"Seems Legit."

So.  The first post with the new schedule... Late!  Start as you mean to go on, eh?  Turns out that this in the 100th post I'll have published (YAY MILESTONE), so perhaps there'll be some sort of nostalgic retrospective... Oh wait I already did that.


Last week itself averaged out as brilliant, due to the high impact of the weekend, the memory of most of which is hidden behind clouds of laughter.  I can't really remember the most part of the week itself...probably because nothing noteworthy happened; the curse of the unemployed.  All I have to do really is evensong, and that's only a two hour portion of the day.  Actually, secretly, I'm looking for a job.  Don't tell anyone else because then they'll just go and apply for all the jobs and I'll be unemployed FOREVER.

I think there needs to be a change in the format of how I write these.  One of the main reasons that posting ground to a square halt is I lost all confidence in what I was writing - classic writer's block.  I didn't feel that anything I was typing out was informative or amusing, that nobody would have any interest in reading.  It's kind of my root problem in socialising as well... It's the same sort of sudden panic that sets in when faced with the answerphone, and of course, attractive women.  HA HA.  I almost feel like I'm leaving myself open to ridicule, but I guess this is what happens if you write from a personal angle and publish it on the internet I guess it's all part of the deal.

Actually, in all seriousness, I think I've been doing pretty well socialising these days.  Having plans to live in Truro for a good while (say at least a few years), my priorities are ever so slightly different to the other scholars who will be moving on at the end of this year (well, July (well, September really because of the tour in August)).  Although I mostly meet people in pubs (come on I'm a member of a Cathedral Choir, there's always the post-evensong pint), Truro's a small city, you can't help but run into people.  It's nice though!  I feel like I'm beginning to make friends as an adult, unconnected to a study course or my choir, on the strength of character and conversation.  I should think that my reputation as quite a heavyweight drinker has earned me a few fans (especially at a particular establishment), but obviously I could do with avoiding alcoholism.  A few heavy nights in a row has robbed me of much of this month's honorarium, so it really is time to start becoming more responsible with my money.  Buying drinks, not just for myself but also for other people (and finding there is no return...) is just getting too expensive down here.  As much as I enjoy a drink, I far prefer being sober to being hungry, so there's a real cornerstone.  Also, I'm on the Council Housing list, and I've made some personal inquiries into renting costs, although I really ought to start looking into utilities as well.  You know, boring life things.  Things that extend to adult responsibilities.  Anybody worried out there with all this crazy talk?

I've already done this once at Bury Street to various degrees of success and/or failure.  It's all experience, right?  Paying rent and bills sure is a hell of a fag, though.  Living in rent, utility and tax free accommodation (anybody else think that looks wrong?) as a legitimate part of the contract of the Choral Scholarship, that cannot be any more than 300 yards away from the outer crypt door of the Cathedral is an amazing boon, and one that having been through University and back appreciate very much.  The house may be damp and end up feeling a little cramped living with three other guys in what is ostensibly a two bedroom property (the downstairs parlour has been converted into a bedroom as usual and there's a small third room upstairs which would probably used to have been an study or similar), but you know it's a nice place!  If I didn't want to live in a damp place, I wouldn't live in Cornwall.  As a note to anybody who isn't in Truro reading this right now, it is absolutely throwing it down outside (or it was when I started, because now it's just wet and cold and generally miserable).


Of course, outside of my immediate concerns in Cornwall, I find that my thoughts have turned to America, of all places.  Right now, as we live, breathe (and I type), some of my most treasured friends are over in the states: Grasshopper, G, and one of the best writers I ever met and danced with (AMS Ball 2011, still one of the best nights of my life).  I still miss Mike from Marin County, San Fransisco from BH28, but I guess the community fostered in Nelson Court still has a great deal of impact on my life.  I finally restocked my picture frames and I have one of my Grasshopper and one from the AMS Ball on permanent display.  Of course I miss those carefree, post-dissertation days... but I miss the people even more.  I even did a huge roast dinner on Thanksgiving last November in memoriam!  The principal guests, funnily enough, were non-natives to British soil (two German, one French and one Irish), my housemates instead having attended the Youth Choir and then subsequently a local pub, only stayed around long enough to eat, before going out into the night.  

I might try and move away after a while.  Sure, things are good here while I mature and grow into the post of Lay-Vicar, but I wouldn't ever want to get set in one place through lack of choice.  If I'm good enough for Truro now, then I can certainly be good enough for other places (and definitely in the future).  Perhaps I will move far, far away?  Who's to say.  

Postscriptum

You know, I've actually enjoyed this.  I deleted a good 200 or so words earlier, and then started all over again and I think it's okay!  I think I might hash a few more out this week, commenting more specifically on the weekend's hilarity, and maybe I'll push a few hundred words out about that Indie Rock band I can't get enough of.

Write on Schedule

Of course, there had to be a pun.

Once again, silence has been the order of the day round here; the signs of decay apparent on the dashboard: a drop in views, no comments to be moderated and a small number of half finished drafts, the unsatisfactory nature of both content and tone mean there can only be one fate...doomed to remain unpublished, a constant reminder of bad blogging.
 
In my last post, I dimly remember mentioning something about reading about weekly posting schedules, and how I didn't subscribe to them.  Well I've changed my mind.

There are already several tonal changes apparent delving through the archives: the first period that was excitable and helped me deal with the depression of my surroundings; the second period that was characterised mainly by referring to people around me with self-imposed titles - and in fact I still call people by those names: The Chief and of course The Loser whom I love, Grasshopper, The Admiral, The Waltzer, The Philanderer, Sensei... The list goes on; a third where I began to allow circumstances to take control and spoke candidly about how bad I felt, and the most recent and arguably most depressing, where I notably diagnosed myself with insanity for doing the same thing over and again and expecting different results.  I'll call that the "Peb is sad" part of my œuvre.


It's time to move on now though.  That's where the time table idea comes in.  I live in an environment I'd casually describe as insane, one of almost constant social movement.  Recently things have almost reached a "them-and-us" situation, but things have improved.  Social and domestic boundaries are in a state of constant flux, and to comment on affairs one week is to represent a false state by the next.
 

So.  Every weekend there'll be a post drop.  It'll probably come on a Saturday night, realistically.  (Edit: there's more of a ten day feel to it, I usually get round to writing, proofing and posting on a Sunday night/Monday morning.)  Interestingly, I do enough things a week rather than sit around being depressed all the time to merit not having it as the sole subject of my prose.  The first one starts this week, I've certainly done enough already and I'm even going for dinner tomorrow night as well.  Who knows, I might even learn how to draft effectively (haha as if I mean come on you guys seriously).
 
I do still claim to be a writer after all, but my lack of practice means it doesn't stand up to any scrutiny.  I'm no poet laureate, but I can still knock a decent haiku every now and again.  It's going to be so easy to not bother, just like well, everything that doesn't have an instant and tangible reward.

But then again, a lot of my life is on the long haul.