Thoughts From Places: Home

I got home this afternoon, not for the first time, while having a fit of hay fever because I'd forgotten to take any allergy medicine, and I have to walk to my house from work. I've slowly been coming to the realization recently that I've been doing the thing which we like to commonly refer to as 'growing up', and I like to see my horrifically violent allergies as a reminder that, even though I buy nice plates to organize my jewellery, I'm still a forgetful little shit with little to no responsibility. 

My new (incredibly trashy) necklace had arrived in the post, and I immediately wasted a lot of my time put it on the cats and taking photographs, because it annoys them. It's slowly dawned on me over the years that I express affection by being as annoying as possible, and I think that I act  this way as a trick to see if people stick around; if they love me back. Either that, or I'm trying to compensate for being really short. In a second compensation for being short, I went upstairs and played Sims for a while, because I dislike any computer games where I'm not effectively God. It says a lot about my personality that I feel the need to control others to the extent where I drug a new born baby because I'm annoyed that they were born a vampire, and not a witch. As a side note - that happened on the Sims. I didn't drug an actual baby. At least not today. 

I felt guilty for wasting a perfectly lovely day by sitting inside on my computer, so I took my book and went to sit in the sun and read for a while. The cats came to join me, and this made me think how all creatures on some level yearn for companionship, something that I discovered myself when I was smacked with a heartbreaking feeling of isolation yesterday, when I'd been alone for far too long. Also it made me think about how cats are really needy and kind of annoying when you're trying to read and they want to be fed. 

Finally, Mum came home. She's booked me a driving lesson for next month, which is both terrifying and exciting. I decided I need to buy a new key chain, since mine is way too long and way too gay for something as serious as driving.

This blog post has been lovingly ripped off from the Vlogbrothers on YouTube. You should probably go watch them now before I feel even more guilty.

It also was mostly just an excuse to use the macro setting on my camera, because sometimes I like to pretend that I have a good camera, and then my dumbass photographer brother turns up.

I'm Not Shy...

…I’m just an introvert. Whenever I tell people this, the first thing they tend to is assume that ‘introverted’ means ‘shy’, and  say “No, you’re not! You’re really loud!” The two most obvious points to bring up with this is that for one, I am an introvert. I like to think I know what I am, and the reasons for why I do things. Two, introversion has nothing to do with volume. I think this is the trigger reaction because many of the people who I tell, I know very well. Because I know them well, I act ‘normally’ around them, and tend to let go a little more, unlike how I am around people I don’t know. If I’m being loud around people I don’t know, I’m probably just trying to scare them off. This is quite easy to do; you only have to pick a word at random and shout it with gusto. My favorite at the moment is “hegemony”, mostly because it sounds like a noise a banker would make when falling out of a conifer. 

The problems that come with being introverted is that being around large groups of people tends to exhaust me. Physically, my brain processes more information to a deeper level than an extroverted brain (for once that isn’t me trying to show off how clever I am; it’s a fact. Science, man.) This is why I’m ‘not very good at parties’. That’s a lie; I’m awesome at parties. I just have to leave a little bit earlier than most people would/have a little lie down somewhere quiet for a while. Unfortunately, clubs and bars don’t tend to have places to ‘have a little lie down’, which is why if you come out with me, you’ll probably find me hiding in the toilets a lot. I just need time to focus, and process information on my own. Being around people makes me feel very crowded, and after a while I get scared, and have to leave before I start shouting, or crying, and either way I will start looking for somewhere to hide like a fat kid trying to find cake. 

I’m not telling you any of this to make you feel sorry for me; I just need you to understand. If I end up at a party, and I vanish, it’s fine. If anyone says, “Hey, where’s Az?” The best thing you can do is very loudly say “OH, Az you say? She had to leave. There was a thing. Top secret thing. Government top secret thing. She’ll be back in half an hour.” And leave it at that. 

I don’t mind being introverted. I actually quite like it. It gives me time to sit on my own and read things like this; an essay on gay sex in ancient Egypt. Or play with my cats, or write stupid stories about Brian Cox pining for Boris Johnson. But sometimes I just get tired, or feel guilty for not spending as much time with my friends as I should. At least I’ve finally got used to the cold shock of fear that comes with being told to work in groups at school. I’m a lot better at dealing with new people than I used to be, and I’m sorry if I ever made you upset by how I acted when at a party. I’m like a toddler; I get grouchy when I’m tired.

I’m sat in the garden writing this, and its evening. It’s a lovely night, but my youngest cat is currently chasing flies. Which is partly extremely funny, and partly he just launched himself onto my laptop, so what do you think?


I was walking past a greasy spoon café earlier, and saw a handwritten sign in the window that said “Hamsters for sale”. I turned to the woman next to me and asked “Do you think they come with chips, or mushy peas?”*

*Confession: there was no woman. I was on my own. I just wanted to sound cool.

PS Final update on the Below The Line Challenge; I've now sent in all the money we raised, and together we managed £216! Which i awesome, thank you so much for all your support.

Moving Swiftly On

So I've finished the challenge and I didn't starve to death. My uncle owes me a fiver. I fully admit that I stayed up till midnight on Friday just so I could eat some cake. And yes, I realize that many people my age stay up much later than midnight on a Friday, but bugger them, I'll have good skin when I'm old. We raised £130 overall, which is so great. Feel free to keep donating, everything closes on the 30th of June, so there's a little way to go.
It's great to be able to eat normally again, although it's taking a little getting used to. Mum handed me a piece of chocolate earlier, and for a while I didn't know what to do with it. I had a very strong need to save it, and squirrel it away in case I needed it later. 

It's been a blissfully nice day, and I've spent most of it lounging in various garden, appreciating some real sunshine. For a while I attempted to revise outside, which didn't go too well.

Books do not make good pillows. The cats, at least, have been enjoying themselves, and spent most of the day treading on me in bid to find some nice shade.

I also got to go and see the lovely Henning Wehn tonight, a rather fab German stand up comedian  He is part of my effort to see everyone who has ever appeared on a BBC, left wing, news based, comedy panel show. He was very good. Although I found it interesting that the audience roared with laughter through joked about holocaust denial and racism  but as soon as he pretended to cry, everyone got a bit awkward. I think this proves that the British can cope with offensiveness quite well, but we shut down at the first sign of emotion.

A Brief Intermission: At Home With The Family

It's just gone nine o'clock. Mum and I are in the kitchen, the Step Daddy is in the living room, trying not to have anything to do with us. We're both tired, and giggly. The oldest of the cats is in her basket. The smallest is picking over the remains of a fish pie. The other two are violently staring at the one that got to the pie first, and are silently plotting ways to send him to a speedy demise, without damaging the fish. 
Mum is sat next to the fire, with a text book about the history of art on her lap, which she's doing a very poor job of reading. I'm sat on the floor with the cats, in a small blanket pyramid while eating some jelly. The cats edge closer to the pie. 
"Bob. Bob." Mum waves at the cats. "Bob. Look, Bob." She waves her pencil up and down, in the manner of one trying to make it look like it's made out of rubber. She drops it, and it hits a cat on the head. He doesn't notice - there's pie to be had. I laugh, snort, inhale jelly, and the sneeze it onto a cat. Mum bursts out laughing, and tries to grimace. "Gross. Now shut up, I'm trying to be grown up." 
We both laugh for ten minutes straight. 


Neither of us notice the cats clubbing the smaller one over the head, and loading the pie into a transit van, before driving away. 

Cats Are Great, Aren't They?

I have cats. I have five, to be precise. Four at my Mum's house, and one at Dad's. They are all sweet, and very, very mental. For the majority of our time, we stay out of each other's way, and this suits us just fine. It also means they never bother me for food every time I walk into the kitchen, like they do with Mum. I know a few people who have cats. The majority of them can quite neatly be grouped into three, quite neat, categories. (Cat-egories. Geddit? Huh? Huh? Oh God. Kill me.)

1. May or may not be from ancient Egypt. The cat is holy, and to be worshiped by all who dare to witness it. It is not allowed outside. It is not allowed to touch the floor. It has an eider down bed, and is regularly seen eating pasta and salmon from Waitrose. To be avoided. The cat owner will discuss the pros and cons of various feline grooming parlors for three hours at a time, and if you ever make the mistake of walking through their front door, you will be smacked in  the face with a pedigree certificate. 
2. Is 10% chocolate, 40% bad wine, and 50% regret. The one who always suggests you read Bridget Jones at bookclub, even though you're focusing on Gothic literature this month. Always female, aged between 30 and 40. Probably has a calender counting down desperately to their menopause. Will repeatedly go on dates in attempt to become fertilized in time, but unfortunately  mentions the cat every five minutes. Will claim that the cat is her one true friend, despite the fact that the tiny, evil bastard is ruing her life. 
3. Doesn't actually know they have a cat. One of two people: either has a farm, in which case; check the barn. You will be able to steal adorable kittens. OR, lives on a road that has a whore cat. Y'know, one of those ones that goes to about twenty different houses for food, cuddles and sleeps. This is the one you should be friends with; they aren't mental. Although at some point they will have had a deep and meaningful conversation with the cat, and told it all of their life secrets. Teach the cat to Speak English  Trust me, it'll be funny.  

Whatever. Have some stupid photos anyway.

And just because:

My Age Is Probably A Health And Safety Risk

So nearly everyone I know now has a combination of any of these three things: a job, a drivers license, and a an email from a university telling them they have a conditional offer. I have none of these things. That's a lie, I have two jobs, but both of them routinely forget that I exist. I have never had a driving lesson, so it's pretty clear where that's going, and I didn't apply to uni this year, because for some reason I feel the need to stay at home for another year, crying and clutching bank statements to my chest. That's what most people do on a gap year, right? (Note, gap YEAR, not YARH.) 

So, point being, a week from today, I will be eighteen. That's like, big numbers. I will be old. I will be a "grown up", what ever that is. I seem to have convinced myself that on my birthday I will magically grow three inches, and the added height is what will make me gain responsibility. I have decided, I am not ready to grow up yet. However, in my eighteen (nearly) eighteen years of life, I have accomplished some things. I can:

• Treat a cat for fleas
• Do the the basic steps for a Charleston and a waltz
• Fix a bookcase using a complex balancing system
• Put on a duvet cover without getting trapped inside it for half an hour
• Send a text while going at speed on a horse
• Change a light bulb
• Do a cartwheel with one hand
• Write a semi-decent short story
• Fit inside my kitchen cupboard for an emergency hiding space
• Make really nice cake

I cannot fill a dishwasher properly, sew on a button, order anything in a restaurant without panicking, or have  a faux-cheerful conversation with a hairdresser but I think I have enough to be getting on with. 

In other news...

Look, punks and cats!

This song is very important