On Tuesday - the day after the most depressing day of the year which is the 18th January apparently - I felt really, well, depressed. The sad feelings started seeping out after reading my stand-up comedy friend Jonathan Elston's blog. He'd been doing a gig in Ripon, which is quite close to my home town, and said that until he went there he never realised class divides still exist and that the audience flinched when he mentioned someone being gay. It reminded me why I left Yorkshire in the first place. He told me that one bloke said, "I have to take my kids to Leeds to see coloured people." Talk about living in the past with the use of language, Riponian. That wasn't the only thing that bothered me about it...
One of the reasons I moved to London was because of how white-middle-class Harrogate is. A couple of friends from Birmingham came to stay with me once and the first thing they said when they got off the train was, "Where are all the black people?"
When I told some friends up here that I wanted to move to London because of how white Harrogate is they said, "That's precisely the reason we're staying." It fills me with great regret that I'm from a place of such narrow mindedness and it made me wonder if moving back here was the right decision.
I moved back to get some distance from London because it was starting to stifle me. I'd been working in film and TV (mainly post-production) for 3 years and wasn't getting anywhere. I was made redundant on a wage that wasn't even enough to start paying back my student loan let alone anything more exciting. But probably the main reason I moved back was to be close to someone I still have feelings for and that's probably not the best reason for doing something. But I really feel you should give love a chance and coming from someone who NEVER gives love a chance that's some statement.
On Tuesday night I told this person why I was upset by what I'd read and that I wished people were more open up here. He said he didn't think I belonged in Harrogate. Brilliant. I probably should have thought of that before I moved. But then I often feel I don't belong anywhere and it's not the greatest feeling in the world. This sounds so "woe is me" - I don't mean it to sound that way but I never feel comfortable anywhere and am seriously lacking purpose.
The conversation moved from one topic to another and he told me he's not really happy with what he's doing but when I suggested different things he could do it seemed like he's too scared to change things (mainly for financial reasons) and I don't know for sure, because I've not asked him yet, but I get the feeling he'll never leave Harrogate and I'm not sure I can stay.
Yesterday I went to my mum's house to pack up the rest of my stuff to take to my grandma's where I'm now staying. I went to the toilet and had a read through the latest Hello! magazine. That's what I love most about my mum's - there's always something to read on the loo and although I do the fastest poos in the world (I should probably get on the phone to the Guinness Book of Records about that) I will sit on the toilet for hours reading, well looking at the pictures in those mags. I got to my star sign:
AQUARIUS:
It's early enough in the new year to contemplate new beginnings, but some people seem determined to keep going round in circles for the rest of their lives. That is fine if it suits them. It is not so fine for you, though; you want to stay with them, yet you also want to travel down a road that is going somewhere.
Wow, were they sitting in my mind when they wrote that? This wasn't your average, generalised horoscope; this was exactly how I felt and the sadness swelled a little.
I went to my mum and told her that my horoscope couldn't have been more relevant to the way I'm feeling right now and she enthusiastically reached for her angel cards which I refused to have anything to do with over the Christmas period (she'd been desperate to "do my reading"). At this point I thought I could use all the help I could get. She split the pack into two piles and told me to pick as many cards from either pile as I wanted. I picked up one pile and a card fell out. She told me there was a reason for that so I chose that one and another that had stayed put. I didn't feel the need for more.
The one that had fallen out was an angel called Astara. It said, "You deserve the best! Reach for the stars with your dreams and desires, and don't compromise." It went on to say such things as "It isn't selfish to desire a better life" and "We have noticed a reluctance on your part to ask for help". The latter comment freaked me out a bit as one of my biggest flaws is not asking for help and then I'm stuck in a rut for eternity. Everything else that was said rang true to me like the fact I don't feel like I deserve good things and it made me feel hopeful that things might get better. I'm not sure how I feel about believing in angels but if they're telling me they can make things better if I just ask then I'm going to give them a chance.
I'll be the one talking to myself/the angels in the street.
The other angel card said I "have a burning desire to make the world a better place." I was trying not to get emotional - I often find myself in tears about how horrible the world we live in is but never really know what I can do about it apart from bopping people on the head for being narrow-minded. On Monday I'd been looking into volunteering in Haiti with no luck. When the angel card went on to say, "Right now, your life's mission is expanding so that you can reach even more people" I decided to look into it again. My friend Emma had written something on her Facebook wall saying her work had been one of the first on the scene so I went to their website to see if they were looking for people to help. It directed me to their US website but they need people with medical or disaster experience. The biggest disaster I've experienced is there being no milk in the fridge on my 16th birthday. My mum suggested that maybe it means reaching people through writing. But who even reads what I write? And what do I really say of any worth?
I am aware that it is slightly ridiculous to take to heart something written on a bit of paper that's been picked at random but when you are lost and don't know where to turn what else is there to do?
I apologise for the moroseness of this post. I'm just feeling particularly anxious and I don't think having limited access to the internet is helping. This is completely my fault for deciding to stay at my grandma's rather than my mum's. I thought fewer distractions (i.e. Facebook and Hello!) would be helpful. I don't know whether you've experienced it but there is always something I forget to do when I only have a certain amount of time on the internet or there's not enough time to do things properly.
I really have no idea what I'm going to do with my life or even what I'm doing right now. I wish I knew what I was good at; sometimes I wonder if I'm actually good at anything. I really wish someone would commit me to a mental asylum. That's somewhere I definitely belong.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Thursday, 21 January 2010
Friday, 17 July 2009
Supervisor Steve and Sanitary Bins
You may be aware that my supervisor Steve is the funniest man ever to have walked the land. I would very much like to give him his own television show but as I am in no position to do such a thing he remains Head of Despatch at our postproduction company. Here are some of his antics in the last week or so…
On Thursday last week Mike had a bit of milk left in the bottle once he’d used the rest for his cereal so he asked Steve if he wanted to drink it as he tends to enjoy our dregs. On taking a sip Steve stated seriously, ‘God, that milk’s cold. I can feel it entering my lower colon.’ If this wasn’t amusing enough he went on to say, ‘I can feel it rushing past my appendix.’ I was laughing so hard at his deadpan expression and choice of internal organs that saliva nearly fell out of my mouth. On typing this up the hysterics began again so I’ll be sure to read this little paragraph if I’m ever feeling miserable.
The same day our other supervisor Jack had a clear up of his desk area, which inspired me to do the same as I’m a bit of a scrap-paper fiend. On sorting through my pile of paper I came across a poem I wrote about a year ago; in an attempt to get Mike’s comedic juices flowing I'd set us an exercise from the book of a comedy genius whose stand up comedy course I had attended in 2007. The task was to write a love poem written by a sanitary engineer. This is mine:
Love Poem of a Sanitary Engineer (bog fixer, sanitary bin installer/taker awayer)
How I love thee, Sanitary Bin,
Not only your outsides but all that’s within.
The glistening fluid that highlights your grey hair,
Makes me want to stand all day and stare.
I’ve never smelt a smell as sweet,
As the smell that you excrete.
And the way you overflow with love and rose stained strings,
Fills me with desire and makes my heart sing.
Personally I think this is quite good but I feel the title should be something more like Ode to Sanitary Bin. That would be more fitting and romantic.
On Friday Steve used the word gusset twice and said that you can eat pubic crabs if you feed them up enough. I won’t be accepting an invitation to dinner at his house in a hurry.
On Tuesday of this week, after eating two of the brownies I made at the weekend, he declared, ‘She’s good at brownies that go in your mouth and brownies that come out her bum.’ That man has a way with words. I’d go as far as to say he’s the Shakespeare of the 21st century.
On Wednesday however his Shakespearean reputation was in tatters when he insulted me in front of everyone in the office. He was saying that we are all ageist (he is around 50 years old and has a real age complex) and so I took it upon myself to remind him that he could be done for sexual harrassment and weightism, as he’s constantly telling Mike that he’s a fatty, so he has no legs to stand on. We were all laughing about it and having a good time. He said that he wouldn’t call Mike fat if he actually was and then these words came out of his mouth, ‘You don’t hear me saying anything about Sonia’s complexion do you?’ and rather than realising he’d gone a bit too far he continued to go on about my skin and how it makes me have low self esteem. It was word vomit central. I was so shocked I exclaimed, ‘Oh my god, Steve!’ and as I looked at my computer screen tears involuntarily started coming out of my eyes without so much as a facial crumple. I was hurt that he used something against me that he knows I struggle with. I could hear him typing an email straight after and I nearly said, ‘If you’re typing an email to me I wouldn’t waste your time,’ but I didn’t want to seem presumptious. But sure enough I got a new email alert and this is what he’d sent:Sonia - I am a fucking twat.
I didn't mean any of those comments. When I start I do not know when to stop.
You are the last person that I would ever want to hurt.
I am so sorry. Please forgive me.
A few seconds later he came over and said, ‘Did you see my email?’ to which I replied that I was not interested. He kept saying sorry over and over and then proceeded to ask me what I was having for tea. I asked him very politely, ‘Please can you just leave me alone, is that alright?’
The next morning he came straight over to me saying such things as, ‘Are we going to forget about tomorrow?’ (he meant yesterday) and, ‘Just be the bigger person here.’ I went a little bit mad and said, ‘Don’t you dare make me feel bad for something that YOU have said to me,’ and I suggested that he leave things for a while. As a man with a daughter around my age and a wife you’d think he’d know better. You’d be wrong.
Today after a frosty start we are starting to see some sunny intervals and I’m sure come next Monday I’ll be singing his praises and quoting his genius but no doubt he’ll wind me up again with his antagonistic ways some time soon.
All in a (well eight) day’s work.
(Please note that Steve has a Yorkshire accent.)
On Thursday last week Mike had a bit of milk left in the bottle once he’d used the rest for his cereal so he asked Steve if he wanted to drink it as he tends to enjoy our dregs. On taking a sip Steve stated seriously, ‘God, that milk’s cold. I can feel it entering my lower colon.’ If this wasn’t amusing enough he went on to say, ‘I can feel it rushing past my appendix.’ I was laughing so hard at his deadpan expression and choice of internal organs that saliva nearly fell out of my mouth. On typing this up the hysterics began again so I’ll be sure to read this little paragraph if I’m ever feeling miserable.
The same day our other supervisor Jack had a clear up of his desk area, which inspired me to do the same as I’m a bit of a scrap-paper fiend. On sorting through my pile of paper I came across a poem I wrote about a year ago; in an attempt to get Mike’s comedic juices flowing I'd set us an exercise from the book of a comedy genius whose stand up comedy course I had attended in 2007. The task was to write a love poem written by a sanitary engineer. This is mine:
Love Poem of a Sanitary Engineer (bog fixer, sanitary bin installer/taker awayer)
How I love thee, Sanitary Bin,
Not only your outsides but all that’s within.
The glistening fluid that highlights your grey hair,
Makes me want to stand all day and stare.
I’ve never smelt a smell as sweet,
As the smell that you excrete.
And the way you overflow with love and rose stained strings,
Fills me with desire and makes my heart sing.
Personally I think this is quite good but I feel the title should be something more like Ode to Sanitary Bin. That would be more fitting and romantic.
On Friday Steve used the word gusset twice and said that you can eat pubic crabs if you feed them up enough. I won’t be accepting an invitation to dinner at his house in a hurry.
On Tuesday of this week, after eating two of the brownies I made at the weekend, he declared, ‘She’s good at brownies that go in your mouth and brownies that come out her bum.’ That man has a way with words. I’d go as far as to say he’s the Shakespeare of the 21st century.
On Wednesday however his Shakespearean reputation was in tatters when he insulted me in front of everyone in the office. He was saying that we are all ageist (he is around 50 years old and has a real age complex) and so I took it upon myself to remind him that he could be done for sexual harrassment and weightism, as he’s constantly telling Mike that he’s a fatty, so he has no legs to stand on. We were all laughing about it and having a good time. He said that he wouldn’t call Mike fat if he actually was and then these words came out of his mouth, ‘You don’t hear me saying anything about Sonia’s complexion do you?’ and rather than realising he’d gone a bit too far he continued to go on about my skin and how it makes me have low self esteem. It was word vomit central. I was so shocked I exclaimed, ‘Oh my god, Steve!’ and as I looked at my computer screen tears involuntarily started coming out of my eyes without so much as a facial crumple. I was hurt that he used something against me that he knows I struggle with. I could hear him typing an email straight after and I nearly said, ‘If you’re typing an email to me I wouldn’t waste your time,’ but I didn’t want to seem presumptious. But sure enough I got a new email alert and this is what he’d sent:Sonia - I am a fucking twat.
I didn't mean any of those comments. When I start I do not know when to stop.
You are the last person that I would ever want to hurt.
I am so sorry. Please forgive me.
A few seconds later he came over and said, ‘Did you see my email?’ to which I replied that I was not interested. He kept saying sorry over and over and then proceeded to ask me what I was having for tea. I asked him very politely, ‘Please can you just leave me alone, is that alright?’
The next morning he came straight over to me saying such things as, ‘Are we going to forget about tomorrow?’ (he meant yesterday) and, ‘Just be the bigger person here.’ I went a little bit mad and said, ‘Don’t you dare make me feel bad for something that YOU have said to me,’ and I suggested that he leave things for a while. As a man with a daughter around my age and a wife you’d think he’d know better. You’d be wrong.
Today after a frosty start we are starting to see some sunny intervals and I’m sure come next Monday I’ll be singing his praises and quoting his genius but no doubt he’ll wind me up again with his antagonistic ways some time soon.
All in a (well eight) day’s work.
(Please note that Steve has a Yorkshire accent.)
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| Steve, Mike and Jack |
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