Daisy.
'Well, if I take all these things and I bury them fast
And then pray that they turn to seeds, to roots and then grass,
It'd be alright, it's alright; it'd be easier that way...
Or if the sky opened up and started pouring rain
Like it knew it was time to start things over again,
It'd be alright, it's alright; it'd be easier that way...'
'Suffered a swift defeat; I'll endure countless repeats.
The gift of memory's an awful curse;
With age it just gets much worse, but I won't mind...'
(Brand New, 'Daisy' and Death Cab for Cutie, 'Stable Song')
I'm writing this entry in the renovated section of the campus library downstairs, towards the front of the building where a set of computers and the newspapers used to be. This was where I'd come in and print off my assignments around the time of a deadline if the larger computer room to the other side of the building was already full (which it frequently is); now, it's full of cute pink, purple and black plush furniture with a wider seating area. It has a more comfortable and social atmosphere than further upstairs, which now has colour coded areas determining how loud you can be. One woman browsing the shelves snapped the other day when I found myself sitting near my old flatmate Nick in the red 'silent study' area and we dared to ask how the other was, even though we were the only three people on the entire floor. The semester doesn't start until next Monday; campus is still quieter than usual but the daily increase is noticeable. It won't be long before we're flooded with freshers. I currently wouldn't mind having their lack of need of responsibility.
.
I've been on campus most days for the last few week or so, trying to plod through all the administrative duties that come with being CWS President, among other things: booking rooms for our coming workshops, and having to rebook some, meeting Jodie to plan the first of said workshops, requesting a publicity grant from the student union, organising our stall for Socmart next week, etc, etc. Our Halloween open mic will now take place by candelight in a local church, after Amy Wragg, an ex-CWS member who runs regular events for local performance artists, extended me an offer to let us join in. I'm currently quite uninspired by the idea of unnecessary effort, so each day passes by without any new poetry. I look forward to having a jolt awake at the beginning of next week.
The Friday before last (4th), Jodie and I went for a Starbucks in the city on an afternoon the chill of autumn clearly made its reappearance. We mainly discussed her current crush, who is, predictably awkwardly, moving away in a week or two. Jodie has been a model of pragmatism as long as I've known her, never expressing infatuation with anyone before, so her new nervousness has an element of charm. She told me that her housemates are revelling in her discomfort, seeing as she has been presented with a situation where she can't rationalise her way out. Conversation also flitted upon workshops, how our funerals would be (I suggested that I wouldn't mind balloons) and whether we planned on having children. I can't say I'm sure about that one at the moment. The Starbucks was inside a Borders, so I bought Russell's The Conquest of Happiness before we parted ways, Nicole surprising me with a phone call just as I got through the door at home. There's my incomprehensible relationship: a state which has long been constant.
I had a quiet weekend retrieving my computer's music before seeing Jodie again at the Fat Cat on Monday, along with Jay and Bex. Jay has now permanently moved out, I believe, but he's been granted the honour of keeping his spare key. Jay and I spent most of the night at the bar, having political discussions with the strangers sitting nearby. One of the men that came to the bar (Welsh, I believe, around our age) admitted that he would probably vote BNP, expressing the need to vote to extremes in order to reach a balance. Although he seemed friendly enough, I marked everything he said with a tinge of caution after that.
Wednesday summarised my frustrating friendship with Jay; I got home after spending the day on campus, actually having managed to make some small progress with Orientation (I found a Picasso painting in one of my Rilke epigraphs - I now have a nice track to guide the centrepiece along. Eventually, I'll start putting these in The Thumb Compass!), to have a conversation with Jay about how the CWS was going. When he asked me about the progress of his 'Arts Council' idea, I tried my best to avoid eye contact. Finally, I said to him that I was ignoring it entirely, as had been my intention all along, saying that it requires too much effort and organisation, especially at this time of year, and I was busy enough focusing on our usual projects. Jay wasn't amused.
'Whatever, it's your society. It isn't too much effort at all,' he said. 'It just needs some intelligence and ambition, for God's sake.' I didn't take his insinuation lightly, but typically stayed silent and let him walk out of the room, quickly becoming haunted by the spirit of the staircase. If he cares so much about his idea going to waste, why doesn't he take the option we offered him: to pursue it unhindered by any other duties and keep me in the know? Why does he need to be in charge? I admit I can get caught up by big ideas, but he seems to have forgotten the importance of the details; in this situation, he seems very farsighted. I haven't seen or spoken to him again since I went to bed that night.
On Thursday, I bumped into David Langdon whilst in the Union bar. I was emailing Stephen Benson, having suffered another pang for the Words and Music module, to see if there was any chance I could sit in the class unofficially. Unfortunately, it's too over-subscribed for me to fit. I was set to meet him again for a discussion yesterday but unfortunately arrived a few minutes late. There is obviously no chance of my forcing a way into the class, but hopefully I can cadge a copy of the module outline so at least I can pursue its ideas in my spare time. Having the career ambitions that I do, I feel my not taking part in some way would be a horrendously missed opportunity.
After giving Jodie a call, the three of us sat discussing workshops over lunch. David is much more resourceful than he gives himself credit - I can see how he was a good Secretary in my first year. I also sat with Hazy and Sam Tucker briefly, who were watching England's women footballers in the European Championship final. They were blatantly perving. I met Sam the next day for lunch in the newly renovated coffee shop on campus - I'd accidentally left my room booking confirmation sheet with her the previous day. Spending time with her again brought memories of my first year. I might see her again at the Returner's LCR tomorrow night, depending on who's going. Now that would be a flashback.
That night, alone in the house again, I ordered a Domino's pizza online (genius system) and had some quiet conversations, in particular with Emily Collier. Emily's a friend from Eccles that I met online at the start of my fresher year, and saw in person a few times last summer. She's probably the youngest of my current friends, having just turned seventeen, but has a certain maturity stamped upon her due to her problems with chronic anxiety. She's just been removed from Eccles College due to non-attendance, caused at first by her anxiety and then glandular fever, explaining why I hadn't seen her for so long. Now she's on a home course for her AS Levels, and optimistic about refinding her balance. Situations such as hers help put my own problems into perspective. As Catherine said to me that night, 'the person I am has been modelled out of successive sadnesses. ...It's not a second skin, but (more) like the shape of you has been carved more clearly after every blow.'
It was Colin's eighteen birthday last weekend, so my parents drove down to Downham Market to visit for a few days. I saw my Dad for the first time in months as he picked me up early on Saturday morning in his shining new black Mazda (a hugely impressive car compared to the stuffy Fiat Brava that he owned for the last decade).
During the hour long drive on a largely empty road, listening to my copy of The Resistance which strangely arrived that morning, two days before its release, we were caught behind a minivan chugging down the motorway. 'That exhaust's going to go,' Dad said as we watched grey splutter emerge from the back. His prophecy quickly came true as the back of the van exploded in smoke with us driving straight into the murk. Dad slowed down immediately, as we both envisaged being shunted from the back, and I shouted for him to put the hazard light on. Thankfully, the van already had stopped right in front of us, and with the road relatively clear we reversed slightly to speed off in the neighbouring lane. It's the closest to a car accident I've ever been in but I felt surprisingly safe. We were lucky the motorway was so clear!
We prepared for Colin's party by setting up a gazebo in the garden, filling it with Christmas lights and flying an '18' balloon through a hole in the roof. I wondered about the strictness of my aunt and uncle when they made clear that Colin's friends wouldn't be allowed into the house, and that the party would be over by 11. With the weather as calm as it was and the distance that some of the guests had to travel, I suppose that those decisions were justified, but I still disagree with some of their petty house rules. I'm glad that I was brought up by such lenient parents!
Around ten of Colin's friends turned up - a decent turnout in the circumstances, and by the end of the night I managed to make friends with a few of them with the help of some drink, an acoustic guitar and the two party mix CDs I made. I felt sorry for Kathryn and her friend Meg, who were being ignored by the older kids, and so kept flitting between the two groups. Kathryn (who is three months off fourteen, it must be said) had a sly try of some alcopops under my supervision, and ended the night trying to feign sobriety, as did Colin and I until his parents went to bed when I called Charlotte asking to use foodstuffs as names for any future children. I'm not the best example for what I consider my younger siblings! At least Colin enjoyed himself, but I'm still going to take a break from alcohol. I doubt it will last beyond Socmart next week, or even the LCR tomorrow night.
I was up at 6.30 the next morning with a hangover, so I drank a bottle of water and watched Match of the Day. Everyone was up a few hours later to watch Colin open his presents - I bought him a guitar tuner under advice of my aunt. My family were disappointed that I didn't write him a card, but I prefer to avoid buying them if possible: I find them too impersonal and concise, brief and undeveloped thoughts. It was my intention to write him a letter, now that he is a man, but he didn't seem too concerned about it. Most cards don't get looked at again once they've been opened and read.
As happened last year, we all went to the local Indian for a decent lunch. I spent most of it sat next to Kathryn as Colin spoke with his friend Jack. When we got back, the three of us watched Family Guy - I took a nap halfway through following the lack of sleep earlier. We laughed over a few more Internet memes and then I had a game of poker with Colin. He's still very much a beginner (I beat him relatively comfortably when I pushed him all in on pocket 3s holding a pair of Jacks) but he's clearly eager to learn more about the game. We then watched the Muse album's bonus DVD together before going to bed. He got the same CD the next day, later getting a poker set of his own - one can't question his enthusiasm for his interests.
The next day, following the customary few hours on Wii Fit and Wii Sports, Colin was the one to escort me home, with my uncle Iain giving him advice from the passenger seat. I was slightly uneasy, but despite some shaky moments, as are typical with learners, Colin wasn't as bad a driver as I had thought he would be. It won't be too long before he passes his test.
The house is beginning to fill up again now. Jack came back two nights ago but has returned home briefly to celebrate his twenty-first. We'll hold our own for him over the next few days. Tonight, I watched In Bruges with Gemma, Andi and Louise (the house's Northern Irish friend) - an interesting dark comedy that made me want to read more Pinter. My only experience so far has been with Krapp's Last Tape.
My module schedule came through today, with my only seminar on a Tuesday:
Monday
Free day (technically, but I should be using these to write my dissertation).
Tuesday
2pm - 5pm: Poetry in Dark Times seminar with Jo Catling, Arts 2.85
Wednesday
Free day. (CWS workshop normally 3pm - 5pm, with customary pub visit afterward.)
Thursday
Free day.
Friday
Free day. (CWS workshop normally 3pm - 5pm, with customary pub visit afterward.)
It's almost obscene, isn't it? My work has been left entirely to me now. Let's see how I get on.
I'd like to spend the rest of the week getting something for Orientation, along with getting the CWS committee together for the first meeting of the year. I currently have a doctor's appointment for about an hour in the middle of Socmart so I hope there will be enough people to take care of the stall!
It's been decided that Charlotte will be joining me and the rest of my family on our cruise to the Canary Islands over the Christmas period. She'll be sharing a room with me and my parents, but with some earplugs and some patience that should be entirely bearable. I knew that Charlotte would have otherwise been at her mum's for Christmas, and that she dislikes spending any more time with her mother than she has to, so the cruise would provide an exciting escape. Christmas Day is also her birthday so I obviously wanted to be with her for that, even more so than I usually do if that's possible. I'm looking forward to our dressing up and walking arm in arm into the dining room, although any Titanic parallels are best avoided!
I decided I wouldn't pay so much to have the old hard drive fixed so I'm currently waiting for its return from Sprowston. My mother praised the maturity of my decision - it seems even memories have a price. Maybe I'll destroy it when it gets back: the remnants of two years could pass away for good, and I could deal with their deaths as we deal with any other - the sharp emptiness of loss dulling by the day, but walking with the ghosts forever dancing in my mind. (1.50am, Thursday 17th September.)
And then pray that they turn to seeds, to roots and then grass,
It'd be alright, it's alright; it'd be easier that way...
Or if the sky opened up and started pouring rain
Like it knew it was time to start things over again,
It'd be alright, it's alright; it'd be easier that way...'
'Suffered a swift defeat; I'll endure countless repeats.
The gift of memory's an awful curse;
With age it just gets much worse, but I won't mind...'
(Brand New, 'Daisy' and Death Cab for Cutie, 'Stable Song')
I'm writing this entry in the renovated section of the campus library downstairs, towards the front of the building where a set of computers and the newspapers used to be. This was where I'd come in and print off my assignments around the time of a deadline if the larger computer room to the other side of the building was already full (which it frequently is); now, it's full of cute pink, purple and black plush furniture with a wider seating area. It has a more comfortable and social atmosphere than further upstairs, which now has colour coded areas determining how loud you can be. One woman browsing the shelves snapped the other day when I found myself sitting near my old flatmate Nick in the red 'silent study' area and we dared to ask how the other was, even though we were the only three people on the entire floor. The semester doesn't start until next Monday; campus is still quieter than usual but the daily increase is noticeable. It won't be long before we're flooded with freshers. I currently wouldn't mind having their lack of need of responsibility.
.
I've been on campus most days for the last few week or so, trying to plod through all the administrative duties that come with being CWS President, among other things: booking rooms for our coming workshops, and having to rebook some, meeting Jodie to plan the first of said workshops, requesting a publicity grant from the student union, organising our stall for Socmart next week, etc, etc. Our Halloween open mic will now take place by candelight in a local church, after Amy Wragg, an ex-CWS member who runs regular events for local performance artists, extended me an offer to let us join in. I'm currently quite uninspired by the idea of unnecessary effort, so each day passes by without any new poetry. I look forward to having a jolt awake at the beginning of next week.
The Friday before last (4th), Jodie and I went for a Starbucks in the city on an afternoon the chill of autumn clearly made its reappearance. We mainly discussed her current crush, who is, predictably awkwardly, moving away in a week or two. Jodie has been a model of pragmatism as long as I've known her, never expressing infatuation with anyone before, so her new nervousness has an element of charm. She told me that her housemates are revelling in her discomfort, seeing as she has been presented with a situation where she can't rationalise her way out. Conversation also flitted upon workshops, how our funerals would be (I suggested that I wouldn't mind balloons) and whether we planned on having children. I can't say I'm sure about that one at the moment. The Starbucks was inside a Borders, so I bought Russell's The Conquest of Happiness before we parted ways, Nicole surprising me with a phone call just as I got through the door at home. There's my incomprehensible relationship: a state which has long been constant.
I had a quiet weekend retrieving my computer's music before seeing Jodie again at the Fat Cat on Monday, along with Jay and Bex. Jay has now permanently moved out, I believe, but he's been granted the honour of keeping his spare key. Jay and I spent most of the night at the bar, having political discussions with the strangers sitting nearby. One of the men that came to the bar (Welsh, I believe, around our age) admitted that he would probably vote BNP, expressing the need to vote to extremes in order to reach a balance. Although he seemed friendly enough, I marked everything he said with a tinge of caution after that.
Wednesday summarised my frustrating friendship with Jay; I got home after spending the day on campus, actually having managed to make some small progress with Orientation (I found a Picasso painting in one of my Rilke epigraphs - I now have a nice track to guide the centrepiece along. Eventually, I'll start putting these in The Thumb Compass!), to have a conversation with Jay about how the CWS was going. When he asked me about the progress of his 'Arts Council' idea, I tried my best to avoid eye contact. Finally, I said to him that I was ignoring it entirely, as had been my intention all along, saying that it requires too much effort and organisation, especially at this time of year, and I was busy enough focusing on our usual projects. Jay wasn't amused.
'Whatever, it's your society. It isn't too much effort at all,' he said. 'It just needs some intelligence and ambition, for God's sake.' I didn't take his insinuation lightly, but typically stayed silent and let him walk out of the room, quickly becoming haunted by the spirit of the staircase. If he cares so much about his idea going to waste, why doesn't he take the option we offered him: to pursue it unhindered by any other duties and keep me in the know? Why does he need to be in charge? I admit I can get caught up by big ideas, but he seems to have forgotten the importance of the details; in this situation, he seems very farsighted. I haven't seen or spoken to him again since I went to bed that night.
On Thursday, I bumped into David Langdon whilst in the Union bar. I was emailing Stephen Benson, having suffered another pang for the Words and Music module, to see if there was any chance I could sit in the class unofficially. Unfortunately, it's too over-subscribed for me to fit. I was set to meet him again for a discussion yesterday but unfortunately arrived a few minutes late. There is obviously no chance of my forcing a way into the class, but hopefully I can cadge a copy of the module outline so at least I can pursue its ideas in my spare time. Having the career ambitions that I do, I feel my not taking part in some way would be a horrendously missed opportunity.
After giving Jodie a call, the three of us sat discussing workshops over lunch. David is much more resourceful than he gives himself credit - I can see how he was a good Secretary in my first year. I also sat with Hazy and Sam Tucker briefly, who were watching England's women footballers in the European Championship final. They were blatantly perving. I met Sam the next day for lunch in the newly renovated coffee shop on campus - I'd accidentally left my room booking confirmation sheet with her the previous day. Spending time with her again brought memories of my first year. I might see her again at the Returner's LCR tomorrow night, depending on who's going. Now that would be a flashback.
That night, alone in the house again, I ordered a Domino's pizza online (genius system) and had some quiet conversations, in particular with Emily Collier. Emily's a friend from Eccles that I met online at the start of my fresher year, and saw in person a few times last summer. She's probably the youngest of my current friends, having just turned seventeen, but has a certain maturity stamped upon her due to her problems with chronic anxiety. She's just been removed from Eccles College due to non-attendance, caused at first by her anxiety and then glandular fever, explaining why I hadn't seen her for so long. Now she's on a home course for her AS Levels, and optimistic about refinding her balance. Situations such as hers help put my own problems into perspective. As Catherine said to me that night, 'the person I am has been modelled out of successive sadnesses. ...It's not a second skin, but (more) like the shape of you has been carved more clearly after every blow.'
It was Colin's eighteen birthday last weekend, so my parents drove down to Downham Market to visit for a few days. I saw my Dad for the first time in months as he picked me up early on Saturday morning in his shining new black Mazda (a hugely impressive car compared to the stuffy Fiat Brava that he owned for the last decade).
During the hour long drive on a largely empty road, listening to my copy of The Resistance which strangely arrived that morning, two days before its release, we were caught behind a minivan chugging down the motorway. 'That exhaust's going to go,' Dad said as we watched grey splutter emerge from the back. His prophecy quickly came true as the back of the van exploded in smoke with us driving straight into the murk. Dad slowed down immediately, as we both envisaged being shunted from the back, and I shouted for him to put the hazard light on. Thankfully, the van already had stopped right in front of us, and with the road relatively clear we reversed slightly to speed off in the neighbouring lane. It's the closest to a car accident I've ever been in but I felt surprisingly safe. We were lucky the motorway was so clear!
We prepared for Colin's party by setting up a gazebo in the garden, filling it with Christmas lights and flying an '18' balloon through a hole in the roof. I wondered about the strictness of my aunt and uncle when they made clear that Colin's friends wouldn't be allowed into the house, and that the party would be over by 11. With the weather as calm as it was and the distance that some of the guests had to travel, I suppose that those decisions were justified, but I still disagree with some of their petty house rules. I'm glad that I was brought up by such lenient parents!
Around ten of Colin's friends turned up - a decent turnout in the circumstances, and by the end of the night I managed to make friends with a few of them with the help of some drink, an acoustic guitar and the two party mix CDs I made. I felt sorry for Kathryn and her friend Meg, who were being ignored by the older kids, and so kept flitting between the two groups. Kathryn (who is three months off fourteen, it must be said) had a sly try of some alcopops under my supervision, and ended the night trying to feign sobriety, as did Colin and I until his parents went to bed when I called Charlotte asking to use foodstuffs as names for any future children. I'm not the best example for what I consider my younger siblings! At least Colin enjoyed himself, but I'm still going to take a break from alcohol. I doubt it will last beyond Socmart next week, or even the LCR tomorrow night.
I was up at 6.30 the next morning with a hangover, so I drank a bottle of water and watched Match of the Day. Everyone was up a few hours later to watch Colin open his presents - I bought him a guitar tuner under advice of my aunt. My family were disappointed that I didn't write him a card, but I prefer to avoid buying them if possible: I find them too impersonal and concise, brief and undeveloped thoughts. It was my intention to write him a letter, now that he is a man, but he didn't seem too concerned about it. Most cards don't get looked at again once they've been opened and read.
As happened last year, we all went to the local Indian for a decent lunch. I spent most of it sat next to Kathryn as Colin spoke with his friend Jack. When we got back, the three of us watched Family Guy - I took a nap halfway through following the lack of sleep earlier. We laughed over a few more Internet memes and then I had a game of poker with Colin. He's still very much a beginner (I beat him relatively comfortably when I pushed him all in on pocket 3s holding a pair of Jacks) but he's clearly eager to learn more about the game. We then watched the Muse album's bonus DVD together before going to bed. He got the same CD the next day, later getting a poker set of his own - one can't question his enthusiasm for his interests.
The next day, following the customary few hours on Wii Fit and Wii Sports, Colin was the one to escort me home, with my uncle Iain giving him advice from the passenger seat. I was slightly uneasy, but despite some shaky moments, as are typical with learners, Colin wasn't as bad a driver as I had thought he would be. It won't be too long before he passes his test.
The house is beginning to fill up again now. Jack came back two nights ago but has returned home briefly to celebrate his twenty-first. We'll hold our own for him over the next few days. Tonight, I watched In Bruges with Gemma, Andi and Louise (the house's Northern Irish friend) - an interesting dark comedy that made me want to read more Pinter. My only experience so far has been with Krapp's Last Tape.
My module schedule came through today, with my only seminar on a Tuesday:
Monday
Free day (technically, but I should be using these to write my dissertation).
Tuesday
2pm - 5pm: Poetry in Dark Times seminar with Jo Catling, Arts 2.85
Wednesday
Free day. (CWS workshop normally 3pm - 5pm, with customary pub visit afterward.)
Thursday
Free day.
Friday
Free day. (CWS workshop normally 3pm - 5pm, with customary pub visit afterward.)
It's almost obscene, isn't it? My work has been left entirely to me now. Let's see how I get on.
I'd like to spend the rest of the week getting something for Orientation, along with getting the CWS committee together for the first meeting of the year. I currently have a doctor's appointment for about an hour in the middle of Socmart so I hope there will be enough people to take care of the stall!
It's been decided that Charlotte will be joining me and the rest of my family on our cruise to the Canary Islands over the Christmas period. She'll be sharing a room with me and my parents, but with some earplugs and some patience that should be entirely bearable. I knew that Charlotte would have otherwise been at her mum's for Christmas, and that she dislikes spending any more time with her mother than she has to, so the cruise would provide an exciting escape. Christmas Day is also her birthday so I obviously wanted to be with her for that, even more so than I usually do if that's possible. I'm looking forward to our dressing up and walking arm in arm into the dining room, although any Titanic parallels are best avoided!
I decided I wouldn't pay so much to have the old hard drive fixed so I'm currently waiting for its return from Sprowston. My mother praised the maturity of my decision - it seems even memories have a price. Maybe I'll destroy it when it gets back: the remnants of two years could pass away for good, and I could deal with their deaths as we deal with any other - the sharp emptiness of loss dulling by the day, but walking with the ghosts forever dancing in my mind. (1.50am, Thursday 17th September.)