On fantasy

Aug. 25th, 2013 08:13 pm
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
 Last night I had a friend over for takeaway, I know her from uni so more a 'thrown together by circumstance' than 'common interests' sort of friend.  I invited her over to watch a movie and, in what I thought was a slightly odd move, she brought dvds with her and later indicated this was because she thought I wouldn't have any films she would enjoy (as it was, she brought Little Miss Sunshine with her which is one of my all time favourite films) but this, it emerged, was because she knew I liked Buffy.  She said she doesn't like anything that's not 'real' because she likes things she can 'imagine [her]self in, imagine it happening' to her.  I tried to explain Buffy is basically hyperreal, it has the supernatural elements as allegories for real life challenges, and I asked if she would watch an episode with me - which she vigorously rejected.  

The more I think about it the weirder it is to me.  Fantastical stuff, hyperreal worlds are where my friends live.  They are very often where I live.  They have provided much needed escape and sanctuary since the moment I could read.  Interstellar Pig was the first sci-fi book I read.  The Chronicles of Narnia were the first alternate-world books I read.  Star Trek was my most beloved tv series - drawing me in right from repeats of the Original Series on Sunday mornings when I was little.  Discworld, His Dark Materials, Buffy, Star Trek: TNG, The Hunger Games, Battlestar Galactica, Philip K Dick, Ray Bradbury, Flight of the Navigator, Back to the Future, the Girl from Tomorrow...the list goes on and on.  

TV, film, and book fiction universally appeals to me when it's about something different and yet the same.  Satire, allegory, utopias, dystopias, futures, alternate worlds and universes.  They mattered and matter to me.  

I want a story I can lose myself in, not slot neatly into.  I want to be transported not consumed.

I feel like the division of 'types of people' can go down this line, those who look to be altered and challenged and dragged to a different place where everything of the everyday is left behind versus those who want 'real', who want stories set in the world they inhabit and there alone.  It's strange to me, the notion of not wanting, or needing an escape and refuge from life which can offer such a rich world you spend your entire youth yearning to wake up in one of those worlds, and most of your adulthood wishing you still believed you might wake up there.
askygoneonfire: if you lived here, you'd be home by now (November the 15th)
 In 26 days I will be 26. Struggling to have any positive feelings about this.

Today I visited the job centre to transfer my claim from the Brighton office. As with the previous visit the advisor was rude and...stupid.  He mocked my signature for looking silly (I know, wut?) and kept laughing at the course title of my Masters (Sexual Dissidence in Literature and Culture) before needing convincing that yes, that is what it says on my degree.  He snorted once more and said "I won't write that on your file" and simply typed 'M.A.'

I spent the afternoon with my brothers, which was lovely.  Although we all had a bit of a weird psychic moment where brother 2 and I left his flat to surprise brother 1 with a visit - 1 didn't know I was even going to be in town today - we arrived to 1's flat but he wasn't in.  So we nipped into the nearby Asda and received a call from 2's partner who was still at their flat.  1 had just arrived.  This means that we both left our respective departure points at the same time, having not planned to meet or visit and all three of us deciding on the spur of the moment to visit at that exact time.  Weirdness.

I got home to my parent's house and my Mum tells me that the school at which she works, the same place I had an interview the other week, want me to work there in some sort of admin role.  Apparently it pays better than the one I interviewed for and I won't have to interview again.  So obviously I'll take it if they offer it to me - don't look a gift horse and all that.  

I was planning on going to the cinema with brother 2 tomorrow for Orange Wednesday to see Salt.  We were going to go to a matinee because it's cheaper and he needs to get home at a reasonable hour to go to bed as his schizophrenia medication makes him sleep for at least 12 hours and he's at work at 7am the following morning.  ANYWAY, I'd be leaving at 1:15pm for the cinema, not unreasonable that I won't be constantly in the house between 8:30am and 4pm, surely? My parents believe I'm being reckless with a solid job offer and I should arrange to stay in ALL DAY.  This is particularly stupid given my Mum could just say to the recruiting woman tomorrow morning "oh, she's only in until 1pm as she has to go to the job centre" or just "go out".  Not unreasonable, right?  Parents continued repeating same thing.

Eventually I packed up my stuff and went upstairs to my room, once again - I've spent a significant portion (if not all) of 5 of the 6 evenings I have been living here for, in my room (and the sixth night was spent at a friends house).  I may as well have got a bedsit and stayed in Brighton.

I am, despite my above refutation, thinking about looking a gift horse in the mouth.  I have spent the last 3 years trapped in a job I hate in a city I love.  I say trapped because of the working pattern of 1 day on, 1 day off, 4 days on, 1 day off, repeat didn't allow me time or energy to look for new jobs with necessary zeal.  Financially, of course, I was also trapped, unable to afford luxuries or save any money, but earning just enough to pay rent and bills; making myself unemployed in Brighton would have been suicide/was unthinkable.  But the gleaming, shining, bouncing, glowing star of optimism that convinced me to move back up North was the idea I would have space and time to find a job I might enjoy, as well as live in a place that would allow me to save for the now mythologised PhD.

In short, whilst the prospect of a job falling into my lap seems a delight, I can't help but sigh a sad sigh and prepare myself to be reinserted into just the working environment I so gleefully fled in Brighton.  I feel trapped all over again and I haven't even had the job offer.

I was meant to be having some sort of careers guidance meeting with an advisor a week on Friday.  I was feeling really positive about that.  And I was planning on going to Nottingham on Thursday to register with some agencies in the hope of striking out into publishing/editing industry - copy writing? Yes please.  But agencies and waiting for the career you've picked to turn up requires having an empty calendar - you have to be able to answer the phone call that says "we have a 3 month contract for a copy writer in x, can you start on Monday?" with "yes" not, "no, I have to give my one months notice first".

I keep getting trapped in this stupid fucking economy with my fucking useless (although, apparently amusing) degree and attempts to break out of it last LESS THAN A MONTH.  I just want a good job.  A graduate job - £20,000 p/a is not an unrealistic salary expectation.  What was the point in going to University, getting myself a £15,000 student debt, when I could have got a job at a local paper or something and worked my way up.  I could have done a degree at 50 if it was still something I felt I needed to do.  Instead I'm completely fucking stuck.

I'm single. And I'm 26(ish) and I'm living with my parents again - the latter being my choice in principle, by only because I thought it was a radical move that'd give me the opportunity to break out of the have no money-get paid-pay rent-have no money cycle of finances I simply couldn't break free of in Brighton.  And here I am, feeling more hopelessly stuck than I have done since I made the decision to move if I didn't find a new job in Brighton back in May.

ETA: Oh, and the rats aren't settling in nearly as well as I hoped they would and the only time they come to me is when they are cowering in fear and want to hide from everything/nothing in my arms/under my legs, rather than for kisses and tickles and hugs like they used to.  I feel fantastically guilty for upsetting them so much

askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
I have two songs absolutely wedged into my head. I think both of them say quite a lot, in one way or another. Indeed the second one I'm linking to is the one complete with the John Lewis advert that is currently running, because I think it's kind of beautiful. And I know that makes me woefully prone to the effect of advertising, but whatevs, I loves it. The first one is beautiful too, only more lyrically than visually;

We still lie together every night, while I sleep I dream that we're all right, if this is love I'd rather keep dreaming, you could never be an actress, I know the knife's underneath the mattress, if this is love I'd rather keep dreaming, dreaming like a fool
The Boy Who Trapped the Sun

Billy Joel/John Lewis

My Northern getaway is drawing to a close and I can say with confidence that I am in no way ready to return to the South. Life down there needs to change dramatically in the next few months or I simply don't know what I'm going to do.

Actually, I think I do. Will review life in September with an option until November to make a decision. Leaving Brighton being the question at hand.

Strange, I thought I loved that city, but a few days away with the situation that is awaiting me on my return? Not so much. "Lately it feels like we're drifting apart". That's the way with love, I suppose.

askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (conor)
Determined. To find the place in the world that rightfully belonged to me. Carve it into my shape.
Believed that love was special and unique but could be found in more than one place.
That love was beautiful because it hurt and was messy and ugly.
Young. Conscious of and reveling in my youth.
Believed in the inherent goodness of people and my ability to see people for who they were.
Fearless... Of the big things. Terrified of the minutae of life.
With a sense of belonging. Alienated at times, but always surrounded and integrated with the world; my friends, my family close by.
Glorious in sleep. Painfully productive and invigorated by insomnia.

I left little pauses, so you could repeat after me.
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
Prompted by a recent post by someone on my livejournal friendslist I have decided I want to write a post which could most accurately be categorised as autobiography. I intend this to be an overview of one aspect of my life this past year. I'm hoping it bookends things for me just by forcing it into a narrative form. I need it to be public, which is why I'm posting it, but I am also aware it has limited appeal, which is why it's below a cut.

Read more... )
askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (conor)
...when I have thoughts like these I wait until they form a coherent whole and I then post the considered, occasionally articulate, contemplation. Tonight, however, I just want to get it out.

Right now I am fearful of an unspecified *something* that looms at the back of my mind. It seems to whisper that my anticipation of what next week will bring is misplaced. That the unformed hopes I have will never achieve a clear shape. It will be unconsummated optimism.

And the fear, the dark cloud whispers, is not of a tangible thing but it is instinctive and well placed. You know what you fear and you should. Because tinsel and champagne will never eradicate the cause. Nothing you await with baited breath ever has or ever will.

You see now why I don't post this? I understand my expression perfectly, it is as solid and exhaustively descriptive as it is possible to be about the solid reality of the emotion which doesn't let me sleep.
askygoneonfire: scribbled 'fuck you richey' over the concentric circles of hell (fuck you richey)
I had a nightmare last night.  Except it wasn't a nightmare in the normal way.

I dreamt I was at my parent house, except it wasn't their house.  It was the house I was living in with Ali and her girlfriend.  They had [what is in reality] my room and I was in the smaller room next door.  Ali was at work, the girlfriend was in the shower but the door to their room was ajar, so I ran in and grabbed the handwritten letter from Ali which was resting on the pillow on the bed.  I hid it inside my pillow case and went downstairs - I didn't want them to know I had stolen it.  In the dream I knew reading the letter would be a bad idea because it would just make me angry/sad that she was saying the things she used to say to me to the girlfriend.

In that non-linear way dreams have, I was next, and quite logically, in the room with the girlfriend and she was sitting quite calmly as I was ripping out chunks of her hair.  I was calling her all the names under the sun and telling her how ugly her hair was and that was why I was pulling it out.  No matter what I did she didn't appear to have any pain and she didn't get angry.  Her failure to respond just prompted me to get angrier and angrier; ripping larger and larger chunks out of her hair.  Ali walked in and looked casually at me.  She took in the scene, shrugged and carried on with what she was doing.  

The anger, the hurt, the pure unadulterated rage, my own impotence to alter what was around me despite phenomenal attempts to elicit change and/or a response; that' s what made this a nightmare and woke me up in fear and upset.

What caused this nightmare? A text message;
"Hi lizzie, sorry to disturb you.  Just wanted to let you know I have *finally* had a letter from the deposit scheme to say all sorted and clear....I hope you're ok. Ali"
And what was my first response to this text message? Recollection of another text she sent me back in September;
" I am due 2 move + when i do will giv u bit more from deposit "
This 'bit more' is also known as the money she owes me.


askygoneonfire: Red and orange sunset over Hove (Default)
a sky gone on fire

August 2017

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