On 30th September I move into my accommodation and start university. I can't wait! My room is ensuite, brand new and luxurious and from the moment I move in my Freshers week will be non stop, including a cross dress fancy dress night. It should be great fun, I'm already planning various fancy dress outfits.
I'm so very excited about all this, it's everything I want and I want to make the most of it. However, if there's one thing holding back my excitement it's this. Going off to university will mean the first (significant) move away from a boy who's been in my life for the past 2 years, mostly as a boyfriend but at least as a very close friend. He loves me and thinks we should always be together, and for him, the distance is just an obstacle we can work around. Visiting each other, phone calls, the internet are all we need in his eyes to bide the time until we're back together again. But this is all a problem for me. Why?
I am back from that scary place where you have to live without the internet. Due to a mix up with my mother and paying bills, our internet got cut off for a while and our supplier wasn't very helpful about getting us connected and back online. Finally, though, I am now back up and running!
Maybe I should give an update with where I am in my life. Firstly, when I applied to the AGA I was going to study Italian when I go to university this October, but since then I found out I had other options open to me I didn't even realise I could take and I have switched to doing French instead. I need to buy lots of books for prep reading so all my money will be going to Amazon now, and all my problems (tax problems, net poblems, student finance problems, and many course switching problems) have settled down and been sorted so now I'm looking forward lots to this October!
When I was very young I told my mother that when I grew up I would adopt. Both my sister and my mother thought babies and children were icky when they were little, changing their minds as they got older, but I always knew I wanted children, just not my own.
The night before last I had a very long chat with my mother about babies and pregnancy. I had heard of something that can happen during labour and whilst talking about this with her we started a long discussion on the pros and cons. I had it all about right. As I saw it in my head, the pain, what you went through, how it felt she agreed with. I asked her, concerning the 'magical' side of pregnancy by saying 'Is it like, if you're sat in the garden on a sunny day just relaxing with nothing to do you look down and go ahh, I'm creating life, how magical. But the rest of the time it's horrid?' She said 'Exactly'.
Let a man catch a woman crying and you can almost guarantee a response of, aww it's ok, she's just being a typical woman all emotional, or even, it's just her period, time of the month, PMS. This has been particularly evident in this year's UK Big Brother where on a lot of occasions when women were short tempered or irrational other members of the group were silenced in their complaints about her moods by words like "She can't help it, it's just her period, ignore it".
Growing up, in observing the sexes and indeed myself (and what men pointed out to be my flaws) I came to a temporary conclusion that the sexes are polarised in feelings, reactions and focusses on the world they can't help. I decided that it must be that women are and can't help being emotional, and men have and can't help an endless sex drive: horniness. Horniness that, like emotion in women, often persuades men to make otherwise less than sound decisions. Obviously, this conclusion wasn't brilliant. Give a man the womanly trait of being emotional and it's considered a disadvantage. Whereas give a woman an immensely boosted sex drive and it's considered an advantage. But there's an example of me considering general social view to be that of a man's. Something I sadly did subconsciously, that is, to a woman an emotional man may not be considered a bad thing and extremely horny women not necessarily an advantage.
One thing I find difficult to do is take life seriously. That is, when people talk about politics and careers and equal rights I'll argue with them, and take sides and have an opinion, but when I think about it later I think, but what does it matter?
I sometimes feel like a timebomb, waiting to die. I don't say that with fear, I've never been afraid of death and I don't understand my focus on it, but I'm so very aware of it. I don't like making short term plans, or bad decisions, because they distract me from what I really want to do with my life and I want to get on with that. Why? As they always say, I could die tomorrow in a car accident, next week by a freak weather accident, get kidnapped, murdered, or of course just live old and die. Naturally the latter is preferable, though when I consider it I can't help but think of dementia, incapability and the like when I do, which makes me harbour plans to move somewhere where owning a gun is legal when I get to an old age.
I have a mother, and our relationship is difficult.
On the one hand, she's my mum, she raised me, gave birth to me, and because of this technically, I love her. I try to make time to chat to her and I help her when she needs me.
But that's it. This may sound harsh of me and possibly even ungrateful, but she wasn't a very good mother. A good provider, yes, but never a mother. I wanted to post this, as my relationship with her has been such a big part of my life, but so difficult.
My mother, Susan, married aged 17 to a man called Tony, aged 21. It was the late 60s. Aged 18, exactly 11 months later she gave birth to my sister. She considered herself a bit of a hippy. She says she never smoked and didn't know what drugs were until several years later and thought being a hippy was just about wearing flowers in your hair (I don't know how big the press was on drugs in 68-69 so I don't know if she lies and did do drugs or if this is plausible). In hippy style, she made up my sister's name - Sepy. They moved to a new house and looked after their newborn baby. When she was 20, my mother decided to go to a local college to continue her education. Her O Levels had not been the best so she re-sat English and started Maths at A Level. She passed English and only completed the first year of Maths then left, but in her Maths class she met a man called David.
In writing this, as always, I find it difficult to define myself. I planned on writing about my life so far and my upbringing, but I don't like thinking of this as defining me. Some of the experiences in my life from the very ordinary to the extraordinary categorise me in ways I don't feel apply and I've been judged on my family and upbringing alone many times before. In reality, I feel that I completely go against the image that it creates of me.
It often hits me how something like "How are you?" on an instant messenger is so frustrating. In real life, I don't think anyone has expressionlessly asked me that question. In words, you hear underlying disinterest, friendliness, caring, humour, innuendo. As a written phrase alone you see none of this and can only guess its real meaning. This is how I see my background, only a skeleton of me which you could use to guess the size and shape of me, but gives no true idea of my passions, interests, weaknesses, the body and defining part of me.