Scottish beasties

I haven't the foggiest idea what day it is. But I made it to Christchurch safely and more importantly, so did my luggage. The only reason I'm blogging is because I've been told not to give into my urge to sleep until it's New Zealand bedtime. It's suposedly the best way to beat jetlag. I, on the other hand, think it's the best way to get me in trouble. But I'm doing my very best not to engage into conversation with anyone in the hostel as I suspect my incessant yawning would make for a rather rude introduction. Hence the blogging.

At any rate, I'm here. But only thanks to my superstitious nature and my mother's willingness to indulge my overcautious time planning. Let me explain. For some reason I'd decided it'd be a good idea to read my chinese horoscope before leaving and, lo-and-behold, it predicted enormous travel delays for August 28th. Suposedly the only way to escape total doom would be to remain calm and let things unfold as they came my way. Sit back and let unfold. Yes well, I don't think so. I kindly asked my mother to drop me off at the airport a full 90 minutes before the check-in desk was sheduled to open. That's right. BEFORE it even opened.

By sheer luck, I found myself transfered onto an earlier flight into London. When I arrived at Heathrow, I was told that the flight I had been originally booked on from Brussels was delayed so much that I would never have made my connection in Heathrow on time. Ominous beginnings, is what I say.

The flights themselves went surprisingly well. I survived on a mere 3 anxiolithicums and found myself actually enjoying the experience. I decided it'd be a good passtime to tally up all the single flights I've taken in my life till this day. I'm not sure I've got them all down but so far, my count stands at 197 single flights. That's a LOT of anxiolithicums, I just realised.

I nearly wet myself upon flying into Sydney, by the way. The Ozzies have a very twisted sense of humour and showed us an educational video on the legal implications and hazards of trying to smuggle biological items through customs, presented by none other than... Steve Irwin. I kid you not.

While the customs at Syndey were strict enough, they were nothing compared to the Kiwi experience. My packet of chewing gum and my bottle of water were confiscated upon arrival, on account of being "suspicious". This amused me greatly as both gum and water were French. I was then told to remove my hiking boots from my backpack and asked when and where these were last used. When I replied: "Scotland, 4 months ago", my boots were immediately dragged off to quarantine and hosed down with a disinfectant. They were handed back to me soaking wet and wrapped in a plastic bag, with the words: "Lots of nasties over there." I grinned and replied: "I know. I just got a text message off one of them."

I think it's safe to say the Kiwis have a different sense of humour... :s



Right. Well, I best be off to the social lounge and see about my roommates. They're all german and I'm thoroughly annoyed with them already. One of them has the same backpack as me and she's managed to pack it neater, smaller and lighter than I did. This really pisses me off. Damn German Efficiency.

Miss you all! :-)

So Long and Thanks For All The Fish...

Well here we are then. In a few hours, Pew will board that Big Steel Bird to Christchurch for the first leg of The Big Trek. I am nervous as fuck, albeit in an excited, flutterish kind of way. The dark neurotic half of my brain has taken to sadistically humming Alanis Morisette's "Ironic", as if to remind myself that by months of planning I have set myself up for a good dose of Murphy's Law. But then the eternally optimistic half of my brain falls into line with an equally annoying, but cheerful, chorus of "Que Sera Sera".

In all fairness, it's a nice state to be in. I know I'll be mildly-to-heavily sedated once I've found my seat on the Big Steel Bird, so that should shut Alanis up and make way for a healthy dose of childishly-excited flutters. And whichever way you look at it, whatever happens from this point onwards, I will have stepped into it feeling like I've taken on what I really wanted to do. And that's a very happy place to be in, mentally.

I'm not sure exactly when I will next get access to the internet, but I suspect blogs on the Misadventures of Pew in Quirky Kiwi Land will start to trickle in before too long. Meanwhile... Behave. Just 'cuz the cat's temporarily away from moderating the comment section...


PS: For your information (and my family's reassurance): this is a wee map of the route & the activities I have set out for myself for the next 2.5 months. As you can see, it does not involve juggling knives, shaving my head or living in hippy communes... so far at least. When the anecdotal blogs start trickling in, you'll be able to place the stories geographically based on this map, without me having to go into boring geographical travel details.

- New Zealand Route -
(Click map to view without a magnifying glass at hand ;)

The Usual Faff

If I needed any further proof that Disco has a tad too much time on her hands, then the e-mail waiting for me in my inbox this morning certainly proved the point-in-case:


From: Disco
To: Le Pew

"Don't try to deny that this isn't what immediately sprang to your mind either: "



What amuses me greatly is that Disco labelled the picture "EasierThanSolvay", which leads me to believe that prior to sending me this work of art, she had been tinkering with the Solvay Conference Picture before realising it simply couldn't be done.

I think it is time I hand down my crown&sceptor as Procrastination Queen.

Momentous Occasions

I take you back to my very first day at uni. I was sat in the back of the auditorium next to my best friend, watching the other first-year Physics & Maths students trickle in. A pale looking girl with an overstuffed bookbag tried to manoeuvre herself into a front-row seat with great effort. And then a pair of white socks in sandals sat down on the seat next to mine and eagerly opened its notebook, pen at the ready. I shot a panicked glance at my best friend, signalling: "Get me out of here". She however, seemed to find the stereotypical nerd attendance amusing and intriguing rather than scary. So I stayed.

The Head of Physics & Maths entered the auditorium and a hundred voices went silent. "Welcome. By the end of this year, 50% of you will have dropped out or failed. Only 40% of you will walk away with a degree in Physics or Maths in four years time... ". A week later, I was spending the better part of my days playing Trivial Pursuit and Poker down the campus pub. And over the next few months and years, I somehow became part of a close-knit group of seven, all of whom, 4 years later, made the final cut.

Since then, we've all scattered across Europe. At any given time, one or the other was abroad, in transit, or returning home. But what marks us as a group today still, is exactly this fluidity. Some bond that transcends these gaps in time and geography. We leave, only to return from time to time, picking up the thread as if we never left. And though we evolve, we somehow keep finding each other.

Yesterday, for the first time in 6 years, all seven of us were in the country again at the same time. And for the very first time, we all brought cameras. It's strange. Somehow we never end up taking pictures of stuff we do when we meet up. Here's a group of friends that means the world to me, yet I have no pictures of them. It seems we were all thinking the same thing yesterday and as if to make up for lost time, we collectively shot hundreds of pictures in an atmosphere of merry chaos. I went to bed last night feeling rather emotional. I struck it lucky. I really did.

Hot Stuff

I'm wee. It's a sad fact I am not willing to admit too often, so enjoy the moment while it lasts. But yes, even despite my recent 2 cm growth incident, I am a wee one. And although I can be ridiculously loud when needs be, I doubt that would deter any mugger from its mission. They'd probably find it funny more than threatening. So I'm trying to think ahead here.

I've been told that Lima (Peru) is not the safest of places to go to. Most people I know that have been mugged or assaulted on their travels, were in Lima at the time of the incident, so that's a pretty clear indication that I should take their warnings seriously.

So what are my options? I could find myself a burly boy- or girlfriend for the duration of my stay there, but I'd really rather not. I could drag a baseball bat around with me, but anyone who's seen me take a swing will know that I'd probably swing myself unconcious. Martial Arts. Yes. Good idea, although after two years of Judo lessons down the local youthcenter, I only got away with a boring boyfriend and an incredible ability to get hurtled from manheight without breaking any bones.

Thank god for the BBC then... Chilli Attack.

So... tomorrow morning, I'm going off in search of the spiciest chillis around. I will then proceed to crush them, mix them with some water and fill a wee spray bottle with the resulting slush. I will of course want to test-run the mixture, so if anyone has a bit of spare time to get chillisprayed tomorrow afternoon, drop me a line... (Val, I KNOW for a fact you have lots of spare time...)

Today's Mp3-Repeat: Sinead O'Conner - Troy

The Ex Conundrum

There's an unspoken rule that getting back together with an ex is a no-go area. Most people I know that do end up reconciling with their ex, tend to fall into the trap of off-and-on-and-off again relationships, which hardly seems worth the effort. Now, in theory I'm an easy-going, open-minded individual who whole-heartedly backs the "go-with-the-flow" concept. In practice however, I'm a compulsive overthinker who's been burnt a few too many times to play reckless with the heartstrings. Unfortunately, I am also a ridiculously impatient, impulsive little git. And if those two characteristics seem contradictory to you, ponder this: I act on impulse and only then do I compulsively overthink. Welcome to my life.

The way I see it, reconciliation with an ex is only possible if you've left the previous encounter on equal footing. Clean slates and all that. But even then you have to ask yourself why it didn't work the first time around. And there's the problem: What if you've forgotten why it didn't work? What if, after not having seen the ex in question for 3 years, you meet up on a whim and you're both instantly grabbed by that old spark again. You've both evolved a great deal in an eerily similar way, the spark starts to reignite and it is hard to remember why it didn't work the first time round. So all flags are "go".

The tricky part here is that we're both about to embark on our own 6-month travel stints (talk about parallel evolutions!). And while my Impulsive Side is screaming down one ear: "Go on then, jump", the Compulsive Overthinker's squealling down the other: "Don't be such an arse, we've set up this entire trip to rectify your lack of spine. Stick to your guns. Go solo."

Peace and quiet only returned when I booked my round-the-world ticket two weeks ago at a time when Compulsive Overthinker was in charge. The dates of the tickets are flexible, but the destinations aren't, so I am now indirectly forced to stick to my guns, despite the impulsive flutters. That solves the conundrum entirely. I'm convincing myself now that if we've evolved along the same path so far, the odds of us crossing paths again, are in our favour. And then we can take if from there. This Trek needs to be done. And it needs to be done Solo. If only so I can grow a spine.


Today's Mp3-Repeats:
Ivy - Worry About You
Soulwax - Gorillaz Dare Remix (!)

Today's Polaroid:

- AngelWings 17/08/2006 -

Run from Cover

Now that my long-jons are packed, all that's left for me to do is to sort out my travel insurance. Oh Joy. I spent the better part of this evening trawling through sickeningly mushy insurance leaflets. We all know the type: glowy, soft focus images of happy all-american families. I genuinely worry about a world in which this type of product-placement actually has a cachment group.



Anyway.

As the daughter of a lawyer-mother, I've been subjected to years of covert, yet methodical, "read-the-small-print" and "don't-be-like-all-the-other-idiots-out-here" drills, so I couldn't just leave it at a quick browse through the leaflets. I selected the four policies that looked most promising (the absence of creepily smiling infants being their most notable feature) and bowed down over their respective small-prints. And you know what? I can't for the life of me understand why anyone would chose to buy travel insurance. Really. I know it's suposed to be a good thing and all, but has anyone ever READ the small print? Has anyone ever successfully lodged a claim?!


LEAFLET:
Bagage Insurance: Theft, damage or loss of bagage insured up to a value of £1,200

SMALL PRINT:
Excluded from policy are following items:
- sunglasses, glasses, contact lenses
- camping gear
- breakables (glass, porcelain,...)
- hard- & software (cameras, mobile phones, mp3 players, ...)
- toiletries
- credit cards, passports, transport documents, ID, keys,...


So erm... you're basically insuring my long jons and socks only?! Fantastic deal! Let me write you a check for £150 right now!! *rolls eyes*

This wasn't just the one policy either. I have now checked policies from 5 different companies, all stating pretty much the same thing. I'd love to name-and-shame them, but erm... I've yet to buy myself some Blogger's Libel Insurance.

Pew's New Toy

I've been sat on the sofa with a big dopey grin on my face, admiring my graduation prezzie and newest toy: The Holga. It's a reproduction of a plastic russian camera. It looks like it's about to fall apart at any given moment and it comes shipped with a roll of black masking tape to seal off the loose fittings on the camera casing, as it tends to leak light onto the negatives. I've had to special-order the film rolls as the Holga uses 120mm film rather than the standard 35mm. For a look at the type of pictures this lil thing produces, check this lomogallery. (Use the sidebar to open an album linked to specific effects).

I've read the manual 4 times so I think I am just about ready to start shooting. Though... I have just ruined my first filmroll while trying to load it into the camera. *Mental note to self: When loading 120mm film, do so in a DARKENED room. Not while on the sofa in a brightly lit room*

PS: Holga is coming with me on my Big Trek. This is again NON-NEGOTIABLE, so the packing tally seems to keep rising. Woe is me.

Flight-Booking Strategies & Wee Cops

I have managed to make my way to Vienna for a brief goodbye visit before I set off on The Big Trek at the end of the month. But only just. I feel it is important at this time to set forth a few tips on "How To Book a Flight", an endeavour NOT to be taken lightly.

Lesson 1:

Before booking your flight, write down on a bit of paper where you want to take off from and where you want to arrive at. You might, for instance, be booking at a time when your first dose of caffeine has yet to find its merry way to your cognital control centre.

Lesson 2:

When booking a flight for someone else, it is advisable to remind yourself of where the person is currently at and where you would ultimately like them to end up. This is a covert repeat of "lesson 1" for the geographically confused.

Merely following lesson 1 and 2 should bring one a great deal closer to a successful flight-booking experience and should prevent airport-mishaps such as mine last Monday.

My dad had been so kind to book me a flight over (as I am financially challenged and therefore a rather dependent 26-year old bit of offspring) and he'd mailed me the e-tickets a few days before I was due to take off. Monday morning, I check the airport departure list to make sure there are no changes or delays and I note that there is indeed an afternoon flight to Vienna, so I set off to the airport as planned. Upon arrival at the airport, I check the board and make my way to the Lufthansa check-in desk. My mind stutters for a moment at the thought that I've never flown Lufthansa to Vienna before, but then the needle picks up the thread again and I continue by presenting the check-in guy with my tickets and passport. A few minutes later, I find myself redirected to the FlySN check-in desk, which makes more sense, as that is the airline I usually fly with. I heave my bag onto the luggage belt and repeat the regular check-in procedure.

Check-in Lady: Where are we flying to today Ma'am?
Pew: Vienna please.
Check-in Lady: Ok just a moment...

A moment turns into two minutes and Check-in Lady's expression changes from ditsy happiness to confusion and then sheer worry.

Check-in Lady: Erm, Ma'am... I think you're suposed to be in Vienna.
Pew: Yes I know, that's kind of why I'm here you see.
Check-in Lady: No I mean... the flight you're booked on leaves Vienna in 90 minutes.
Pew: (ditsy as ever) Oh right, so there's a delay... that's OK, I have a book to keep busy.
Check-in Lady: No Ma'am, what I mean is you are booked on a trip from Vienna to Brussels and then back to Vienna

D'oh!!

So after a hilarious phone call to my dad, I managed to get myself transfered onto the evening-flight in the right geograpical direction and I spent the 4-hour wait pretty much like this:

On another note... I'm reading Jeremy Clarkson's "The World According To" at the moment and though it is hilarious, I have decided to take his scribblings with a pinch of salt from now on. He describes such things as German efficiency and the scariness of Austrian police and boarder-control and after what I saw today I can't help but feel he's incredibly apt at exaggeration... I mean... who on earth could be even remotely terrified by this:

Even if you were riding a lopsided tricylce and got asked to pull over, you'd probably be tempted to try and outrun the thing in a low-speed pursuit wouldn't you?!?!

And as a final note: I'd like to thank Marie for her insight and for sending me this link this morning: Impostor Syndrome. I shall refrain from commenting on the reasons for her sending me this link.

Today's Fisheye:

- Zaventem 14/08/06 -

Houston we have a problem...

How much crap does one take on a 6-month travel stint? It's been the bane of my last two weeks. I've tried packing and re-packing my bag 4 times already and well... judge for yourself... after 4 re-thinks I've narrowed it down to this:

- click image to enlarge -

It all fits into the bag, although it makes it look like a rather mishapen obilisk:

Esthetics aside, I've checked several orthopedic sites, all of which recommend a person take no more than 15% of their own body weight. That means I am technically allowed 8.5kgs *sniggers*. Guess how much mine weighs right now? Yip... 15.5kgs. Either I try to gain lots of weight the next two weeks to cheat the statistics OR I could start by ditching the books and resolve to become the second naked rambler.

Feel free to puzzle away at my item list and suggest innovative ideas to save the world from having to witness that.

Way beyond the land of passive agressive

Saw this sign in a shop. Thought it was very amusing:

No Hand Baggage

The BBC News Site announced that a "Plot to blow up planes" has been foiled. In response to the threat, security at all airports in the UK has been tightened. The Department for Transport set out temporary new security measures at UK airports: Passengers will not be allowed to take any hand luggage onto any flights departing from UK airports.



I checked my flight shedule on the BA site for news updates and to see if my flights will have been affected. And guess what... unless this alert is called off within the next 18 days (fingers crossed), I too will have to subject to the following measures:

"British Airways, acting on instruction from the UK Government, wishes to advise passengers that no items of hand baggage can be carried on board any aircraft departing any UK airport. The UK Government has advised that this instruction will apply to all airlines operating from UK airports. Passengers may only take through the airport security search point, the following items:

- Travel documents essential for the journey (eg passports, tickets and visas)
- Pocket sized wallets and pocked sized purses plus contents (for example money, credit cards and identity cards).
- Handbags are not permitted.
- Prescribed medicines essential for the duration of the flight.
- Spectacles and sunglasses, without cases.
- Contact lenses, without bottles of solution
- For those traveling with an infant: baby food, milk and sanitary items essential for the flight.
- Keys (but no electrical key fobs).

Every other item must be carried in customer’s hold luggage. For clarity, passengers are advised that no electrical or battery powered items including laptops, mobile phones, ipods, remote controls etc can be carried in the cabin and must be checked in as hold baggage.Customers are advised to check-in as normal but to expect delays at all UK airports. British Airways regrets any inconvenience caused. Any customers not complying with this Government instruction will not be accepted for travel by British Airways."



Just my luck. I'd carefully planned out a successful combo of anxiolithicum, sedatives, earplugs, eyemask, neckpillow, books and music to make that 20h43min flight seem a lot less daunting. Moreover, I'd planned to take the essentials with me in my hand bag, just in case my backpack gets lost or delayed. Rubbish.

Guess I will have to make do with the sheduled on-flight entertainment: Ice Age2, Over the Hedge, V for Vendetta and a whole lot of Simpsons, Friends and Cheers episodes.

Oooh I just thought of summat... I could wear three sets of undies on top of each other (so I have spares in case the backpack gets lost) and three sweaters on top of each other (one to wear, one as pillow and one as blanket). I could put in my earplugs as I walk through security. And I could actually try making conversation with the unlucky sods sat next to me, to make time pass. Now there's a thought... ;-)

Red Dot, Green Dot

Mis-en-Scene: We're sat down for a meal at a local restaurant. Two pretty girls walk in and sit down at a table nearby. My Brother looks at them for a while, then turns to me and says:

- Allright, so you say you're good with that "gaydar" thing? Then tell me, are they gay or straight, because sometimes really, I simply can't tell.

- I'd say they're straight. Although... hm, the brunette looks a bit like a girl I'd a brief thing with a few months back so... I dunno. The blonde's defo straight. I'd say the brunette could be turned with a little effort.

- But how can you tell?!? Teach me then!!

- Wha... I don't know!! You can just tell. Little things. I don't know.

The conversation goes off on a tangent for a while, then returns to the topics of dating, flirting, different types of women and the fact that, according to my brother, weddings are an excellent place to meet new women. He goes quiet for a bit, then turns to me again and says:

- Tell you what though Sis, if YOU ever get married, what with all your friends, I'm going to be stood at the entrance door with red stickers and green stickers. And no female can get in till she's answered a few basic questions. Straight/Bi? Green Dot. Gay? Red Dot. That should settle the confusion for me and my mates.

And on another note: Had a browse through my Web Statistics this morning and noticed that the following web searches led people onto my blog recently:

- what does it mean if he snogs with eyes closed
- uninspired what to do with life
- hemarroids
- life is short

Clearly, my blog should be awarded government funding for its services as a therapeutic agent ;-)

Stage Shennanigans

Went to see "Volver" last night. I hereby appologise profusely to Val, Mona and anyone else I may have offended with my statements about Penelope Cruz's acting skills or lack thereof. I've yet to see a Pedro Almodovar film I didn't like and I have to admit that Penelope Cruz pulled off a fab performance in a fantastic little film. *Eats humble pie*

- Go No Go, Ghent -

On the way to the cinema though, I happened upon R.E.M.'s "Losing my Religion" while channel surfing the radio and this brought back a stream of memories which made me realise that really... I should never again be allowed on stage in front of a big audience.

Several years ago, our school held a benefit to raise some cash for a good cause. For some reason, my 14-year old self and two of my mates decided it'd be a good idea to go on stage with our guitars and have a little jam session in front of the whole school (1,500 people) to help raise money. The morning before the benefit, some bright spark had decided to move my guitar from its safe spot near my desk, to a very damp little area near the radiator and placed it up against the radiator with the snares down. Too nervous to ponder this fact any further, my mates & I walked on stage a few hours later, positioned ourselves and hit the first few chords of R.E.M.'s "Losing my Religion". The minute my hand struck the snares I knew I was dead in the water: My guitar had gone out of tune completely. Unfortunately, by the time I'd come to my senses the entirely school was collectively belting out the song along with us and it was too late to request a moment to tune my guitar. So I basically sat through the next half hour of our performance PRETENDING to play my guitar. I can assure you... that felt GRRREAT *cough*

I shalln't mention the time I had a solo dance act as Gene Kelly in a school performance of "Singing in the Rain", when the stagemaster erronously poured all the rain right NEXT to me, instead of above me, making me fall out of step to try and catch up with the rain. Or the time I'd been given a part in a dance-recital but the lead dancer misjudged the stage-width and left two of us dancing BEHIND the curtain.

Aaahhhh, the memories...

Anyway... I got a quote for my Round The World Ticket today and it's been provisionally booked to take off August 28th. I checked my itinerary online and have calculated that if all goes to plan, I shall board 11 individual flights and will spend 63 hours and 4 minutes in the air. Did I mention I've a fear of flying? Just a few times then... "ALL FOR THE GREATER GOOD" Seems to be my mantra of self assurance this week. Although I may slip a few horse-sedatives in my First Aid pack ... just in case.

Return to Concise-ness

To compensate for the inane longwinded rambling of previous posts, I give you: Some peace & quiet ;-)

Today's Mp-3 Repeat: Regina Spektor - Fidelity
Today's Fisheye: Val's kaleidoscope experience

Fluidity

I spent my entire morning filling in tedious documents at the local council office and had an hour-long meeting with my personal banker. All for the greater good of "TravelBugging" of course, which eases the pain considerably, but it's times like these that make me wish I'd come up with SaneScientist's "Tuesday Twat" concept first. I shall refrain from launching the proposed "Wednesday Wanker", as I will undoubtedly just get carried away, but suffice it to say this morning would have fitted the bill quite nicely.

On the upside, my Personal Banker has managed to give a whole new meaning to the pratical side of Michel Foucault and Judith Butler's Queer Theory. Me being an avid backer of Queer Theory, this most definitely put her in my good books despite all the bureaucratic nonsense involved with this morning's meeting.

Let me briefly explain by quoting the QT-page info:

"Queer theory is a set of ideas based around the concept that identities are not fixed and do not determine who we are. It suggests that it is meaningless to talk in general about 'women' or any other group, as identities consist of so many elements that to assume that people can be seen collectively on the basis of one shared characteristic is wrong. Indeed, it proposes that we deliberately challenge all notions of fixed identity, in varied and non-predictable ways. "

I suspect this post will greatly amuse one of my exes, because for an extended period of time, I actually referred to myself as "Queer", instead of labelling things such as my gender. The concept somewhat lost its glam when I moved to the UK where "Queer" has a whole other connotation and I dropped the term soon after. But this Theory still describes how I think about myself and the world.

ANYWAY, to come back off the tangent:

At one point during the conversation, Personal Banker is forced to ring up the Brussels branch to seek advice on my numerous intrepid inquiries. Thus goes the conversation that followed: "Yes hello, I have a LADY in front of me at the moment and HE wants to know about the actual policy of the insurance cover. This GIRL is going away for a few months and HE is also enquiring about the cash refund on purchases made with our card and the APR on the overdraft. Do I simply give HIM a brochure and ask HER to read it at home, or do I pass HIM on to you now so you can answer all HER questions by phone?"

Now that's fluid identity for you ;-)

Misguided

I hadn't planned on blogging about this. It's always a bit of a toss up as to what to throw onto this webspace and what not. When do you cross the boundaries of your own personal space/madness? I'm a particularly open individual in my face-to-face contact with the world, but to eternalise something in writing in a virtual space that might never seize to exist, well that's a whole other matter entirely.

But I'm just going to jot this down. And I'm not going to appologise for the melodramatic tone or any inappropriate or awkward personal-ness that may follow. You, dear reader, read this blog for a reason. It's a covert curiosity into the mind and life of a fellow mortal. Perhaps merely as a form of entertainment during those long hours of procrastination but often too as a means to put your own daily dwindelings into some perspective. We all bounce off each other. It's like little antlers on a bug. We're all subtly feeling our way around to get some measure of where we're at. Like emotional echo-location. So here goes...

The general image I seem to subconciously project onto this world is ridiculously misguided and it's become quite clear to me of late, that I really ought to step up and clarify a few things. For some reason lots of people seem to assume that I'm this hyperconfident, sorted individual who's got everything perfectly on track and that their own story fades by comparison (those who know me well will probably be pissing themselves right now, for they know the real deal).

Let me tell you something: I'm far from confident, hopelessly unsorted and I've no idea of where I'm heading. I'm just trying to rise above the things that are inherent to my being. Like being terrified of change. Like feeling lost without an big social group and feeling claustrophobic within one. Like needing constant reassurance that yes, I'm doing good. Like trying to survive the emotional wobblers that seem to be imprinted into my very being, without involving the whole world into the dramatics (you can tell I've made much progress on this part, can't you). I'm clearly not projecting that I'm scared to be out on my own. That I'm sick of the feeling that in order to make something happen in my life, I need to be part of a twosome, because I just can't achieve it on my own. That I've a compulsive need to have things planned, but that things tend to go haywire last minute, because I am the most undecisive individual on the face of this planet. That I am terrified to death of becoming the norm. That this need to stand out and be identified means I'm pushing myself way out of my comfortzone and that sometimes I get so lost I don't even know the way back into the safety of it. That despite the fact that I have a PhD in my back-pocket, I feel ridiculously unemployable. That I don't know what I want to do with my life. That I get blindsided by 3am panick attacks. That I sometimes don't like myself all that much. That I look in the mirror some days and think: my god what a twat.

The way I see it, you can live your life in one of three ways:
(A) Blissfully unaware of who you are
(B) Knowing who you are, accepting your shortcomings/inherent character and incorporating them into a lifestyle that brings out the best of you.
(C) Knowing who you are, but refusing to let it curtail your further choices and trying to rise above your inherent nature not matter what the struggle.

In my opinion, each way is legit. Altho I have to admit I generally don't spend much time with A-type people. I genuinely wish I could be a B-type individual, but am afraid I fall into the C-type category. And you know what that means, folks??

It means that I am NOT the kind of person my stories/plans/actions dictate I should be. Caso-in-termis: Travelling around the globe must equal: "confident, self-sufficient, independent individual"... right? Well, not if you're a C-type person. Im my case it means I'm none of those things, but doing these actions in the hope that when I push myself enough... I will BECOME one such individual. So for future reference, let's get things straight. Don't let your emotional-echo-location fool you. Sometimes the image we seem to project, is merely what we aspire to be. Not necessarily who we are. Make sure to take into account this abberation of perspective, before you use other people's data to calculate your own location in life.