Re(faux)lution

Life today is terrible, apparently. Or at least so we're told on loop by the media/politicians/parents/employers/anyonewhothinkswearelistening. But lately I've been questioning, are things really 'that' bad?

Yes, obviously there's the issue of horrendous unemployment/general prospects for any type of work available to those under 35. I for one will be/am being affected by this dismal age, I'm a twenty-first-century cliché through and through, and this bothers me. But the cynical part of my humanity keeps thinking: maybe my generation deserves it. This might sound crazy, but when you look at the hardships our parents, grandparents, ancestors went through, this economic crisis or whatever you want to call it seems a little bit superficial in comparison. Perhaps, therefore, this is just part of nature's natural cycle; tough times are inevitable. In fact, we need phases like this, if only to prove to ourselves that we are still capable of surviving.

But I'm still left with the uncomfortable knowledge that I feel as though I was born in totally the wrong period. I think that's why I found it so difficult to give a rat's arse about the mini-'revolutions' that started to spring up when tuition fees rocketed skywards/nhs, arts, general life cuts were rolled out. My apathetic outlook should be condemned, obviously, but that still doesn't make me want to care enough.

Had I been conceived 60 years ago, my attitude might have been quite different.

temporary hitch; a technical glitch

Skool's out for the summer?

 Apparently not, in my case. As an MA'er, summer has officially been cancelled. Instead, I'm left with the very un-summery task of attempting to research, write, and generally give a flying poo about a suitable dissertation topic. Somewhat ironically, I preempted just how taxing this would be, by opting to focus on the idea of Stress. Haha, clever me eh.

Hmm.

The prospect sounded almost idyllic, back in a particularly bleak January, of being given the 'freedom' of undertaking such profoundly independent study during the warmer months. In theory, it should be - empty library, untapped resources, calm and quiet. In reality, it sucks. While everyone else is planning exciting getaways to hotter climes, I'm stuck trying to figure out how psychological theories of anxiety can be related to the Victorian novel as a form.

So, are the proverbial carefree days of Summer well and truly over? Probably.

it's the littlest things

it really is.

I've started to notice, at an ever increasing rate, that the small, simple things in life create the biggest difference. This year has been a lonely one. Sad, but very true. Left to continue my studies in the same small city I once shared with a wonderful, extended group of friends (but some less important acquaintances), I now feel like a claustrophobic trapped in that proverbial lift. I want out, basically.

By 'simple things' I mean the special treat of being able to rely on someone (often on a daily basis) with whom to grab an all-important coffee/cupoftea/caffeine based beverage, to alleviate the monotonous black hole that serves as a rather poignant metaphor of 'studying'. I no longer have this newly deemed luxury. I need it.

I feel like an unbelievably monstrous person for bemoaning my relatively pathetic 'woes', seeing as I have (relatively, in the grand scheme of things) good health, a rather lovely abode in which to live, and I still have friends, they just don't live within less than a hundred miles from me. The fact still remains, however, that I am overwhelmed by a sense of some void. Now I just need to figure out how to fill it.

reshuffle.

The age-old philosophy of 'you can't change the past' is embedded into our subconscious. This is nonsense, however. Of course you can re-write history, but only if you're willing to, and capable of, adapting the past to move it into the present, and subsequently the future. Perhaps your average joe finds it comforting to resign himself to the fact that what's happened, happened; there's nothing he can do about it. I refute the idea that taking solace in such resignation is constructive, or legitimate even. Instead, it encourages a lack of responsibility. If something has occurred and is now over-and-done-with, what's the use of a retrospective outlook? What's the point in 'history', if it's history? But surely, if your past can't influence your future, then why did it happen in the first place? Not that I'm a fully paid up member of the Everything Happens For A Reason fanclub. Nevetheless, a sense of purpose has its place.

Besides, retro seems to be having its day. Maybe it would do us all some good to look back a little bit more.

Cloud Nine.

I had a dream last night. A really, really good one. The kind that you try to force yourself back into the drowsy confines for.

Nightmares are not so hot. I've succumbed to a particularly lucid and recurring one of late which actually resulted in my waking up to a tear-soaked pillow the following morning. Scary stuff. But not really. More the fact that I genuinely felt this episode could finally manifest itself in reality.

And there's nothing you can do about anything that happens during the irritatingly intangible R.E.M state. Annoyingly. Otherwise I might have managed to bag myself that fantastically talented sugar-daddy-come-silver-fox I envisaged last night.

I want the fantasy, dammit.

guilty pleasures

I've started to notice that I have an extremely irrational relationship with the concept of guilt.

I'm not quite sure if I'd be classified as a worrier, but I do seem to feel the effects of stress easily. I also chastise myself for the strangest things. I set myself unorthodox 'goals', and if these are not achieved, I get upset. Sometimes I might even weep at my ineptitude.

When it comes to feeling guilty, any sense of rationality goes right out the proverbial window.

Some people are wracked with unquantifiable amounts of self-reproach if they cheat on their partner; others when they've 'somehow' managed to devour a family-sized chocolate bar in its entirety, in one sitting.

Alcohol consumption has become a recent source of shame on my part. Not because I should be attending AA sessions or anything. But, rather than being innocently rose-tinted, my beer goggles have developed an increasingly green hue. This means that I turn into a jealous, paranoid, generally-not-oh-so-nice individual, with the subsequent effect of feeling like a complete turd the day after the night before.

Finance is also a major source of remorse: those strings can always be tighter on that purse. So much so, that I impose ridiculous spending regulations on myself that are, on occasions, completely unwarranted. And then I'll go and splurge fifty quid on utter crap in some online 'flash sale'. Go figure.

And so it continues. Until I find that spider spinning its web.