Thursday, 24 May 2012
Sheds, Beds and Running Reds
Should some higher being grant me the finance and freedom to impart my mundane wonderings on a wider audience, the above would be it's title. This I concluded whilst on one of my many rainy rides home from university. Our university years are sold to us with the premise of a life-affirming time, a pivotal point in our development from youth to adult. If i'm being honest, I wouldn't conclude that my behaviour has become any more mature/socially acceptable. Though the numerous failures of shop assistants to ask me for ID as of late would suggest otherwise - perhaps it's true that a gruelling BA in architecture really does age you about a decade. If you are lucky, whilst at university you may have the revelation of "finding yourself". Well, i found out a hell of a lot about myself. Notably that i'm a cunt. Yes, a cunt. It's like Seal sings isn't it? "We're never gonna survive, unless, we get a little cunty." Or something along those lines. But it's that somewhat profane term that i attribute to my survival tactics over the last three years. Life has thrown a supposed shit load of lemons my way. I never did get around to making lemonade, but i did run those lemons through an unholy trinity of computer software, workshop machinery and traumatic presentations, until finally i scraped my citrussy ass over the finish line and handed my portfolio in, and be done with it. This lemon-cultivating proved a valuable break from some of the more stressful notes of my career thus far, notably my eternal frustration at my ineptitude with men, and my somewhat undecided position between wanting to be a 10k-a-day girl and [in actual fact] being a 10-a-day girl. All we can hope for is that amongst the melee, there are more rights than wrongs to be found.