Holiday to St Albans

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So I took a one day holiday to St Albans.

I left this morning at 8:14 from London Blackfriars Station via the Thameslink Line. I arrived in St Albans half an hour later and went on the hunt for some food since my stomach was yearning for something. I was going to stop in a coffee shop but there weren’t any people in and it had been open for an hour. I didn’t want to have breakfast in a cafe that was empty and I was feeling shy. So I followed a map and walked 10 minutes or so into the town centre. I was walking along and noticed a Bill’s restaurant. I’d been to one in Covent Garden before for breakfast so I walked into this one to have breakfast and maybe read some of “The Artist’s Way”.

 

1.43 am Final Year – Easter

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Nearing the end. It’s not going quietly.

I’m having fun. Homelife is housemate free. It has its moments. Far more stress free than previous years. Future looms. I’ll get to it in the months to come after. I look forward to the heal.

Can’t sleep. Will do in a few hours, probably. Much less of a social life. Starting to see that as a good thing (because work is fun). Its when I meet with friends I’m reminded that being sociable is a “thing”. So its kind of nice to stay away from the really close ones, because there’s guilt there. The more distant acquaintances are safe, or classmates. Peers that are close friends are not safe. There’s guilt on both sides, which is unhealthy. It might be good to let go, considering future plans. I’ll see about it, when it comes.

Future looms.

Next Cycle

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I’ve not bothered for a while. As you might have noticed. I got as far as the latest blog and just stopped writing. Then I had my last therapy appointment and then I had Easter. I stopped going to therapy, began to avoid doing things uni related out of guilt and then didn’t submit work for my final assessment. So I failed and now I’m repeating.

I had summer. I had a job working as a kitchen assistant in a pub in Central London. During my job I went for 12 days to the US to see my parents. Who I saw along with my brother and his girlfriend. Then I found a house, quit my job, moved in and started uni. Not necessarily in that order. And here we are.

I’ve taken up another domestic hobby. It was cooking last year and cooking is fun, but it’s not the entire world. Its just amazing. So I’ve started ironing. I’ve taken up ironing and its added a nice structure to my day. Although it’s given me an idea for my CTS class assessment because of the chore of searching for the iron label and seeing if its a cool iron, warm iron or a hot iron that I can use to iron my clothes.

Oh and my depression has kicked up again. It’s jumping in leaf ridden puddles like a gleeful child, on the streets of my emotional state and my mind.

So not much has changed, but I’ll keep you updated. Also my CTS class needs me to post for my class on this blog so you may see things here.

Being a Robot in the Afternoon

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You know how in the old days in factories there would be loads of people who’d be picking out a few defects from an assembly line or sewing on an arm or two onto a garment before it was transferred to the next station?

I was one of those people for today.

It started out like a typical university Wednesday: I go to uni for my counselling session and then headed to lunch. Then I went into the studio to chat to others in my year.

Then I went to the dirty studio. Its one of the three studios. I almost never go in there. So why go today?

Well, a day or so ago, one of the third years asked us of years 1 and 2 to help them solder together 800 boards for their collaboration project with the

Science Museum, London.

So I volunteered because I wanted to learn how to solder. When I got to the dirty studio, it was with my friends Totti and Parr. Parr was busy calling all her relatives to wish them a –

Happy Chinese New Year!!!

Which I wish all of you now. So Totti and I entered the studio where Totti got soldering and they introduced me to the bit that they had forgot to mention, not that I minded. I had to take 800 chips that would attach onto the circuit boards and before they would be clipped in, they had to be programmed with a code. So I sat at a table and took the chips individually and plugged them in to be programmed. I uploaded the program and unplugged the chip from my little station and set them aside in a bucket.

I repeated this for the whole day until 7pm where my “shift” ended.

So I got used to my monotonous task, but now I’m tired and because I lost my house keys, I’m sitting in a McDonalds waiting for my friend to come back home so I can head home.

So I’ll keep you posted.

Habits and Addictions #2

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I have an internet addiction. I’ve known about it for a while. Sometimes I imagine jumping off the deep end and not using the internet at all. Not using a computer or a phone. Living old. It’s a tad too extreme I suppose. The thing is, there’s a major difference between acknowledging your addictions to yourself in your head or to your friends. If you announce it aloud to yourself and mean it, it’s heavier and has a meaning. So when I announced it to myself and meant it to myself [even though I was in a Skype call with my parents at the time], it felt real and I knew I had a problem to deal with. My dad calls it Avoidance Stress- something. He’s right. It’s one thing to recognise what you have and announce you’re going to put a stop to it.

“Oh ye fiendish addiction! I shall put an end to your evil schemes! Ye shall thwart me no more!”

It’s altogether another kind of thing to actually swing your sword and end it. I never understood why you should name your attack before you use it. It’s impressive enough if it’s powerful, maybe just say it in your head. It sounds sad, but it’s better than saying

“MEGA ULTRA SUPERSONIC BURST GUN!”

and then firing this gigantic attack only for it to miss because the long shouted name has clued your opponent in to the nature of the attack and avoided it like a drunken elephant because yes, your attack was that obvious [and they don’t need grace to avoid getting hit].

So yes, I’m introspectively announcing my addiction. I’m a fiend if my laptop is not being used by me for too long. Worse if someone else is using it, and for work no less! Which means I’ll never get it back. Anyway, it’s an addiction. I’ll try to slow it down. Moderation.

Bye, oh and yes, St Albans is a nice place. Much less crowded than London, and although the buildings are smaller and cramped together, somehow it’s a kinder experience to get lost in. Smiles all around.

Habits and Addictions #1

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You know I used to have trouble keeping my retainer in. I think most people did. I went through so many treatments where it was a pain. I got over it and wore it every evening when I realised all it was was a little action extra in my evening routine. Now it’s the reverse; if I lose or misplace [the damn thing] then i find it hard to go to bed without frantically searching or have a bad night’s sleep.

Travel and Parcels

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I booked a ticket to St Albans. I’m going in the morning and heading back in the late afternoon.

Oh and finally! Okay so this story goes back week or so. Or rather, it starts a week or so ago.. or more…

Ahem.

In the residency of Patrick Connolly Gardens, a week and a half ago, a letter appeared in the post in our front door. It was a letter telling us that someone had ordered a parcel and because we hadn’t been in to receive it, it had been delivered to one of the neighbours across the hall or down the stairs. At first we ignored the letter because none of us had ordered a parcel and the letter didn’t mention who had ordered it. We took no notice and continued with our lives.

A few days later, I was talking to my parents over the internet and they asked me if I had received the book that they had sent. In a rush I remembered a week ago they had sent me a book called The Artist’s Way which helped the creative mind among other things. I quickly found the letter and checked the door number written so I could get it back. Therein lay the problem. The postman/woman had written the second digit down as a lightning bolt so it became a question of which of three flats had my parcel. It could have been numbers 73 or 75.

I quickly went to where door number 75 was, or so I thought. After ringing the doorbell and waiting patiently I was greeted by the flushed and slightly stressed face of a young woman. She gave me a slight smile as I explained what had happened. As I explained, her smile morphed into confusion and slowly pointed out to me that I was at flat 78. I apologised quickly and gave an embarrassed grin to which she just smiled and closed the door. I walked down the stairs and after checking the door number carefully I arrived at number 75.

I rang the doorbell and after a few moments an elderly woman opened the door. She had a soft Irish accent and I was a little mortified from the encounter upstairs and explained everything in a fast and garbled mess. She looked confused and after slowing my explanation down she told me she hadn’t received a parcel. She asked to see the letter which I showed her and we poured over the confusing bolt-like numeral. She suggested that it maybe was a 3 and pointed opposite at number 73. I walked across and knocked hard and at the woman’s suggestion, rang the doorbell a couple of times. After no reply we decided to leave it be and I walked upstairs to my flat as she shut the door, wishing me good luck.

A few days past and apart from a few sporadic knocks and rings on number 73, I hadn’t had any luck in getting my parcel. Then a week after that, I was talking to a friend over the internet and asked her to hold so I could knock on the door of number 73 one last time. I knocked and then rang the doorbell 5 times. There was no reply. I went back upstairs and then wrote a note explaining it to them, went back down and posted it through the letterbox. Later on as I was talking to that same friend, I realised that maybe the bolt shape was a 4. I went downstairs and knocked on number 74 with three loud bangs. A big bear like man opened the door and handed me my parcel with a smile. I said “thank you” enthusiastically and then swiftly walked upstairs to tell you all the good news.

And here we are.

Ironically this story was proofread by the friend who I was talking about. So it was weird for her because the last bit of the story was what had occurred 15 minutes ago. She found it funny.

I’m going to bed in 10 minutes, first I have to put the clean clothes away and then I can go to bed and wake up on time for my train tomorrow.

I’ll tell you how St Albans goes.

Ehhhhh

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October 10th 2014 I wrote a post called Sorry. It was around that time that my winter depression began to kick in. I’ve still got it. So my resolutions to change weren’t going to work because I wasn’t talking to anyone and bottling it up.

No more. I cant write. I’ll share later.

Rest

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I haven’t left the room except to go to the toilet. I’m lying down in bed, my laptop propped on my stomach, neck angled down and reading comics.

I had half a pack of cookies earlier. I would love to cook but I don’t want to wash up, nor do I want to interact with anyone today. Hopefully everyone’s at work. Its warm in the bed. I’m gonna clean the room up a little. Wash my salad bowl, put the clean clothes away, put the wet clothes in the dryer. Tomorrow I’ll do a full laundry day. Not enough time for the dryers after the one wash.

I had a nightmare. I was cooking something good but it made me go through 3 frying pans and it kept building. When I was done, I was hungry but I went to wash up and while I was washing up, A (my housemate) walked in and yelled at me for not doing the dishes and making a mess. I felt like crap. I can’t remember the rest. Maybe I’m sulking.

I should go out today. But what if I come in, hungry and wanting to cook and people are talking and having a good time in the kitchen? I want to ignore them and stay in my room. Hopefully if I do go out it doesn’t happen. I might get yelled at otherwise. Or teased. Dad says I’m too sensitive.

I can imagine saying in company that I don’t like it that they comment about my terrible cleaning skills and A will say “but it’s true!” so matter-of-factly and then I’ll be silent and then I’ll be lectured about how I’m not good enough.

I’m going to take off, this is turning into self angst and whining. Bye.

I need a break.