Infinite

I don’t really have much to say today, but just wanted to post this clip.This ending is my favourite of any film. The song is one of my favourites, a classic. The Perks of Being a Wallflower is one of my favourite films of all time.

I even have a lame drawing on my wall of this quote:Image

I love this quote more every time I look at it. I want more moments like that, with people I actually care about. Just those little moments, sitting in the park at night… staying up talking instead of sleeping… listening to that song and screaming because it’s “your song.” Gah, there are people I hate to think about, but you can’t help remember the fun you had with them. And I suppose that’s better than having nothing.

It’s moments when I look at the stars and it’s funny. I feel so small and insignificant that I feel infinite. It doesn’t really make sense. But, in the grand scheme of how small we are in comparison to the universe, I feel like I am limitless. My tiny, minuscule part in time is so small that, why should I have any limits? Why shouldn’t I feel infinite?

Seal Dancing and Tumble Drying

I am pleased to say that I am fully embracing student life again. Yesterday, I made a clothes line using the cord on my blinds and my pin board. Today, I blow-dried my clothes with my hair-dryer. We have a shit tumble dryer that keeps beeping at me and telling me to “empty the water.” I HAVE!!! Anyway, the one guy in our house that might be able to fix it was out so I had the choice. Go kickboxing in wet clothes or whack out the hair dryer for half an hour. In all fairness, after 15 minutes of the warm up I would be soaking wet and drenched with sweat anyway but I didn’t want people to think that I was so unfit that the walk was making me sweaty so I opted for the latter.

It’s crazy. I still feel far too immature to be renting a house. A house! Just the other day, I was crying with laughter because my housemate was doing a “seal dance.” This basically involved lying on the floor/ on top of my other housemate and wiggling, whilst making seal noises. She’s going to be twenty in two days. When I was a kid, twenty seemed adult. It seemed mature and grown up and old. I feel none of these. I feel the same as I did 5 years ago when I was doing my GCSE’s, just slightly more confident and slightly taller and slightly blinder. But I still don’t feel mature. I don’t feel much different.

But, I guess, when I really think about it, a lot has changed. I am more confident, even this last year I can feel it growing. I’ve lost that crippling shyness I had as a kid, the same one that made me hate secondary school in the beginning. The same one that led to me not having many friends when I first arrived. Relationships have also changed, moved on, gotten stronger. You realise who your true friends are when you leave your hometown. You realise who you actually care for and who you actually miss. Sometimes it is really hard. Sometimes missing them makes you almost wish you never left. But you have to, or how else will you get anywhere in life? And, against all odds I can actually cope living on my own- surprisingly well. Even better so this year, now I can actually cook slightly more meals than frozen pizza and spaghetti bolognese. And I can improvise… I might have a shit tumble dryer, but my hair dryer is Nicky Clarke 😉

Reasons behind a twisted mind.

I’ve decided to have a long, hard and incredibly deep (ooh cheeky) look at myself with the ultimate aim to work out why others might perceive me as amazing weird. And thinking about it, I really don’t know how I haven’t had to have therapy yet.

Oh wait…

For starters, I blame my mum for my sick sense of humour and lack of compassion. As you might have read from my previous posts, I am a constant source of amusement for her as she relishes in my- all to frequent- pain. She abuses me. Not the regular sort of beating me up abuse (although she is quite violent and has a nasty pinch on her) but the sort of playground bully abuse. The sort of, kick you when your down abuse. One of my first memories was of when I was three. I had this standard, red, plastic chair. One day, I decided I would quite like to see if I could fit my whole body underneath the arm of the chair. Well, to cut a short story even shorter… I couldn’t. I got my head and one arm stuck. I cried out for my mum,

“HELP, HELP, I’M STUCK IN THE CHAIR!”

My mum came rushing towards me, I was her first born child, stuck, oh God, what if I was stuck forever? She was hurrying over, quickly, quickly and… ooop… she went straight past me… straight to the telephone… where she called her mum to laugh. LAUGH!?!? I was stuck in a chair as a toddler and rather than help me get free, she laughed. It was only until my Nan reminded her that I was still stuck that she bothered to phone my dad to get him to come home from work and saw me out.

And I blame her for passing this trait onto me. I realised what she had done when I was at this rugby match. There was this old man sat on his fold-out chair close to the sideline. In hindsight a little too close really as one of the big rugby lads missed a tackle and ended up tackling the old man off of his chair instead. I thought I was going to die with laughter. I am ashamed. And I blame my mother.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that my complete crapness with men is because I’m scarred for life after a serious of weird and terrifying experiences with creeps. There was this one particular man who genuinely used to scare the shit out of me. He was this little, beardy Asian man in a hat who used to always pop up wherever I would be. He’d shout at me, blow kisses at me, wink at me, pretend to hide from me then continue following me down the street. And then one time… one horrific time… he snuck up behind me- my so called “friends” being the bastards that they are, decided not to tell me- and put his head on my shoulder (!) and, whilst sniffing my hair groaned…

“HHHHHHHHMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM”

Oh my dear Baby Jesus.

Needless to say, I ran. As fast and as far away as I could in HMV. With my “friends” crying with laughter behind me.

So I’m blaming this inability to trust, this paranoia, this analysing and reading too much into every situation involving a male on these freaks that used to follow me around. Either that, or it’s just because I’m a woman.