interlude: overheard on the night bus

3am, the night bus from Trafalgar Square to Tower Hill.

"D'you reckon you could cook a smurf?"
"Nah, not enough meat on a smurf. Wouldn't be worth it."
"I dunno. You could poach it... like a quail. Might taste a bit gamey though."
"Too much effort, mate."
[pause]
"But you wouldn't cook Papa Smurf"
"You could do."
"Of course you wouldn't. That would be fucking insane. Papa Smurf has all the medicines. What if your mum got really ill and you'd gone and cooked Papa Smurf, you'd look like right a fucking idiot then, wouldn't you?"
"Fair point."

preparation, the (semi) live blog

17:00 - Right. Left work early so I could come home and work. Spent the last hour reading Perdido Street Station. Hmmm maybe I can justify it as an exploration into the morality of genetic engineering. I should really start planning

17:30 - Plan for the next six hours done. Easy money. Will just phone my mother for moral support.

18:00 - Bollocks. Plan no longer applicable. Never mind, will do research on the internet.

18:03 - Ooooh YouTube wants to work for me today!

19:48 - Phonecall from Doug wondering if he needs to pick up dinner or if I'll cook for him. Tell him to check with the people who will actually leave their rooms this evening.

20:15 - Actually, where the fuck are my housemates? They're blatantly in a bar having fun. Wish I was in a bar having fun.

20:39 - WooHoo! Three minutes of presentation done. And it only took me fifteen minutes to write. Wonder if it's factually accurate...

20:40 - I'll just check my facts.

20:45 - Bollocks.

20:47 - Hmmm maybe I'll just spend a few minutes checking through my reader...

21:55 - Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. Done fucking nothing. Shit, shit, shit. I'm going to be making acetates at three in the morning half crazed from lack of sleep. I have the strangest feeling that I was aware of this fact weeks ago.

21:56 - Oooh! Keys in the door! Doug's back. I should go and entertain him. It's rude to leave guests unattended and foraging for food.

22:43 - Well at least my shirt is ironed for tomorrow now. That's a good thing, right?

22:44 - Maybe I should just re-time what I have so far...

22:47 - What I have so far is crap. I should start again.

23:09 - Second draft looks exactly like the first draft. Begin on third draft.

23:37 - I really shouldn't be capable of writing a presentation this quickly at this time of night. Slightly concerned that other people will have spent weeks on theirs. Justifying it to myself in that this is an example of teaching capability and will not have three weeks to prepare and memorise before each and every lesson. This is far more realistic. Yes.

23:42 - Five and a half minutes. REALLY basic. Like, really REALLY basic. Maybe I should be focusing on one thing? All seems a little rushed. Fuck it. Don't care. It's almost midnight. Need to make acetates.

23:50 - Flatmates home. Need coffee. Rearranging seems to be a good idea. How does rearranging make something shorter? That's insane.

00:04 - Mmmmm. Coffee.

00:10 - Hmmm if I combine this section with that section then it might be easier to follow... then I can link it to that bit and I can spend longer on my examples. Ahahaha! I am a genius!

00:23 - A genius who is more interested in reading forums than finishing her presentation, evidently.

00:42 - Seriously.

00:52 - I'm out. Going to bed. I have a presentation without a point, no acetates and a headache. Will get up at seven tomorrow and continue the whole hideous process.

panic stations

I am. Freaking. The Fuck. Out.

Seriously people, this is an epic level freak out happening right now. I'm on about a level 4 on the "Alex is melting down I'm serious about this run for the hills do not stop to retrieve children or valuables well maybe that one vase as it could actually be worth something some day" scale. I'm screwed. Utterly screwed. Nobody is ever going to let me teach. Anywhere. Ever. I'm certainly not going to get on to my first choice course, the interview for which is on Thursday.

Why you ask? Well! I'll tell you.

I haven't spent the last nine years volunteering with sick children and teaching them to read. I haven't taken every day of annual leave I've had in the last two years and spent it mentoring underprivileged youths (although I wish I had). I have not spent the last six weeks rehearsing my presentation for my interview, in fact I haven't even started it. That last part? Utterly not hyperbole.

Shit.

Fuck.

I haven't spent a day in a school.

This is not my fault. It's the weirdest Easter ever right now. The schools aren't back yet. They don't answer emails. I have one possibility but I have to contact them after the school comes back in to session. On Monday. Four days after my interview. Useful. I fully intend on spending time in a school (because not to = fucking insane) I just haven't managed to yet.

This is entirely my fault. I should have started sooner. I applied too late. I'm not dedicated enough.

I made the mistake of reading message boards dedicated to applications for teaching. This was a bad idea. It made me freak out. I'm freaking out right now. Can you tell? Because, honestly? The people who visit websites dedicated to stuff are nerds and weirdos. I should know. I am one. Except I read scathing movie reviews, random sci-fi stuff, articles about sex and the evils of magazines, blogs on feminist issues and lots and lots and lots (and lots) of webcomics. I spend all day online working out exactly how many X-Men continuities I'm currently reading (three), daydreaming about my next tattoo and shoe shopping.

This does not make me a bad person. Really, it doesn't. At least I don't think it does. Shit.

And normally I wouldn't care. Because I never care. I haven't prepared for an interview in my life. I am su-freaking-perb at interviews. I kick ass at presentations (speaking of: I really should get on with that, I have about 36 hours in which to complete it - 20 of those will be spent at work and/or sleeping, hmmmmm I wonder if I can do both simultaneously), I am confident and well spoken and look fierce in a suit. But I'm freaking out. Massively. Because for once in my life I actually want something. I want this so badly. Not just because I don't handle rejection well. Not just because I want to be a student next year. Not just because I hate my current job so much it makes me want to leap out of my third floor window.

But because more and more I realise just how important it is (yes, that's my question).

I want to teach my subject. I want to be an authority figure that is always sympathetic. I want to be one of the few adults who offers a completely safe space. I want to be a role model to young women who are conditioned against science, against speaking up, against acting out. I want to explain inheritance theory and the process of natural selection. I want to see the maniacal spark in the pacifist veggie kid's eyes as she cuts into her first rat and decides on a career in pathology (hello, me at thirteen). I want this. The only other thing I've wanted this much was my place at University. I got that. I want this.

I know that I want this because I'm planning for my rejection. This doesn't happen in Alex Land. In Alex Land when you get rejected for something it takes under thirty seconds to have yourself and everyone around you convinced that you didn't want it anyways. Let thirty more seconds pass and you've already moved on to your Next Big Scheme. That doesn't happen here. I'm planning for my rejection. If I get rejected my application goes on to the next place. And then the next. And then it's June and I'm in clearing. And then the process is closed, the slots are filled. Come October I'm temping, taking a TEFL qualification in the evenings. January comes around and it's goodbye London, hello Tokyo. My application for the next year has already been sent. Interviews begin again.

And I calm down a little.

But still, there's the little voice whispering at the back of my head. They need science teachers, they are under fucking subscribed. You haven't prepared because you don't need to, why do you think they pay you ten grand tax free to train? They should be begging you to apply. You are a natural. And it's that little voice that's fucking me over because for a few minutes I believe it and start feeling confident. Then I start feeling blase. Then I start feeling cocky.

And the swing from "cocky" to "gibbering ball of panic and stress" is so steep and so terrifyingly far that it makes my stomach churn.

Bollocksing buggering bastarding fuck.

I'm going to read comics and worry myself to sleep. An activity only marginally less productive than spending half an hour ranting about my unpreparedness. Half an hour I could have been using to prepare.

Oh for fuck's sake.

a realisation

I make my ham and cheese sandwiches with mayo.

I listen to Less Than Jake and Bad Religion. I can name the make and model of most mid-priced hatchbacks. I can kick anyone's ass at Tiger Woods Golf despite never having owned a copy. I can go to work on under three hour of sleep. I'm a beer snob. I understand the political events that led up to the Second World War. I drink Kopparberg Pear Cider. I know the rules of cricket. I make mean chicken fajitas. I got my lip pierced. I can find my way around Brighton. I know what the clutch pedal is for. I can mix mojitos. I know that the trick to curing a hangover headache is to get up for a couple of hours and then go back to bed. I can cook scrambled eggs. I understand why people willingly go to war. I passed my degree. I have the name I always wanted.

I make my ham and cheese sandwiches with mayo.

I don't give them enough credit, the men who've had an effect on me. I took at least something away from every single one even if they don't know it. The ex Mr. TheOdd more than any of them, he makes up most of that list, and yet I never say it. I find myself not allowed.

I have friends who in their fierce protection of me won't hear a good word said about him. They're the ones who never really knew him, anyone who did nods along with my mantra of "awesome guy, great friend, rubbish boyfriend" because it's true. They loved him, spent years hanging out with us, they were the ones awake with us at 3am laughing and debating. They attended classes with him, knew us as friends and still ask me how he is. Because we were so close it's unimaginable to those who knew us that we would no longer speak.

It's true; I've been angry with him. I was angry about the way he treated me and anyone could see that part of that anger was really for me. Anger at being a doormat, anger at turning into the girl I said I wouldn't, anger at cowing down, being meek, willingly losing myself. That anger's gone now, I have myself back, and all I really want is to celebrate the woman I am today, giving credit where it's due to those who have influenced me. But some of those closest to me won't even allow me to say his name, they demand that I refer to him as "the ex" or "the weasel" or they go off into hyperbolic ranting that I know is only meant to make me laugh but still leaves me feeling uneasy. I can't tell them to stop, they're only showing they love me and, if I'm honest, when I try I either get reprimanded for going soft and giving in to him (because evidently he is aware of how I refer to him in conversation) or corrected, made to feel guilty for having good feeling towards him at all. Even when I explain. They are angry with him, still, so that I don't have to be and I love them for that.

Even so, there is something to be said and so I'll say it here because I am able to. Because nobody is going to stop me.


Thank you, Adam. For everything. I honestly believe I'm a better person because of you.

not a good day

Life isn't fair.

People make me sick.

I want to go back to bed.

geekgasmic

Taking a leaf out of Websters Is My Bitch's book (then photocopying it and then claiming the resulting blurry mess is my own work) may I present to you:

Main Entry: Geekgasmic
Pronunciation: \ˈgēk,ˈgaz-mik\
Function: adjective
Etymology: a contraction formed from the commonly used words "geek" and "orgasmic"
Date: 2008

1: descriptor of a typically "uncool" experience which brings extreme joy eg. "The final episode of Bionic Woman was geekgasmic. And also: bad." "Kristin Bell looks positively geekgasmic in her Princess Leia outfit."

2: The only possible way to describe the following video clip

Yep. It's an Eva. What's that? It appears to be doing the Napoleon Dynamite dance? Why yes, yes it does. [Via Kotaku]

a retrospective

I don't understand about complementary colors
And what they say
Side by side they both get bright
Together they both get gray

But he's been pretty much yellow
And I've been kinda blue
But all I can see is
Red, red, red, red, red now
What am I gonna do

I don't understand about
Diamonds and why men buy them
What's so impressive about a diamond
Except the mining

And it's dangerous work
Trying to get to you too
And I think if I didn't have to
Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill myself doing it
Maybe I wouldn't think so much of you

I've been watching all the time
And I still can't find the tack
And I wanna know is it okay
Is it just fine
Or is it my fault
Is it my lack

I don't understand about
The weather outside
Or the harmony in a tune
Or why somebody lied

There's solace a bit for submitting
To the fitfully cryptically true
What's happened has happened
What's coming is already on its way
With a role for me to play

I don't understand
I'll never understand
But I'll try to understand
There's nothing else I can do

~Fiona Apple Red, Red, Red