I err towards pessimism, but even I can be a force to be reckoned with. I am resolute in my quest and I shall be a success, even if it kills me. This time there is no going back, I can only go forward, and I stand at the crossroads of success or failure. It would be easy to convince myself that I am doomed to a disastrous end and to give in to naysayers, although in all honesty I haven't come across that many really.
And of course I have always been convinced that the end will come quickly when it does and by my own hand. Only I stand in my own way. Perhaps that is why I am so determined to succeed, I must reach the winning post before disaster strikes.
And trust me on that, I won't be giving up on the basis that I can't be bothered anymore, my head's been turned by something else, (an excuse for giving up). It can only be a one way road to the end - success.
Wednesday, 20 February 2013
Does anyone live up to who we think they are?
"But then, even in the most insignificant details of our daily life, none of us can be said to constitute a material whole, which is identical for everyone, and need only be turned up like a page in an account-book or the record of a will; our social personality is created by the thoughts of other people. Even the simple act which we describe as "seeing some one we know" is, to some extent, an intellectual process. We pack the physical outline of the creature we see with all the ideas we have already formed about him, and in the complete picture of him which we compose in our minds those ideas have certainly the principal place. In the end they come to fill out so completely the curve of his cheeks, to follow so exactly the line of his nose, they blend so harmoniously in the sound of his voice that these seem to be no more than a transparent envelope, so that each time we see the face or hear the voice it is our own idea of him which we recognise and to which we listen."
Marcel Proust, Swann's Way, 1913
Marcel Proust, Swann's Way, 1913
Wednesday, 13 February 2013
Chameleon
I am invincible, I am self-sufficient. I start the day with my self-destruct button firmly intact . I am a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. I am a smiling at you but conceal a thousand inadequacies beneath. I am out of proportion and out of kilter, but you will never know.
Don't come to close or you'll see behind the façade - keep a safe distance and you'll never know.
Don't come to close or you'll see behind the façade - keep a safe distance and you'll never know.
Monday, 4 February 2013
Exits
I search for exits, whenever I'm talking to you I'm searching for exits, an escape route. I need to be able make a run for it. At a party or in a bar I need to know where the door is, to feel the fresh air blow over me whenever the door is opened. Wherever you see me I'll be near a door and if I can't be near one I'll be searching for one, looking for an exit, a window or a door. I need to know that I can leave at a moment's notice, that I can leave whenever I feel I've had enough, without an announcement or an explanation. I can go out into the fresh air towards the light and into the road outside, and you'll have trouble remembering who I was.
Last night I dreamt I was searching for an exit at a party. There were people talking, but they didn't see me. I followed the route I suspected would lead to the way out. I walked along a hallway that led to a kitchen. To the left of the kitchen was a door that led outside. I stepped out of the door and suddenly I was on my parent's porch. I walked a few steps and I saw my father smoking a cigarette standing at the top of the steps that led to the garden. My heart was heavy with loss, I'd missed him so much. He was gazing into the middle distance up at what was left of Blackberry mountain. He turned and saw me coming and he smiled.
What was he trying to tell me?
Last night I dreamt I was searching for an exit at a party. There were people talking, but they didn't see me. I followed the route I suspected would lead to the way out. I walked along a hallway that led to a kitchen. To the left of the kitchen was a door that led outside. I stepped out of the door and suddenly I was on my parent's porch. I walked a few steps and I saw my father smoking a cigarette standing at the top of the steps that led to the garden. My heart was heavy with loss, I'd missed him so much. He was gazing into the middle distance up at what was left of Blackberry mountain. He turned and saw me coming and he smiled.
What was he trying to tell me?
Sunday, 3 February 2013
Vampires
I have been eaten away, eaten away until there is nothing left but the husk and remnants of who I once was. No identity and no footprints, because I have been hijacked. Who was I? I have been interfered with and eaten away by a shadow, an alien growth inside me that's taken away the essence within and left only a likeness. Now I am to play the role of footnote in the life of an alien, someone who I do not really know. There is an imitation and a perfection of me wandering about who looks a little like me but is someone else entirely. A mimesis, a likeness, an imitation, but not me for I have been eaten away....
Monday, 28 January 2013
Can I really make it as a copywriter?
I've been a freelance writer/copywriter for 4 weeks on Thursday. Four whole weeks and I'm still slugging it out with various jobs here and there - but not really making a great deal of progress. They say it takes a good six months before things really start to take off, but I'm starting to doubt my own ability. There are a lot of people out there trying to do exactly what I'm doing, and some of them are a damn sight more experienced than I. I keep telling myself that this is the internet - the superhighway and that there's plenty of work out there for everyone, whatever your style, whatever your speciality, but I'm not always sure I believe that.
Going by past experience I'm not one of the most confident people (probably not particularly patient either), and I know this has the potential to hold me back, but I don't really see myself as one of those aggressive in-your-face individuals who convince themselves and everyone else around them that they are quite possibly the most amazing thing to walk into a room. I know they exist, you only have to read their bio or their blog to realise they are one of those people that walk a thin line between confidence and arrogance. I read their bios on the freelancers sites with trepidation, one profile/bio was a lengthy tract of how those charging less weren't worth the time and bother, and how she was clearly a far better bet. They usually go along the lines of "you don't want any cheapskate writing your copy, I am the bees knees, and I charge more because I'm worth it, I've been put on this earth to wipe aside the competition, and show you that I am everything you've ever wanted packaged in human form. Hire me and you'll never look back." I, on the otherhand, always approach things with a certain humility, I'm grateful to be considered for anything, it's a blessing not to be trapped inside an office all week, but is that enough? No of course not, I hear you cry, I need to up my game and get out there and show people what I'm made of.
I hear you, but part of me still remains a little hesitant - and I know what you're going to say next, if you can't sell then you can't do copy, well yes I can, but maybe it has to be done my way, even if it takes me longer to get there. The one thing I've noticed since I started this, is for all the in-yer-face people filling up web space, there are an awful lot of people out there who have a certain degree of gravitas about promoting themselves, a certain class, they don't go for the hard sell, but talk quietly and confidently about their capabilities. This is what I strive for, I know that perhaps these are the ones that have been in this business for years and don't need to shout at the top of their voices anymore, but can quietly articulate with ease and confidence about what they have to offer without obliterating the newbies. These are the people I seek advice from, these are the ones I'm not intimated by, the ones you know are probably exceptional at what they do. I emulate them, I want to be just like them 5 years from now - if I don't throw the towel in first.
Yes, I know I need to be a bit more confident and sell myself a little bit more, and hopefully in time this will improve as I acquire more work. Come back in 5 years and ask how I'm getting on - or just watch this space.
Going by past experience I'm not one of the most confident people (probably not particularly patient either), and I know this has the potential to hold me back, but I don't really see myself as one of those aggressive in-your-face individuals who convince themselves and everyone else around them that they are quite possibly the most amazing thing to walk into a room. I know they exist, you only have to read their bio or their blog to realise they are one of those people that walk a thin line between confidence and arrogance. I read their bios on the freelancers sites with trepidation, one profile/bio was a lengthy tract of how those charging less weren't worth the time and bother, and how she was clearly a far better bet. They usually go along the lines of "you don't want any cheapskate writing your copy, I am the bees knees, and I charge more because I'm worth it, I've been put on this earth to wipe aside the competition, and show you that I am everything you've ever wanted packaged in human form. Hire me and you'll never look back." I, on the otherhand, always approach things with a certain humility, I'm grateful to be considered for anything, it's a blessing not to be trapped inside an office all week, but is that enough? No of course not, I hear you cry, I need to up my game and get out there and show people what I'm made of.
I hear you, but part of me still remains a little hesitant - and I know what you're going to say next, if you can't sell then you can't do copy, well yes I can, but maybe it has to be done my way, even if it takes me longer to get there. The one thing I've noticed since I started this, is for all the in-yer-face people filling up web space, there are an awful lot of people out there who have a certain degree of gravitas about promoting themselves, a certain class, they don't go for the hard sell, but talk quietly and confidently about their capabilities. This is what I strive for, I know that perhaps these are the ones that have been in this business for years and don't need to shout at the top of their voices anymore, but can quietly articulate with ease and confidence about what they have to offer without obliterating the newbies. These are the people I seek advice from, these are the ones I'm not intimated by, the ones you know are probably exceptional at what they do. I emulate them, I want to be just like them 5 years from now - if I don't throw the towel in first.
Yes, I know I need to be a bit more confident and sell myself a little bit more, and hopefully in time this will improve as I acquire more work. Come back in 5 years and ask how I'm getting on - or just watch this space.
Wednesday, 2 January 2013
It's official - it's the month of the office diet.....
Let me tell you something, something that you probably already know - 'tis the season of the diet. January, in all its drab greyness, lies before us and it's a long time till Spring. Many of us will have eaten far more than we should have. Many of us will have decided on a diet, or those of us more inclined towards a more "hard line" approach will have chosen a detox. Deprivation will be the order of the day, as we desperately try to whittle away the fat of Christmas from our hips.
If I still worked in an office now I would be immersed in it by the end of the first week. I would dread it far more than anything that debt and bad weather combined could throw at me. Office diets are to be dreaded, the more extreme, the worse they are. As the weeks go on, depending on how many of you share an office with, you'll be surrounded by the deathly grey pallor of the do-or-die dieters, those who are willing to deny themselves round the clock in pursuit of the body beautiful. And boy oh boy are they willing to share the gory details with you. If I was still there amongst them I would be listening to their enthusiastic daily deprivations as they describe in intimate detail everything they've consumed since 6 o' clock that morning, which won't be much.
The diets usually consist of the more organised and widely followed ones, sometimes featured on TV, to the more obscure ones discovered word-of-mouth or read about in the national press or women's magazines. They often create diets of their own, diets which are usually of questionable nutritional value, but followed with the same religious fervour of a Jesuit priest.
I've come across the weird and wonderful world of diets in my time and even tried a few myself. There was the diet pursued by one woman where all that was consumed during the day was a can of WeightWatchers soup and a dry scone. Have you ever eaten a tin of Weightwatchers soup? I used to fondly call it the tin-o'-piss a day diet (but not out loud), liquid piss with a few small vegetable bits thrown in, followed by the dry scone which would be similar to mulching on partially dry cement if you had no teeth, it must have taken hours to displace it from it the roof of her mouth. I've tried the more popular ones such as Weightwatchers and the more successful and far more sensible Slimming World. I even tried the Kellogg's K cereal diet once where I existed on two bowls of cereal and one main meal a day. I was so weak I could no longer attend the gym, i was irritable, tired and bad tempered as a result.
Perhaps less rare, but men too can be a victim to the do-or-die diet plan, grown men 6ft tall living on handfuls of apples a day, fathers coming to work and barely eating. Men in baggy office shirts that look like a living death head trapped in a loose collar. .
There will always be the odd one or two that look as if losing a pound or two won't do them any harm, and those who've been on the large side for years and will probably stay that way until February comes and their enthusiasm wanes. They'll be the same size year in, year out. They join in to be the same as everyone else, but are sensible enough to know when to stop, after all what's a few extra pounds if you're happy?
Yes, if I'm honest, I felt intimidated by it. It was hard not be, and sometimes these diets would manifest themselves not just in January, but at Easter or early summer, as women desperately tried to ready themselves for their family beach holidays. Why couldn't I demonstrate such willpower and self-denial? I watched with envy as people shrunk before my very eyes, as they frowned at my bag of crisps or laughed pityingly at my slice of cake. As the months go by it becomes the ultimate female pissing contest as women discussed over the telephone how much weight they'd lost, how many calories they'd consumed, how many miles they'd run that morning, then showered and come to work impeccably dressed without a single hair out of place, their bouffanted bobs cemented to the side of their heads like motorcycle helmets.
The gym is another place you'll find the extreme dieter who may leave the office at 5pm to immerse herself in the sweat of a hellish aerobic workout or two. The gym in January will always have the stragglers from Christmas who come with plenty of enthusiasm and are conspicuous by their absence come February. But then there are the real hardcore ones who've been bitten by the dieting bug. They don't know when to stop, who carry on with their diet strategies until they are walking, talking adverts for Belsen at Boden. A death's head on a skeletal frame draped in expensive high end high street tat. Their fake tanned and boney shoulders jutting out of tightly specially chosen vest tops. Specially chosen to show off their new "curves." Their faces hollowed and covered in loosely fitting dried out skin. They are literally shadows of their former selves.
I've always had a healthy appetite; ever since childhood I've enjoy a good meal, and I was renowned for going back for seconds in the school canteen. My metabolism was insane, I was between a size 6 and an 8 and I could eat more or less whatever I wanted and not put on a single pound. As I got older my weight crept up, and now I am a stone or two overweight, but as Caitlin Moran* describes it as long as I'm "human shaped" and I can see my feet everything's fine. I attend the gym regularly and I eat sensibly. Yes I did over indulge, like most people over Christmas. and yes, I will cut down over the next few weeks, but I won't be starving myself.
There's nothing wrong with dieting and eating sensibly, perhaps shedding a few pounds if it makes you feel good. I'm all for that. But somehow as dieting takes a firm hold on some women, women who are normally well educated, talented, sensible women, their common sense goes out of the window as they become obsessed with their own weight loss. It's like a form of leprosy as each woman falls prey to it's power, to its grip, spurring each other on, egging each other on, watching and listening for any signs of weakness that can be stamped on with impunity.
Surely long-term, radical and extreme dieting on a long-term basis is dangerous?
How do women manage to get into this head-space?
When does a diet stop being a diet and become an eating disorder?
When should family and friends stop cheering you on and start expressing concern?
I feel I've reached a point in my life now where dieting is over. I eat sensibly, and exercise regularly. I will cut down on cakes and snacks when I feel it's necessary, but I won't be starving myself this January. Luckily I'm not in an office environment and therefore less likely to succumb to the diet fever fascists. Yes, I'm overweight, but not excessively so. I shall continue to attend the gym, I love it and it stave's off depression like nothing else, it's better than any pill or potion. But I won't be looking to lose massive amounts of weight. Looking like I suffer from an extreme case of malnutrition is not a look I'll be emulating anytime soon.
Postscript
Any thoughts? BMI a load of old codswallop? Do you know someone who's been on an extreme diet? Are you dieting this January 2013?
* Caitlin Moran, How to be a woman, Ebony Press, (2012)
http://www.essencetiallife.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/why-january-is-worst-month-for-diets.html
www.healthguidance.org/entry/2597/1/Body-Mass-Index-Chart-Wrong.html
www.lovefood.com/journal/opinions/16985/bmi-not-accurate-way-of-testing-health
www.caloriecount.about.com/1000-calories-less-danger-extreme-calorie-b557773
If I still worked in an office now I would be immersed in it by the end of the first week. I would dread it far more than anything that debt and bad weather combined could throw at me. Office diets are to be dreaded, the more extreme, the worse they are. As the weeks go on, depending on how many of you share an office with, you'll be surrounded by the deathly grey pallor of the do-or-die dieters, those who are willing to deny themselves round the clock in pursuit of the body beautiful. And boy oh boy are they willing to share the gory details with you. If I was still there amongst them I would be listening to their enthusiastic daily deprivations as they describe in intimate detail everything they've consumed since 6 o' clock that morning, which won't be much.
The diets usually consist of the more organised and widely followed ones, sometimes featured on TV, to the more obscure ones discovered word-of-mouth or read about in the national press or women's magazines. They often create diets of their own, diets which are usually of questionable nutritional value, but followed with the same religious fervour of a Jesuit priest.
I've come across the weird and wonderful world of diets in my time and even tried a few myself. There was the diet pursued by one woman where all that was consumed during the day was a can of WeightWatchers soup and a dry scone. Have you ever eaten a tin of Weightwatchers soup? I used to fondly call it the tin-o'-piss a day diet (but not out loud), liquid piss with a few small vegetable bits thrown in, followed by the dry scone which would be similar to mulching on partially dry cement if you had no teeth, it must have taken hours to displace it from it the roof of her mouth. I've tried the more popular ones such as Weightwatchers and the more successful and far more sensible Slimming World. I even tried the Kellogg's K cereal diet once where I existed on two bowls of cereal and one main meal a day. I was so weak I could no longer attend the gym, i was irritable, tired and bad tempered as a result.
Perhaps less rare, but men too can be a victim to the do-or-die diet plan, grown men 6ft tall living on handfuls of apples a day, fathers coming to work and barely eating. Men in baggy office shirts that look like a living death head trapped in a loose collar. .
There will always be the odd one or two that look as if losing a pound or two won't do them any harm, and those who've been on the large side for years and will probably stay that way until February comes and their enthusiasm wanes. They'll be the same size year in, year out. They join in to be the same as everyone else, but are sensible enough to know when to stop, after all what's a few extra pounds if you're happy?
Yes, if I'm honest, I felt intimidated by it. It was hard not be, and sometimes these diets would manifest themselves not just in January, but at Easter or early summer, as women desperately tried to ready themselves for their family beach holidays. Why couldn't I demonstrate such willpower and self-denial? I watched with envy as people shrunk before my very eyes, as they frowned at my bag of crisps or laughed pityingly at my slice of cake. As the months go by it becomes the ultimate female pissing contest as women discussed over the telephone how much weight they'd lost, how many calories they'd consumed, how many miles they'd run that morning, then showered and come to work impeccably dressed without a single hair out of place, their bouffanted bobs cemented to the side of their heads like motorcycle helmets.
The gym is another place you'll find the extreme dieter who may leave the office at 5pm to immerse herself in the sweat of a hellish aerobic workout or two. The gym in January will always have the stragglers from Christmas who come with plenty of enthusiasm and are conspicuous by their absence come February. But then there are the real hardcore ones who've been bitten by the dieting bug. They don't know when to stop, who carry on with their diet strategies until they are walking, talking adverts for Belsen at Boden. A death's head on a skeletal frame draped in expensive high end high street tat. Their fake tanned and boney shoulders jutting out of tightly specially chosen vest tops. Specially chosen to show off their new "curves." Their faces hollowed and covered in loosely fitting dried out skin. They are literally shadows of their former selves.
I've always had a healthy appetite; ever since childhood I've enjoy a good meal, and I was renowned for going back for seconds in the school canteen. My metabolism was insane, I was between a size 6 and an 8 and I could eat more or less whatever I wanted and not put on a single pound. As I got older my weight crept up, and now I am a stone or two overweight, but as Caitlin Moran* describes it as long as I'm "human shaped" and I can see my feet everything's fine. I attend the gym regularly and I eat sensibly. Yes I did over indulge, like most people over Christmas. and yes, I will cut down over the next few weeks, but I won't be starving myself.
There's nothing wrong with dieting and eating sensibly, perhaps shedding a few pounds if it makes you feel good. I'm all for that. But somehow as dieting takes a firm hold on some women, women who are normally well educated, talented, sensible women, their common sense goes out of the window as they become obsessed with their own weight loss. It's like a form of leprosy as each woman falls prey to it's power, to its grip, spurring each other on, egging each other on, watching and listening for any signs of weakness that can be stamped on with impunity.
Surely long-term, radical and extreme dieting on a long-term basis is dangerous?
How do women manage to get into this head-space?
When does a diet stop being a diet and become an eating disorder?
When should family and friends stop cheering you on and start expressing concern?
I feel I've reached a point in my life now where dieting is over. I eat sensibly, and exercise regularly. I will cut down on cakes and snacks when I feel it's necessary, but I won't be starving myself this January. Luckily I'm not in an office environment and therefore less likely to succumb to the diet fever fascists. Yes, I'm overweight, but not excessively so. I shall continue to attend the gym, I love it and it stave's off depression like nothing else, it's better than any pill or potion. But I won't be looking to lose massive amounts of weight. Looking like I suffer from an extreme case of malnutrition is not a look I'll be emulating anytime soon.
Postscript
Any thoughts? BMI a load of old codswallop? Do you know someone who's been on an extreme diet? Are you dieting this January 2013?
* Caitlin Moran, How to be a woman, Ebony Press, (2012)
http://www.essencetiallife.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/why-january-is-worst-month-for-diets.html
www.healthguidance.org/entry/2597/1/Body-Mass-Index-Chart-Wrong.html
www.lovefood.com/journal/opinions/16985/bmi-not-accurate-way-of-testing-health
www.caloriecount.about.com/1000-calories-less-danger-extreme-calorie-b557773
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