What Would You do if Your Cat Spoke to You?

We were halfway through our bowl of baked beans when Ronnie lifted his paw to inspect it under the blue light of our living room. I had bought a blue light because they were cheaper than normal orange/yellow lights due to their being darker, thereby emanating less light. Anyway, Ronnie lifted a paw to inspect it. Ths was kinda rude, but as Ronnie was an animal I accepted it. ‘Dude, I don’t want to overstep, my place, but I think it’s time you got your shit together,’ he said. I jumped. My spoon jogged, flinging baked beans at the roof. They hit the ceiling. A bean slowly came unstuck and plopped in my tea. I tried to use my spoon to get it out but got more baked bean sauce in the drink. I then tried to tactically slosh the top layer of my drink onto the floor but accidentally sloshed it at Ronnie’s face. He flinched and jumped a metre into the air. He landed in the bowl of baked beans.

‘Whoa, easy, dude,’ he said.

‘Huh?’ I said. ‘What’s this about getting my shit together?’

‘You’ve been mulching about all day,’ said Ronnie.

‘Wait, WHEN did you learn to speak!?’ I said.

‘When did YOU learn to speak?’ said Ronnie.

‘When I was like three,’ I said. ‘But that’s hardly surprising. I’m a human. How the hell did you learn to speak?’

‘Jesus christ, just ‘cos I don’t speak doesn’t mean I don’t know how. I have selective mutism. Have some sensitivity. It’s a serious condition,’ said Ronnie.

‘WHAT?’ I said. ‘So ALL this time you’ve been hearing what I’ve been saying?’

‘Err… YES,’ said Ronnie. ‘I thought you knew that… That’s why you’ve been talking to me? Why would you talk to me if you thought I couldn’t understand you?’

‘So how come you can suddenly talk?’ I said

‘I’ve been seeing a new therapist and we went through some cognitive behavioural therapy stuff,’ said Ronnie. ‘Also, he prescribed me with some new pills called gronnobocolem. They really help with that kind of stuff.’

‘Wait, HOW can you see a therapist? And I thought it was psychiatrists who prescribed medication?’

‘Same way you can,’ said Ronnie. ‘And oh yeah, I meant psychiatrist. But anyway a psychiatrist is a kind of therapist. And I’m starting to think you should see one too. Can we stop deflecting onto my issues and discuss your mulching?’

 

*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. And if you thought this story was crap, it was a free-write that I made up as I went along and minimally edited later, so fuck you.*

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Different Types of Humour

Humour is so underrated. It is, in a way, like poetry, and sometimes I think that it is even a type of poetry. What poetry does for us when we read it, is it calls to attention something that is beneath the surface of our minds, validating it in a beautiful or ironic light. Often our simple recognition of the subject matter creates 60% of the beauty already. (I picked 60% as a slightly random example. I really meant a large percentage, but I thought it would sound better if I made it seem more specific.)

Humour has a similar function. What makes a lot of humour humour is the fact that we can relate to it, like seeing someone in a TV series doing something stupid that we can imagine ourselves doing. Usually the funny thing is something that isn’t called to attention a lot in our everyday lives. That’s why we get that low-key eureka-esque feeling when we see it pointed out. It feels like a bit of a relief to see it.

Like poetry, humour validates us.

The difference is that humour usually does it without seriousness. Humour is happy. Happy and relatable. And, like poetry, it’s intelligent. It’s incisive. That’s what makes it one of the greatest therapies. I think that if you’re feeling lonely, hearing a joke can completely erase your loneliness for a few seconds – or a few minutes. Or, if you’re really lucky, like an hour or something.

I think it’s really interesting that everybody has a different sense of humour. I can picture each of my friends in turn and think of the kind of thing that would make that individual laugh. It’s always very hard to pin-point. I know roughly what their sense of humour is, but I don’t know what to call it.

I would say that personally, the jokes I find the funniest would fit into the category of, Goofy, Silly or Relatable. I also like slapstick comedy. While I do find Gallows Humour funny – maybe even funnier than most people find it -, I don’t think I find it funny enough in proportion to other things I find funny to say that I have a Dark or Warped sense of humour. I think that Goofy is just so wide-ranging that it overlaps with Warped. Shut up; these are real terms.

Sarcasm has never come naturally to me (I actually think sarcasm is cynical and overused) and while I find “Witty” humour hilarious coming from other people, I’m not intelligent enough to come up with my own witty jokes. Maybe I can work on it.

Having a goofy sense of humour is why I love films and series like Wayne’s World (and Wayne’s World 2, which is even better), Brooklyn 99 and Yes Man.

I wonder why people have the sense of humour they have. Is your sense of humour the product of your experiences, or something you’re born with? How much is it linked with your other personality traits? I’d love to say that sarcasm is linked to jaded cynicism and boringness, but I think that would just be me having a go at sarcastic people. You know, I don’t actually hate sarcasm; I just think it’s overused. And also, maybe I wish I could get away with being sarcastic more…

Because I think the question of how humour and personality intertwine is so intriguing, I’ve decided to use some of my friends as examples, and explore their respective types of humour and personalities.

But first of all, I’ll look into my own.

LOL, I can see all scientists and researchers out there shaking their heads in their hands; this is seriously the most subjective attempt at research anyone has ever done.

My sense of humour: Goofy, Silly, Slapstick

My personality: Serious; Always analysing things; Often feeling overlooked

Obviously those are just three traits of my personality. I picked them because I feel like they play the biggest part in my day-to-day self-image. Wow, Jamila; you’re not even going pretend to get a third party to pick them?

I can’t claim to see an immediate relationship between the contents of the first and second category. In fact, they seem to contain opposite traits. The most obvious conclusion to draw from them is that perhaps the reason I like goofy humour is because I am serious in my everyday life, but that just seems a bit glib. More importantly, I don’t know enough people for whom the same is true to validate that conclusion. Lastly, many people will say I’m the worst person to pick my own traits, let alone to try to analyse them. Ooh, I’ve thought of another one (I know I said lastly; shut up): your three defining characteristics aren’t necessarily going to be the ones that bear correlation to your sense of humour. Okay, I’m done.

If I think about it off the top of my head, I suppose I find goofy humour funny because it’s a relief to know that other people have thoughts that are as silly or improbable as my own. I find slapstick humour funny because of the “thank-god-that-wasn’t-me” factor – and the fact that I automatically spend a lot of my day trying not to fall over, so seeing someone else actually fall over (or do something more ridiculous) is a relief.

Now, how can I link that to the three traits I listed about my personality? To be honest, the main connection I see is that thinking a lot means that I have some pretty improbable thoughts, so seeing those kinds of thoughts in others, which happens in Goofy humour, is a relief.

I’m going to assign my friends code names so I don’t risk offending them if they see this blog post.

I think that my friend Snafflecakes has a similar sense of humour to me. Snafflecakes’ type of humour: Goofy, Silly, British

(On second thoughts, code names might be worse.)

Snafflecakes’ personality: Serious; Interested; Kind; Open-minded

A lot of British humour is funny because of how far it takes things, and because of the mock-seriousness it deals with. I think British people like British humour because of that stereotypical “stiff upper lip” and because of the irony it contains. I can’t see any correlation between Snafflecakes’ British sense of humour and their personality. All I can think of is that Snafflecakes has been raised by people who like that sense of humour, so Snafflecakes has been exposed to it from an early age, and may possess genes that predispose them to it (though that seems improbable). Snafflecakes probably likes Goofy humour for the same reason I do.

My other friend, Grendygome, has a more meme-ish sense of humour that I don’t get most of the time. Grendygome’s type of humour: Memes; Randomness; Tropes in a certain genre of music; Running jokes in a certain genre of music

Grendygome’s personality: passion for certain genre of music; confidence; eagerness

I think Grendygome finds jokes about their favourite genre of music funny because such jokes have a feeling of solidarity. Each subculture has its own stereotypes, tropes and running jokes. These develop naturally out of being outside of the mainstream. They help to cement the subculture.

My friend Zummygoo’s sense of humour: Witty, Observational, Nice

Zummygoo’s personality: Extremely intelligent; Honest; Kind

Zummygoo jokes the most frequently out of all my friends. I think it’s difficult for them not to be witty. Because they’re intelligent, they see a lot of patterns in things, and I think pointing out these patterns has become a habit. When I say Zummygoo can have a ‘nice’ sense of humour, I mean that they seem to be able to jokingly elevate other people’s egos in a totally non-weird (nice) way. It’s difficult to do, and even more difficult to explain. They also have the ability to joke about a shared situation, which makes the situation feel even more shared.

Kobbymob’s personality: Understanding, Loving, Obsessive, Opinionated

Kobbymob’s sense of humour: Hard to say; Theoretically possible scenarios that exaggerate the status of current situations; Randomness

Kobbymob’s jokes have mainly been about Kobbymob and myself in improbable situations. They have elements of truth based on my own attitudes and Kobbymob’s, but they take those attitudes further, to a ridiculous extent. They may be seen as slightly mocking, but in the best of ways. To be honest, I can’t see a way to link Kobbymob’s sense of humour to Kobbymob’s personality. Actually, now that I think about it, Kobbymob is a very affectionate person, and that affection comes across in their slightly teasing sense of humour.

I am not going to bore you by going through ALL my friends (because I have so many, hahaha) and their personalities. From what I’ve explored, I feel like there is some correlation between sense of humour and other personality traits, but not enough to create any rules. Perhaps, though, if I go through more of my friends, I will find more reliable patterns, so it’s hard to say at this stage. If you would like me to, I can do another post going into this in more detail. Haha, you’re thinking, ‘Noooo, Jamila; spare me!’ Seriously, if you want me to, say below, and I will.

Someone I knew once posited a theory that what we find funny developed out of what we weren’t allowed to talk about as children. I personally wasn’t allowed to talk about sex or drugs, and I wasn’t allowed to swear. Talking about sex and drugs can be funny to me now, as can swearing. So far the theory holds up. But there’s no proof of causation. I’m sure if I tried, I could think of other things I wasn’t allowed to talk about that I don’t find funny. I reckon the theory could have some merit, but it isn’t an absolute rule.

One thing I’ve observed is that a key factor in humour seems to be relief.

Relief, to me, is one of the main components of gallows humour. Death and such matters are taboo because they scare us. And because they’re taboo, those times we do actually want to make a joke about them, we feel like we can’t. Seeing someone else make a joke about them is a relief. It also makes death and such seem less intimidating.

But there’s something else that humour – in general – makes less intimidating. Life. That is why humour important. I think meeting funny people is a blessing, beccause they give us many of those eureka-esque moments. But don’t leave all of it up to other people 😉 Remember that you have the power in yourself to be funny any time you wish.

A Day in The Life of an Unschooler

I am sitting on my bed in front of my computer, which is resting on a chest of drawers that doubles as my bedside table. My mother told me yesterday that sitting less than twenty centimeters away from your computer is bad. It can make you especially susceptible to cancer, she said. Something to do with radiation. I will have to look that up. My back is slouched. That is also bad. It is slightly uncomfortable and, apparently, can prevent your spine from setting straight if done excessively in your formative years. I keep telling myself to straighten up, but this takes effort and is also slightly uncomfortable, so I opt for the easier option: slouching. I will sit up straight later on at dinner.

Speaking of which, I am hungry now. I can hear the clashing of pots and pans in the kitchen. I believe that is a signal that dinner is being made. From the sound of it, my father is cooking. I know it’s him because firstly, he slams things and works with a speed and urgency I believe is unnecessary; the dishes sound as if they are being bashed against the counter and the chopping of carrots resounds throughout the house like a series of distant executions. Secondly, my mother’s voice is closer to here than it is to the kitchen, so I know that she cannot be in there cooking. I have a feeling I should be offering to help. I will go to help.

I offered to help and was told to put away my clothes instead.

I put away my clothes. I had some mild and some not-so-mild digs made at me. I had dinner, which was rice noodles fried with vegetables. (I think I forgot to sit up straight!) I re-watched a film with my family called A Long Way Down. It is about four strangers who become acquainted with one another on New Year’s Eve at the top a building they plan to jump off.

This morning I went for a run. It was not a satisfying run because it mostly consisted of short self-conscious stretches of running interspersed with long self-conscious stretches of walking. However, it was a start to an attempt at fitness. It gave me a vague feeling of achievement.

The next thing of relevance that I did was copywork. Now, copywork, for those unacquainted, is a writing exercise where you copy passages from good books to improve your writing. The idea is that the grammar, punctuation and sentence structure get embedded into your brain, and you naturally widen your vocabulary. It is something I actually find quite fun. This is why: I only copy from things that interest me.

After that, I had a phone conversation with my friend. We discussed birthdays, reading and the POSSIBILITY of an upcoming trip to Paris. We both have our birthdays in the next few months. She says, “If you can’t do something exciting on your birthday, then do something vaguely exciting.”

The Ethical Dilemmas Of Cat Sitting

I was recently charged with the task of cat sitting for friends who were on holiday.

It would have been easy if it wasn’t for the constant straining not to look at photographs on the walls. Even when it feels like I shouldn’t be looking at people’s family photos, it can be hard to look away when the photos are right there on the wall. We’re naturally drawn to human faces, which makes it more difficult to resist.

The thing is, I would have felt normal looking at them if the owners of the house were present. It is simply because they were away that it felt wrong. I know that the difference is illogical, and it fascinates me. Perhaps it is because I have never gone to the owners’ house other than to look after their cats or babysit. Whenever I’ve been there, they have been away, so I never got that first “validation” of being in their house at the same time as them on a social occasion. Therefore, it always feels slightly like I am spying or snooping, even though I’m doing nothing wrong.

With this mindset, as soon as I enter their house I avert my eyes and try to look mainly at the carpet, or the lower-half of the room.

Once I’ve seen a photo from the corner of your eye, I wonder, can it really harm to sneak one more glance?… And when I’ve gone and sneaked that glance – and already got the gist of the photo, I think, is it really so bad if I fully look at it?

After I’ve given in and had a good look at one of these photos, I usually try my hardest to forget about it. Which is not so easy, because I really like to analyze things.

And it’s not just photos that I find difficult. Is it right to be looking at other people’s DVDs and books? I actually don’t think it is morally wrong to do this. I wouldn’t mind it if people had a look at my books while I was away. DVDs, I might feel a little more sensitive about, but I wouldn’t really get upset. The main reason I try not to look at their bookshelf is because I don’t want to see anything too interesting and become tempted to find it in my local library. That would make me seem like a total stalker. Imagine if I found multiple books and DVDs that I liked the sound of at my friends’ house, and checked them all out of the library? If they found out, that would be embarrassing.

The thing is, not checking something out just because I’ve seen a copy of it at my friend’s house sounds like a bit much. I mean, what would happen if I just stumbled across that same book at the library? If wasn’t looking for it? Since it’s something that interests me, I probably would have got it out even if I hadn’t seen it at their house.

And if I did find something at their place that I just had to get for myself, the next hypothetical problem would be trying not to discuss it with the owners. Essentially, trying not to let on that I’d seen their copy – so as not to seem intrusive.

In fact, even if I’d read or watched the book or DVD prior to seeing it at their house, I’d still be inclined to avoid discussing it. My conversations would suddenly become unnatural, with me trying to avoid subjects I’d normally have discussed, because I knew too much.

Another reason I wouldn’t want to look at the books or DVDs, is because I like to be sure that I’ve discovered things for myself. It gives me a huge deal of satisfaction to know that I’m not “copying” anyone.

The other thing I have to try to look away from when cat-sitting is medication. But then, if they leave it lying around, can it really be so bad for me to see it? The hard part is then trying not to google it to see what it’s for.

So, that’s media and medication covered. The next question is whether or not it’s okay to tidy up. I think it’s normal to do so if you’re house sitting, but if you’re just popping in there to feed or tend to the cats, it might seem meddlesome. Or offensive. I’d personally be quite chuffed to return from a holiday to the surprise of finding a clean kitchen counter waiting for me. But if I’m the one doing the cat sitting for other people, I worry that they might think I’m judging them if I tidy up.

During the time that the cat-owners were away, we had a friend, Z, over for dinner at our place. At some point during the evening, I had to excuse myself to go and tend to the cats. For a second, I thought of inviting Z to come with me. But straight away, I figured that would be wrong. If the tables were turned, I’m not sure how I’d feel about someone letting a stranger into my house. That’s where the whole concept of chain-trust comes in: Do you trust someone just because an acquaintance trusts them? Can you trust a friend of a friend? How about a friend of a friend of a friend? I figured the cat-owners probably wouldn’t trust Z as much as they trusted me, because they didn’t know him. Come to think of it, how did I know Z wasn’t a thief?

We assume that just because people are our friends, they aren’t criminals. Just because they haven’t stolen from us, they wouldn’t steal from anyone else. I’m pretty sure Z wouldn’t steal from anyone. In fact, when I talked about trust with regards to letting him check on the cats with me, I wasn’t really thinking of stealing. I was thinking more along the lines of information; letting someone into your house is letting them into a part of your life. Just because you’d let a friend in, doesn’t mean you’d let their friend in. What if they had discussions about your house after they’d left? Personally, this idea makes me the most uncomfortable, if it were my house we were talking about.

I didn’t let Z in.

Georgian-Inspired Face Patches

Last year I was in Cass Art buying art supplies. Mainly stuff like sketchbooks and charcoal, but then I stumbled across a stack of felt in the kids’ section. Now, I did not especially need a sheet of kids’ felt, but of habit, I scanned for a black one. I always scan for black items in shops. Usually without thinking about it. And sure enough, I found one. Should I buy it? I thought. What could I do with a piece of black felt?

That was when I remembered an idea I’d had a while back: making my own Georgian-inspired face patches. I reckon the reason I hadn’t implemented this idea before was because it was so silly – but now I had a sheet of black felt in front of me. So why not?

The first time I heard about Georgian face patches was from reading a Horrible Histories book when I was younger. (I actually still like Horrible Histories. Shhh.) Apparently the patches started off as a way of covering up blemishes on the skin, but then became fashionable. People made these “beauty spots” in different shapes – circles, stars, crescents, hearts etc. From what I’ve read online, it seems that the wealthier folks made them out of velvet or silk, while poorer ones used mouse skin. I’ve also found quite a few articles saying that people used the patches to convey different messages depending on where they were on the face. For example, by the corner of the eye meant passionate – and there were various other places that would dictate your relationship status. It also seems that there were different interpretations of these messages, which makes things rather confusing

My main obstacle in making my own face patches (apart from not wanting to look like a complete idiot) was finding a way of securing them onto the face. I considered using regular PVA, but then thought, better than that, it would be worth using this as an opportunity to research how to make my own body glue. I’d long wondered whether it was possible to make body glue at home, and if so, how! So I looked it up. Many sources suggested corn syrup, but the thing is, corn syrup isn’t as popular in the UK as it is in America. I didn’t have any at home, and there was no way I was trudging to the shops, or America, to find some.

(This actually triggered a dream I had a few nights ago, in which I was at a tiny Eastern European shop far from my home, and I found a row of big bottles of corn syrup. They looked like salt bottles. They had red lids. I didn’t want to buy such large containers though, because I only needed enough to glue some tiny patches to my face. So I looked down and immediately saw some mini bottles of corn syrup on the shelf just below. How convenient! Everything in the dream looked like it had been filmed through a slightly yellow or sepia filter.)

I found a couple of recipes that suggested mixing water, sugar, flour and salt together.  I ignored the slightly more complex instructions with cooking times, and simply combined a teaspoon of flour, a teaspoon of water, a teaspoon of sugar and a pinch of salt in a saucepan – and simmered till gluey. This was probably the tiniest amount of glue anyone would consider making. It barely covered the bottom of the pot. But I didn’t want to make more because then I’d have to store it, and I only needed a little bit anyway. However, if you make a similar concoction with more and you’d like to keep it for longer, I’d suggest adding a couple of drops of Tea Tree oil or some vinegar to keep it clear of bacteria.

I had to re-heat the glue with some extra water a couple of times, because I left it too long and it hardened. Part of the reason I left it is because my neighbor popped round and I was chatting with her. I swear, sometimes she just comes here when she’s bored!

It took me surprisingly long to cut out the shapes.

I dabbed a smidgen of glue on the backs of the patches, and then patted them onto my face. A little on the silly side, and very fun!

Here’s how the heart one turned out on me.

I’d say the more you put on, the more foolishly fun the effect. I definitely got quite a few stares when I wore the “sun” patch on the tube.

Of course, you can get a similar effect for these face patches if you use any normal black fabric; it doesn’t have to be felt. You can even try it with eyeliner, or a pen or marker. Just use your common sense, and don’t blame me if you mess up! Have fun, and tell me how it goes : )

An Absurd Way to Write Music

Today I properly noticed something that I had never given any consideration to before. I was decorating a small poster with a sharpie, repeatedly writing the word, “NOW” on it in capital letters. Then, the music-orientated part of brain tuned in.

I started noticing the rhythm of the sound my marker made.

Because I was writing the same word quickly, so many times, the way I wrote it suddenly became apparent. I realised that nobody writes evenly with a pen or pencil. When we form the symbols there is usually a slight pause between words, as we leave a gap.

There is also an audible space between individual letters, especially when we are writing in capitals. As our ears tune in further, we notice that even in the forming of a single letter, there are parts when the pen moves quickly or smoothly, and parts where it is slower.

As I repeatedly wrote the word, “NOW” on my poster, I heard the pattern of it: The differences in volume and pitch, the spaces between and within the letters. It was the same each time – an instrumental mantra of Sharpie on photo gloss paper.

When I’m writing a letter that includes a quick upstroke, like how I form,”N” or “W” the upstroke sounds slightly softer and more high-pitched than the rest. With “O” the sound of my pen on the paper gets quieter as it goes up and round because I relax the pressure with which I’m holding the pen, before lifting it off the paper to form the next letter.

Because we write so fast, often automatically, we must specifically tune in to hear these phrases. But when we do tune in, we are rewarded with music!

Today, I decided to take that literally. I picked up my guitar and strummed to the rhythm of my capital “NOW.” I played the exact same pattern I had heard myself writing on paper. This time, I had chords. I made the upstrokes quieter in the same way that they had been quieter when I was writing on the poster, and left short gaps between the “letters,” – which were translated to upstrokes and downstrokes on the guitar.

The result was what felt what like a more natural strumming pattern.

The rhythm seemed more, “me.” Because it came directly from my inbuilt movements, there was just something about it that resonated on a deeper level – if you’ll excuse the pun. I simply liked what I heard. And I really do reckon it’s because it came from within.

Now, I wonder whether other people would agree that the strumming pattern sounded more “organic,” or whether that feeling is specific to the person from whom the rhythm originated. Going by this theory, we would all have different beats inside us; we all form letters differently. You probably have a different way of writing, “A” to the one I have. Maybe you create the frame of it first, while I create the bar of it.You and I will have our individual speeds and volumes. If we all have different rhythms inside us, what sounds “natural” or “right” to each of us could very well be different.

Have you ever written a page, and at the same time, listened to the sound your pen or pencil made on the paper? Have you noticed patterns in the way you write different words? It could be a fun exercise if you’re up for it! Or, if you want to go a step further, you could grab an instrument as well. This could be a fine tool for overcoming musician’s block and creating songs.

Have you ever been surprised by how musical something “normal” and “everyday” sounded? What was it?

I look forward to being ridiculed upon the reading of this post 🙂

Why My Pyjamas Were Soaking On Friday

If you have been reading my blog, you probably know that my friend wrote me a bucket list. Yeah, that’s right; she wrote a bucket list for me to complete… Well, I must state that luckily we both possess a sense of sense, so there was nothing on there like “Kiss a random woman on the bus” or “Stop listening to The Cure”. However, there was an item on the list instructing me to have a shower fully clothed… which brings me to the point of this post. But first, let me quickly say that after posting the list on this blog, I was given an extra goal from a reader (Belladonna Took) in the comments section: blog about each item once I’ve completed it. So that is what I am doing! Admittedly, the very first thing I completed (send someone a Valentine’s Day card) lacks its own post… but I am letting myself off the hook for that because it got a mention when I published the bucket list :).

I had put the bucket list off for some time. As you know, I am an expert in procrastination so this wasn’t difficult for me, but after a while an inner voice coerced me into getting my act together. So I did it. I ticked my second item off the list: I had a shower fully clothed. This sounds mad, but to tell the truth, it was seriously quite fun. To save time, I showered straight in my pyjamas so that I wouldn’t have to change twice (see the intelligent rocket science that goes on in my head?)

What made showering in my pyjamas so strange was the fact that my whole life it has been drilled into me not to do that. Fine, not in those exact words, but it is a commonly accepted fact that showering is something you do naked. I know, obviously no-one ponders the dress code of daily bodily cleansing on too regular a basis, but I think we understand what I am saying. It was the fact that it was strange that made it fun. You will never know the sensation of warm water slowly soaking into your sheep-patterned sleeping garments until you try it. That feeling of being shrouded in heavy, heated fabric as water drips from your hair and clothing into the bath tub, swirling down the drain. A cocoon of comforting unknown. It was confusing and disorientating, the lovely unfamiliar-ness of the situation. Once I got used to that, though, there was the decision of whether to lather over… or under… my pyjamas, you know what I mean? Upon trial, I found that if you lather over them, 40% of the soap reaches your skin and the remaining 60% just serves as extra washing detergent for your clothes. But it can be hard to reach under. In the end I just enjoyed the shower! The NEW experience!

I stepped out, wrung off my clothes and wrapped myself in the embrace of a towel freshly off the radiator. The sense of achievement was something I hadn’t felt in a while. It was a peculiar feeling, and left me with a high to begin my day on.

Second item off my list!

What Was The Highlight Of Your Teenage Years?

This is going to be a very emotional post and I feel weird about it.

I’m turning 14 in less than a month. And I’m really sad about it.

It doesn’t sound scary. But It’s a pretty big deal.

Shut up.

I’m still getting used to the fact that I’m 13, to be honest. And now suddenly I’m about to become a year older. Great.

The thing is, being 13 feels like you have your WHOLE life ahead of you. Being 13 means you have all your teenage years stretching out in front of you, ready to be relished and treasured and lived. And those years are always there. Just ahead. Waiting to be enjoyed. You can plan for them and dream about them and look forward to them.

But now, they’re not just waiting there, it feels like they’re moving.

I know this sounds dumb to most people. You’re going to be 14! That’s a year closer to 18! How exciting! Or… it’s just a year. No big deal.

But really, it’s one year closer to old age as well. Which is pretty freaky. And all the, ‘Just a year’s add up to decades. It feels like I’ve run out of buffer time. When I was younger, I could do what I wanted, and it wouldn’t necessarily affect the future so much. Because there was always time, wasn’t there? I wasn’t yet a teenager. But now, I feel like whatever I do is going to affect the future. I’m very scared of time running out! I want to live a fully as possible, in the moment.

I really want to be young for as long as possible. What’s weird is that when I was younger, it seemed like it would be AGES till I turned ten. Ten was huge. Big girls were ten! And now I’m 13! It feels like only four seconds have passed since then. So I guess it could turn out like that with adulthood. You think that you have infinite youth and you waste your time… and in the blink (182?) of an eye, it’s gone. I know I only have this one life to live as me, and how vital it is to savour every moment of it.

I’m a bit scared.

If you think about it, birthdays seem quite arbitrary. Why celebrate your age? What’s the meaning of it? Why every 365 days? Why don’t we celebrate half-years? Imagine if we celebrated turning 14-and-a-half instead of turning 14! Well really… what difference would it make? I’ve met people who don’t know how old they are and they don’t really care. Because to be honest, knowing your exact age isn’t really important in day-to-day life.

Still, my birthday reminds me that I’m getting older. Slowly, sure, but it’s happening. It’s good to have a marking point to reflect on it. And it’s still scary.

What was the highlight of your teenage years? Any tips for me? 🙂 I love it when people reply. Please comment?