Friendship

Here we go. Topic number two. It just popped into my head, so let's just go with it okay? Fabulous.


Topic Two
Number Two in the blithering idiot Saga
Numero Dos


I have come to the sudden and recent understanding that I am in fact a very shitty friend.
Now I'm not saying this to upset anyone or make anyone try to deny it (because I know all you're finger's are simply itching to write something in the comment box). I know a lot of people say and believe this. But I'm not just saying it. I know I'm a terrible friend.

For a start I'm a pretty selfish person. If I don't want to do something, I won't do it. This is just the way I've been for the past, I don't know, five ish years. I've been allowed to do it and it has gotten to the point where, I don't know if I do it because I want to or just because it's what I do. I.e Sit on my own in my room doing whatever the fuck I want. No judgement. Then of course I had the excuse of, but all my friends are at uni. Well they weren't were they, because I'd already lost all my friends by then. I'd already let myself sink into my pathetic little hole of doing as little as possible. So people asked me to do things, not really very often, and I said no, because being by myself was easier.

So now look at me. I want to go out, now no one will come with me. I don't mind not going out. That isn't the issue. My issue is now that I just feel. Lousy. Like a lousy, shitty, rubbish friend that doesn't really have any friends at all because she didn't look after the ones that she had in the first place. And where the hell am I going to find new ones if I can't get the ones I know I love back?

Because I do, I really do love the friends that I have, and I like their friends, but for some reason when I'm around girls my own age I turn into this little reserved nerd person, that knows she has nothing worth talking about to say. They don't even think about me. Because why the hell should they? Why the hell would they?

I have better relationships (friendship wise) with forty year old men than I do with people my own age? Why is this? Really, don't understand. How messed up is that?

Do you ever wonder if some people just aren't supposed to have friends? If some people are just born to be little hermit people that never leave their houses, never meet anyone. Just go to and from work and never leave the house except to buy food and to visit their mothers when they start calling every day asking if they have married someone in the past twenty four hours in which they called.

I don't know. I know that A) I'm the only one to blame and B) I'm the only one that can do anything about it. I know that. And I semi and planning on it. It's just a little bit. Well, intimidating isn't it? It means I need to seriously change my outlook on... well everything.

....

I'll let you know, shall I?

Art.

Welcome to the feature I'm really, really going to try to keep up with, I'm going to say at least monthly, if not more, in which I pick a topic out of misty life contorted air and blabber on about it. Won't this be fun? Come on, you know you love my endless, boring, nattering, bullshit. Sorry, couldn't think of anything more eloquent than that.


Right, on with the show.


Topic One.
Exhibit A.
Numero Uno.

Art.

I had had every intention of going to the cinema tonight. I was going to watch X Men, like the badass that I know I am (harhar) then you know- that plan fell through because I remembered, of course - I had already promised to go to my friends art exhibition (you can't see my face but imagine a disgruntled teenager huffing typically) but, whatever, I figured I'd be what, half an hour max? Before I'd be able to make my less than painful escape, come home, watch TV, read a bit maybe. Just, sort of chill. But guess what? It's Wednesday, and there is nothing to watch except the Bulletproof Monk, which by the way, I've seen a thousand and ten times, and I still cringe at its awfulness. So here I am, aren't you lucky?

So I went to this art show expecting little and dreading more. Because I was feeling close minded and worse, like a boring old fart that couldn't be doing with any B.S interpretation of modern art. I'm a little bit embarrassed to admit that I pretty much only looked at my friends work before making the oh-so-desperate escape.

Yeah, I do feel bad. But let me explain. I didn't want to go. I only went to show moral support, I don't enjoy looking at art and while, sometimes, if I'm in the mood I'll go with it, I just wasn't in the mood. (Yes. I'm just making excuses.) Because as soon as I got there they started ask me if I was going out with them after, even though I had already said no, and when normally that wouldn't be a problem, it just irritates my already tired mind to be pestered. And I definitely don't want to go out with people that are clearly on the prowl, and I definitely don't want to go out looking like I'd been stuck in an office all day, i.e dirty clothes, hair flat, mascara smudged, tights dusty enough to look like I'd rolled around on the workshop floor. (No I hadn't, but I had taken a seat on a lump of oak this afternoon). I'm moving off topic again.


ART.

Art.

...Art...


I want to say something inspiring or thought provoking, but I don't think it's going to happen with this one. Oh well, you can't have everything.

I understand that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that is something to do with the way you feel about art right? Because usually art has to have some sort of beauty for someone, it has to mean something to someone to be art, doesn't it. Even if it isn't physically beautiful, art can be metaphorically beautiful too, which has something to do with that whole interpretation thing that I was just discrediting... Maybe I should retract the previous statement, and simply suggest that while I will try, sometimes, to interpret art in my own slow and unimaginative way, but not to the extent where I need to figure out what the point of that random seemingly ordinary chair is. Or is that the point? I don't know? Why can't these people just sit down and read a good book?

It's far too confusing for my small mind to even try to comprehend.

So I'm going to do what the art intended. And stop trying to understand it and enjoy it, or not. (Mostly, knowing me, not). Because, that is the point, isn't it?

Is it?

Joseph Kosuth - One and Three Chairs (Wiki)