posted
Do you ever wake up of a morning and think "how the hell did I get here?"? I'm not talking about the sticky aftermath of your least pleasant sexual encounter, rather a sudden rush of chemicals that makes you look at your life in a whole different way. OK, perhaps the sexual encounter could produce such feelings, but I digress...
People love routine. It makes them feel safe. But when a routine is stuck to in too strict a manner, the brain needs to find a way out. It looks for a different viewpoint. Lets you take stock.
When I looked in the mirror this morning, hot flannel in hand, I saw the unshaven face of a 26 year old man looking back at me. It struck me that I'd been living in my own mortgaged domicile for a year. Then I considered the fact that I've been working in the same steady job for close to four years. I wasn't thinking about it from the day-to-day point of view of a chap in his mid-20s. It was as if my teenage self was looking at my life, and assessing what he saw.
posted
[QUOTE]Originally posted by MiscellaneousFiles: It was as if my teenage self was looking at my life, and assessing what he saw.
Am I turning in to Ally McBeal? personally i miss my teenage self and am envious of you being able to take his opinion, i have only recently decided that i am considering myself to be adult, since watching the world cup(football) i realised that at the ripe old age of 24 that i am never going to represent my country on the football pitch, depressing or what? as for working in the same job, i worked in harrods for almost 4 years and just left in august it was quite a big desicion to make as i didnt actually line myself up for any other work but its really liberating, like jumping into a freezing pond, not in the sense that my genitals shrunk and my skin went blue, thats being scottish!
posted
Staring backwards down the binoculars of time... your teenage self probably didn't have two pennies to rub together, got into strops with his parents and spent all his leisure time wanking. So, you know, not the most exacting of critics.
quote:Originally posted by Black Mask: Staring backwards down the binoculars of time... your teenage self probably didn't have two pennies to rub together, got into strops with his parents and spent all his leisure time wanking. So, you know, not the most exacting of critics.
posted
I just had to go to the coffee machine for an impromtu cock stroke when I saw the picture of naturalblondeblueeyedmisc for the second time in my life.
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I seem to get soul-searching moments in association with scary anniversaries. The new university term is about to start, prompting the shocking thought that it is now EIGHT YEARS since I started uni.
The person who set off to Liverpool was going to be a journalist, probably after doing an MA in Science Fiction. This person would want to know why I'd cut my hair, what I was doing in an office and why I was wearing smart trousers. She'd only be impressed by the fact that I'd seen a film version of LOTR, but on hearing that Daniel Day-Lewis wasn't playing Aragorn she'd probably sneer.
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Hah! Just wait until its 10 years since you GRADUATED!
When I went to uni I wanted to be a journalist, which am. However at 18 I had visions of escaping dangerous situations in the jungles of El Salvador, Mike Donovan style, not sitting in an office writing advertiser ass-kissing shite and growing the world's biggest beer belly.
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posted
I've been having one of those periods when everything seems to be falling apart. I have a job with fantastic prospects but at the moment I'm getting bogged down in the fear: that I'm just not good enough, that I'm not satisfied, that I'm stagnating, that I'm not coping. Rather contradictory, I know. I pulled myself out of my lethargy to apply for a new position, which has sparked a vague sense of nausea. Above all, I feel directionless. I can carry on as I am, do well, scramble up the ladder, meet more journalists, clients, drink more alcohol and sip water at coffee meetings, smiling and nodding, ready to prod and steer them in the right direction as they mutter about their companies. Notepad always ready, mobile always switched on (my mobile number's on my business cards, so, always contactable). I write press release after press release on dull products and facile research aimed to grab the attention of the consumer, draft articles on the state of the housing market (depressing in itself) and other thrilling topics, arrange countless meetings and events, monotonous rounds of phonecalls to bored journos (yes, no, we're not writing on that this week, I'll keep it on file, send it over again). Smiling on the phone to keep my voice sounding cheery. I don't even know if it's what I want to do anymore, or where my dreams have gone. I need to move into an area I care about but I'm apathetic, and afraid of launching into the unknown. I crashed and burned yesterday, sleeping 'til midday, covered in angry stress spots. It's ridiculous, feeling overwhelmed by a role I know that I'm more than competent for. I'm drowning in disinterest. And tonight I go out with more clients and journalists and will paste a smile on and probably actually enjoy myself and drink and socialise and make new contacts and make sure everyone's happy.
I think possibly this is all down to the completion of my first full year (plus one month!) of full time work, and the relentless grind of routine.
edit! Teenage self would probably be bemused. She wanted to write, not journalism but books, or edit other people's messy texts for them. And before that she wanted to teach but that idea got discarded pretty quickly come university.
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The teenage me was a smart-mouthed paranoid drunk, so would probably tell me to stop complaining, that I've never had it so good, say that I was he's best mate, tell me I've said too much when I point out that I'm not complaing, and that I'm actually quite happy at the moment, and then fall asleep on the floor.
Either that or stare in panic and fear as he realised that he has no confidence what so ever and really doesn't like being this close to any people at all, ever...
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I wanted to be uber hip indie film maker. Or war correspondent that got involved. The new Martin Amis (this is back when i still liked his stuff). Prime Minister. Basquiat without the premature death. Anything to do with fashion.
Now I am twenty five years old and don't have a job, home, money, girlfriend, life, future.
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I sometimes wonder how I have turned out to be a 33 year old single parent. BUT! I'm not doing too bad on the rest of the stuff. I have bought my own place, have a decent life, ok job and love my daughter to bits and can't imagine not having her. On the emotional side of my life though, I am still a dumb 16 year old with absolutely no idea whatsoever.
Misc, I think that you should be proud of yourself.
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quote:Originally posted by saltrock: On the emotional side of my life though, I am still a dumb 16 year old with absolutely no idea whatsoever.
Misc, I think that you should be proud of yourself.
Teach your daughter to paint. It's extremely lucrative with zero moral obligation to feel bad. Fake a few tears to boost the college fund. Buy her a room full of lip gloss. Sorted.
When you tell misc to be proud of himself, remember to point out it's a warm feeling inside sort of proud. Not; trousers a bit tight, journey a bit bumpy on the bus kinda proud.
quote:Originally posted by philomel: the relentless grind of routine.
It is possible to change routine without changing jobs or moving house. In the same way as moving furniture around in your bedroom can make the place seem completely different and fresh, so can taking a new route to work, going on a bike instead of the Tube, turning the telly off and just looking out the window - it can make your life different. Trouble is that we cling to routine like a stranded climber clings to a ledge rather than be lifted off by a rescue helicopter.
As for teenage me looking at nearly 40-yr-old me, well he was such a fucking idle layabout that he'd probably be going, "so, how did you get this car and house then? You didn't, like, have to work for it or anything did you? Tell me you didn't have to work..."
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posted
I always think of the teenage me as productive, inventive, cocky and unbound by such thoughts as "O but things like that don's happen to me" and "How the hell am I going to look after a kid at this rate". I liked him! He also got to nob VP, so he's clearly a man worth paying attention to.
I seem to have spent the last six months attempting to recreate the circumstances of me being 18 (what Thorn scholars refer to as the golden age), buying old records, wearing similar clothes etc etc. I even managed to try nobbing VP again and being met with a sneering rejection - it really was just like being a teenager again! The upshot was that the malaise that'd dogged me for seemingly ages lifted, I was enthused about writing again. I stopped getting frustrated with work, stopped fretting about getting jobs I hated and generally got excited about things again. I think my teenage self would be pleased and I think he'd also say "nice work on the porn collection and the computer games".
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Louche
Carved TMO on her clit just to make you feel bad
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The teenage me was utterly guache, directionless, naive and hopeless. Her biggest ambition was to get out of Wigan, which she managed to achieve for a number of years before being forced back by malign circumstances. Realising you've managed to bugger up the only ambition of your teenage self is a little humiliating, really.
She would no doubt be immensely pleased and mildly amused to note that, thanks to the recent revival of 'sixth form chic' what I am wearing for work is almost identical to what she wore daily for college. Though most of it is now from Marks and Spencers rather than 'Mal's Rokk Shop' on Wigan market.
She would be bewildered by and profligate with the amount of money I earn, as she considered £2.75 an hour to be a fantastic rate at 16 as it was vastly improved from the £1.75 per hour she'd earned the few years preceeding that.
Conversely, I'd like to pop back in time for a few minutes, and, over a companiable pint of sweet cider in the Navigation, endeavour to persuade her that home piercing your ears 18 times is a really shit idea which will leave you with permanent disfiguring scarring. Ditto the nose. I'd also like to point out that having your hair braided before your graduation ceremony guarantees that you will be recorded, beaming, forever on mother's mantelpiece looking like Predator in a frock.
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Astromariner
Going the right way for a smacked bottom
posted
I don't think of routine as a 'relentless grind'. For me it's more like being rocked gently as I sleep. Every so often, as I drift indolently through months where each day is more or less the same as the last, I might suddenly snap awake in the way I do when I dream I'm falling from a high place, and only then I perceive the sudden loss of all the time that has passed without my noticing it, and know I can never get it back.
I hate the way I can't remember enough, too. I recently saw a picture of me with short hair and a fringe, I think I must've been 14 or 15. I was wearing a stupid black and white striped headband and a t-shirt that had a woman with a bowl of fruit on her head on the front, and I was squinting at the camera in a vaguely irritated way. Looking at that picture, I realised that I have no more than a meagre hoard of fading memories of that time in my life. I can't remember where I got the t-shirt. I don't know if I chose the headband myself or if my mum bought it for me. I can remember how I felt about boys, and what music I liked, and who I was friends with at school. But what books was I reading? What did I write long letters to my friends about? What did I argue about with my parents? What did I eat for dinner each night? Couldn't tell you. In ten years, I'll be able to tell you even less, and I suspect that much of my daily existence now will eventually go the same way.
Scientists (I think) say that people need to be able to forget things which aren't immediately useful to us, otherwise we'd go insane with the effort of desperately trying to memorise the minute details of everyday life. I can understand why, for example, the ability to forget the list of ingredients on the back of a packet of smokey bacon crisps might be a beneficial thing, but I still wish I was better at holding on to the good stuff.
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quote:Originally posted by Thorn Davis: I think my teenage self would be pleased
Not when he saw that you now like rap noise.
Also he'd be gutted that you callously chucked all your VHS tapes away, including the secret gore collection, nurtured and hidden for years on the shelf behind more respectable films.
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quote: having your hair braided before your graduation ceremony guarantees that you will be recorded, beaming, forever on mother's mantelpiece looking like Predator in a frock.
UR ME ICM5UKP
I was a rubbish teenager - shy, awkward, minging boyfriends and overly large eyebrows.
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I think Thorn and Golden Age Thorn should team up to save everyone in the forum from getting totally depressed about being in the prime of life!
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disco: hello teenage self. disco: hello future me. why havent i lost weight yet? disco: you have. youll be a size 18 in five years time. disco: oh christ. disco: id read the beauty myth now if i were you; it might make it easier but i doubt it. disco: you fat lazy **** . disco: i know i am but what are you. disco: am i hugely famous then? disco: a stranger off a bulletin board will come up to you at a work experience placement in 2003 and tell you he likes your writing. disco: does he ask for my autograph? disco: er...no. disco: doesnt fucking count. i might as well kill myself now and be done with it. disco: after 1994 you get to take loads of drugs! you get to take loads of cocaine! disco:....oh...really? well, maybe ill stick around then. wait a minute, cocaines really expensive, its like, £80 a gram. that must mean im gonna be really rich! disco: yes, or that cocaine gets substantially chea...yes. you are very rich. very very rich. so rich, you can afford to buy your shoes at office. disco: really? wowzers, thats completely ace! okay, heres the question. am i ever going to have a boyfriend? disco:....well. yeah. eventually. oh but heres the thing, you get to go out with sophie's brother! you know, the one with the hair! disco: no shit? okay, thats random. does he still have the hair? disco: no. disco: bugger.
quote:Originally posted by ben: I think Thorn and Golden Age Thorn should team up to save everyone in the forum from getting totally depressed about being in the prime of life!
quote:Originally posted by ben: I think Thorn and Golden Age Thorn should team up to save everyone in the forum from getting totally depressed about being in the prime of life!
I don't think the despressing thing is actually being in 'the prime of life', but rather that it just isn't really that 'prime' at all.
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quote:Originally posted by Boy Racer: Misc: Oh no. I've got a flat, a mortgage, a girlfriend, a decent reasonably paid job I don't hate, and a generally comfortable existence at age 26.
Don't try and turn this thread into something it quite patently isn't, Boy Racer:
quote:Originally posted by MiscellaneousFiles: On the whole, he was pretty pleased.
I'm not saying that my life is crap at all. I don't know how you managed to misread it so. I merely think it's interesting to imagine how your teenage self would view your current lifestyle. Perhaps you could contribute in a more meaningful way next time?
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Louche
Carved TMO on her clit just to make you feel bad
posted
Who is being depressed? :confuzzled face: Apart from Vikram. Who is depressed because I called hima twat yesterday :arrogant face:
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Astromariner
Going the right way for a smacked bottom
quote:Originally posted by MiscellaneousFiles: I'm not saying that my life is crap at all. I don't know how you managed to misread it so. I merely think it's interesting to imagine how your teenage self would view your current lifestyle. Perhaps you could contribute in a more meaningful way next time?
the glum face at the end and the references to ally macbeal might have helped such a misreading. after all, worrying that your life was in any way shape or form like that godawful snorton of a programme would mark a long dark night of the soul for most cogent people, wouldnt it?
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