I was at home last weekend for my mother's bitterly disappointing birthday, George Michael got cancelled and then she's married to Al Binghams (yoga zone) biggest fan so she's not gonna get that good a reception from a man who's head's well and truly in the clouds.
(Al Bingham, he'd make a lovely...)
Anyway I made the big mistake of going home having done absolutely no laundry at all, so packed whatever was clean and scrambled very late for my train. Though it soon became evident that I had nowhere near enough underwear clean. As a last resort I squeezed into a pair of 'Happy Holidays' pants with a little reindeer with a rather festive bright red pom pom right on the old fou fou. They were also a little too tight resulting in 4 butt cheeks rather than the average human 2.
I may as well have got dressed in the dark because I had absolutely no choice on what to wear with my few clean clothes. Outfit= leather shorts circa summer 2011, a cashmere sweatshirt, woollen socks, tights, a balloon t shirt and a leather jacket. And to my amazement and surprise I looked better and much more edgy than I had done in a while.
And so this weeks blog is about not caring, and not in a telling off kind of way like when people say 'you don't care enough about us' or 'you don't care enough about your work.' What would happen if we lived like we do on laundry day. Would we reap the same benefits? I mean I don't drag my blog through finishing school it's rough and ready and fun and feisty and that turns out OK yeah? Probably better than it would if I actually planned what I was gonna write rather than harping on.
Early on this week I came to the realisation that this wasn't going to be a great week (I turned out to be very right what with deadlines and my Londonish friend coming to visit the one week I was unavailable. Also how many times did I say week in that last sentence? Week.) Walking up Park street as soaking as flannel a charity lady 'have you got a minuted' me. Turns out I did have a minute and she said something quite profound to me after realising I was about to slit my wrists with the edge of her clip board. 'Remember nothing matters. Nothing really matters.'
(True dat)
Was she right? If everything was going to turn out all right in the end why was I bothering? I put this into practise by neglecting any further essay thoughts and going out on the lash in the name of research, 2 days before my deadline. I wanted to see what could be gained from not caring.
Being drunk, it turns out brings out your very best of talents. Blind drunk in thekla recently I wrote down about 50 blog ideas, not that I could read them in the morning, but it sure made me feel clever. Watching drunken videos back in the morning also assures me that I could make myself quite a happy living being a comedienne or a presenter at the very least, watch out Dermot O'Leary, could seriously give you a run for your money.
(look at all these sweatshirts that don't care- sorry mum)
My hangover even came in ridiculously handy, you see I become terribly philosophical when I'm hungover, lying in bed wondering why 'her' is used as a word because it's so masculine it's like heir, and googling consensual cannibalism. This came in very handy whilst writing my essay (being philosophical not googling cannibalism) because I was constantly questioning every single word of the English language I was writing building up a pretty stonking argument for my essay.
I guess there are many unlikely situations that can turn out really great like being on the piss you could meet great great friends, or have the confidence to finally say that thing you wanted to say to that person. Or if you got on the wrong train you might just end up in the funnest of places (I'm going to try and accidentally get on the euro star to disney land, its not like they can chuck you off at a random stop.) I guess I'm being quite philosophical when I realise that this is what people mean when they say be yourself. I sound like one of those people I really hate who says to you at the worst of times 'everything will turn out OK.'
(Listen to Bobby)
All in all I needed to use this blog slot to lecture myself to stop worrying about being blown up at the Olympics. I have developed this ridiculous anxiety that this is what is going to happen. Might I add I'm not going to the Olympics. My point exactly.
Things can only get better.
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