Saturday, 12 April 2014

Things that I don't really understand and why that's kinda maybe okay.

Note: This is a draft of something I was meant to post last year. I had a little giggle at how, I could have, by this point, learnt something. Spoiler: I haven't.

Perhaps ignorance isn't bliss, but I certainly live in my own bubble for the majority of time. The recent reports on the Syrian crisis have left me wholly underwhelmed, because my grasp on current affairs is a kin to the lack of understanding I have around the joy of calorie counting, or why a spin class would be an enjoyable experience.
It isn't a trait I find attractive about myself, or indeed something I am proud of, but politics and economics just don't sit right amongst the glitter, cat memes and music lyrics stored in my grey matter. 

I don't believe it makes me any less intelligent; just because I can't muster a controversial or well- thought out opinion on the current state of the government doesn't mean my IQ is down in the negatives. Instead, I'd rather not make a massive tit of myself by pretending to know what the hell the 'Miranda' scandal is (I only looked at the hashtag on twitter because I thought it would be something to do with the highly acclaimed BBC comedy series). I understand how basic government works, explained to me by a rather patient friend over tea and biscuits one afternoon, when we should have been revising, and I understand why people might find certain political workings flawed. I've read 1984, I've watched V for Vendetta. I get the extremities of dystopian notions- and the undercurrents they were based upon. I understand and comprehend the unfortunate 20th century history. I know why people care, and why people fight and speak out against the way the government sometimes works. 

I do not lack aspiration, it's not simply the small town girl in me trying to continue life that way- I'm not satisfied by the possibility of living life revolving around going back to my hometown and working the 9-5. But I also live a happy little life.
I hear you cry "If you don't care- who will?". That's true. It's not a lack of caring. I just think that a lot of journalism these days is sensationalized, and depressing. We are barely exposed to the positivity of human life. We're almost immune to disaster and scandal because we're consumed by it. In school, we're taught how to find x from y, why 'i' comes before 'e' and the importance of a semi-colon. We're cotton balled from the real world of politics.

I don't blame my ignorance on anyone but myself, but I think journalism needs to be more accessible, and varied. I love sites like UpWorthy and BuzzFeed, because the way they speak to me aren't patronizing and assuming. There is a generation, like myself, who care less and less about issues which, thirty years ago would have halted everything, because we're expected to have former knowledge. Of course it's kind of easy to find it all for yourself, but by the time you understand a small history of North Korea, it's already old news.

Is it just me? Shall I shush back down in the corner with my videos of kittens? Perhaps.

I'm back... again

I have more revivals than a bad nineties pop band (Steps, I'm looking at you) but I need to get back to business on this writing malarky.

I'd really like to say that my absence is through a mighty combination of finding a cure for cancer, excelling in every piece of work thrown at me, learning to bake and being a top class woman but we all know that not to be true. I've spent the first two months of being twenty like a hermit, through no fault of my own.

It's going to be a massive shock, but I barely touch wine. My half a bottle glass is like some distant family heirloom, somewhat mythical. My hand misses it dearly. When I say 'barely touch', it's a comparison to the affliction we once shared- an intimate thrice weekly visit, often ending in headache and regret. It's now fortnightly, if at all.

I'm not complaining. I'm on cloud nine, I'm extremely happy. I just have so much spare time, but not enough time. Does that make sense? I literally struggle to work out where the week has gone. Is this the first sign of adulthood? Losing fucking time? Are we rationed it? I've just looked at the clock and I've been on my own for three hours. In that time, I've eaten a bar of chocolate, drank a cider and perfected my Spotify playlist.

God knows.