The Man Who Knew Too Much

1. I heard through my ocean of sources that one of my friends had been criticising me for not being able to hold down a stable relationship, comparing me to herself; valuing her own ability to keep something together for longer than a number of weeks over my lack of enthusiasm for being bound and tied to someone. I met her yesterday and had planned to rant about how I am actually happier in my single state than she is in her less than perfect long term relationship; but on being informed of her big break up only a couple of days previously, I imagined the rant I had planned might have been considered distasteful.

2. I went to Rev at the QMU on Tuesday for the first time in a long while. The Rev Brigade was three entire members down, and I wasn’t even in the mood to get ASBO-drunk, so it was a very different experience of a club I used to visit religiously on a Tuesday night. I have changed.

3. Today, I went to Pizza Hut. I used to love Pizza Hut, with it’s unsatisfying meals and laughable service. Since I started working in Gatsby’s, I seem to have learned a thing or two about what is expected of a restaurant; as well as developing a less pizza-orientated palette. For one thing, I have rarely been asked to provide cutlery for a customer – it’s pretty obvious that cutlery is essential for eating. Pizza Hut, today, provided a knife. When I asked for a fork, my waitress audibly laughed at me, and turned on her heel. A couple – obviously in the same mindset as me – asked to move tables. The request did not seem too extreme, since there were alternative tables available. However, the request was refused, and they were told to sit back where they were seated. They promptly left.

Anyway, this blog is not meant to be another hypocritical rant about the service industry or ramble about how amazing my life is because I drink too much; instead, these instances have combined to make me think about how different a person can be after only a year or so has passed (having worked one year at Gatsby’s, missing Rev and being on-and-off single during that time). In the past, I have intentionally tried to suppress my past and move onto something new. Now, other people notice it, and I change personalities without any prior thought. Thankfully, for the past six-or-so years, I have kept a full and frank personal diary, and for the first time in this blogger’s (shamefully unpaid) career, I shall delve into it’s pages for inspiration (and to beef up my word count).

Listen to how much of a slutty douchebag I was on Monday 30th October 2006!

Wine, women and song is definitely proving to be the best cure-all. I still don’t feel like myself, more a “reset” version of me, which I really can’t complain about.Spent the day thinking about getting ready for assessments and of my romantic distractions at the weekend [shagged some burd at a party, evidently.] Finally got round to the foundations of my Specialist Reporting assessment tonight as well, proving that nothing beats a good party for clearing one’s head.Mum’s been on about how “this” (student living) won’t go on forever, and I should just be having fun – curious to see how that will actually happen in the future, as I am obviously in idealist mode and fail to pre-empt the world crushing me.

Nothing too serious so far? I thought not either. This is where I start to regret keeping a diary:

Was being typically “thrifty” today – found a packet of Refreshers outside the lift and had them for lunch. Seem to be gathering a reputation, especially at college (although definitely there with long-standing friends; I just notice it more with Chris and Maxwell – they are far more vocal about it), as a trashy, drugged-up gypsy thing. Living the dream.

Aww yeah? Oh no…

I set out, before I started first year, to change my image*, and I guess since then I really have – not so much visually (although I’m now much less uniformly Bill and Ted about it); but my personality is markedly different. I’m much “louder” and I was, and people friendly – popular for what passes for the right reasons.In other words, I’m just comfortable in my own skin to a greater degree than have been – probably in my whole life.

*This entry includes a wordpress-style pingback to an earlier diary entry (albeit without the hyperlinks); that of 3rd September 2005:

College looks set to be interesting. I’m really looking forward to meeting new friends. In fact, right now, I have lit up at the thought! I will have to work on my image, I guess, since I changed it for high school. Come to think of it, I seem to change who I am as often as I can. I’m actually enjoying not knowing who I am!

Earlier in the diary, I argue that I have no use for being personable; later in the diary, I mourn the loss of my quiet nature. Evidently, the feeling of being comfortable in my own skin was at best temporary and superficial. So being secure and comfortable didn’t work out. The prevailing impression I get from this diary is that of a scrounging junkie. Check out this entry from 1st November 2006:

Found a bottle of rosé outside the building [the QMU]
and drank it before leaving the empty bottle in the place of the kegs we had stolen the two previous weeks – giving back to society.Had an impromptu party at Rab’s, drinking the remainder of Saturday’s alcoholic bounty; playing videogames and having discussions about the proper pronounciation of “libellous”.

I think I was too brash again. I’m just too loud. It’s for the best though – isn’t this all I wanted to be? In any case, everyone else is too quiet. I was told to shut up and let people sleep […] In any case, this allowed me to have my typical Wednesday – went into Ken’s 9:30 lecture – less than sober – straight from the train.Went to Pizza Hut with Maxwell, Chris and Sandy and was accused by them of stealing the money we had left to cover the bill. However, this was untrue.

Maxwell mentioned that he would ordinarily hate someone like me (someone too brash?), but that he finds me funny.

I find that the more I read from this diary, the more I realise that I have changed. Where once I would drunkenly steal money from what I perceived at the time to be a fairly decent well-run restaurant; I would now rather shoot myself on the spot than eat that junk, yet I still tip the waitress!

However, there was one little vignette tucked away in my diary from <strong>9th February 2007</strong>, where I describe an [unnamed illegal substance] comedown-stroll around the West End; which made me realise that some things never change:

“Today I seen [sic] Kaye Adams [of Loose Women fame] and managed to refrain from kicking her in. I’ve made progress!”

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