Lost in Revision

With an aching heart and weary head I turn to the only ray of light in my room. The windows sunny rays remind me of the real world which is busy living while I remain as a social recluse with text books and highlighter pens as my own companions. That’s right folks, I got the revision blues.

I distract myself with whatever means possible, mostly with this laptop. Anything I can conjure up to do will have a certain element of urgency which means my studying is permanently placed on hold. Feeling parched? A tea break is in order and perhaps spend another ten minutes buttering some toast to go with it. What time is it? Isn’t Hollyoaks on? The fictional world that my dear television delivers is placed well before my own and before I know it it’s time to go to bed.

We have all experienced the annual event of revising. It is perhaps the most soul drenching experience (excuse the dramatization but I have to perk myself up after some draining hours of law) that I know of. You discover that you lose contact with the real world, you become fragile to the fresh air and day light makes your eyes bleed. Your appearence may suffer as well, pale skin and bloodshot eyes is the studious zombie of the night, you’ve been wearing the same items of clothing a week but as time merges into one continual day you fail to realise.

As a contemporary sufferor I feel obliged to help and guide those misfortunate students who feel similar to I, like their sanity is under threat. There are the obvious suggestions on coping with the huge hoards of revision; take regular breaks, go out and get some fresh air, structure information into bite-size chunks. The most significant advice I’d raise above any of these coping strategies is do not, under any circumstance, decide to celebrate a day of hard-core revision with a few drinks in the pub. The mere taste of a frosty beer is the moment of no return. The temptation is too much to resist, the taste of freedom and laughter, relaxation and simpler times. You’ll be whisked away into the land where knowledge isn’t recommended, the whole night will go up in flames and your morning after. So to all you fellow studiers out there, resist!

I would gabble on about the hardships of being a poor and humble student which far more work than time, but I have to go and revise. I suggested you all do the same too.

The Buddy Blunder

You are strolling down a street in a day dream when your heart skips a beat and you have to take a second glance. You wonder why that face you have seen seems so familar.

You cast your mind back and then it all falls into place. You recognise that face for a reason, it is your old friend/flame/fuck buddy.

You can play it two ways, you can either keep walking in the hope they haven’t spotted you or think you have spotted them or you could just bite the bullet and approach them.

Either way the likelihood is that you left this person in the past for a reason, you’ve either grown up or you’ve moved on and you didn’t look back, so now it comes to the crunch what are you going to do? Try and salvage the relationship or turn your back on it for good?

It’s similar to Rose dropping Jack into the murky waters of the ocean, she promised never to let go but then loosened her grip and watched him sink. I realise this had been metaphorically speaking and since he was already dead there wasn’t much he could do to protest… anyway the point I was trying to make is relationships can sometimes follow the same path. We all promise each other we’ll be there to the bitter end but when things do get bitter we’d rather just end it. We make a bold claim like Rose and then on the sly let them go. Tragic but that’s life my friends.

So today I was sat at the bus stop trying to find a decent song I haven’t overplayed on my i pod when someone stands uncomfortably close to me. I take one quick look up and then throw my head down again praying she hadn’t seen me. My old high school friend was stood right before me, almost teetering over me to read the bus timetable. From the way she twitched she had seen me and from the way I shifted she must of known I saw her but we had this mutual respect not to break the awkard slience. After I finished the pantomime of flicking through my playlist and after she finished her act of peering at the timetable she walked away to the back of the queue.

Maybe I shouldn’t of let the chance slip away, maybe I should of jumped to the opportunity bellowing in her face: “Oh my God! It’s been so long! How are you?” But I found this would not only scare the living daylights out of her but it’d require a massive amount of energy only to end in small talk.

So ladies don’t feel the guilt if you walk on by, some things were never meant to be. Appreciate the friends you have now, you never know you may be walking past them in the future.

Man Alert: Mr Narcissistic

Beware of Mr Narcissistic my friend when the moon is big and fat, he’ll be waiting for you to become intoxicated to increase his chances to play.

That was my error, with more pints of alcohol in me than of my own blood I stumbled into the deadly Mr Narcissistic’s grasp.

He was attractive, available and better yet interested. The alcohol reduced my resistance and before I knew it I was hailing a taxi back to his.

The morning after is never pretty, on films they never show it unless the night had been a disaster. Clumsily trying to reverse your rear out of bed while maintaining your dignity is a task in itself but struggling to live down the embarrassment of being another notch on his bedpost proves the most difficult task of all. I had been caught in the snare of the Narcissistic.

So what to do if you find yourself victim to a Narcissistic? And further more how can you tell when you’re dealing with a Narcissistican?

To differentiate this male from the rest watch out for these signs:

• He’ll be always keen to check his appearence using whatever means possible. He knows all the possible options available to him from the car mirror to the kitchen kettle. Observe him when he’s observing himself. Does he sway from left to right to find his best profile? Does he pout or do any other ridiculous facial expressions? Has he been staring for longer than a minute? If yes to any of these you may have a potential Narcissistic on your hands.
• He doesn’t walk he swaggers.
• In passing he’ll make comments about other girls, either about past relationships or how great his sex life is. Any unnecessary bragging about his conquests will mean you have a Narcissitic guaranteed.
• When you leave the next morning he gives you a pat on the bum and says: ‘Run along now.’
• Another morning after scenerio is when you discover female belongings dotted all around his room and he doesn’t even have a girlfriend.
• He has a comments book where you can rate his performance.

So what do you do if you have ticked any of these? Don’t scream and hurl yourself out the window, it may seem like a good option but it will only end in tears (and broken legs.) If you have yet to make physical contact with this man then I suggest you back away. The rejection will surely do wonders and brusie his giant inflated ego. If you have only contributed to his vainity by becoming an occuptant of his bed then opt for the emergency proceedure, act like he would before he does it first. Yes, it makes no sense in writing and it probably doesn’t make much sense in action either.

On him awakening you should already be getting dressed, act cool and composed and then say these few significant words:

‘Sorry babe gotta run, maybe I’ll call you sometime.’

This is the Narcissistics most treasured motto, it is the formual to which they all live and breathe by. By getting in there first the Narcissistic will be knocked off his guard and fall face first into the heap of rejects. You however will claim one golden point for the female population in this fight against the Narcissistics, someone should speak to the female WAGs however who are doing an appalling job.

Best be Bitter

I have introduced so many of my fellow singletons to eligible bachelors (OK, semi-decent men) in the hope they’ll be snatched up by their own Prince Charming. The Cilla Black act has been success on three of my experiments and I have watched the happy couple mount their white horse and ride off into the sunset.

But where does that leave me?

Well exactly where they had left me.

Now is the time of the incredible back-fire, where it’s all thrown back in my face perhaps not on purpose but it sure stings all the same. Saturday evening I dial number after number and await with baited breath as I am told the same dreaded response: ‘Oh you know I would hun, but I’m seeing Gary tonight.’

Curse me for being so concerned over the well-being of my pals sex life! As a romance recluse I only have myself to celebrate the life of the singleton. Sharing a bottle of wine to yourself doesn’t work too well and only results in an agonizing hang over for two.

So what to do when those you shared all your free time with have suddenly left you on your own? Why not try out the bitter hag? Grow resentful, grab a few stray cats to which you can use to throw at passer bys and curse nonsense about last weeks Britain’s Got Talent.

If that doesn’t appeal you could always join a convent or go to the other extreme and become a prostitute. They have a fantastic night life right? Either way don’t do what I did and become the bitter hag, rolling my eyes when a couple begin their pet names session (really, is my little sexy bear really necessary? And isn’t that bordering on the point of beastiality?) or snarling whenever a pal dashed off into my other pals arms. Things have developed further than that, one couple is planning to move in and another is already sharing house bills, I have been steering the love cruise boat and now everyone has abandoned ship.

Unfortunately por moi the love favour has never been returned, there is a serious lack of male suitors and none of my companions know of any. So I must resume my course of the bitter hag, I already have three cats which I feel is a positive start.

So in the name of Bridget Jones (before she fucked off with Mr Darcy) I call out to you singletons out there. Join the resentful revolution, it’s probably not the best foot forward, it might even be two steps back but at least we’ll be moving.

When the going gets tough the tough gets comfort eating

Last year I promised myself (when I could almost steer my legs with my love handles) that I would lose weight. It’s one of the most gruelling challenges that I’ve ever come across and that is taking into account the third year dissertation I had weighing on my mind.

I decided that if I was to lose weight I was going to do it properly. I turned a blind eye to fad diets (surely a fry up each morning couldn’t possible benefit you in the long run?) and resisted the urge to take inspiration of those crazy celebs with their syrup shots or smoothie concoctions. No, this was going to be purely based on healthy eating, the most boring and sensible diet of them all. I swapped my caffiene loaded coffees for green teas and gallons of water, my bladder was fit to burst but I felt detoxed and cleansed to the point of a saint. I replaced high fatty take-aways (oh come back my local chinese I missed you!) and instead had portions of grilled fish and a helping of boiled veg. Can you sense my calorie halo glowing?

And lo and behold it worked, I suddenly transformed into the incredible shrinking woman reducing myself down to a size 8. Oh hurrah! I wore slinkly dresses and felt like a sexy little minx hot to trot…but this was a priviledge that wasn’t made to last.

I turned to comfort eating (accompany this confession with the dooming dun dun dun!) The pressures of my new course and the loss of a four-year relationship had a shocking impact on my waistline. Ben and Jerry were my two companions during this moment of crisis and I hadn’t even met them. I’d just scoff the sweetest sugary foods (or savoury depending how I felt) to squash down the hurt and pain. Yes, I am your typical binge eater. If you are startled by the crash of trash cans late at night don’t worry, it’s not the village badger it is me trying to smother my latest upset with left over pizza. The worrying thing is I am not alone.

Thousands of us (men and women) resort to the comforts of our fridge whenever we have the creeping sensation that all is not well. We all have our triggers too, I cannot resist a huge mouth watering slab of chocolate fudge cake while my friend goes for a tub of Pringles every time.

Scientists can evaluate the implications behind gorging food all they like, psychologically the reason is simple. It’s for comfort hence why called comfort eating. So while I’m getting over my period of crisis no one can bat my hand away from the last donut or shake their head when I nip down to the chippy once again. This is my God given right as a pathetic human being and until I win the lottery or that dark gorgeous guy I cannot stop admiring decides to make a move I will continue.

So pass me the Jaffa cakes.

Hello world!

Welcome to WordPress.com. This is your first post. Edit or delete it and start blogging!