Pampering

Good morning!  Back on message after a particularly tricky subject yesterday, and more to the point, in a better mood.  I've often abandoned posts and redrafted completely because I haven't been able to get out of a negative direction: I don't think that I shouldn't write (or even that it shouldn't be read), but it just becomes distinctly unenjoyable to write, and I can hardly imagine that it is enjoyable to read.  However, perseverance was the name of the game, and I pulled through in the end, somehow even garnering praise for my efforts.  A major part of my low mood was the fact that I didn't get to eat in the break during last night's recording session, the old "do I eat pizza and suffer for at least a whole day or do I just not" dilemma.  My intolerance finds new and interesting ways to torment me.

Let's move forward though.  No sense in hanging around.  No sense at all. 

I don't really pamper myself.  Not really.  Pampering is a term that throws up all sorts of well... girly imagery.  Make-up and hair curling, face masks and dress shopping, and OTHER TERRIBLE DEFAMATORY STEREOTYPES.  Actually, turning to Wiktionary, the only reputable dictionary and thesaurus on the internet (let's be honest now), there's an older definition (now ludicrously out of fashion), 'to feed luxuriously'.  Perhaps this is the root of comfort eating?  Who's to say.  I'm actually straining to think about what I do when I want to indulge myself and relax, which is the most counter-productive way of thinking about writing this imaginable...

Usually, I like to spend a lot of time of the internet.  Like a lot, just kind of bumming around, maybe hitting up Wikipedia, checking out the latest selection of cat pictures, writing here... You get the picture.  You might argue that I'm wasting my time, but remember!  Time spent on doing what makes you happy isn't wasted.  I like to do things that make me feel comfortable - I like to drink lots of tea, and I mean LOTS.  You think you know how to drink a lot of tea?  Go home and don't come back to me until you too drink enjoyably from a 2 pint mug, a very cauldron of this tannic liquid!  My personal pampering follows very simple steps, it's more about... a return to doing what I like.  Even ironing all my shirts counts as 'me time'!  Telly on, maybe iPlaer or a film, a blazing hot steam iron and several shirts later, much wrong in my world has been solved.  Simple things like this that reinforce my independence and individuality - sat here as I am, I'm watching the other Choral Bollards play FIFA, a game I would characterise as my nemesis...but that's cool you know, there's plenty of time that I get to sit here and play my Gamecube while they're out/away/asleep/whatever.  I've got no need to try and stamp some sort of dominance on this situation.

I think more than anything, my financial situation dictates how I mete out rewards to myself - I often don't have the cash to just go out and, I dunno, buy myself a new shirt (like I wanted to today for some reason?), or get something sweet and sugary, donuts for example, or even just a cup of coffee at my regular place.  It's this enforced deprivation that makes the eventual receipt of such things all the more valuable; I'm learning slowly but surely, that value is always more important than price.  All the money I have left in my bank account is for provisions and nothing else.  Even indulging in a pint in my favourite bar over my back fence is completely impossible, not even factoring in the almost prohibitively high prices.  I can send a twenty pound note away in a night there no problem, even before the end-of-night Chicken Shish kebab.  Going for a curry is now even more of a special occasion than ever now, and Wednesday night's trip to the Katmandu Palace was long overdue in several senses; even with a limited budget not making room for a treat will drive a man mad, as it has done to me.  Something else that drives me completely nutty WITHOUT FAIL is my lactose intolerance.  I can live without, you know, toasted sandwiches, Parmesan on pasta and pizza to mention only three but Ice Cream?  I swear to God there's something horrid and cruel happening inside of my digestion and straight up it is not fair and I do not like it and I cannot do anything about it.  Feh.

Although when I've got the money, I like to go out on my own.  Of course, I like to kid myself that tonight is 'the night', where I'm definitely going to 'pull' (or whatever the accepted term is Jesus I dunno)...but don't worry dear readers (and probably most specifically my mother...), it's never that night.  What does happen though is I shower, shave, shape my eyebrows and sideburns, go through the acceptable shirts and usually pick the unacceptable one (paisley mayhem will last forever), frame it with my suit and even (no I'm serious man) put aftershave on so I can pretend I'm an adult going out.  Ha ha... I normally end up at the bar almost all night, actually, drinking many many pints of Guinness to great personal expense.  Once again, it's less about the end and more about the means - the feeling that I am answerable to only myself when I go out is certainly liberating.

But let's look back on 'me time'.  What else does it consist of?  I suppose that it's not really about something new and out of the ordinary, but rather the exact opposite: getting back to my routine and feeling comfortable.  I don't need to add anything in really, I suppose it might be nice for something new and exciting every now and again (like when I went to see Star Trek on Tuesday OH MY GOD but I need to go and watch it again in order to make sense of it now I got over all the references to the old movies) and having the funds to make the odd frippery an option is far more satisfactory than, well, not.  Straight up!  I really won't be able to resume my normal rhythm until I move into singular accommodation.  That art of sharing with 4 other people is sometimes quite difficult.  That's not say I hate it here (but I do), but sometimes I just want a rest from kind of, well, everyone.

One thing I will say is how I dress for work - work here being my scholarship at the Cathedral here in Truro.  Having lived through years of not only a choir uniform but also wearing suits for VIth form, it is a natural response for me to suit up every Sunday, regardless of occasion or music or just whatever because I really actively enjoy wearing a three piece suit, tie, ironed shirt and of course my footwear of choice, an ancient pair of brown Loakes that by some active miracle actually fit me.  I can often spend quite a while getting ready, making sure my hair's dry and styled correctly... So I'm sure that counts as pampering!  Ah, screw it, I'm gonna get ready for the new Daft Punk album by playing all their albums on repeat until Tuesday...

That's all.  For now.