Life Notes #1

I'm getting old. I hit my early twenties this month, officially.

Two decades and a bit I have graced this planet and I don't feel I have been appropriately prepared for the next four to six decades never mind this fearsome decade of choice and new experiences.

There is no book I can read to help me, there were no designated lessons at school, no documentary or television series to watch and make notes and when asking those older than me I don't think they really know either. 

So mainly, I thought that should I write what I stumble across so that should I happen to pop some sprogs out in the future I can smugly say 'here you go, sproglette one and sproglette two, never fear for the great dreaded growing up can be fun' or can safely say 'sproglette, growing up is stupid, ridiculous, too serious and I wholeheartedly recommend that you avoid such a preposterous notion and go skip in the fields of wonder without responsibility and stress'.

And that, my future spawns of my own, is lesson number one. You will not know how to approach life as it's one of those things that is unique to everyone and with new technologies and hurdles, there's no one set person to help or show you the way. 

BUT! my life experience is pretty much next to nothing, I'd give it until Life Notes #459 or near enough until you get to read something truly useful or noteworthy.

This whole fiasco of realisation began when I rediscovered bands I had listened to from the ages of 12-15 roughly. This is nearly a decade ago, half my life so far, a turning point. Not that it matters (but it may throw others into this spiral of despair I'm currently going through) the bands in question are CKY, HIM, Trivium, The Blackout Pact, Alexisonfire, Bullet For My Valentine, Placebo, Alkaline Trio etc. 

I had joyously added them to my ipod, perfect for total immersion on public transport. Super! I couldn't wait, it was going to be wonderful and my journeys would be transformed from the dire ones of late. Off I trotted.

I got on the bus. I sat nearish to the back, headphones in, gazing out of the window. I was really enjoying myself. Smiling remembering when a song that doesn't so great to my ears now was back then, the greatest thing I had ever heard and would ever hear.

I remembered I used to listen to a lot of these bands on my bus journey to high school. I put on one of the songs I pretty much listened to on a daily basis as I neared school when I realised this was the same bus journey and I was about to go past my old high school. 

The old trepidation and sickly feelings returned. The anxious habit of playing with my nails returned. 
How strange? I'd left six years ago, vowed never to return and had gone past the place countless times without a second (or first) glance. 

This was the kickstarter.

Six years had passed. 

My plans from that time have largely not came to fruition, not in part because some were mildly ridiculous and many have changed or evolved but it did start me off thinking incessantly about my future. That big old bleak black hole looming in front of me, behind me and over me. 

I concocted a plan. A plan for the future of Carys and mankind.

Come back to Life Notes #9,871 to see if the plan works. 

What's that? Woody Allen? Make plans to make God laugh?  Don't be absurd sproggie, how do you even know about Woody Allen at your tender age? And God? Don't get me started. You've a lot to learn, Sprogmeister go back to Life Note #78. There will be a test on it over breakfast.

I'm Just A Peeping Tom

I'm a self confessed people watcher. I love it. 

Sitting in a coffee shop window staring on to a busy street watching people go by is a fantastic way to spend an afternoon. Largely, no one notices you staring at them, you're not a part of their world but then there are those who do. I quite like those who you awkwardly make eye contact with, I've grown so confident in my people watching I like to hold the gaze until they look away first - victory! Although they tend to look away first because they're heading somewhere, the window ends and they have to navigate a street without bumping into people.

I like to imagine what they do, or what conversation they may be having; the arguing couple, the parent and child, the elderly, the friend group, the odd couple etc. It's even better with a friend, you can then take on the roles of people or help each other out in spotting anything of significance (for example, just this week I did this with a friend and we spotted three guys of university age walking at a quick pace and with purpose.... whilst one held tightly on to a hobby horse. We saw them return with bags of clothes shopping with said hobby horse still walking quickly and with purpose. I wonder...)

I don't do this on the train or bus. The rules change. I don't ever know where is a safe place to look, I never want to stare at someone and the window can be a deadly minefield especially when it's dark. Not to mention at peak time most people look pretty glum, tired and generally hassled. But that's a whole other ball field.

A lot of the time, my thoughts focus on what they may do for a living. Are they wearing that suit for a special meeting or is that their daily work attire? Why do they need a suit? Some look comfortable in a suit, some look especially confined.

Are they happy with their life? Is their job what they always wanted or did they 'fall' into it? What are their hopes and aspirations or is everything exactly as they had wished for? What are they listening to on their mp3 players? Do they like it loud or just loud enough so they can still hear train announcements or other peoples' conversations? Would I judge them if I knew what they were reading on their kindle? They read that paper? What a shame.

Those who show hints of their personality even in their banal work uniform or suit are always of interest to me. Those in the smart suit but with a mohawk. Too many piercings in the ears or stretched ears. The hint of a tattoo. Do they let loose on the weekends? Even those who are 100% dedicated to their 'alternative' lifestyle spring many more questions. Not all of them can be in 'creative' or alternative job roles (tattooists, piercers, artists, musicians), do they have lenient managers? Are they the manager? Is it all they have left of themselves before selling the rest to the 'man' or Apple?

Do these people have partners? Children? Family? Friends? Did they grow up near by? Did they like school or were they bullied? Alternatively, were they the bully? What do they remember about the last five years? Are they in love? Are they sad? What are they going to have for dinner? Do they prefer tea or coffee? And what is their favourite colour?

I wonder what I must convey to other people watchers. I'm undoubtedly impossibly boring to watch. I don't think I give much away most days - lots of black clothing, hair which has mouldy-green ends (I'm washing it out, it's not just sheer laziness like the majority of the time), but what else? I look out of windows a lot, or read or sleep whilst commuting. Do I look thoughtful as I hope I do? Does my makeup say anything about me? Is it odd that I'm so pale in a city of tan-admirers? Did I go to school with you? If so, I'm going to try my best not to make eye contact. 

Most of all, I wonder are most people just generally happy? Happy with their lot, or what they're striving for. I hope they are, I hope that waking up isn't a struggle for them and even though they might be having a bad patch I hope that people can get through it. It sounds coy, pathetic and hippy-esque but surely everyone deserves to be happy?

My favourite people to people watch are those who are alone and smile to themselves. A happy thought or a text or idea that their face couldn't hide. It's a beautiful moment that I, as the voyeur, can't help but join in on.

Overheard This Week

I've hopped on the train more than normal this week, and due to failure on my part for not charging my ipod and not having any reading material I have rediscovered the joys and banes of travelling on the train without entertainment.

The main joy is listening in to peoples' conversations. Now I know this rude, or so I've been told, however I have never listened in to someone's conversation unless they were talking quite loudly which means I don't have to strain to listen at all. 

Here is a small sample of what I heard...

1. Woman of around 30yrs old talking to a work colleague (I'm assuming, as she told him she'd see him the next day in the hellhole - this may or may not have been an euphemism)

'Well, when I was getting my butterfly tattoos, I was spyin' on the guy in front of me gettin' his done and he got British tattooed right across his back but the guy who'd done it spelt British with two t's! Never laughed so much, but at least you can't misspell a butterfly eh? But yeah, I'm going to get them covered up next week'

Now, as someone who has tattoos and knows a fair few tattooists, I did find this anecdote amusing but not in the way she did. (If you are reading this and are wanting/about to get tattooed do NOT allow someone to touch you with a needle that marks you for the rest of your life who cannot spell). Anyway, I guess her just desserts are that she works in a hellhole and you can't misspell a butterfly but you sure as hell can eff it up.

2. A young, pregnant woman on the phone to her friend

'I told him that he weren't coming in the room with I'm pushing it out. I know! I'll hold it in if I have to, I don't want him anywhere near me and if he is in there I'll break his hand. Awh, I'm tellin' ya if I weren't so far along I would not be havin' his baby'

This was confusing. In spite of me not being a mother, I'm almost certain you can't hold a baby in if you're in labour and I'm now worried about the future of this child's life. I'm sure this young lady was having a bad patch, she did go on to say how much she had bought for her future arrival - lots of pink.

3. Two young women chatting next to me. They were fairly banal and although it was compulsive listening they didn't say much of merit or intelligence (if I may be so judgmental) but they did offer up this:

'if I push on my nail right here, see, I get like this white liquid come out'
'what is it?'
'I dunno, it tastes a bit salty'

... I don't know what to say about that one.

Those are the joys, you get snippets in to peoples' lives on a short journey and you can wonder if that is them as standard, or are they having a bad/good day? I wonder what they do when they're alone on the train and what they'd think of me when I'm having a rare conversation with someone on the train. 

The bane of travelling the trains without entertainment is when you get caught with the crazy passenger. I had gone all week without this, I should have known my time was up. 

I'd got the train with due time, I'd found a good seat - near a heater but not directly, window seat with sight of the carriage door - and was settled in for looking out the window and daydreaming (perhaps this blogpost would have been better if I had such a chance?).

She sat in front of me and I continued on out the window even though we were still stationary on the platform. I had assumed if you don't make eye contact with people you're safe. Oh no... how wrong I was.  

She tapped me on my knee.

Firstly, that is to me a true invasion of my personal space and privacy unless I had something on my face, there was a fire behind me or she knew me.

I gave a slight smile at this lady, asking what she wanted without actually speaking.

She didn't even say hello, she just offered me a tissue. I said no thank you, I'm fine and I had a packet in my bag anyway. Oh she replied I offer them to most people in case. I politely thanked her and went back to my vigilant post of looking out the window.

This did not deter her.

She tapped me on the knee again.

She went into a small spiel about the weather, how she'd been out to get some food. I smiled again, wary not to be overly enthusiastic with my facial expressions and keep talking to a minimum. She continued. 

To cut it short, as it was a torturous 20mins for me, she explained how to make spaghetti Bolognese and then freeze it, but when you reheat it you just add a bit of soy sauce to the pasta to make it fresher tasting (why?! why would you add soy sauce to just the pasta section if at all to spaghetti Bolognese?!). The journey seemed longer than twenty minutes, I had exchanged panic glances with a guy across from us, he was no help he chuckled to himself and looked at his ipod - damn! He was prepared! I endured for twenty minutes before practically running off the train to freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom.

I learned a harsh lesson. 

Charge iPod.

Carry book.