Fuck.

The amount of work I’ve suddenly had to do has made me turn to writing for a little procrastination. The deadlines coming up, the endless barrage of shifts serving drinks to terrible people and most recently – and most unexpectedly – romance coming at me from all sides. I’ve got a to-do list bigger than the Brexit bill and my way of dealing with it so far has been as improvisational and as random as David Davis’ negotiation style.

Maybe it’s just an inadvertent play act of Californication where I, in this strange moment, am Hank Moody, ‘drowning in a sea of pointless pussy’ much to the dismay and disgust of myself and peers. A massive exaggeration perhaps with that quote yet it’s the only way to describe it. Perhaps the solution is a case of pick someone or none of them and learn to love them or the decision. Being alone or without company for a long time develops a strange status quo and now this peaceful lake has a great big fucking turd floating across its waters. All options lead to compromise and as Hank Moody would attest to, quite simply, the word ‘fuck’. Like David Davis, I’m going to make it all up as I go along and when it turns out shit yet bearable or simply bearable, I’ll climb to atop Clifford’s Tower and proclaim: ‘aha! This was my plan all along’ and hope it sounds convincing, at least for myself.

It’s so draining, the lot of it. The long nights at the bar; the fun yet ultimately expensive nights out and, work – the actual reason I came to university in the first place. Is this just what to expect at second year of university? A delicate act of keeping a torrent of shit at bay with a flimsy umbrella made from the skin off your back, all the while shouting, ‘this is fine, it’s all fine, I’m fine’. Or is that just life itself rather than simply university? It doesn’t help that every project that we seem to create – if you can call what we do on this course creating – ends up like The Room and without all the charm of The Disaster Artist. Professional dissatisfaction behind the bar and camera, and then again in the romantic life. Fuck, not even twenty and I’m crashing against the ceiling that my dad is hitting now at forty-five.

Time is the enemy now more than ever as there’s never enough of it, not enough for sleep or half decent decision making. I keep finding myself saying to people that I’m surprised there hasn’t been more investment into time travel research; like pull your fucking finger out, Elon Musk, I need at least a week to work out what I’d prefer to spend my time around: a vegan fringe, stumpy thumbs or a Geordie accent. A sentiment that probably makes no sense whatsoever to anyone existing outside the soap opera of my life right now, but strangely despite the even more strange context of this clusterfuck, the wind is blowing towards the vegan fringe.

In any case: I need to drop a memo to Elon Musk, I hear he’s quite responsive on Twitter.

Fuck.

Making Friends

I got talking for the first time with a new housemate who perhaps, I should have gotten to know better before I moved in with him. He’s five years older than me and the oldest in the house and strangely I got along better with him than perhaps I thought I would or so far, how I have been with housemates my own age. What he said made a lot of sense to me, in that being you never know who people truly are until you have to live with them in a student house. For the first time in a while, I was pleasantly surprised. I’m not sure whether it was that he was genuinely good conversation or that the lack of reliable internet or company that made his presence that much more meaningful – despite this being the second conversation we’ve actually had in person.

The hours of conversation have made me think about what we all expect from life and that ours differ so dramatically considering like me, he is going into his second year of university yet at twenty-four. He was speaking to me about children and how he’d like to settle down in ten years and start a family with a wife, a few kids and a white picket fence. Naturally, this made me think about my future as a family man and the thought of doing the school-run makes me want to hang myself. Yet despite fundamental differences in our envisions for the future, I’m feeling once again a sense of déjà vu: finding common ground amongst the things we both say ‘what the fuck’ at. This common theme with how I seem to bond with people makes me wonder if this is how we as humans, generally connect with people.

I know it’s strange since in the 21st Century we typically see and hear through various forms that love (whatever the fuck that means) brings us together whether it be to find common ground on political issues or humanitarian issues. Is the reality of it all far more cynical? I’m not particularly bothered if so, considering a good complain about people I don’t like or the current state of the political climate is becoming a pastime for me. Perhaps that is the greatest downfall of the modern world – our core belief that love will win the day and singing songs in unison at charity gigs will unite us all forever more. I’m not disputing the feel-good-factor and the buzz from those sorts of things but I don’t suppose the light bulb was invented because we loved candle. Complaining about things and being united in our shared annoyance or how put out we are has led to some of the greatest human advancements. Whinging about horses and how it takes too long to get from place to place led to the combustion engine and in turn, complaining about pollution has led to the UK banning the sale of diesel and petrol cars from 2040.

True, not all our advancements have come from healthy complaining considering a level of unhealthy complaining has led to many a war or skirmish stemming from the very fundamental line: ‘I don’t like that they believe in something different to us’. In a world of expanding atheism and nihilism that phrase is changing quickly to: ‘I don’t like that they believe’. Perhaps that’s a completely other rabbit hole to fall down some other time but my point is, whether we accept it or not, the foundation of human cooperation is based on bitching about things.

I for one, have never made a friend on holiday with a conversation not starting with a moan about the lack of available sun loungers or that the salad is off. Maybe this is just me and once again, I’m over generalising by a few thousand miles but today is a testament to the theory and I’d like to say, I’ve made a new friend.

Hooray for bitching.

Making Friends