Why it’s okay to be a worrier.

Good after-morning my dear reader, and welcome to another instalment of Jordan-is-pretty-stupid-most-of-the-time! For your reading pleasure today, I have this little part of the blog, and linked and stored in a separate location, I have a short story I’ve written for you, that you might enjoy!

I’m afraid I haven’t got much craziness for you; this has been a very reflective week. It’s nice to occasionally go through periods where you spend most of your time thinking about your life, about who is in it, what you are doing, your purpose, that kind of thing. It just doesn’t lend to leaving your house and being exciting. (Having said that, I did still manage to spend a lot of my time outside doing completely ridiculous things, like rescuing a dog and driving on a beach at midnight-ish).

 

All of you that know me will know I’m a worrier. Not in the sense of, ‘Oh my, if I walk out of the house today, maybe I will be killed by a car or a poisonous spider or maybe if I stay inside I’ll die from asbestos or being burgled’, but in the, ‘I wonder is that person okay, I wonder what they meant when they said that, I wonder why they’re annoyed, I wonder why they’ve organised this and not said anything to me.’ way. I think that this makes me difficult to deal with, sometimes- or at least, I know it makes it difficult to be me, so I’m going to assume it makes me difficult to deal with. It’s why I get hit hard when an ex throws a tantrum and starts complaining about all the time he wasted with you, when you’ve been trying to be friendly with him, or why I get panicky when it feels like a once-close friendship is starting to drift apart. But I don’t necessarily think it’s a bad thing.

Yesterday, when on a walk with a lovely gentleman, a wild crying girl appeared. And, of course, I was worried. Her dog had bolted on her in one of the housing areas on the edge of Aberystwyth. I didn’t really need to think about what to do. I was concerned, so I interrupted the date to go and hunt down this dog and, after a half hour of aimlessly walking around yelling, ‘DOG, LOST DOG, COME HERE LOST DOG’, the silly thing came flying out of a side alley and plopped itself down on my feet. A few moments later, the dog was back with its owner, the little girl was happy, and the day was saved. I’m not telling you this to brag, or to say, ‘LOOK AT ME I’M AWESOME’. It’s one of those things I enjoy about myself, though- this feeling that, on later reflection, was completely natural, and not something I forced myself into doing to look good, of needing to help people.

This feeling has characterised some of my closest friendships. I have friends who have come into my life purely because I got worried about them, (sometimes while barely knowing them), and have made a concerted effort to find out what’s wrong. There are some of you out there thinking that, hell, that’s really nosey, and that it’s not really any of my business. (In fact, there is one person in particular who I’m very aware will be thinking that if he sees this, and I’d like to point out the number of times I sat with him at the Castle until 3am because of how upset he got with everything, and I’d like to point out that he can then take his objections and shove them up his ass). I think that’s beside the point. I would never force anyone to say anything they didn’t want too, I’m not some kind of torturer. It’s just this need. There are people whose friendships, I’m very aware of, I started purely because I decided that I was worried about them, and felt the need to make their lives a little happier, if I could.

If you’ve never felt this compulsion, if it isn’t built into you, you might have no idea what I’m talking about. This will probably all look like shameless-self-promotion. (Which I’m kind of worried that it’s coming across as. It’s not intentional, if it is.) It’s a need. It’s a proper, shouty, ‘If you don’t help people, you’re being an asshat, and you might as well just not have friends or do anything’ need. I can’t really help it, and for that matter, I don’t think I really want to help it. Except for when it turns sour.

I hope I’m not the only person that does this, but, I guess, if I am, it’s not really all that disconcerting. Sometimes it’s nice to be a Death Star in a galaxy of Star Destroyers. But I want to know; do any of the rest of you worriers, (or maybe I should say, conscientious people), ever find yourselves in the awful situation of what I like to call, ‘The paranoid-worry-make-angry’? (Best name for something ever, I know.) That situation where, you feel as though someone is upset with you, or is being cold, so you worry, you ask them what the matter is, and then they get angry and upset and cold because you’re worrying about the perceived coldness, and then it all turns into a big sticky mess and everyone gets upset? I’m fairly certain it’s one of the main reasons people find it difficult to deal with me. (Which, of course, could just be me being paranoid again.) It’s not a nice feeling. Especially when it results in constant lectures about how you should ‘stop being paranoid and insecure’, (because we all know that the solution to a persons problems is to accuse them of being paranoid and insecure. People have very interesting ways of dealing with each other, which might be a topic for another blog). It’s not a fun situation to get yourself stuck in, and it seems uniquely wrapped up in the world of the worrier. (I’m not suggesting that some of the rest of you don’t do this, I’m simply saying that it’s a particularly prevalent problem with the other worriers I know.)

A part of me has written this to get a bunch of stress off my chest. Hard weeks don’t make for the cheeriest of writing. Another part of me is genuinely hoping that this will help someone out there. I hope some one of you will read this and go, ‘Hey, I’m like that, I’m not completely alone and completely crazy!’ One of the happiest days of my life was when I realised that my fake-wife and I go through a lot of the same stupid-paranoid-worries. It’s such a lovely feeling to know you’re not crazy by yourself.

Maybe some people weren’t built to deal with the rest of the world. Maybe some people were built to be the rocks of other peoples worlds. Maybe, some people were built to just exist and, despite the hardships of existing as them, to know that they’re putting a lot more joy out into the Universe than they’re taking back in. Or maybe I’m just a horrible, irritating bastard. I very much hope you have enjoyed reading, and I’ve attached a link to my short story below. Have an awesome week!

I’m a cool person,
Jordan

(p.s., here’s that link. https://jol20.wordpress.com/2013/03/02/the-gulls-reminded-him-of-freedom-3/)

‘The Gulls Reminded Him of Freedom’

He always said the gulls reminded him of freedom. ‘Some day, we’ll get out of this slum, Mickey, and we’ll be up there with them gulls.’ It didn’t matter to him that no-one left the Shore that easily, he was still getting out.

We were lying where the trains used to run, before the adults went to war. James had his big smile, holding his mousey brown hands up to the light, shielding his precious eyes. They were green. That’s what I remember. Coloured eyes were such a rarity. I was squatting, looking through a dusty old eye-glass out along the old tracks. Pretending to be on guard duty. Nothing was coming. Nothing ever came.

‘Big Boss’ll be looking for us soon, Mickey boy! Best leave the gulls for another day, eh?’ He threw me his signature cheeky grin, clapped his hands, grabbed mine, and we forced ourselves to run back into the Shore.

It was, of course, empty. James and I were late. Save for the wails of the captives, (a necessary evil for our survival, said Big Boss), the only sound was the roar of the debates in the Hall. Big Boss was going to have our hides for sure. We snuck past the cages, skirted round the mess, and creeped into the hall.

Big Boss, of course, saw us. He said nothing directly; he was wrapped in his speech.

‘You know it’s imperative, men.’ He liked us to think we were men, when really, only Big Boss, James and I had moustaches. ‘You need to be out there, finding the girls. We won’t survive without them! There isn’t anyone coming to help.’ He was angry. He was always angry. James squeezed my hand, reassuring me, and made a face. I grimaced- Big Boss was still watching. ‘We need them. We need the girls. How the hell do you expect us to keep going without them, eh? Find some of the No-Colours, if needs be, but find me those damned women!’ He kicked a helmet at one of the boys in the front.

They all filed out, rank order. None of their uniforms fit. It didn’t matter. Big Boss said we’d grow into them. I straightened myself out, while James took a seat. Big Boss was here for a lecture.

‘A fine example you set for the men. What the hell will they be thinking when my two lieutenants are off gallivanting, holding hands and watching birds? You’re disgusting.’ He spat on the floor at our feet. It would’ve been left there, as it always was, if James hadn’t spoken up.

‘If you please, your grace,’ he said with mock flattery, ‘We all know they’re not men at all. We’re not men. All the men got eaten by the bangs and the flashes, or lost their colours and fell into the sea, like we saw. So we aren’t men, Big Boss, we’re just playing them.’ Big Boss stood silent, his back to us. ‘So I was thinking; why’re we doing it all like this? We could let all those girls out, we could let them come play with us, and we could build things better, better than they were before. Mickey agrees, don’t-cha?’

I was speechless, on the spot. No-one talked to Big Boss like this. No-one. But, James still had my hand. I couldn’t be scared. ‘We could be good, Big Boss. They’d understand, if we let them free.’

It was tense. It was very tense. James stroked my hand affectionately; everything would be alright. There was no way he wasn’t nervous, there was no way he wasn’t absolutely freaking out in there. But James always put me first, ever since I met him. Always gave me the lions share of the cat stew, always made sure to triple filter the water. Always slept with one arm over me and one eye open. Big Boss spat on the ground at our feet.

‘We don’t need your kind here. They always said you’d be the end of the world. Get out of my sight, I need to think.’

 

They came for us that night. He stayed true to form and, seeing them coming ages off, woke me up. ‘Time to go, Mickey. Big Boss is after us.’

‘What? Lets go, James, lets bolt for the tracks.’

‘Nah man, they’re too close. We’d never both get out. You go on, I’ll make a distraction. Wait for me at the shed at the end of the tracks till sun up. If I’m not there, bugger off, yeah?’

He pushed me. I heard the sounds of the mob advancing. ‘Love you, kid!’ he said, throwing me that grin. I heard the crack of twigs. I ran. I didn’t get far, I couldn’t leave without him, I couldn’t go back. I was stuck. Stuck watching. Stuck hiding.

Big Boss came out of the shadows. ‘Well there, pall!’ James said, opening his arms in a friendly gesture. ‘Fancy seeing you here!’ Big Boss didn’t wait. He pulled out his toy gun, and shot James in the face. He was everywhere.

Moments later, they caught me. Threw me in this cell. Said they’d ‘make an example’ of me. Now Big Boss is drawing up a noose, and I can hear him talking about, ‘The importance of breeding and following orders.’ But that doesn’t bother me. All I remember is that his eyes were green, and that he always said gulls reminded him of freedom.

Harps, beards, and Abe Lincoln, Child Snatcher.

Well hello again dear readers, and happy Saturday to you! Welcome to another ridiculous instalment of ‘Jordan-pretends-an-English-degree-is-sensible’! I’ve had a suitably ridiculous week as ever, which I will tell you about in just a moment, but firstly, I want to subject you to the following piece of poetry, written on the lovely, INCREDIBLY SUNNY seaside of Aberystwyth.

If, on a windy beach, you should happen
To hear those thoughts that we don’t speak
Over the roar of the deafening ocean,
And stop a while to listen,

And, if on that beach, you should see
The twinkling of those waves beside you
And think how that same light graces
The eyes that once, upon you, fell,

And if, while thinking, you should feel
The smooth caress of the water stroke you,
That, though wet, hides hands that loved you,
Then, perhaps, you’ll remember me.

Well I hope you enjoyed that! But lets get down to the knitty-gritty, the heart of the matter, because I can practically hear you screaming, ‘O Jordan, what utterly ridiculous things did you get up to this week? What on Earth have you done now?’ Well, ladies and gentlemen, I don’t want to disappoint. There are several things I could tell you about; the day I saw the seagull try and kill a man, the many, many conversations had about my fake-wife’s sex life in front of her little brother, or being proud of myself for sleeping on a bathroom floor for twelve hours, but no. No, I want to tell you about the Harp.

Yes, dear reader, I am now the proud owner of a dazzlingly beautiful 22 stringed folk-harp. After my birthday, I was left with £250 of ‘Birthday Money’ from various sources, (whom I thank very, very much, again!) and was left in the terrible conundrum of having money that I wanted to spend on something special, memorable, a 21st present to myself, BUT WHAT! Of course, I had various great ideas- putting it away for my camping trip later in Easter, putting it away for my fake-wife and I’s travelling when University is finished, putting it awa- I’m seeing a theme developing here. It was at the point where I was busy putting the money away, when suddenly, from the recesses of my mind, a voice cried out, ‘YOU REALISE WE HAVE MORE MONEY THAN SENSE, RIGHT? BUY A HARP, YOU FOOLS.’ (Apparently, the voices in my head are all Gandalf. (There are no voices in my head, aside from the regular head-narrative-voices. (I am not crazy.) ) ) So, yes! With a short-term loan from that wonderful woman I name both bank and fake-wife, I ran, (Well, skipped to be accurate), to the music store, and promptly forgot how to speak.

We went to the lovely man who does all of the buying and selling of harps, and I said to him, ‘Excuse me, plehflehflehflehhh’. He looked a little confused at this of course, and said, ‘I’m sorry?’ while my friends all laughed. Seeing that the line of being polite wasn’t going to work, I went for a different tactic, ‘I would like to purchase one of your harpy-madoo-da’s if you please!’ Great plan Jordan. Don’t be polite, be an idiot. At this point, I think I started laughing ridiculously, while the wife patted me on the head and told me him I was special. The shop-keep looked horrified, but when I put my money on the table, I think he realised we were being serious. SO I BOUGHT A HARP!

I’m very sorry to everyone I live with. They’ve been stuck listening to me strumming up and down and up and down on the beauty for the past few days. (I’m not really sorry, they can deal with it, it’s probably the quietest I’ve ever been.)

That would probably be the end of it, (even if it doesn’t cover half my week), but I want to put in a good word for the film ‘Lincoln’, which we went to see last night. Now I’m not much of a reviewer, (and by that, I mean, I’ve never written a review before), so I never know how exactly they’re supposed to work or what you’re supposed to say. All I really want to tell you is that, unlike the recent ‘Skyfall’ film, which for me, came nowhere close to the hype surrounding it, ‘Lincoln’ lived true to the word of mouth I’d been barraged with. I thoroughly enjoyed the film the whole way through, even the points where it dragged a little. This could, of course, be entirely down to the fact that my friend pointed out that one of the opening lines, said by Abraham Lincoln’s youngest son to his father is, ‘Daddy, I want to see Willy’, which made old Honest Abe sound a bit like a child molester (cue us spending the rest of the film making penis jokes), or it could just be down to the fact that the film was so moving, and had so many allusions to all of the political battles for equality and freedom going on everywhere today, that I was drawn in and moved. I mean, I hate to admit it, but, when, old Honest Abe died, (Spoiler. Although if you didn’t know that, then I’m not in any way sorry, and you should go read something.) I genuinely found myself close to tears, and would probably have bawled my eyes out if I’d been a little more sensitive yesterday. One final thing that makes the film worth seeing? THOSE BEARDS. SERIOUSLY. I would say that, if you threw out the whole plot, the film would still be worth seeing on the merit of the beards of the cast. They are absolutely fantastic. I found myself jealous on numerous occasions. (In conclusion; Abe is good, just try not to think of him as a Child Snatcher.)

Anyway my dear readers, I have to depart, my friend is about to have his eyebrow destroyed by a piercing-man-person. I hope you have enjoyed this brief update, and as ever, feel free to leave me feedback, or to send me stories of what wonderful and interesting things you’ve been up too!

I’m a cool person,
Jordan.
(P.s., here’s the harp. Also, GO OUTSIDE. IT’S SUNNY OUT THERE.(P.p.s, sorry about the mess of my room! Student life is fun. And my pyjamas are cool!))

Recreating the Cold War with Sugar. (Also, an unrelated poem.)

So I’m going to try and do an ‘every Saturday update’ kind of thing. Because Saturday is a good day. I mean, it’s a day that’s pretty much insisting you sit down the whole way through. Or that’s what I’m pretending, anyway. To this end, I figure I have to actually update this thing, so I’m going to tell you a little story about why I shouldn’t be allowed in cafés, and give you a nice little poem. (Hurray!)

So my fake-wife’s brother just got into town. Despite what I’ve been telling people, he’s not a 6’7 Norwegian Goliath. Which is unfortunate. I can’t decide if this hampers my plans for a great game called ‘WHERE’S THE NORWEGIAN’ or helps them. I mean, if he was super tall, it would make the game really easy, but with him being about my height, it ramps up the difficulty, y’know? (Of course, this is only if we don’t go for the optional rule of painting him neon-yellow.) Anyway, we decided we’d go eat in the fantastic Aberystwyth locale of THE UPPER LIMIT, (please include your own fan-fair of awesome). In the year and a bit I’ve lived here, I can honestly say I haven’t found a better place to eat the one meal I ever eat there. (Half American breakfast with extra bacon instead of sausage. MY HEART MELTS WITH LOVE AND DELICIOUS. And probably fat.)

While sitting, bored, waiting for the waitress to come take our order, my fake wife and I opted to play a great game. (As Miranda says, you have to make your own fun!) This game we titled ‘THE COLD WAR.’ I mean, what’s more fun than mutually assured destruction? After flinging sugar packets back and forth between each other, (prompting dirty looks from everyone around us,) we decided to increase our ‘Cold-War-Role-Playing Skills’, and stared at each other across the table. Just like the real Cold War. Except between Ireland and Norway, the two countries least likely to ever be nuclear superpowers threatening to kill everything. We also had a fantastic cameo of the Berlin Wall and the Iron Curtain by our resident lunatic Lottie, which ought to be given a mention, (although I think the good people at the Upper Limit might not be impressed if they knew what we were using their lovely menus for.) The climax of this great game, (which I encourage you all to try out), was me making a demonstration of how the war should have ended by pouring sugar all over the table and blowing it at everyone. (Which makes perfect sense as an analogy.)

I don’t understand why we’re allowed in there.

Anyway, yes, here’s a poem that I wrote last night while being incredibly angsty. Break ups are lovely, in the same way that being stabbed repeatedly in the face is lovely. (I am not actually all that angsty, and I’m very good at pretending I’m handling this break up well, and my ex is actually a genuinely lovely person, just to point out. Give him hugs if you see him.) But, yes, here’s a poem!

Do you remember when we dreamed of stars?
Well, when I dreamed- you were more earthbound.
I had those wild floods of ecstatic joy and you,
You stayed there, restrained, keeping yourself on course.
It was work, you said; work tied your hands.
‘I have to put my future first’- that old excuse.
That’s why you hushed them, snubbed them.
But don’t think I don’t understand.
If I was more than you could bare,
Or if our timings were all wrong,
Then I’m sorry, and I understand.
But that doesn’t help me explain to those stars
Why I’m now here, cold, alone.

It’s only short, I will provide you a little more if I can next week. (Or maybe a nice short story, I’ve got some of those hidden away.)

Hope you’re having as awesome a day as I am, and, I hope you have a super-awesome time till next weekend! (If you feel like it, leave me some messages about all the cool things you’ve been up too, I really enjoy hearing about the bizarre stuff people do!)

I’m a cool person,
Jordan.

Introductory Introduction Bit, wherein I explain that I’m writing stuff and trying to do something with life.

So, after recovering from being slapped in the face with a laptop by my fake-wife, I came to this fantastic, world changing, startling revelation- I’m an English and Creative Writing student, maybe I should join the trend, and try and do some of this fun, interesting blogging stuff that everybody seems to be doing. It’s jumping on the band wagon, I know, (please forgive me), but having somewhere to show off some of my work will probably keep me interested in this ridiculous degree.

So yeah! I’m going to attempt to use this space creatively, like every other English student in the world who wants to be super-totes-famous. I mean, obviously, you’re all going to be so wowed by what I’m writing you’ll all declare me the next Lord Tennyson and elect me Supreme-Emperor, after which we’ll have a fantastic series of adventure stories called, ‘Jordan and his awesome writing take over the UNIVERSE.’ Until that most splendid of days, let me humbly and warmly welcome you, and may I say that I whole heartedly hope you’ll enjoy my work (and if you don’t, please send me some feedback about why you didn’t like it, and all that jazz!)

Hope you’re having a super-awesome day,
Jordan!

(Also, here is a ridiculous photo of me from 4/2/2013, (my birthday yay!), just so you all know what I look like. Although, it’s mostly because I wanted to press buttons.)