A girl I know once told me she’d asked her boyfriend if he’d still love her if she dribbled whilst eating. She followed this up by asking if she lost an eye, would he give her one of his. He answered yes to both questions.
Football. Most women I know can’t stand football but I truly enjoy it. Not playing it, I simply don’t have the physique. I think it all started when I discovered it was a great excuse to get pissed on a Wednesday night.
I exist. A strange phenomenon. Feelings of worthlessness are not uncommon. I don’t dislike where I am now. I just wish I didn’t worry about losing it so much. The truth is, the existing Eve has a meaningless job, the pay from which barely covers the rent. I exist. Magic beans don’t. It’s a fucking tragedy.
Today I exist with a hangover existing right alongside me. To be here but not quite here. The bit that isn’t here could be anywhere and the bit that is here feels like crap. Why do we do it? Well, that’s easy. It’s nice to lose your inhibitions and be as obnoxious as you can to everyone in the room. No, I wasn’t rude to anyone last night. I just played darts and tried to avoid hitting anything holding a beer glass. Now all I want to do is sit on the couch and eat Quavers all afternoon.
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My mum recently came up with a gem.
‘Eve, I was wondering what you were doing next Saturday?’
‘I don’t think I’m upto much, why?’
‘Oh, I was just wondering if you fancied going out for something to eat’
‘Yes, I guess we could, where?’
‘Well, I was thinking you might want to invite Kate, that’s the name of your friend that lives down from you isn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Why invite Kate?’
‘Well, there’s a few of us going’
‘Where?’
‘Well, it’s at a little bistro’
‘Who’s going?’
‘Oh just some friends, there’s someone doing a health and fitness talk’
‘Would they be church friends by any chance?’
‘Well, yes, sort of but it won’t be churchy’
‘Has it been organised by your church?’
‘Well, sort of but it will be good fun’
‘And this speaker will also be talking about her faith?’
‘Well, I guess’
‘Let me get this right. You want to invite me and Kate to an evening with your church members to listen to a speaker discuss her faith?’
‘Well, I can see it could sound like that. Anyway, I’ll pay for you both’
‘No thank you’
‘Oh, I just thought you might have enjoyed it.’
‘Um. No’
Afterwards, I did actually contemplate it for a nanosecond with Kate, just to sit there and eat far too much considering the theme, apart from worshipping the lord, was health and fitness, get pissed out of our brains and tell everyone they were fucking sad but 127
even then I don’t think either of us could bear it without making a death pact with one another.
I heard another funny story. Someone I know works with an absolute twat (most of us can probably relate to this). He’s also a lazy bastard who never ever walks round to the other side of his desk. One of the guys at work, cut a newspaper clipping from one of the tabloids, cut the letters out, rearranged them and stuck them on the opposing side of this guy’s desk, just under the lip. Thus, when anyone came in to see the guy for a meeting and he sat acting all pretentious and knowledgeable (even though he knows fuck all about anything) all the person on the other side of the desk could see was a large paper cut-out with the words
‘Pompous Twat’ on it. Some people really do have moments of genius.
One hundred and thirty-one
Earlier I wrote about a poor bastard that would shag anything. The poor bastard is dead. Wittingly drank himself to death at the age of 49 after making sure no-one had a jot of respect left for him.
One hundred and thirty-two
The plane feels different now. I feel the contours of the seat, the material coverings have a slight scratchiness to them. The plane journey plot idea didn’t seem to be necessary earlier. Yet earlier it was 128
the only part of the book which wasn’t true. I could have deleted it. Cut it completely. Yet life has its turns and suddenly it becomes relevant again. It is no longer just a means to an end, it is vital. Vital because all of a sudden it is important to my life.
My face is warm but my feet cold. I reach below my seat for the thin woolen blanket and wrap up my feet.
The comfort brings a smile to my lips.
One hundred and thirty-three
I live in a beautiful place. I have a beautiful home. I love an amazing man. I adore the two dogs who share our lives.
I am surrounded by ugly natured people. I work in an environment where I am taken for granted. I am engulfed by a society whose attitude is to scorn.
It is a paradox. I look around and am confronted by conflicting notions.
I dream of transporting the things that I love to a remote place, not one just down the road from a town but more isolated, a few homes dotted around maybe, preferably away from the current mentality I live with on a daily basis the minute I step outside the door or switch on the television. I think I might go and live above the Arctic Circle. Spend nights looking at sky, admiring either the midnight sun or the northern lights. Would it be so hard? Would it be running 129
away? Or would it be the sensible thing to do? The thing I should have done a long time ago. How can you run away when there is absolutely nothing to run away from, apart from misery.
Fleeting thoughts. When one sticks in your mind it might be worth paying it some attention.
One hundred and thirty-four
I don’t smoke now. Haven’t done for some time.
Don’t think I ever will again. I wondered what the point was of mulling over every aspect of my life, striving to improve it in some way when I was in reality committing a very slow suicide. A false crutch which never supported me but just added to my nervous insecurity. Bizarre. I never knew why I smoked. Never really enjoyed cigarettes. Infact when I did give up it was because I realized not only did I not enjoy smoking, I despised it and hence despised myself for being addicted to it. After that realization, I had no desire to put a cigarette to my lips again.
….Don’t worry, I’m not getting sanctimonious, I’m just pleased with myself. I’d tell my family but they still don’t know I smoked in the first place. I was a whiz with stuffing my face with extra strong mints and spaying perfume on my fingers even in my late twenties. God, that’s deceitful.
Party in the Park. Words I never want to hear again as long as I live. Especially when the party is in an over-hyped suburb and the bands are not just singing to backing tracks but are actually sound-a-likes and not the artists themselves. You know the scene, bring a 130
picnic, some wine, a few fold-away chairs and sit back to be entertained. My experience tells a different story. One of seven thousand pissed up scumbags falling into one another at ten in the evening singing and dancing to a Bee Gee’s rendition of ‘Tragedy’.
People who had lost all sight, trying to do the moves they had seen in the ‘Steps’ video of the same song.
At one point I felt like I had been transported to one of America’s fat camps as I noticed the size of some of these people. The majority of children I saw were grossly overweight. The night in general summed up our society’s need to consume. And worse, the need to consume utter shit. It was a shit night, shit music, even though it was advertised as a picnic, burger vans surrounded the park, with the smell of dead carcasses spilling into the night, people were drinking not to enjoy it and have a social evening but with the pure intention of getting rat arsed and shouting at the tops of their voices over the music. Men started pissing into trees because they were above walking to the toilet, people started hurling abuse at strangers…..I could go on but it’s distressing even writing about it.
In essence what it was, was a wake up call. It was like a loud voice in my ear shouting ‘GET OUT, GET
OUT, WHILE YOU CAN STILL DO SOMETHING
ABOUT IT’.
Consumerism. It’s despicable once you begin to understand it. Take, take , take. Don’t feel any sort of need to give anything back. As long as you’re happy.
But are you happy? Or have you just been led to believe it.
I’ve consumed. I think back to when I was a teenager, when I wrote letters to MP’s, governments, to supermarket chains. I remember the time I sponsored a child in Africa and sent money every month. I was a 131
member of Friends of the Earth, Greenpeace, the World Wildlife Fund. I also remember stopping all of the above when I discovered pubs and boys, cigarettes and clothes. I think of all the money I spent on new shoes, hairstyles, magazines, holidays, fast food, fags, alcohol, jeans, trainers, new tops for every night out, music, cosmetics, perfume, jewellery. It’s a lot of money. I remember having bought things I never even wore or used. Years later, I’d throw them away, untouched. I never needed them in the first place. I might not even have really wanted them but they were there. Some advertisement or other had persuaded me I couldn’t live without them. No advertisement told me that the cost of that designer top could feed a family for a month or even that fast food was literally full of shit and would make me fat. Well, they wouldn’t would they. Where does conscience live in society these days? I felt liberated when a few days ago, I read an article stating that Iceland was resuming commercial whaling and felt a need to do something. I wrote a letter to the governor of Iceland. I felt fourteen again. I felt enthused as if I could make a difference. I know it’s extremely unlikely but at least I did something. It’s funny how a small thing can fill you with a new found excitement, a feeling that not all is lost.
One hundred and thirty-five
I thought I might listen to some music whilst I’m writing. I’ve just spent about fifteen minutes trying to adjust the volume settings on the computer as there was a problem with the sound. After fiddling with all the different mute buttons and pitch variations to no 132
avail, I thought I’d ring the man who built the computer to ask him what to do. Fortunately, he didn’t answer the phone within the first four rings because that was when I noticed I hadn’t switched the speakers on.
I’m skiving again. Well, not really. I’ve fucked my knee up and am hobbling around on crutches. I could go to work if I really really wanted. I don’t.
I recently thought I needed to get myself in shape. I took up swimming and squash. In hindsight it would have been healthier to sit on my backside doing nothing seeing as that’s what’s caused the problem.
Mind you, if it hadn’t, I’d be sat in work today.
Peculiar. I’m actually pleased. It’s an odd thought but I do mean it. Sure, I think I’d feel differently if it was a serious problem, like not being able to walk again but a bit of damage to my cartilage which may need a spot of keyhole surgery is bearable because I’m really enjoying having the time off. Utter lunacy. I feel ashamed for admitting to it but it’s true. It makes me realize how little time is actually my own. Again, that’s nonsense if I compare that statement to when
‘leisure time’ didn’t exist at all but in today’s society I always have a need to grab something back. It’s a bit like consumerism, all the time I feel society is ‘taking’
from me without giving a damn thing back.
I’ve been ostracized from the village. Well, that’s overstating things a tad. What I mean is, I’ve been ostracized from a small group of acquaintances in the village. It all happened one Friday night when I’d gone out for a quiet drink to one of the village’s two pubs. It was at least an hour before I noticed it. Well, the premise being that the village is so close knit that when there’s a party or a night out, everyone is invited. Sometimes it girls or lads only but that’s the way it’s been since we moved here. Well, for the first 133
time in three years, I wasn’t invited. Not only that, I quite deliberately wasn’t invited. It was a horrible realization catching a whisper that night of a birthday outing for someone the very next day. Almost every female in the village was going. I was hurt to put it mildly. I was also angry. The person whose birthday it was doesn’t like me because I’m not a yes person and occasionally disagree with her. Even so, it felt like a conspiracy. Of all my friends, none of them mentioned it to me, to save my feelings. Well, thanks a fucking lot. I put my full drink down on the table and walked out. I haven’t been out in the village since and plan not to. I guess there are a few people who would think me a coward for not standing up for myself but I don’t see it like that. Everyone could see I was upset and only one of my friends has ever mentioned the event since but even then said she didn’t want to get stuck in the middle of anything. No one has called me or asked where I am. You know the feeling that no-one really liked you in the first place and were just being polite. Well, maybe you don’t. I hope you don’t because it’s one of the worst feelings in the world. Your confidence disappears and you withdraw into yourself trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. I know what it is. It’s because I don’t fit in. It’s because I don’t like Robbie Williams, read
‘Heat’ magazine, believe in Palm Readers and all the rest of that shit. It’s because I stand up for myself if someone makes a sexist comment, don’t laugh at racist jokes, the list goes on. Not going out doesn’t make me a coward, I just can’t be bothered being nice anymore. Happily chatting to people who will most probably talk about you behind your back as soon as it’s turned. It’s not worth the fucking hassle. I don’t even know why I let myself get upset about it. I wouldn’t want to be the person they’d like me for. It’s everything I hate about the world.
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My mum’s going to cook Quorn tonight. She bought some at the same time as me when we went shopping.
She’s going to give it a try in a hotpot. Fuck me. It’s a major breakthrough.
Am I a heartless bitch?