Being an Introverted Little Weirdo

So it’s a Thursday night. University is done, just need to graduate. Until I go home, and in-between my work-in-progress routine of freelance writing, I could be at the cinema or I could be in the pub. Instead, I’m sat at the living room table blogging – being the awkward, quiet introvert I’ve been for most of my life.

I’m writing this after spending the morning in Hull’s history centre, researching my great-granddad who has a business in the city. I chose to bury myself in books. On phoning my mum and telling of my findings, which were none, she rattled ‘why didn’t you ask someone?’ My response was ‘well, I had books.’ ‘You should have asked somebody!’ ‘Why do you think I buried myself in books?’

I think my introverted self can be traced to the lack of communication between my family. That, and being estranged from my dad. – cue opportunity for sob story – Sod right off. I’m not here to receive a pat on the back accompanied by a ‘there there’. I’m here in a feeble attempt to get rid of these thoughts in my head.

Of course, it’s not all doom and gloom. Being the type of person I am has gotten me where I am today – degree, writing jobs, writing/directing a film, and doing my best in being an all around creative/mature person. If only I’d get out more. Take a few more risks than I’d normally take. In the past, I’ve often thought that because my dad was never involved in my life that equalled to him not having any impact in my life or on my personality at all.

Nowadays, I think the opposite of that. Him not being a part of me taught me to take more initiative for myself, to be more responsible/independent for myself and myself alone. Additionally, I think this may add to me being an introvert. I definitely keep to myself more than taking the initiative to bond with other people. Not that I don’t have many wonderful friends in my life. There are handfuls of people who I sometimes turn to support, and vice-versa.

But I totally put self worth above all that, in the least selfish way possible. As one of my favourite writers once said – ‘Everyone who proves their self worth to themselves alone are worth more to this world than they can possibly imagine.’ I can’t quite yet tell if being both an introvert and self worth fanatic is a potentially toxic lifestyle or a sign of awesome independence.

I suppose the one thing that petrifies me somewhat is the thought of being so lots within my own self that I just become cut off from other people. I value being alone, and yet crave the company of others, even if it means just having the radio or television on. I also suppose I’m starting ramble beyond coherency. So here’s to being an independent introvert while loving having people around at the same time.

What To Do After You’ve Had An Awesome Dream And Can’t Remember It

When I grow up, I want to be a writer – a writer of adventure stories. So it’s only natural that a lot of my dreams find me stuck in some sort of adventure.

I’m sure this is a situation we’ve all been in – you wake up on a particular morning and you feel a mixture of sadness, annoyance, and yearning to go back to sleep. Not because it’s another day of work or school, but because the night before, you had the most spectacular, most fabulous, most awesome dream you’ve ever had.

You’re sad and annoyed not only because that dream is over, but because you can’t remember it was well as you should. You know it was a fairly long and big dream, yet for some reason, you can only remember about three second’s worth of that dream.

I’ve had this experience many times. I’ve had dreams where I’ve been lost on a jungle steam train that’s going over a bridge about to collapse, dreams where I’ve been trying to stop the take-off of a massive space rocket because some dastardly villain has upset the fuel tanks somehow, but I end up lodged on the rocket blasting off anyway.

There have been dreams where it feels like I’m lost between an Enid Blyton book and an Indiana Jones movie. So why the hell can’t I remember them fully?

Here’s a little trick to help you to try and remember those nights of awesomeness. As soon as you’re awake, write those dreams down. Even if it’s three A.M, even if you can’t fully comprehend what just happened in you head, just write down everything you remember. Once you’ve done that, focus as hard as possible on those dreams and try and recall the unclear moments. Scribble down what you can.

Now you can go back to sleep. And when you wake up at a more suitable time, you’ll go back to being sad, annoyance and yearning to go back to sleep. This is because you wrote those dream notes on a piece of paper which you left lying on the bed. It’s also because you left the window open just before you went back to sleep because you were in such a state when you woke up from your dream. It’s also because the cat came in to find a tasty looking bit of paper on your bed and gobbled it all up.

No notes, no memories and a slightly fatter cat.

All you can do now is pray that today will go as quickly as possible so you can snuggle into bed, close your eyes, and hope you’ve got another night of sheer awesomeness on the way.

A child, a weakling, a chubster, a snob, a Chinaman and his wife walk into a house…

And two years later, they walk out of the house.

‘Now then’, I ponder to myself, ‘what can I write about a bunch of people I’ve been living with during university these past two years who haven’t had much of an impact on me.’

Well I guess that’s a start. The weakling has already left for home, the rest of us are planning a final, farewell meal. Now don’t get me wrong, I love these chaps. But am I going to miss them once I leave?

Well, no. It sounds awful, I know, and doesn’t do my introverted self any favours. Perhaps it’s down to why we’re all at university. Three of them are physics students, one a business student, the other a student of war and security studies. And then there’s me – the arty-farty creative writing and film student.

I chose to live with these people because, at the end of first year, I didn’t have any other options. Two, well three if you count the wife of one of the physics students, I’d never met before we moved in.
Yes, I lived with a married couple this past two years. And it’s put me right off marriage. Maybe I watch too much How I Met Your Mother, but the Chinaman and his wife struck me as just, well, not in love. It doesn’t help when the Chinaman said one day that he had cheated on her. Oh boy.

But it’s proved to be hugely entertaining living with people of this calibre. Pubs, cinemas, house parties and takeaway/Cards Against Humanity nights were fairly common and a lot of fun (even though the weakling refused to take part in the house parties. He’s petrified of social interaction to the point where he locks himself in his room).

Our highly different personalities clashed nearly as often as they complimented each other, and there are moments I shan’t forget. Such as all of us explaining to the Chinaman how you can’t leave half-eaten chicken carcases in the cupboard. Or… or… Ah, I thought I had more.

Oh well. At least only one of them was a genuine pain to live with. The chubster is just about the laziest person I’ve ever met. He skipped exams simply because he couldn’t be bothered to attend them. His room looks as if a pigsty exploded. And he keeps cats. Cats that he wouldn’t let outside. Cats that have overactive bowels. He’s one guy I won’t miss.

Yet it’s still been a highly liberating experience living with people who aren’t my family. Perhaps if I had ended up living with like-minded people, you wouldn’t be able to read this post from all the tears that would have poured into the keyboard from my eyes.

Either way, this is still another chapter of my university life drawing to a close. So overall, I shan’t miss the piled-up bins, the awkward silences whenever the Chinaman and his wife are in the same room, or the mixture of weed and cat-piss radiating from the chubster’s room.

At least this way, there are no tears. Perhaps it’s just typical male bravado that we shan’t miss each other. We all have our capes and we all love seeking out them pastures.

And guys, if any of you should ever read this, just be glad I didn’t write about those other times…