Finally, everything has slowed... down. The deadlines are almost up. I have a new computer to do uni work on. There aren't any problems straight ahead of me and all in all, things are calm. To be perfectly honest, I'm surprised I even managed to make it through. Real life isn't exactly my forte. Now everything just seems peaceful and it's actually quite relaxing... and unnerving. And yes, it is possible to feel both of those at the same time. It's a nice change of pace but it's almost a sudden one. I'm not even out of the woods yet, deadlines are up next week! So why am I feeling so calm about it?
Maybe it's because I've just accepted my impending doom. Or perhaps I've reached a certain level of zen which only being stressed can push you towards. It's like all of my worries have faded away, and all I have to do really is focus on this blog post -- whist is actually brilliant! Not the post, I'll let you judge that, just typing it and being able to chill for once.
Things are going slowly and for once (sorry Sonic), that's a good thing.
Thursday, 27 April 2017
Thursday, 6 April 2017
Adult Life
Alright, it's official. I'm an adult. I've been an 'adult' for the past year or so, but now I feel as though I've earned that title. You're not an adult until your gas gets cut off, the washing machine leaks everywhere and the electricity goes down as a result. Only once you've had and dealt with problems, then you're an adult.
I wasn't ready for any of that kind of stuff. I've only read about problems such as those in stories and fairytales; I've never had to deal with it myself. It all started last Thursday. Trying to cook dinner, and the gas hobs simply won't light. Nope. Nada. I pulled on my shoes and trudged outside to investigate the meter. Yep, £0.00 on. Fair enough, I've had this happen before. Off to the Co-op to top up. I go there, pay my £15, come back, and... £0.00 on. This isn't funny, meter.
So, I phone up British Gas, and they've sent a message to the Co-op. Perfect. Only, they haven't, because although the Co-op have asked to be taken off the British Gas database, they're stuck on there, receiving non-existent messages. Triffic. Another phone call to British Gas and they're sending a card in the mail. It should arrive tomorrow. That's one problem sorted!
Then the washing machine starts flashing. No, not like that, but the little red light that means there's a problem. Inside, the clothes are all sitting in a puddle of pink water. Lovely. Each one is at least two times heavier than it used to be. They drip all over the lino, the carpet, and eventually I just dump them in the bathtub to give the floor a break. The next few hours are spent handwashing all of them in the bathtub, wringing them out and hanging them up.
Everything's okay, though, as the landlord has ordered a new washing machine! They didn't even send anyone round to see what was wrong with the old one, or to measure the gap. They must be professional. It shows up, but the people from AO don't install it. No, they're only here to deliver it. It'll be installed by some other people later. So right now, there's a washing machine sitting in the middle of my front room, and it was only today I realised that it's 88cm tall, polystyrene inclusive. The old washing machine that doesn't work is 85cm tall. It's not going to fit.
It's not going to fit. But hey, at least the gas card turned up, working fine. Maybe the washing machine will shrink when the polystyrene is removed?
I wasn't ready for any of that kind of stuff. I've only read about problems such as those in stories and fairytales; I've never had to deal with it myself. It all started last Thursday. Trying to cook dinner, and the gas hobs simply won't light. Nope. Nada. I pulled on my shoes and trudged outside to investigate the meter. Yep, £0.00 on. Fair enough, I've had this happen before. Off to the Co-op to top up. I go there, pay my £15, come back, and... £0.00 on. This isn't funny, meter.
So, I phone up British Gas, and they've sent a message to the Co-op. Perfect. Only, they haven't, because although the Co-op have asked to be taken off the British Gas database, they're stuck on there, receiving non-existent messages. Triffic. Another phone call to British Gas and they're sending a card in the mail. It should arrive tomorrow. That's one problem sorted!
Then the washing machine starts flashing. No, not like that, but the little red light that means there's a problem. Inside, the clothes are all sitting in a puddle of pink water. Lovely. Each one is at least two times heavier than it used to be. They drip all over the lino, the carpet, and eventually I just dump them in the bathtub to give the floor a break. The next few hours are spent handwashing all of them in the bathtub, wringing them out and hanging them up.
Everything's okay, though, as the landlord has ordered a new washing machine! They didn't even send anyone round to see what was wrong with the old one, or to measure the gap. They must be professional. It shows up, but the people from AO don't install it. No, they're only here to deliver it. It'll be installed by some other people later. So right now, there's a washing machine sitting in the middle of my front room, and it was only today I realised that it's 88cm tall, polystyrene inclusive. The old washing machine that doesn't work is 85cm tall. It's not going to fit.
It's not going to fit. But hey, at least the gas card turned up, working fine. Maybe the washing machine will shrink when the polystyrene is removed?
Tuesday, 21 February 2017
Juggling
No, not literal juggling, more like a metaphysical juggling of the soul alongside university work and real life problems.
The amount of things on my mind recently is ridiculous, and how much they change in the space of twenty four hours is even more ridiculous. I remember when I was 17, a whole year ago now. Life seemed so simple. So easy. I didn't think becoming 18 would be so difficult. I was a student then, after all. A college student, I even had an ID card. I thought I was ready.
I was wrong.
Never mind the whole responsibilities of paying rent, just the whole work load of university took me off-guard. Now I've been TKOed at least three times, and I'm on my last legs. But they don't call me the Comeback King for nothing. They don't call me the Comeback King at all, actually. But I'm sure that things will turn out just fine. I mean, I say it's stressful (it is) and I say it's a lot of work (yes) and that it's very difficult (definitely). But that doesn't mean I'm not enjoying it.
I look back at college, at how easy Creative Writing was then, and I laugh. Not literally, just metaphorically. I laugh at how far I've come as a writer. No doubt I learned a lot from college, really a lot, but the assessments are so much more now. In college, it was one assessment for the whole year. Here, at university, it's over six -- For the pure creative writing units, that is. It's made me up my game a lot more.
It's not fair, really, having such a major ramp in difficulty. But I think I'm managing. Doing work every day, doing the dishes, taking the bins out. Things like that. And then, can you guess what happens?
My laptop. The laptop I do all of my university work on, and my college work before that. It decides that it's had enough, and shuffles on to the next world. As if I didn't have enough problems. It was then I knew that life was out to get me.
I'm typing this on an old laptop on loan to me from my parents. My dependency on them isn't gone completely.
The amount of things on my mind recently is ridiculous, and how much they change in the space of twenty four hours is even more ridiculous. I remember when I was 17, a whole year ago now. Life seemed so simple. So easy. I didn't think becoming 18 would be so difficult. I was a student then, after all. A college student, I even had an ID card. I thought I was ready.
I was wrong.
Never mind the whole responsibilities of paying rent, just the whole work load of university took me off-guard. Now I've been TKOed at least three times, and I'm on my last legs. But they don't call me the Comeback King for nothing. They don't call me the Comeback King at all, actually. But I'm sure that things will turn out just fine. I mean, I say it's stressful (it is) and I say it's a lot of work (yes) and that it's very difficult (definitely). But that doesn't mean I'm not enjoying it.
I look back at college, at how easy Creative Writing was then, and I laugh. Not literally, just metaphorically. I laugh at how far I've come as a writer. No doubt I learned a lot from college, really a lot, but the assessments are so much more now. In college, it was one assessment for the whole year. Here, at university, it's over six -- For the pure creative writing units, that is. It's made me up my game a lot more.
It's not fair, really, having such a major ramp in difficulty. But I think I'm managing. Doing work every day, doing the dishes, taking the bins out. Things like that. And then, can you guess what happens?
My laptop. The laptop I do all of my university work on, and my college work before that. It decides that it's had enough, and shuffles on to the next world. As if I didn't have enough problems. It was then I knew that life was out to get me.
I'm typing this on an old laptop on loan to me from my parents. My dependency on them isn't gone completely.
Wednesday, 1 February 2017
Too Polite
The University of Portsmouth is a grand institution. There are many buildings of many sizes, and a wide staff of wonderful and great people. One such lecturer, who I’m sure has legends based around him, is Steven O’Brien. A grand person, waistcoat and all, who couldn’t know more about writing if you stuffed a dictionary into his head.
I was just leaving King Henry Building. The building doesn’t matter, what matters is the door. As I opened the door to leave, I turned around. At the other end of the room, heading towards the door, was Steven O’Brien. The distance was far enough for me to debate whether or not to leave, and let the door swing closed in his face. But I couldn’t do that, especially not after we’d made eye contact.
He took a step towards the door. I smiled. He took another step. He smiled. Another step. We were both smiling. Another step. My arm was aching, just a little bit. Another step. He was almost there. He took one final step.
And then, at the very last moment, he turned left, and went through a completely different door.
He must have thought I was just a fan wanting an autograph (which I kind of am), frozen in place by his greatness. It’s times like this when I wonder, is there such a thing as being too polite?
I was just leaving King Henry Building. The building doesn’t matter, what matters is the door. As I opened the door to leave, I turned around. At the other end of the room, heading towards the door, was Steven O’Brien. The distance was far enough for me to debate whether or not to leave, and let the door swing closed in his face. But I couldn’t do that, especially not after we’d made eye contact.
He took a step towards the door. I smiled. He took another step. He smiled. Another step. We were both smiling. Another step. My arm was aching, just a little bit. Another step. He was almost there. He took one final step.
And then, at the very last moment, he turned left, and went through a completely different door.
He must have thought I was just a fan wanting an autograph (which I kind of am), frozen in place by his greatness. It’s times like this when I wonder, is there such a thing as being too polite?
Wednesday, 25 January 2017
My First Post
It's like stepping out into a new world, isn't it? I shouldn't have been given access to this: a blank document which lets me write anything I want, and lots of little buttons like 'Labels', 'Schedule'. 'Permalink'?
Good to see that the enter key works fine here. Also nice to see a selection of fonts. I'm not sure which one I prefer.
I'll stick with the default for now -- don't want to be too adventurous on my first day. I'm Aaron Wolfe, writer ordinaire. My biggest inspiration is Douglas Adams. I write mostly comedic works. I'm working on a lot of works right now, and I have great hopes for most of them.
Now, how many words is this? I don't see an option to count them, and I'm not doing it manually. I guess I'll just have to find out after the fact.
Good to see that the enter key works fine here. Also nice to see a selection of fonts. I'm not sure which one I prefer.
I'll stick with the default for now -- don't want to be too adventurous on my first day. I'm Aaron Wolfe, writer ordinaire. My biggest inspiration is Douglas Adams. I write mostly comedic works. I'm working on a lot of works right now, and I have great hopes for most of them.
Now, how many words is this? I don't see an option to count them, and I'm not doing it manually. I guess I'll just have to find out after the fact.
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