MMVIII
I don't usually look at life in months. Months seem very arbitrary units of time, all told; lunar cycles make a rather satisfying amount of sense, but a month is simply a measurement of habit and convenience.
For me, time is either regarded as a constant stream of events with no easily determined end-point or starting-point - whenever I tell stories I'll end up hopping further and further back to find a beginning - or a series of fragments; it's never regarded as coming in discrete segments, like chocolate or fruit or centipedes. My memory is poor enough that I can't look at a year as a yea unless it's structured around school, so looking at it as January-to-January and trying to quantify or qualify it as a year is very difficult. In January of last year (last year? It still isn't last year for me yet, in a similar way to it not being Saturday for me yet until after I've gone to sleep, or after the sun has come up; call me a purist or old fashioned if you wish, whichever you prefer) I was still sixteen, having just started A-levels, enjoying it; still going out with Helen, and enjoying it; reading rather a lot and attempting to document it (which petered out somewhat; I plan to continue this year on paper, and see if that helps - that would be a way of remembering my year). I suppose that I was happier, in a way - there was certainly more happiness floating around than there is at the moment - but at the same time I was probably less confident in my own skin as who I am, although arguably probably more comfortable. I suppose life was less complicated.
Last year I spent New Years Eve (so technically, I suppose, it was the year before last) at Caroline's: I met Ben and Leo and some of her other debating friends whose names I don't really remember and observed some rather surprised expressions on peoples' faces come the chimes of midnight; other recollections include the vast amount of alcohol that was consumed (there was, if I recall correctly, a grand total of four cans of beer and a bottle or two of champagne between at least a dozen of us), slipping outside for a somewhat romantic and rather cold walk in what turned out to be a rather muddy field in the moonlight, sitting on the wall with Helen until her Dad turned up to pick her up and then staying outside until Caroline's parents returned because she refused to let me back inside the house and thinking that a small painting in Caroline's living room of a person in Wellington boots and a macintosh with a bicycle was really rather fantastic. I spent five days skiing in France in February with my family, which involved lots of bad weather, adventures with snow chains, impersonating a polyglot and reading Small Gods, Les Miserables and Walking on Glass, amongst other things. (See; I told you that a list of the books I'd read would be a good way to remember my year. This is one that I can actually check, and it turns out that the other book that I read was How the Dead Live by Will Self, and that the holiday was probably six days. But I digress.) At midnight on my birthday I went driving with my father for the first time. I can't remember than much between then and, say, June or May, without having to look things up or have my memory jolted by visual or verbal aims.
I did a large number of things for the first time this year (a list included but not being limited to giving blood, learning to drive, entering competitions, drinking approximately significant amounts of alcohol, bartering, and going on holiday without an adult present) and did many things that I had done before again. I met a lot of new people - most notably, I think, safebox, zoecb, charrr, amy_chang_12, taskiira, poemy_boy, my_show et al, who seemed to adopt me over the summer (mostly in the absence of purplefringe and ,, faeriemaiden, ressie_noldo, avendya, shorelle, bruadar, builtofsorrow. Despite this it's probably the year in which I've felt loneliest, which I think can be partly explained by breaking up with Helen and almost an entire friends group scattering across the country like leaves blown in a very indecisive mood - Cambridge, Oxford, York, Southampton, Sheffield, Nottingham - but also partially by growing up and realising how very small I am in this very large world.
I make it sound like it wasn't such a fantastic year, and maybe in some ways it wasn't, but in some other ways it was. I failed in a number of things, but I succeeded in a number of others, and among the way I discovered how wonderful many of the people in my life are. (Particular and especial thanks go to Caroline and
and purplefringe for help when I needed it the most, but they were by no means the only ones who deserve thanks: you all know who you are, and you are wonderful.) At the moment it seems very much to have been an indent, an interlude, almost (an interlife, if I want to be pretentious and to quote myself) but that's a little unfair. There was a lot of fun and fantasticity: visiting Sarah in Oxford, Foyle's, Switzerland and impromptu barbecues all spring to mind, and again I'm sure there could be many more things if I thought about it for a while.
Internally, I think I've grown up a little, too: rough edges smoothed a little by the tide, sharp corners rounded off, abrasions worn away. I suffer fools with far more grace that I once used to, and perhaps have a healthier attitude towards relationships and towards misfortune (although I hasten to point out that that doesn't mean that I equate the two. At all. In any way). I am, I hope, a little bit less arrogant and little less complacent. I am certainly far less set in my ways.
That was an interesting aside, and although a predictable one it was entirely unintentional: I was actually planning on talking about December, in an abstract way, as a unit, as a discrete whole, because my 'interesting and unexpected week' grew from a week to ten days to a fortnight and then never really stopped. It certainly was very unexpected in certain respects (although certain of those certain respects, it could be argued, could, from another perspective, be seen as fairly inevitable and a logical and almost inescapable consequence of certain circumstances that occurred; but that is neither here nor there) and (with the exception of a family holiday to Rutland, Britain's smallest county, from which I escaped a day early on principle and the monotony of which was broken only by a visit by Sarah and Co., twisting my ankle such that I walked for several days with a really rather distinguished limp, several games of squash (before the twisting of my ankle), the rather disappointing Doctor Who special, Emma Thompson's eyebrows in the rather excellent (if somewhat embarrassing) Ballet Shoes, tutoring my grandmother in counter-terrorism techniques how to subdue sudoku of the Killer variety generally by wrassling them to the ground and beating them with sticks, although in certain extenuating circumstances the use of a specially reinforced cheese-grater is also permissible, communicating with various nefarious individuals by text, writing an appalling but functioning villanelle and daydreaming profusely) was certainly rather eventful. I was taught pool (or snooker) by a bloke called Dave; discovered the poetry of John Berryman; had a conversation with my sister and three of her friends (all of whom I had met briefly before, on the last occasion of which one of whom had revealed to me something that she immediately requested I not repeat on meeting me for a second time and one of whom had been impressively rude and had almost prompted me to lose my cool and upbraid her on her despicable behaviour (which my mother then did after I had left) and one of whom is the younger sister of a school-fellow of mine) that I had never particularly imagined having even with my sister that was surprisingly un-awkward on both sides (although I did at one point remove myself from the room so that certain issues could be clarified with the minimum of embarrassment); received a rather wonderful e-mail that I shall certainly come back to in the future; went to a Hamlet conference in London, because I am that cool, and actually made notes; went to see Bloc Party live with Remily and pleezpleezme; went to a school carol service for the first time ever, and enjoyed it; discovered that my father owned a fob-watch which he used to wear to work every day; received a history of the Wellington Boot as a Secret Santa present; managed to get glitter adhering to so much of my available surface area at and preparing for safebox's sparkly shindig that I am still finding it all over my house (and, as I have been singularly unable to remove it from the inside of my hat, all over my hair as well, although that does not explain the occasional instances of glitter in my beard. I should probably change my pillow.); sort of technically cheated on train-tickets (although all I did was get off the train that I had paid to be on and then get back on it a while later, because I was passing and I could do); receiving the two most fantastic Christmas cards I have received in my whole life (thank you catgryph and builtofsorrow!) had delicious tea and cake at amy_chang_12's house; discovered Spider both Solitaire and that a passing acquaintance of mine at school is also a passing acquaintance of mine from somewhere else some years previously, although mysteriously and confusingly now going by a different name; drove a brand spanking new car home from a garage (which was awesome. So very awesome. And so much more awesome than the old car. And so very unexpected. And so awesome); and spent a thoroughly enjoyable New Years Eve at the home of charcoal_cloud, in the company of many marvellous people, wearing the most fantastic waistcoat that anybody has ever seen.
So that was my December. I have, of course, omitted a number of occurrences, instances and happenings, as one will inevitably do when attempting to concertina thirty-one days into a manageable paragraph or so, but the above will certainly serve as a montage of edited highlights, perhaps to be revisited and expanded upon at a later date.
Thus far my January has involved the following: Torchwood Episode 1, an early start, tidying up, suffering fools with grace, reading the Jonathan Carroll book that locowerewolf bought me, watching Muppet Treasure Island under duress with pleezpleezme, listening to some wonderful music given to me by said person (which is wonderful and who is also wonderful, respectively), reading Treasure Island because it is awesome travelling by bus to W___________ to rave it up and then coming back early to do some work and spending a lovely evening with my parents and my sister and purplefringe and her mother.
This seems to be a promising start.
For me, time is either regarded as a constant stream of events with no easily determined end-point or starting-point - whenever I tell stories I'll end up hopping further and further back to find a beginning - or a series of fragments; it's never regarded as coming in discrete segments, like chocolate or fruit or centipedes. My memory is poor enough that I can't look at a year as a yea unless it's structured around school, so looking at it as January-to-January and trying to quantify or qualify it as a year is very difficult. In January of last year (last year? It still isn't last year for me yet, in a similar way to it not being Saturday for me yet until after I've gone to sleep, or after the sun has come up; call me a purist or old fashioned if you wish, whichever you prefer) I was still sixteen, having just started A-levels, enjoying it; still going out with Helen, and enjoying it; reading rather a lot and attempting to document it (which petered out somewhat; I plan to continue this year on paper, and see if that helps - that would be a way of remembering my year). I suppose that I was happier, in a way - there was certainly more happiness floating around than there is at the moment - but at the same time I was probably less confident in my own skin as who I am, although arguably probably more comfortable. I suppose life was less complicated.
Last year I spent New Years Eve (so technically, I suppose, it was the year before last) at Caroline's: I met Ben and Leo and some of her other debating friends whose names I don't really remember and observed some rather surprised expressions on peoples' faces come the chimes of midnight; other recollections include the vast amount of alcohol that was consumed (there was, if I recall correctly, a grand total of four cans of beer and a bottle or two of champagne between at least a dozen of us), slipping outside for a somewhat romantic and rather cold walk in what turned out to be a rather muddy field in the moonlight, sitting on the wall with Helen until her Dad turned up to pick her up and then staying outside until Caroline's parents returned because she refused to let me back inside the house and thinking that a small painting in Caroline's living room of a person in Wellington boots and a macintosh with a bicycle was really rather fantastic. I spent five days skiing in France in February with my family, which involved lots of bad weather, adventures with snow chains, impersonating a polyglot and reading Small Gods, Les Miserables and Walking on Glass, amongst other things. (See; I told you that a list of the books I'd read would be a good way to remember my year. This is one that I can actually check, and it turns out that the other book that I read was How the Dead Live by Will Self, and that the holiday was probably six days. But I digress.) At midnight on my birthday I went driving with my father for the first time. I can't remember than much between then and, say, June or May, without having to look things up or have my memory jolted by visual or verbal aims.
I did a large number of things for the first time this year (a list included but not being limited to giving blood, learning to drive, entering competitions, drinking approximately significant amounts of alcohol, bartering, and going on holiday without an adult present) and did many things that I had done before again. I met a lot of new people - most notably, I think, safebox, zoecb, charrr, amy_chang_12, taskiira, poemy_boy, my_show et al, who seemed to adopt me over the summer (mostly in the absence of purplefringe and ,, faeriemaiden, ressie_noldo, avendya, shorelle, bruadar, builtofsorrow. Despite this it's probably the year in which I've felt loneliest, which I think can be partly explained by breaking up with Helen and almost an entire friends group scattering across the country like leaves blown in a very indecisive mood - Cambridge, Oxford, York, Southampton, Sheffield, Nottingham - but also partially by growing up and realising how very small I am in this very large world.
I make it sound like it wasn't such a fantastic year, and maybe in some ways it wasn't, but in some other ways it was. I failed in a number of things, but I succeeded in a number of others, and among the way I discovered how wonderful many of the people in my life are. (Particular and especial thanks go to Caroline and
and purplefringe for help when I needed it the most, but they were by no means the only ones who deserve thanks: you all know who you are, and you are wonderful.) At the moment it seems very much to have been an indent, an interlude, almost (an interlife, if I want to be pretentious and to quote myself) but that's a little unfair. There was a lot of fun and fantasticity: visiting Sarah in Oxford, Foyle's, Switzerland and impromptu barbecues all spring to mind, and again I'm sure there could be many more things if I thought about it for a while.
Internally, I think I've grown up a little, too: rough edges smoothed a little by the tide, sharp corners rounded off, abrasions worn away. I suffer fools with far more grace that I once used to, and perhaps have a healthier attitude towards relationships and towards misfortune (although I hasten to point out that that doesn't mean that I equate the two. At all. In any way). I am, I hope, a little bit less arrogant and little less complacent. I am certainly far less set in my ways.
That was an interesting aside, and although a predictable one it was entirely unintentional: I was actually planning on talking about December, in an abstract way, as a unit, as a discrete whole, because my 'interesting and unexpected week' grew from a week to ten days to a fortnight and then never really stopped. It certainly was very unexpected in certain respects (although certain of those certain respects, it could be argued, could, from another perspective, be seen as fairly inevitable and a logical and almost inescapable consequence of certain circumstances that occurred; but that is neither here nor there) and (with the exception of a family holiday to Rutland, Britain's smallest county, from which I escaped a day early on principle and the monotony of which was broken only by a visit by Sarah and Co., twisting my ankle such that I walked for several days with a really rather distinguished limp, several games of squash (before the twisting of my ankle), the rather disappointing Doctor Who special, Emma Thompson's eyebrows in the rather excellent (if somewhat embarrassing) Ballet Shoes, tutoring my grandmother in counter-terrorism techniques how to subdue sudoku of the Killer variety generally by wrassling them to the ground and beating them with sticks, although in certain extenuating circumstances the use of a specially reinforced cheese-grater is also permissible, communicating with various nefarious individuals by text, writing an appalling but functioning villanelle and daydreaming profusely) was certainly rather eventful. I was taught pool (or snooker) by a bloke called Dave; discovered the poetry of John Berryman; had a conversation with my sister and three of her friends (all of whom I had met briefly before, on the last occasion of which one of whom had revealed to me something that she immediately requested I not repeat on meeting me for a second time and one of whom had been impressively rude and had almost prompted me to lose my cool and upbraid her on her despicable behaviour (which my mother then did after I had left) and one of whom is the younger sister of a school-fellow of mine) that I had never particularly imagined having even with my sister that was surprisingly un-awkward on both sides (although I did at one point remove myself from the room so that certain issues could be clarified with the minimum of embarrassment); received a rather wonderful e-mail that I shall certainly come back to in the future; went to a Hamlet conference in London, because I am that cool, and actually made notes; went to see Bloc Party live with Remily and pleezpleezme; went to a school carol service for the first time ever, and enjoyed it; discovered that my father owned a fob-watch which he used to wear to work every day; received a history of the Wellington Boot as a Secret Santa present; managed to get glitter adhering to so much of my available surface area at and preparing for safebox's sparkly shindig that I am still finding it all over my house (and, as I have been singularly unable to remove it from the inside of my hat, all over my hair as well, although that does not explain the occasional instances of glitter in my beard. I should probably change my pillow.); sort of technically cheated on train-tickets (although all I did was get off the train that I had paid to be on and then get back on it a while later, because I was passing and I could do); receiving the two most fantastic Christmas cards I have received in my whole life (thank you catgryph and builtofsorrow!) had delicious tea and cake at amy_chang_12's house; discovered Spider both Solitaire and that a passing acquaintance of mine at school is also a passing acquaintance of mine from somewhere else some years previously, although mysteriously and confusingly now going by a different name; drove a brand spanking new car home from a garage (which was awesome. So very awesome. And so much more awesome than the old car. And so very unexpected. And so awesome); and spent a thoroughly enjoyable New Years Eve at the home of charcoal_cloud, in the company of many marvellous people, wearing the most fantastic waistcoat that anybody has ever seen.
So that was my December. I have, of course, omitted a number of occurrences, instances and happenings, as one will inevitably do when attempting to concertina thirty-one days into a manageable paragraph or so, but the above will certainly serve as a montage of edited highlights, perhaps to be revisited and expanded upon at a later date.
Thus far my January has involved the following: Torchwood Episode 1, an early start, tidying up, suffering fools with grace, reading the Jonathan Carroll book that locowerewolf bought me, watching Muppet Treasure Island under duress with pleezpleezme, listening to some wonderful music given to me by said person (which is wonderful and who is also wonderful, respectively), reading Treasure Island because it is awesome travelling by bus to W___________ to rave it up and then coming back early to do some work and spending a lovely evening with my parents and my sister and purplefringe and her mother.
This seems to be a promising start.