analogy for time.

Holy sh*t…

I’m really not doing myself any favours, trying to make real use of these long uni’ summers and all. Slightly disappointed that my last blog was right back in May! Summer hadn’t even started then… Well, exams are long gone and so are the blurry end-of-year celebrations. In fact, minus about four weeks I’ve had off at the time of writing (actually, a bit longer than I thought, but anyway), since about two weeks after the start of the summer I’ve been working. Working working working. Boring boring boring. I tell you, stuffing envelopes or putting bags of exam papers – which I thought I could not associate with ever again after the end of the horrendous A-levels – into cardboard boxes all day every day after a while does make one genuinely consider that placing a skewer through one’s eye and a power-drill through one’s belly button would be infinitely more entertaining. At least, the consequences would make the days a tiny bit more interesting, if regrettable. Yes, we all dream about what we’re going to do ‘this summer’, making plans for this that and everything, ambitions to go here there and everywhere. Trouble is, it never really works out. For me, this is almost entirely down to the ridiculous ways in which I earn and spend money such that no matter what I earn it appears to evaporate on contact with my bank account as if it’s some massive metaphorical industrial money incinerator. No idea why it goes, where and how. And it’s annoying.

Admittedly, I have been to Reading Festival – which was definitely, if a dirty and mostly drunk experience – something I’d happily do again tomorrow – but give me an unbroken tent which I don’t have to put up at midnight, please. Florence from Florence and the Machine is definitely either slightly wacko or permanently wasted or high, or both. Foo Fighters were unreal too. Bit gutted I missed Green Day’s ‘secret’ set though… Damn. I’ve also seen quite a few new movies, more than usual this year. I particularly enjoyed watching Anne Hathaway in The Dark Knight Rises getting on and off, and riding a pretty bad-ass motorbike – I’m pretty sure there should have been a warning about mild pornography in some scenes, because some of them have been irreversibly carbonised into my memory. Being slightly academic for a brief moment, that film definitely proves the existence of the ‘male gaze’ in film making. Oh yes. I gazed.

It baffles me that already I’m barely weeks away from starting my final year at Uni’ and that in actual fact in what will seem like only an elongated hour, I’ll be finished, all done and dusted, hopefully graduated with a tidy 2:1. In English. Sigh. Then what? Who knows? I watched Anchorman for the second or maybe third time the other night and I quite fancy the Ron Burgundy lifestyle, but I somehow doubt the BBC or any British media institution has quite the Americanised ‘zing’ that can turn someone who sits and reads words off a screen into a famous person. But then, we are talking about a country where you can freely purchase a large calibre rifle in a department store, and where it is illegal to tie Giraffe’s to lamp-posts. That is a law the origins of which must be hilarious.

It just passes us all by, this immaterial thing civilisation has universally rationalised and explained as ‘time’. We make plans and look forward to relishing it and using it well, and then are surprised when it seems to just relentlessly evaporate into a vacuum, especially – and I emphasise, with irritation – when we are enjoying ourselves most. Like time-troll. It’s a rubbish analogy but it’s just like the ‘Godfather’ desserts one can purchase at some good restaurants. I really look forward to that and make plans to savour every last particle of fudge and chocolate and Malteser and toffee ice cream and vanilla ice cream and all that tasty high-calorie deliciousness. And then some b*stard nicks it the rest and before you know it it’s all over and done with. And you’ve put on two stone.

I end abruptly for I am now hungry. Stay tuned for a more interesting slightly more intellectual post in the near future.

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What the horizon brings…

hmmmSo they say blogging is dead. I don’t know why, but they do. This is not a particularly good fact to learn when one is just starting out in the endeavour of blogging. Of course, if every blogger is like me then this fact is perfectly understandable. After strangely waking up at 8am on a Sunday, which is a very unusual occurrence, the  day has passed me by without little activity. Except for my continuous mental reminders that “I should probably write some more of my blog, since I haven’t written on it for a while and I have no excuse not to, now I’ve finished essays and am just blobbing around,” and the occasional cup of tea, snack and various other miscellaneous activities, I have done not much else, as usual. Basking in the feeling of relief that completed essays bring, it is only now, in my opinion, writing this blog post, that I am doing an important task. After all, it’s out there to be judged by people like yourself.

Yes, this one’s more life and times reflective drivel, I’m afraid, since life seems to be happily flowing forward quickly and easily without obstruction or particular phases of excitement, at the moment. Once again, it is nearly the end of the term, essays are finished early, Easter break is on it’s way, and I’m still longing for the long warm summer, in which I can finally shake off the noose of this marvellous student financial deprivation. But for this to happen, I have to work. Which is the cruel crushing irony. Rather than taking a well earned break (of course) over Easter I will – most likely – be working to pay for the overdraft I’ve delved into this term and to pay for the car insurance renewal, which, happily, is not bound to be quite so astronomical this time, just maybe atmospheric. It never bl*ody ends. My dreams for genuine prolonged periods of doing bugger-all seem to still be beyond the horizon yet… Even far off are the realisation of my dreams of attending music festivals for a weekend or so and adventurous UK road trips…

Sunset horizon

A sweet horizon at sunset. The only interesting and relevant image I could find for my blog.

It’s not all boring and arbitrary though. Fortunately this week I’ve had some sort of guidance about which direction I should head in to that vast, mysterious and bright horizon. For a long time I’ve been interested in a few main ‘fields,’ if you like, including motoring, aviation, and as you’d expect, writing. After only half an hour of official ‘careers advice,’ I had officially come to the conclusion that writing was the way forward to somehow indulge in all my interests, precisely how that indulgence will manifest itself is another thing. So, that’s good, I suppose.

Sigh. I realise how I’ve literally just typed out my memory recollection and endless thought streams, hammering my laptop keyboard mercilessly. How boring. But life goes on.

Well, since it is now pretty much official that I should take up writing in some form or another at some point in my life, I will say I haven’t forgotten about that short story I intended to finish five weeks ago. If I manage to bring myself to not do ‘nothing’ this week, I will have a modest crack at finishing it, at some point. Rest assured, you will know if I do, most likely.

So, my first lesson about writing learnt today: find some genuinely interesting material to write about.  Let’s hope I do for next time, hey? So much for keeping blogging alive.

Nevertheless, now to indulge in my passion for motoring. Bring on Top Gear, the only interesting event on my student Sunday nights.

Laters all.

Excitement and apathy

Crikey, it’s been a while since I last wrote, a whole month in fact. Apologies to those who faithfully follow my blog (haha), I’m sure you’ve been eagerly pining for my return.

Well, this is only a quick one, I’m afraid. I won’t do you the injustice of not explaining my absence though. My reasons are fairly pathetic, ironic, or valid, depending on who you are. Basically it is that time of the term again where essays need to be written. Those arseholes of essays. The use of the not-so-harsh-as-one-that-might-have-been word ‘arseholes’ there might have been because I was seeking a word better tuned to my new found love-hate relationship with the relentlessly merciless intellectual enlightenment form. Yes, I did just imply I don’t actually have too great a problem with essay writing. Why? It isn’t just because the only thrills in my life at the moment are looking forward to the time when the central heating comes on, or when I discover a half-drunk stale Fosters buried in the fridge. Although I am currently writing two four-thousand word essays at a time, which might initially sound like an extraordinary act of insanity, I promise I haven’t resorted to jumping from a fifth storey window or drunkenly crashing my car into a lake yet. This is because I have worked out an ingenious and highly efficient system to in fact minimise the impact essay writing has on my life. Because after all, I’m so busy all the time, being a student and all.

I am going to bore you with the details, since I am ironically procrastinating writing essays today. Ha. According to my somewhat limited mathematical skills, I have calculated that if I start writing a month before the deadline I only need to write 133 words per essay per day. This means I can ramble and bullsh*t for all of about half an hour (it does take that long to write that many words thanks to having to sift through piles of text to try and find some random quote from some radical intellectual which instantly makes personal arguments completely valid, no matter how much other bullsh*t they contain) and then continue on with my life. As it happens, I normally average more than this per day, meaning I have nearly finished both essays, some twenty days before the deadline. Yesss.

Despite this, this time around I have picked questions which I actually find more stimulating than watching anti-climb paint dry. For one module, I am writing about people who write about writing itself, which, after five minutes or so, makes my head explode. For the other, I am writing about the butch-ness of Ellen Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) in the Alien films. At least with regards to her nearly being semi-naked and waltzing around shooting phallic sadistic aliens with massive guns in the first two films, nearly makes something else explode. Say no more.

I can see this is quickly becoming a not-quick post, but I’m not going to go back and edit it or delete bits, because, quite frankly, you should be interested in every aspect of my massively exciting life. With regards to the short story, I will admit it has rather taken a place on the back burner, writing 266 academic words of an essay a day takes a phenomenal toll on one. It will, inevitably be released, and it will, inevitably, no matter how much time I end up spending on it, be utter rubbish.

Anyways, there’s not much more to say… of course, having about -£500 in the bank, I don’t have much else going on, although last Friday night, of which I mostly cannot remember, must have been a particularly exciting night, because on Saturday  I awoke in an incredibly awkward contorted position and aching in places I never even knew could ache.

Perhaps I should go back to watching anti-climb paint dry after all.

When something next happens in my hectic and chaotic life, you’ll be the first to know.

Peace.

Same difference

Time-warpThat’s it. All done and dusted for another year. Well, almost.

I say this because I have just achieved the word limit on my essay, meaning, no matter how much of an irrelevant, pointless, unreadable, off-on-a-tangent laborious example of turd-quality drivel it is, it’s done. Yes. I am pleased with that. Chuffed, in fact. As I have stated before essays are the bane of my life at present. But how I ever thought I wouldn’t need to write at least one whilst at University studying for an English Literature degree I have no idea.  Probably because I’m a tad nuts.

All that’s left to do is polish it off and upload it, but using my previous description, you can’t polish a turd, so yes, I am done with University work this year. And according to the chronological order into which various periods of ‘parts’ of my life fall, this means I’m basically done with this year too. And what a year: I finished my first year at Uni’, and started my second; had some utter cretin write off my first car; nearly killed my cretin self and at the same time crashed my first car myself, bought my second car (which is exactly the same as the first one); landed myself a far better job than the completely cack one I had for three years from which I earnt almost £13.76 in total; started renting a house for the first time; learnt that those intriguing machines stuffed into walls of banks don’t actually give out an endless stream of free crumpled paper, and that month old sweet and sour sauce smells exactly like dark chocolate, but God it does not also taste like it. At all.

An eventful year then, I hear you state. Yes, I reply, yes indeed.

I also turned twenty years of age, which I guess is also vaguely important. Sometimes I remember that I’m no longer a teenager and when I randomly remember I think “oh yeah, I’m twenty.”  It may be a knackered-as-Grandad old cliché but you do really never know what’s around the corner, literally sometimes. If I was to be serious, though, one thing I have definitely been educated on this year, relevant above most other things (except that farting in the bath after a curry is basically suicidal) is that thing we call life really is what we make it, and the gap between life and death really is as thin as is short the story of Ann Widdecombe’s sex life.

Drunk Santa

Me. On January the 1st 2012, 2pm. Beautiful.

Well, all that aside, I am looking forward to acquiring a few stone over Christmas, loosing a few thousand brain-cells through getting “merry” and a few hundred-thousand more through the effects of being utterly gazeboed. In addition, although I’ve been enlightened by an almanacs’ worth of stuff this year, making me a wise old white-haired wizard compared to me a year ago, I intend to leave this year exactly the same way I entered it: very very out of my mind and very off my face.