Playing therapist

i don't write anymore. it's odd.

it's not that i can't. i spit out a fairly decent truckload of tripe everyday at work, making syfy classics like 'seeds of destruction' and 'snowmageddon' sound like cinematic masterpieces (and don't even get me started on the latter; most of the boys this year have mentioned that i expanded on the entire plot the very first time i met them - drunk obviously, but still filled with gusto).

it's not that i don't have the stories in my head. my brother - who starts a degree in film direction soon and is the nervous nellie to my calamity jane - sent me a paranoid text half an hour ago announcing that it was now the end of his life because he couldn't think of anything for his short film script ideas. i typed up a couple of things one handed (one fingered, rather) and sent them back to a somewhat pacified sibling while not letting jared leto's delicious pelvis out of my sight (i'm on a 30 seconds to mars youtube loop).

so what happened?

nothing's really changed drastically. i still live in my tiny box of a flat with piles and piles of books and a temperamental african violet named fred. i still drink too much, talk too much and swing from ecstatically happy to hide-under-the-duvet gloomy far too quickly. i still change the colour or length of my hair every few weeks. i'm still non-monogamous and hang out with the boys far too much.

actually, scratch that. something's happening to them.

i should probably state, for posterity, that most of my friends are boys. and a fair few of these boys have, at one time or the other, lent me t-shirts to wear to work the next morning - to put it delicately. we were friends before, we stayed friends after. shrug. anyway, over the past year, four of them have ended up being in relationships after me. all four of these idiots had been very militantly single (read: promiscuous, a quality it appears as though i make a beeline for) before that. we'd swap stories of recent conquests, idiots who 'cared', and there was never any talk of feelings. but inexplicably, a few months in, they'd suddenly go funny and end up sheepishly announcing that they now had a girlfriend - usually one of the women they'd whined about (one of them even told me it was my fault; apparently he figured it wouldn't work with us, so he wanted it to work with someone). on a general basis, most of them have stayed the same, but the fourth one turned today (yes, i've been watching far too much walking dead) and it suddenly got me thinking.

i don't want to go into why this is happening (let's save that for when i have more vodka in the flat), but it's my general frame of mind that has me worried. i think being either deliriously content or incredibly unhappy makes you a better writer (well, i'm of the opinion that the latter is the preferable option). but being apathetic and having nothing you really care about - that makes it hard. because when you don't care, you can't bring yourself to put anything across. you can't tell stories. you can't invent lives. you can't create. 

i need to find something i care about, and invest myself in it. or lose it.

and i'm guessing fred the potted plant doesn't really count.

season two?

the thing about having a blog is that you start to get very good at writings recaps. let's see if i can do this in nine words (one for each month since my last post).

i have a job. i hit my head today.

i think that sums it up quite nicely. especially since the ladder fell on my head on the way to work this morning. there, you're all up to speed. now i'm off to peel the plasters off my forehead while trying not to ruin a perfectly serviceable fringe.

old books and mabel

i think i'd like to work in a secondhand bookshop again. maybe not actually own one, though. the lovely loopy old bookshop lady - or mabel, to state her given name - often tells me never to get lulled into thinking it's a good idea to buy one. she's been running it for eight years now she says (often with a very long sigh), and i've started to believe that the place going under is her idea of salvation.

we found a very early edition of huckleberry finn in one of the boxes today. much excitement ensued. mabel hooted, she really did. "look at it!" she cackled, waving it at me. "just some bits of old paper and a smelly old cover and it'll buy me a ticket to the theatre!!"

i do love her.

drumroll

lordy.

a fair bit has happened and i've always been awful at filling in backstory. let's do one of those tv show-type recaps instead, and pretend you've been watching the previous episodes and just need to refresh your memory.

new flat: studio, tiny, book-filled, wallpapered with artwork/posters/post-its.

part-time job: secondhand bookshop, slightly batty (but very lovely) old lady who runs the place, she's selling out in a week and i'm helping catalog, carry, organize and pile books for her while she gives me the occasional toffee and asks me how school was. the pay's pretty rubbish but i LOVE the job.

job-hunting: i'm waiting to hear back from a couple of places, had an editorial test last week and they said they'd let me know about an interview this week. waiting, i've learned, is a noble art. i have also learned that i'm not very noble.

living alone: it's the most fabulous thing EVER.

new buys: a blue and white ceramic teapot with stars on it (i don't drink tea), a potted african violet named fred (who i'm rather besotted with at the moment), a canvas and oil paints, faaar too many books.

volunteering: at the oxfam bookshop on saturday mornings. i love it.

internet/laptop issues: no internet connection in the new flat, sky's being a pain. i have taken to stealing internet from the chip shop two floors down instead. there's a spot by the window (wedged between the couch and the wall) where i get two bars of signal. and the laptop stopped working three weeks ago, but i finally managed a temporary fix a few hours ago (yay me!)

there, i think that covers it.

i defrosted my freezer today with a knife, a spoon and several sainsbury’s plastic bags. well, part of it anyway. enough to get my half-bag of frozen veggies in. if and when i have something larger than a thumb to put in there, i will defrost the rest.

what’s that you say? why not just press the defrost button? let me explain. i have a tiny primitive fridge (it came with the tiny flat, more like a package deal), and the freezer is strongly reminiscent of a small cave during the ice age.

so, risking hypothermia in the form of frozen fingers, i dug in. i also discovered an ice cube tray in there, but only after my trusty knife cut it in half.

more updates as flat-life continues.

(makes a contented noise)

today was a couch day. you know, one of those days when you vegetate in front of the telly under your duvet with an assortment of food on the coffee table and just never get up. granted, most of my days are a bit like that since i'm unemployed, but today was sunny and cheerful outside and i chose to be indoors. so that makes it a couch day.

why was it a couch day, you ask (it doesn't matter if you didn't, i'm telling the story here). well, i had a story to finish, flats to look for, an editorial internship to read up on, and i was wallowing in glorious solitude since i lose sole ownership of the flat with The Flatmate returning tomorrow (which means his woman does as well, they're like one of those two-for-the-price-of-one offers).

then i saw that skype had this whole 60 minutes to ireland at the fabulous price of 60p a month so i had to get that. then went and promptly spent all said minutes on one hyper phonecall to liz (chain-smoking, fabulously eccentric friend). i reckon it's going to go on one one call next month as well. i tend to talk a lot.

a writing day begins

'your whole career will be modified, shaped and molded by your surroundings' - orison swett marden

well, a quick overview of my surroundings gives me:

a wooden clothes peg

half a pair of scissors

four wads of thoroughly crushed paper

a piece of my laptop charger

three pens in various stages of working order

a pair of striped knickers

an empty pack of smokes

a pink post-it that says 'body near the river?'

a saltshaker (don't ask)

'you can tell a lot about a man by the way he eats jelly beans' - ronald regan

now there's a quote that makes more sense.

a new book and a quickly diminishing pack of jelly beans

apparently rose wasn't done! i got a copy of 'i heart new york' in the mail today! i did a little hop, skip and jump with the appropriate sound effects on the stairs up to the flat and ignored the builders gawping at me. another book! ever since i was abruptly told that i had to move (no, i'm never going to let that go), i've wanted to collect a truckload of books. i have this mental image of my new place that has no furniture but piles and piles of books everywhere. it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

ooooh The Brother just popped up online to tell me that he now has a girlfriend (as of twenty minutes ago). that kid does rather well for himself, i must say. this is the third girl he's been entangled with this year (none of them were very serious, he is related to me after all) but now it looks like he's settled down for a bit. aw. sometimes i have to agree that he's the more mature one.

man, i'm tired. the real estate people are sending someone over to have a look at the place tomorrow since we're moving out, so i did a quick tidy up and got rid of all the bottles and tins from the bucket on top of the fridge. the flat looks nice and classy now.

also, note to self: don't eat buttered popcorn and coconut jelly beans together.