Sometimes I dream I am sat on the edge of the globe.
It is like a balcony, and the vast never-ending blackness around me is the blanket that keeps me warm; the stars are the candles.
It is so quiet out here. A time-warp. There is nowhere else to be, there is no-one else to see, there is nothing I need; I am nameless. The earth is my lover who doesn’t have a voice, the sphere is the other half of my heart that beats to a separate rhythm; we do not need one another, but, we know - we both belong.
Here on the balcony is where I start to hum in an effort to achieve enlightenment, legs crossed and eyes shut with a towel like a turban on my head (I have just got out the shower. I liked the effect.) Here on the balcony is where I am looking on google search engine for ‘ways to improve mental health,’ ways that don’t involve food, self-help groups and the NHS, ways that involve wasting time in such a clever way that you don’t even realise how much time you have actually wasted (therefore removing the guilt and tricking you into thinking you have progressed as an individual.)
When you open your eyes the globe is floating away like a balloon and you realise ‘Fuck. I’m alone.’ You turn around and – slightly bemused – you see the large yellow ‘M’ of the McDonalds arches – the entrance to the future alien version of the global fast food restaurant.
You feel something floating down on top of your head (yes, defying gravity) shaking, you reach a tentative hand up and pull it off your head. And there it is. In all its glory. The McDonald’s baseball cap.
Panic seizes your heart; as you look down you find yourself wearing the black trousers, the black shirt emblazoned with the renowned little letter ‘M’ in bright yellow – such a lovely, happy colour – and the black shoes gay enough you could have borrowed them from your own Grandmother.*
You open your mouth in a silent scream and start to inexplicably float towards the golden gates, like a moth to the flame you are driven by the simple fact that you were born this way.
It isn’t your fault. It’s just bad genetics.
*No offence McDonalds. And Gran.
12:10 on a Saturday afternoon. I’m sat in bed listening to ‘send me on my way’ by Rusted Roots and wishing I was Matilda from the film, so that I could do large mathematical calculations in my head and wiggle my finger to make things happen. I suppose it’s the equivalent of having a maths degree. Pity I chose drama.
The song on my I-pod has changed. It’s now playing ‘The drugs don’t work’ by The Verve. I think my I-pod is telepathic.
It’s so sunny outside. It’s like God is playing games with me.
Yesterday was the most traumatic day of my life. Seriously. It was like running a marathon without the training. Like finding out you’ve been a hermaphrodite your whole life and never knew. Like realising your parents never actually wanted to give birth to you. Like –
Ok. The list could go on. But none of them would have seemed as bad as the telephone interview I put myself through yesterday.
So I understand that no graduate leaves university and thinks – ‘I know what I want to do! I want to do Telesales! I want to sit by a phone all day ringing people up and convincing them to sell all of their hard-earned cash (probably in a similarly traumatic role) on this stuff I’m selling to get more stuff to increase all the stuff so that I can get stuff with all my money money money and be happy with all the stuff I buy with my money from stuff so that it’s a big world full of stuff and - at the end of the day all you really want to do is go to the beach and swim in the sea and spend four pounds fifty on the essentials (such as the bucket and the spade and the vanilla ice cream.)
But anyway. Ok. So I get that you can make a lot of money in Telesales. At least it wasn’t a role in selling fake cruises to vulnerable old women who are living off their pensions in council flats and still feeding their dead dog because they don’t realise it’s dead yet.
But still. So I ring up Simon -
“You want the money Amber, this is the job.”
Dilemma.
So I ring up Mum –
“Don’t do it! It will mentally scar you. Move abroad with me. The dogs miss you.” The dogs? But not her? Hmmm. Dilemma.
So I ring up my Granddad –
“What you want to be working in London for? London? Spending all that money on shitty trains full of shitty people? You want to be a mother, mate. (What?!) You want to be pushing buggies round the park and cooking the dinners and doing the washing up.
Hmmm. Dilemma???!!!
So I ring up the boyfriend –
“Take the opportunity.”
Brilliant. He is a man of many words. Last night he ate a wonderful dinner cooked in his wonderful house with his wonderful family and I am just so jealous of how wonderful he is that I can’t bear to listen to his wonderful voice. So I hang up.
Hmmm. Dilemma.
So I ring up Simon.
“Ok,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
(Simon) You don’t sound too keen.
(Amber) I’m not.
(Simon) Erm…. Cool cool cool.
(Amber) Cool?
(Simon laughs.)
(Amber) Wonderful…
(Simon) You want to do a role play with me first?
(Amber) No thanks.
(Simon) Then you are heading for a path of self-destruction. Self-sabotage. Destination failure.
Sounds familiar. Oh, but he does have a way with words. And a lovely voice too.
Needless to say, I failed the phone call.
Self sabotage. I’m guessing it’s a little bit like low-level self harm really. Yes, I was self-sabotaging, I didn’t want the job. But still. It’s not so bad really. At least I’m not kidding myself. At least I’m not selling over-priced cruises to those biddies with dementia. At least I’m not a cheese seller. At least my application to McDonalds (full time) remains resolutely un-filled…
Oh. Who am I kidding?!
There are many ways in life to avoid things, just the same as there are many ways in life to kid yourself into thinking that you’re not avoiding. Because of course, God Forbid – no-one wants to be an avoider! And they’re all just a bunch of little low level self harms. Covered up in a sugary coating of progression that adults either encourage, or find endearing. For example –
- Excessive gym training (at least you’re out of the house. ‘Making friends.’)
- Dieting (mothers in the South East love it when their daughters lose weight.)
- Going out in the snow without a coat on (this would be an endearment.)
- Running a hot bath a little too hot (just plain weird I suppose.)
- ‘Forgetting’ your lunch (people thrive off feeling as though they can provide. Hence why unemployment turns fathers into drunk feral tramps)
- Masturbating to the image of really violent sex (I don’t know why I wanted to write this.)
- Drinking too much coffee? (?)
- Locking yourself out of your house and rendering yourself temporarily homeless for the attention. (This one is fun!)
We all just want a bit of drama in our lives, don’t we?!
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