For 14th January 2012
by sequinnedmannequin
As usual, frequency and length of blog posts has a strong relationship to the amount of other things I have to do. I.e. the more important and greater the amount of life tasks requiring attention, the more often I empty my brain onto the internet. Today I did actually manage to clean the flat, including taking out the pile of recycling that’s been multiplying in my hallway since well before Christmas (and if you’ve ever seen my hallway you’ll know that obstructions of any kind, like Ediths, let alone teetering constructions of cardboard Jenga, severely impede both getting to the bathroom and getting in and out of the front door), so I am not a complete failure. The recycling is still something of a phantom limb though, so every time I go to the loo I find myself walking around it unnecessarily; the absence of a bag of some type of rubbish or other is now more disorientating than the presence was inconvenient. I have not, however, completed the job application whose deadline is on Monday, or done any work on my essay, or done any reading for this week’s seminar (or, for that matter, finished last week’s text either), or done the ironing (what an odious task ironing is; I do wish my skin was not so fussy and would tolerate synthetic fibres more readily), or written to my aunt who has sent me another nice card to which I will always intend to but most likely won’t ever reply to, or sewn the fastening back onto my cape, or sorted out the cupboard under the sink that is only ever one tupperware away from exploding all over the kitchen, or made carrot soup for lunches next week even though I bought about twenty-thousand carrots from Abel and Cole last week for this specific purpose, or made a list of all the things I need to do (this is most alarming and suggests that I have gone into Extreme Avoidance Mode, which is one step on from Panicky Freak-Out Mode in which I make comprehensive lists of all the things I need to do and get so paralysed by anxiety about them that I can’t actually do anything).
I did clean the flat. I might feel a greater sense of accomplishment had I not intended to clean the flat every day since last Friday, and had I not troubled to eventually do so only because L is coming over tomorrow. I used to be so disciplined. I don’t know what happened. At work I’m highly productive and somehow manage to force myself to do things there and then even when I reeeeeeallly don’t want to (though having said that I’ve had a post-it on my monitor to call the Student Loans Company for over a week…), but I’m failing quite wonderfully at my actual life. I have a book waiting at the post office that was originally delivered two weeks ago, that I got them to redeliver today but I ignored the bell because I couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed. I have two hospital appointments that need rescheduling. I’m about to run out of medication and don’t seem to have booked a blood test so that I can get my next prescription. I’ve had four messages, dating from before Christmas, from a company who are supposed to be assessing me for an ergonomic work station. I used to be renowned for being this organised, on-the-ball person who did homework on the day it was set and always knew exactly what was going on. Now I feel like my brain has fractured into separate departments that don’t even talk to each other; I keep forgetting things, I keep losing things – which is very disturbing as I usually know where everything is, even if it’s somewhere really strange – and I don’t like it. I feel out of control and unproductive and like I’m losing the few positive attributes I have.
Anyway. Aside from cleaning I also managed a walk in the cemetery and dinner out with H. The cemetery was lovely, if chilly, although I probably alarmed any other inhabitants by spending most of my time there wriggling around on my stomach taking photos of the grass. I don’t advise this behaviour on cold January afternoons – you will end up soggy, earthy, and somewhat lacking in warmth. Dinner was also pleasant, although slightly marred by a matter of principle. I ask you: is, or is not, dessert a food? I know that was a horribly constructed sentence. Let that be evidence of my moral disturbance. You see, we went to La Luna (yes, I know it’s in Walworth, and I was skeptical too, but it’s actually rather nice if you like Italian food – to be honest I’d never choose to eat Italian out because it never seems worth spending money on but it’s fairly reasonably-priced and has a good atmosphere) and we used a Taste card, which promised 50% off food. And yet when the bill came they charged us regular price for the desserts, leaving me in a state of mystification. My tiramisu certainly felt like food. I put it in my mouth, I chewed, I swallowed, I’m feeling this is a fairly reliable description of what one does with food. Now before you point out that this made the difference of the vast sum of two whole English pounds and that just before this I had been extolling the virtues of said establishment, I will reiterate: it is a matter of principle. You should stipulate if you do not consider desserts to be food, because it might just be me but I rather think most people would make the assumption that in fact they very much do fall into the ‘food’ bracket. I do take note, however, that my anger about this is quite unreasonable. I’m afraid I’m irritatingly dogmatic about violations of my principles. I just don’t like it when people say one thing and do another and then treat you like you are the idiot for following ordinary logic when they are the ones being devious and confusing.
On a more positive note, last night I discovered The Cinematic Orchestra. Or rather was introduced to The Cinematic Orchestra. I’m not quite sure how but a text from B spiralled into a six-hour text/MSN Messenger marathon in which he sent many typically riddley and nebulous messages and I returned many which I’m sure for him were annoyingly serious-taking and prosaic: I am highly intolerant to vagueness when I interpret it to be veiling something that I therefore am unable to access. You don’t have to call a spade a spade, but if you’re talking about a spade it would definitely be helpful to construct your metaphor in the right semantic field or you could just be talking about absolutely anything. May just be me, but nothing is more infuriating than not having a bloody clue what someone’s on about, especially if it seems like they could be on about something important.
Anyway, endless elisions notwithstanding, it was not an unpleasant way to spend the evening and we had a listening party to Man With a Movie Camera at B’s suggestion. The Cinematic Orchestra is really a very apt name; as soon as I started the album all these images played in my head, and not just pictures but little films. Hearing Dawn I was by a beautifully still lake somewhere, in the very early morning just as it’s getting light, watching the mist rise off the water and the dusky pinky clouds getting brighter, the animals all starting to wake up. I was standing listening to the sounds of the birds and the trees creaking awake, chilly but knowing I would shortly go back to my log cabin and make coffee then sit on the porch in a rocking chair with a red blanket, just watching everything go about its business, watching everything exist. I ache to go there. If it only was really a place. When I expressed this to B he accused me of ‘being not normal’, which a) is rich coming from him, b) should not be much of a surprise given that our friendship is largely based on our mutual not-normalness, c) not even true. I’m reasonably certain that everyone goes to imaginary places in their brain and therefore it is very much normal. Perhaps less normal that I didn’t want to come back, but why would anyone want to return to dirty old London when they could be in a lakeside cabin surrounded by nature?
Right. Bed. This is short by my standards but it’s taken hours for some reason. Have to get up and cook L a pheasant tomorrow – thankfully remembered to remove it from the freezer – so sleep must be had before that horrible Monday comes round again.
The Cinematic Orchestra – Dawn
