Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Dying to Write

So.....I've accidentally not written here again for over two months. But on purpose I have:

-Run off a tube after one stop to throw up on the railings

-Attending a writing group for half the session and quit

AND

-Mildly Assaulted a Policeman whilst crying

I believe those things more than make up for my absence

To get you up to speed with the ever mounting, relentless barrage of things I can mess up:

I also signed up for Movember run in, you got it, November. As I over slept, the only way to make it on time, was to run there.

I think my favourite part of the event, has to be when myself, and about seven other late people, were all running through Battersea, so that we could register to then run 5k.

I turned up exhausted, slapped the time tag on my trainer, pushed up my vibrant orange Movember headband, and joined in the twenty second count down.

As it was my first race running alone, I wondered how my mental stability would hold up. Luckily, every few minutes or so came a roar, along the lines of 'NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA Batman!'. Then a midget Batman (or a child, whatever way you want to slice it) came zooming past me.

Who else beat me?

Superman, a crowd of 118, Mario and Luigi, people dressed as crayons, and a man in tight green, latex shorts (to name but a few).

It's the only time I can remember thinking, 'If I looked more ridiculous, I would feel better about this.'

ALSO

I eventually got round to signing up to a Writer's group, and felt very smug indeed. Firstly, It only took me seven months of living in London to join one. Go me! Then, there was a three week waiting list, thus ensuring it was top notch quality.

Turns out however that it was not, as I had interpreted to be 'A lovely, normal bunch of people' and could be much more suitably classed as 'A lovely bunch of Psychopaths.' In that, they were lovely, but they were also MASSIVE Psychopaths.

I already feel quite bad about sharing this with you, but I think that they would say, my creative outpourings are much much significant than their reputations.

And if they do Google me, and find this, I just want to say, that I'm really sorry, that I thought their manners were excellent, but I just happened to be consistently terrified.

PSYCHOPATH ONE

Had no skin on his knuckles. Announced he was going to draw. I looked over. What's he drawing?

Oh, pretty sure he's drawing me.

PSYCHOPATH TWO

Polish.

Asked if he could observe me writing. Sat next to me and watched me write for ten minutes. Got very angry that no one wanted to critique his novel about Soho Bouncers. Left without saying goodbye.

PSYCHOPATH THREE

I thought, 'Great! Someone who looks relatively well adjusted!'

Told me he was clinically depressed

Told me nothing he writes will ever be good enough

Told me about his Dad (linking in to the mind set behind above sentence.)



I did stick it out for 1.5 hours, before muttering some excuse and running away.

I'm pretty sure they won't Google me. I didn't do too well myself, having answered a few questions like this:

"Do I consider myself a 'Writer?' Well, I'm not sure. I mean, what do we really mean when we say 'Writer' anyway...?'

And my personal favourite:

'My story? Oh, it's about this little boy, who kills this little girl.'

BOOM!