A couple of entries previously, I wrote about me not feeling like a proper adult. This has not changed ever since, but as I am working as a nanny at the moment, I have realised that I do not feel like an adult because I am actually still a child. There are many patterns in my behaviour which indicate I have apparently never fully grown up. Do not get me wrong, I am physically an adult and enjoy the benefits of adulthood (if you have dirty thoughts, you had them first), but there are some distinctly child-like features in my behavioural patterns and I collected the most prominent here:
1) I like repetition. I watch the same movies and read the same books hundreds of times instead of moving on to something else. At the moment, I have the full programme of Netflix available, but only watch Gilmore Girls and The Big Bang Theory for, like, the thousandths time. I also have read my favourite books so often I know them by heart and feel slightly opposed to the idea of reading an entirely new book or watch an entirely new movie - unless it is pretty much the same as something I already know. 2) I have a taste range of a seven year old. I could eat spaghetti three times a week and wouldn't mind. I still detest broccoli and although I have grown to like salad, carrots and some other veggies, I still am a sweet tooth and would eat chocolate all day long, if I could (ironically, as a child, my parents prevented that and now as I am grown up my own body does...) My favourite dishes are fish fingers, spaghetti, pancakes, pizza and burgers and I hate olives, seafood, capers, asparagus, and am not a big fan of alcohol. Coffee makes me sick and my favourite hot drink is still hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows. 3) I hate change. Well, I would assume that most people do not like change too much, but I react to it like children do. I bitch and whine and have literal outbreaks of tears when something changes (I am ok with change if I bring on myself - like moving to the UK - but not change I cannot influence or control, which probably does not make me a child, but a control freak...well, one or the other). 4) I still feel intimidated when proper adults are in the room and when some problem occurs, I am the first to shout out "it wasn't me" (which is always an indicator that it actually was me). 5) Leading on from point 4, I am a pathological liar. So, I am not insinuating that all children are pathological liars, but for self-protection or denial they often avoid claiming responsibility for what they have done and concoct bizarre stories to get themselves out of the gunfire. I am the same. Once, when I was fed up with school and wanted to play truant, I pretended my phone rang, went outside and when I came back, I claimed my aunt had had a terrible accident while climbing a ladder and that I needed to visit her in the hospital (during school hours, obviously). I once stole of my friend and denied it, even though it was found, incriminating me, in my cupboard (I was actually a friend back then). My technique with lying is to always stick to it and tell the lie so often that you actually start believing it yourself - that makes a good liar. 6) I spend many hours a day pretending to be someone else or wishing for the world to be, well, more. My imagination is under full control and sometimes overtakes a bit too much. When I am alone, I pretend people are interviewing me or that I am someone else on a mission, etc. This child trait, I like most and would never want it to go away (even though it makes me a bit of a lunatic) as it is the source of my imagination and stories. To conclude, I don't mind these traits (even though I might not have any friends left after publishing it, but it is time to tell the truth - for once) as they make me who I am - a person I am slowly growing to like. If you want to tell me some of your character traits you have withheld from the public so far, share them here or on my Facebook page.
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As promised, an original piece I wrote when I was a teenager on a well-known piece of literature.
I must warn you hereby: this is not high literature (as is the book it is based on) and if you seek good writing, DO NOT READ IT. However, if you like cheap jokes and make sun of retarded literature, read and have said laugh...but in between it is really cringe-worthy (as is the original). This is the first part. Soon, more will be released. PART 1: Drawde was a genuinely usual girl. She had brown, slightly wavy hair and nearly everyone assumed she curled it artificially, but she didn’t. Drawde had moved from sunny London to the rain-swept town of Spoons, high up in the north of Scotland. Her parents had separated quite while ago and it was thanks to their divorce that a tattoo featuring an angel saying‘God fucks my parents’ tattoo was embellishing Drawde’s butt. However, Drawde had lived with her mother up to this point, but she had found love again and so Drawde found herself forced to live with her father, Charlie. Charlie was a man of few words and Drawde was glad about that. Sie didn’t fancy discussing the unpleasantness of intimate hair removal with him and so they sat silently in the car after Charlie had picked her up from the station in the further away and bigger city, Citizen. Charlie only snorted when a red Ferrari raced over the road with 100 km/h which only allowed 30. He was the chief of police in Spoons, but could actually not care less about the people’s safety. They sauntered on and Drawde was glad when they finally reached the house. It was made out of wood and pretty rustic. Drawde would have preferred a city flat with a view on the Trafalgar Square, but she would have to live with these circumstances here. She only nearly had to scream when she realised that Charlie had decorated her entire room in screeching pink. “That is amazing, dad”, she managed to stumble before he could read her expression (the corners of her mouth were dragged down and her eyes opened wide in disgust). Charlie snorted again and went to watch television. The television was strictly spoken the reason for her parents’ divorce. Until this day, Drawde’s mother, Renee (whose own mother had had a terrible sense for naming), called the television “terrible spouse breaker”. Drawde sighed and unpacked the few belongings she had brought here. Her attire was not adequate for the volatile weather. The only thing you could rely on in Spoons was that it almost always rained. After Drawde had unpacked, she made dinner and went straight to bed. Tomorrow she would go to a new high school. Spoons High School consisted of 365 ½ students and Drawde already knew they would throw weird looks at her and she didn’t like the prospect. Shortly after her parents had divorced, Drawde had developed the annoying habit of terrible clumsiness to compensate her anger and arise pity. Unfortunately, this habit became uncontrollable and now Drawde was compelled to stumble various times a day and run against things (today she had run against the train door which had born the sign “Caution” and had hurt her foot when climbing into the car. Additionally, she had injured her eye when trying to flirt with the conductor and had thrown her own hair ends in her face). Anyhow, Drawde was not eager to be mocked by all her school mates. When Drawde got into the car her father had given her, she hit her head on the door frame. “Be careful”, Charlie shouted at her through the window. “Of course”, Drawde responded, but her head hurt nevertheless. She drove to school as careful as possible but still managed to kill off two squirrels, a cat and (she hoped) a monkey. Relieved, she arrived at the parking space and got out. The other students examined her and one approached her. She was wearing a dress and, to Drawde’s surprise, wore makeup. “Hello, Drawde Duck”, she said celebratorily and Drawde wondered why she knew her name already. “Hi, er…” “Erica”, she said and laughed (it was most likely supposed to sound girly, but it just sounded retarded). Drawde nodded and moved on. “I am the all-knowing being of this school”, Erice blabbed on although Drawde to show her with all means that she was annoying her (she turned her face away and put on her I-am-annoyed-look). “So, if you want to talk about anything or anything else, ask Erica, alright?” Drawde nodded again, hoping to get rid of Erica soon. She entered the biology lab and Mr Montrose welcomed her by screwing up his nose. In this moment, Drawde saw him the first time. He sat there and glared at her (if looks could kill, Drawde would have lain in twisted ways on the floor, her eyes gazing in the air asymmetrically). She pursed her lips and went to him as gracefully as she could. Unfortunately, her aggression brought round her proclivity for clumsiness and she fell in front of his eyes. He laughed but when the wind tousled her hair, he held his nose. What was wrong with him? Drawde had only stepped into a dunghill once today and Erica didn’t seem to mind. Drawde sat down next to him. “Today”, Mr Montrose said with a piqued voice, “we are going to allocate mitoses to their respective phases. Please start.” The boy pushed the first small plate to her and she put it under the microscope. She looked at it for a long time until the boy yanked the microscope out of her grip impatiently and pulled it to himself. “Anaphase”, he thundered annoyed. “I would have got that”, Drawde hissed. The boy looked at her in a most unfriendly way and screwed up his nose. His eyes were black - why Drawde noticed that first, she didn’t know, but she always looked first at the eyes. Offended, she took the second small plate and shoved it over to him. “Do it better”, she yelled and the class turned to them. The boy rolled his eyes and protected his nose with his sleeve. Such a jerk. Drawde was happy when biology class was finally over and she didn’t have to see the arrogant boy anymore, although she couldn’t help realising - after having stared bewildered into his eyes for forty-five minutes - that he was quite handsome. Like an angel he looked - an angel with black eyes, didn’t they normally have golden eyes? Whatever, he had made her feel as if she stank and just because about twenty students had already avoided her for the smell, did not justify his behaviour. With a sigh, she went to the canteen and sat down to a random group of people. “Howdy, people, what’s up?” she said, hoping they would all think she had been attending this school the past years. One of the girls looked remotely familiar, as she had known her in another life. “Who is that, Erica?” another girl asked the girl which Drawde tried to remember. Exactly, Erica was her name. “This is Drawde Duck”, Erica presented Drawde. The longer Drawde looked at her, the more details came back to her memories. Had her hair been this long when they met first or had they grown? Whatever, Drawde smiled at the other girl whose name she figured out by listening attentively, was Jessy. “Hi, Jessy”, she said proudly and held out her hand. “I am sure you wonder how I know your name”, Drawde continued, proud to present her detective expertise. Jessy looked at her, confounded. “I have just told you my name”, she then said and in this moment, Drawde knew she couldn’t stand her. She looked like she would found an Anti-Drawde-Fraction at some point, anyway. So, Drawde turned away demonstratively and observed how some shadows formed in front of the canteen door. That was not entirely true, but Drawde loved horror movies and therefore always conjured up vampires and shadows in her mind, although nothing like that existed - obviously. Behind the door some teenagers were standing who were frantically trying to look stern and afflicted. At some point, the door opened and Chariots of Fire came out of nowhere. Drawde watched the most impressive entry she had ever seen. First came a tall, young man who looked as if he could wrestle Arnold Schwarzenegger down. Next to him floated the probably most beautiful woman of the world with long, blond hair (so she had to be beautiful). Behind them was a blond boy with a slim, short-haired beside him and she looked like, and Drawde didn’t know why it popped into her head, a fairy - or a vampire. They all managed to walk with the tune and Drawde admired that they didn’t keel over or stumble despite the fact that they were walking in slow motion. Behind them there was biology class boy - hey, probably the longest compound, Drawde pondered, but whatever. He managed to walk even slower and straighter than the others and his hair whipped with every step. He looked around smiling as if he knew what everyone was thinking - how absurd. He walked across the room and arrived the table the second Chariots of Fire ended. Fleet-footed, he sat down and looked at his food with distinct concentration which he - like all the others - didn’t eat. That had to be it, Drawde thought, he was anorexic and she had smelled of her new chocolate body lotion, which smell he had to despise. Content with this new realisation, she nodded towards him but he only looked at her as if he needed a toilet or was trying to read her mind - on or the other. “That is Alleb Fallen”, the girl whose name had slipped Drawde’s mind again informed her. “Allen Fallen?” Drawde asked. “Is he anorexic?” The stranger looked at her quizzically. “No, or maybe yes, actually no one knows. He and the others are kind of weird.” “Yes, they never eat”, the girl named Jessy interjected. To demonstrate her dislike for her even further, Drawde turned away from her. “You don’t eat when you’re anorexic”, she remarked coolly but then she realised that this comment rather offended the other girl. “Then they would be thinner”, Jessy retaliated. Such a stupid cow. “Are the others his siblings?” Drawde investigated further although she could tell with one look that they didn’t look alike at all. “Yes, of course, after all, they look identical”, Jessy responded and Drawde turned her head away again. “The Arnold Schwarzenegger rip-off is called Meme.” Drawde looked at Jessy enraged, as she had had the Schwarzenegger thought first. “And the blond’s name is Lose”, Jessy continued regardless Drawde’s respectable disrespect with which she respected Jessy. “The blond guy who looks kind of manipulative is Leicester”, the stranger continued - what had been her name? “And the little, weird one is Alice.” Drawde nearly choked on her bun. “Like Alice in Wonderland?” Jessy and the other one nodded in unison. “That is ace, I wish I was like Alice - a bit naive, permanently conjure up stories in my head, attracted to danger and weird characters…” Drawde inhaled deeply. Jessy and the other one nodded knowingly. “And the boy, what’s his name?” Drawde couldn’t remember his name if it was for her life, even though it had been mentioned some mere minutes ago. For her he would always be biology class guy. “You mean Alleb?” Drawde nodded. “The one with the beetle black eyes.” “He is good-looking”, Jessy said. “But he never went out with any of us, such a retard, as if there were better girls in the world.” Jessy seemed resentful and Drawde was so exhilarated by this that she sang in her head: Haha, Jessy got turned down. Haha, Jessy got turned down. Jessy got turned down… At some point she realised, clued by Jessy’s and the other girl’s dumbfounded expressions, that she had, indeed, been singing the song out loud. Embarrassed, she shoveled in her apple and stood up quickly. Thank god this day was soon over... Growing into an adult and actually becoming one are two profoundly different things.
Although I have completed the physical development of my body in terms of leaving childhood behind me, I cannot help feeling like a fraud whenever I am among adults. I don't know whether you have similar experiences, but I could assume a lot of people my age feel "just not right there yet". However, I wonder whether I will ever truly feel like an adult and, more importantly, whether I actually want to feel like an adult. Let's be honest, being an adult sucks most of the time. You cannot wander around in Frozen dresses without causing public attention (and I am talking negative attention here), have to pay everything yourself, have to worry about endless lists of things and generally are required to deal with life on your own. How I wish back the times where my parents had to buy all my shit, including bus tickets, entry or plane tickets. Gone the days where I ran around in Harry Potter cloaks through Innsbruck with my Time-Turner around the neck. Anyway, as you might know from previous entries, I am doing an internship at Haymarket at the moment and realise how unadult-ish I feel. There is another woman in my team who is not just stunningly gorgeous, slim and tall (as if that wasn't intimidating enough), but also only two years older than I am. I mean, I knew she wasn't old, and when she told me she was twenty-six, it seemed to fit. It is rather the problem that twenty-four doesn't seem to fit me. I am just not adult enough. I still browse the teenager book section in book stores because I can identify more with sixteen year old girls than grown women; I am moderately happy if someone gives me a Jojo Moyes book for Christmas, but exhilarated over the top when someone gives me some Harry Potter merchandise; I still giggle about penis or vagina allusions and have inappropriate thoughts whenever applicable; etc, etc, etc. Whenever people talk to me as if I was an adult (because physically I am), I feel like a fraud. It reminds me of the good old days when I was sixteen and went to a liquor shop buying alcohol and praying no one would ask for my ID. Now it is the same. I anticipate that any minute someone will stand up and shout: "You are an impostor and have tricked us long enough, leave the building - and sorry to be so rude" (after all we're still in Britain). So, to get back to the title of this entry, here are some sentences I don't say because only true adults say them:
And I guess there are many more, share the sentences you never say here or click here to get to Facebook and share your comments there (any languages welcome). During my internship there were slots in which I wasn't busy and no one had anything to do for me, so I did what I always do when I am bored...I look through the stuff I have already written.
I assume many of you know I am a writer, but only few the extents of my writing obsession. On my computer, I have loads and loads of manuscripts, thoughts, poems and songs which are mostly unfinished and mostly will remain unfinished. However, I encountered some interesting stuff which will never be published (because it is rubbish and even though you might doubt it, but not everything I write is brilliant) but sits in my files, crying for attention. Having a blog in which I can share even the stupidest and worst details of my life, I decided to share some content with you which - and I can guarantee you that - you will never find anywhere else than on this website. I dream. Like everyone else does, I guess. However, I have pretty vivid and absurd dreams and sometimes, when they bother me, I write them down to get them out of my head. I found a dream recount on my laptop featuring me, a werewolf, my sister (older, if you were wondering) and a can of Coca Cola. Interested? Well, then read on. And for the records and to avoid stupid comments on that (though I would still be interested to read them on my Facebook page), yes, I do dream in verse form. I dreamed a dream There was a path. Lined with trees, And the ground was sand and gravel. You had to go downhill and reached a spiral which was embellished with yellow flowers. I was on my way with a werewolf He was handsome and fast. We went to a house… Although we weren’t a couple, We walked embraced. We entered the house and I said to him, He had to come with me, As I was too afraid to walk on my own. Everyone was avoiding us, apparently they all knew What he was. The inner walls were made of stone, Unfinished stone. It was dark and people were wandering about everywhere. The werewolf was carrying me on his back. He was very strong. At some point, we came into a lounge And in it was my sister. Apparently these people were in an order, And I was freaked out about That she was in that order, too. She was sitting there, laughing and talking. We went on, But there was nothing there. Disappointed, the werewolf and I returned. When we reached the exit, My sister was there again. I asked her how she had come here so quickly And she winked at me. “Don’t you know anymore?” she asked me And I remembered. The parking space. There had been some sort of slide When we had entered the little room Of which we didn’t get out anymore. Back then, we had been hunted But we had found a porthole From which he had reached the parking space And from where you could flee the house. The parking space was huge. The werewolf also had given me his Coca Cola. Leave your comments or share your dreams on Facebook. Since I have moved to the UK, I couldn't help noticing one or two things about the British. As previously mentioned whenever I talked about stereotyping the British (or anyone else), I am aware that these cliched observations do not apply to everyone, but I must say that they occur more often in the UK than in Austria, as far as I can judge.
So, this blog post is about the proclivity to say sorry about and to everyone. British people apologise constantly and for things the neither caused nor can influence. I will give you some examples which happened during the past weeks. At the moment, I am doing an internship at a media company and whenever I show what I did to my supervisors and they change or criticise something, they do it with thousands 'sorrys' and 'it's really minor changes, but generally it's really goods'. I mean, I think it is nice, but I am new to the business and the company, so I totally understand that some things are being criticised, but they seem to be literally terrified by the idea to criticise something. Also, today I came back from my lunch time and there were two guys standing in my way because they were looking at the fridge for cooled drinks and we entered a bizarre situation where I apologised for stressing them out and having to step out of my way, one guy for standing in my way and not stepping out fast enough and the third guy apologising for, well, I don't know what, I guess it was a reflex...or simply because he is British. I don't know. The other day, I was briefed to do something and whenever I consulted my supervisor, she got muddled in her words because she apologised for not having mentioned or described the task more clearly. I apologised for not having it understood the first time and generally we wasted a lot of time and breath. It is funny, this apologising is further proof that I have just lived in the wrong country so far because I am the same. I apologise all the time...literally, for everything. Seems I have a British heart after all. And I apologise for that. Sorry. Can you believe it? I - clumsy, clanger dropping, bookish, pale, freckly (in the summer), long-nosed Angie - have been called a trendsetter!
Of all the things I have been called - nice and bad ones - trendsetter was not among them. I have been called boring, interesting, creative, strong-minded, not as fat as you think, lazy, uninspiring, great, suberb, excellent, etc, etc, etc...but never a trendsetter or in any way related to trendy. Actually, that is not true. Only recently one of the other nannies pointed out that I am very well dressed - especially for a nanny - so I guess there is something to my style that appeals to some people, though I still feel like I cannot get it right. I don't know whether you experience this similarly but I spend about half an hour choosing my outfit, walk out confidently and as soon as the first woman crosses my path, I deeply regret my choice. Either I have chosen a really posh, featuring high heels outfit and see a woman owning casual with a divine style, or I have gone on the casual side myself and see posh women wandering around intimidating me. I also go and buy things constantly (seriously, constantly) and never seem to have anything worth wearing in my closet - I know, the oldest cliche circling around women of all, but it is true. However, back to the start. At the moment I am doing an internship with an international media company, and recently I have seen a lot of people coming in doing "work experience". I asked one of my colleagues whether that was something they do regularly and he said it all started with me. Apparently, I set off a trend and every team gets people in now slaving away for experience points. See, trendsetter. He also said I should regard it as a huge compliment, as the team I am working with was apparently so pleased with my work that other teams have taken up the trend. Well, that makes 1:0 for me, world. Last weekend I visited my family in Austria for my mother's school 20th anniversary.
The party was great, as was seeing my man and family; however, with flying in on Friday and returning on Sunday, the whole trip was pretty much of a marathon. It all started with no flights going to Innsbruck, which meant I had to book to Munich, which was just disastrous. I landed there and booked one of these Flixbuses to Innsbruck which was just a terrible experience because the stupid Flixbus people actually told me - and some other people - off for having luggage! I mean, true, my suitcase is big enough to hold a human corpse, but some other people really had decently sized suitcases and still were required to pay extra for their luggage. Honestly, if you work for an Airport bus, don't be sulky when you have to heave passengers' luggage. Especially, as I don't have any problems with lifting my own trunk, but I don't want to be snapped at for having luggage with me. The bus lady even had the rashness to suggest I should bring two small suitcases instead of one big and I was like 'sure, I will drag two suitcases through London and the airports for the whole day because of the Flixbus conditions and so that your job gets easier'...seriously, I don't. Moving on, the anniversary party was inasmuch awesome because I could leave during the tedious children-are-performing-slightly-crappy-things-that-you-have-to-find-cute-because-they're-children performances because I was neither a teacher anymore nor yet a parent. I reconnected with some old friends and had an awesome dance-off with my sisters and friends in which I discovered that I am truly crazy. As an adolescent, I was scared something is wrong with me whenever I talked to myself or concocted complex story lines in my head - I thought I was schizophrenic (well, you are crazy, admit it...no, I won't, you're mean, that's all...you suck...we're both the same person, so you suck...which makes you suck, you sucker, haha, you called yourself sucker...so did you...). However, now having realised my craziness is the source of all my creativity, I embrace it and wouldn't want it to go away for all the money in the world. Before I flew back home, my man and I spent a day in Munich where we just went up and down Kaufinger Straße. We went inside St. Michaelskirche and encountered a really funny thing - a little hidden penis inside one of the tiles in the church. Well, not a real penis, of course, but a pattern in the tiles (see for yourself). Jakob and I had a good laugh, especially as it was in a church... Now after having shared this illuminating epiphanies, I would like to diverge from telling about my life to destroying the insightful, mature woman I want think to have become to rant about things I hate. First, people who stand on the wrong side of the escalator, therefore blocking the escalator and making it impossible to sprint to catch the departing train. Seriously, pick a side and remain there (preferably the right side). Second, the way the preview tickets for Harry Potter and the Cursed Child were released. I think they should have done a HP trivia test and whoever scored highest would have gotten the chance to buy tickets...seriously, Jo, why did you not think of that? Foyles Bookshop in Charing Cross street. Alright, I don't hate the store. I just think it is not a very book browsy, bookish, old-fashioned, lingering-kind-of bookstore. I think it features too much sleekness and perfection and I will always prefer Waterstones Third, the stupid Brexit thing and the fact that people are increasingly becoming xenophobic, unity-opposed pricks who teach egotism, selfishness and evilness. Aaaaand, I also hate that I cannot access the latest season of Big Bang Theory on Netflix... For any comments and thoughts that YOU have, please share them on my Facebook page by clicking on the button below. Looking forward to hearing from you (or not). |
AuthorIn September 2015 I started a new chapter of my life by moving (temporarily or permanently, not yet decided) to England where I work and socialise now. Archives
December 2017
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