Personal Blogs

Made an effort to try on this ridiculous dress for the ball today.  I figure if I wear it every day from now until Saturday for a little bit just around the house, I should be used to the discomfort of it in time.  Should have started a bit earlier really, but haven't really had the opportunity over the past few weeks.  My friend is so excited about it!  I'm excited about seeing her, but the ball, not in the slightest!  The dress itself is 'pretty' in terms of what a dress represents, but I'm not cut out for doing 'pretty'.  This becomes quite apparent, when I put it on, and from a distance I suppose I look quite feminine, but then up close, I'm all grazed elbows and bruised knees, from too much climbing, hanging and tripping over things.  For most people of my age, it would considered far too childish to climb trees, hang off bars or enter into impromptu rap during sensible conversations.  But with me it doesn't even look strange.  It looks as though I'm behaving exactly as would be expected.  It's more normal for me to leap through the house than to walk through it, and impossible for me not to hop round in circles when waiting for the kettle to boil.  Boredom.  Boredom hits me the second it makes itself known.  I feel it before anyone else in a group.  And then I will find a way to push the boundaries, in so many different and often unexpected ways, that I even surprise myself from time to time.  Ultimately though, it means I need to expend some energy.  I'm feeling the energy pulsing through me stronger than ever today.  Two days being virtually inactive has left me with reserves.  Below the keyboard, there is a flat bit on either side of the mouse pad, and each time I finish a sentence, I play the laptop drums; the cymbals being a swish of the curtain, or a kick of the armchair.  It is activities such as these that give rise to the majority of my bruises, and it's mostly unavoidable as I am unaware of them until I actively describe them.  Or of course, if someone enters the room, and stares at me.  But there has to be someone in the house for that to happen, and I generally know when that's the case.  The other issue with the dress is that I find it surprisingly difficult to breathe normally in.  The stress I feel as soon as I put it on, and the tightness of it around my torso (I am told that all ballgowns have this discomfort inbuilt) seems to make me forget to breathe, and then all of a sudden I have a massive intake of breath which makes me feel a little like, well let's just say light headed for the sake of a blog-personal life separation, and that subconsciously makes me do it again.  I'll probably faint or something equally inappropriate for the attire.  If I'm going to do that, as has happened many times before, far better to do so in jeans.  Though it has inadvertently got me backstage in a few festival situations which brought about the ownership of some particularly well-loved t-shirts.  That type of coincidence is sadly rare though, and more often than not it results in a being brought round by someone I would rather not have been brought round by.  I might just stay sitting down as much as possible, though bending is significantly more difficult when wearing it than I am accustomed to.  I'm doing this for my friend, and that's fine, but it is genuinely beyond me why anyone would do it for pleasure.

The recycling men (or I suppose the council, though they have not felt it necessary to let us know) decided this week that they are no longer collecting tin cans.  Seems an unnecessary step to take.  As far as I can tell they now only collect glass, and let's be honest, that's the only recyclable item that is actually fun to throw in the recycling bins.  Excellent way to remove tensions.  Though our local recycling place is no fun anymore - it's all electronic, and only works half the time.  I miss getting to hear the glass exploding inside those giant bins.

I was chatting to a friend briefly yesterday evening.  Seems he has already caught up to some extent with the events of the festival.  It appears most of the people I spent time with were somehow able to make it to the pub on their return.  I forgot how small town Bath can be at times.  It's unfortunate that the crossover between my mother's old ex-friends, and my current ones, is so intermingled, and consequently very susceptible to the creation of awkward situations.  I should watch my tongue more.  I perhaps spoke too freely of my childhood experience of their behaviour.  Much as it served to entertain them, some of it was possibly better left unsaid.  They've known me since I was eleven; I'm sure I can be excused.  He told me that instead of tequila I should have drunk mezcal.  I didn't actually drink tequila, but it was the reason for his friend entering into some sort of alcoholic coma, I now realise.  I'm reassured by that fact in a way, makes far more sense as to how it happened so suddenly.  Not knowing what mezcal was, he had to explain, and I now believe he is insane.  If I had this experience primarily on wine, I submit that I would have had to cancel the ball if the drink he suggests had been available.  I'm glad it wasn't.  In much the same way as I'm glad I didn't succumb to black sambukas at the Wedding.  And in exactly the same way as I'm pleased that I haven't drunk anything since.  I'll bear in mind that should our paths cross in such a situation, that his advice should not be taken.  Though, that applies to the entire group.  Unfortunately, it applies in the very best sort of way.  In my opinion.  There is little question that I would lean towards the advice of the insane after a few beverages.  I don't see our paths crossing for a month or so.  My health will be intact again by then!

Anyway, I have energy to burn, and drumming or not, the laptop just doesn't expend anything like the levels I require expelled.  It's time for a wander.