Cheer Up

Let's face it. The only factor which really has an effect on your mood, is you. Admittedly, some emotions are uncontrollable. The act of laughter, the intensity of crippling pain, emotional or physical, and the effect it has on you. But that's fleeting. One day in your life spent curled in bed is nothing. I have about 30,059 more to live through cheerfully, and at this stage remaining unhappy would simply be negligence.

Life is not predictable, and we have very little control over it. If we were never sad, we'd never know when we were happy. If we were never scared, we'd never realise that we were safe. If we never failed, we'd never know the exultation of achievement.

I need to learn that such is the course of it all. I need to realise that without the balance I wouldn't appreciate how wonderful my world actually is. I need to understand the dependence I have on the network of people around me. My mother, promising that I will never have to live on 50 pence bread alone. The rest of my family, keeping in touch and visiting and solidly present when I need them. Amy and Robin, making me surprises of hot chocolate (made of chocolate!) and chocolate cake (with nutella on top!) when I need it. My frisbee crew, asking if I'm all right and saying they missed me on Saturday. The strangers in the shop who ask how I am, and genuinely seem to mean it, and with whom I have a little chat. Having ridiculous amounts of fun choreographing a piece for Drama, and planning costumes and props and music. My best friends from home, and the day I get to see them again drawing closer. When I line them all up like this and there's more, I can't imagine how I could ever find myself feeling unhappy.

So what if things haven't quite gone my way? I'm not a believer in cosmic plans, but there is always something waiting around the corner, and now I'll have time to meet it full on. When I know what it is, I'll let you know.

It's time to stop indulging in false misery. For one thing, I haven't the time, but also because, when I think it through, I'm not really miserable at all.

Yours, cheerfully
Abby

With every 'no' you're closer to a 'yes'

This post is, frankly, about the millions of auditions well, four which I attended this week, none of which I will know the result of until tomorrow at the earliest. It had to be done straight away before I received the terrifying emails from directors; I might think something entirely different in hindsight, and I wanted to explore the thinks I am thinking at present, unclouded as they are by anything so unattractive as knowledge.

The plays are The Three Musketeers, Midsummer Night's Dream, Twelfth Night and The Merchant of Venice. I know which one I desperately desire a part in, but am loathe to write it. There is only so much potential failure I can set myself up for on the internet.

I have already had two unsuccessful auditions this year. Admittedly, one was a musical I went along to as a bit of fun (aside from the shower, whilst cleaning, or in order to make a fool of myself, I don't sing) but oddly the rejection from this actually stung the more, sure as I was of my incapability of holding up a harmonic line, than the serious play I actually thought I could get a part in.

I think the reason being told you haven't been chosen for a production seems so harsh because we take it personally. I was self-conscious about trying to take myself seriously and sing well. I was rejected by the Director. I used this as proof that I am, as I suspected, terrible at singing. Also, that I am worthless, will never do well in auditions, and should leave University immediately Comic injection - you're allowed to laugh. As it turned out, when I asked for my audition notes the director told me the main reason I hadn't got a part was because my style of singing wasn't right for the production (is Hair; I used to be a choral singer. Go figure.) and because I was so nervous. Not quite what I was beating myself up for...

Auditions are terrifying because we're all a little afraid of being ourselves, as we might not be picked. Of course, you're playing a character and not really yourself at an audition, but aren't these characters merely an extension of your personality? The direction you take a character, or the movement you perform in a workshop is your own personal choice, and it seems as though it is this choice which is unwanted.

To become less afraid of auditions, and to be affected less by directors judgements of me, I need to remember that the ultimate casting decision is down to one, possibly two, people. Just because they weren't in love with the way you performed a certain part, doesn't mean the whole world will think like that. As in auditions, so in life; not everyone will become your friend, and this is in no way a bad thing, nor different for anyone interesting on earth. Another matter I need to come to terms with, incidentally. If you have opinions on any topic, feathers will be ruffled elsewhere.

My advice therefore, is to put yourself out there, and be a little different. In what situation would you be chosen for being the same as everyone else? I can think of few. Stay true to what you believe, that which you enjoy doing, and how you wish to behave. That way, if a director doesn't pick you because you're the wrong height or build, or because you have the wrong kind of voice, you'll know that next time you will fit the preconceived image they have of the character, and your personality will shine through and illustrate you as the sort of person they would like to work with.

This is why I had to write this post before knowing - this way it is neither smug and patronising, nor bitter. Although it may be garbled, as it is four minutes past two in the morning.

Yours, anxiously waiting,
Abby

The Longest Day: Proof

As promised:

On the disgustingly long drive down. Made better by a pile of stones and half-decent car-companions.

Action-shot. To prove I actually did something.

At the end of the exhausting day -  my team 

All the Fly-hardians combined

As I've technically now written 4 thousand words, I'll just finish off with a list of collateral damages:

1. Muscles aching in calves
2. Ditto thighs, back and front
3. Ditto bum
4. Ditto lower back didn't even know I had muscles in my lower back
5. Ditto washboard abs
6. Purpley-red bruises, covering knees
7. Bruise, right hip
8. Lumpy right elbow As assured by house-mate, can't see it myself
9. Scratches and bruises along left fore-arm, where I catch weird
10. Bruises on right hand, because ditto

Bath should have mostly cured me, will no doubt be ready for the continued onslaught of Ultimate on Wednesday at training.

Bring it.

Yours, aching,

Abby

The Longest Day

1. My apologies for missing a day in one-blog-post-a-day-week, I'll make it up to you all, I promise.
2. The reason for missing a day in one-blog-post-a-day-week will now become apparent

With regards to the title, I find it's usually best to be wary of using superlatives about every-day situations - there are so many long days yet to come, to be sure particularly as we're nearing the Winter Equinox but I feel that on this day, the exaggeration is necessary, and next time I have an inordinately long day, I'll just make up a new superlative or something.

Today was the University Mixed Indoor Ultimate Regionals in Plymouth. Firstly, a disgustingly long way from  uni-town, secondly, a whole tournament crammed into a mere day, when they are always, always spread over a weekend. Twice the games, twice the injury to be absorbed, twice the support for your other team, in one fast-paced, exhausting, long day.

But what a day we made of it. As is the frisbee way, we all still went to the pub in lack of a party on the Saturday night, but managed to turn up reasonably fresh-faced and sober on Sunday morning. And the chaos began. I don't think we ever had more than a 45 minute gap between our seven seven games, and a gap that long was rare. Never long enough to eat, we either spectated and cheered for the first Fly Hard team, or I read and read the most wonderful book I have had the pleasure to read in some time. More on that later. I honestly couldn't tell you how many of the games we won today, although I'm leaning towards three... This is just one of the reasons I love this sport. It is rarely about the end result, and it is not what I will remember from this experience. On-pitch I'm competitive as a, well, a human, but when all is said and done from this tournament I am taking away my improvement as player, the bonding as a team, the ever-growing passion I have for Ultimate, the pride in how well the freshers on your team performed, despite this being their first tournament, and how good it feels to belt out 'Forget You' at the end of a 3 hour car journey when home is in sight.

I can only hope that everyone has a passion that makes them feel this positive. I have a feeling I've expressed a similar sentiment before, and if I have, I'm glad. The butterflies building up before a game, the freedom of transforming said butterflies into running until you can run no more, throwing, catching and falling a lot of falling, in my case. I can't wait to inspect bruises tomorrow. The proud exhaustion of knowing you played as well as you could have, and more, in each game. Practically indescribable, and so I'll sign off.

Pics to come soon.

Yours, exhausted,
Abby

A taste of what life will be

I'm not the only student in the world, I'm aware of it, but this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach having to worry so much about money doesn't seem to be affecting everyone. I can't sleep, I feel like I'll never be able to eat anything but white bread at 50p a loaf ever again, there's a constant reminder in the back of my mind that I still don't know how much our quarterly bill is going to cost me.

Is this what life is like? A constant scraping for cash, an anger at colleagues picking up the extra shifts before you, giving up things you'd like to do for what you have to do - work, work, work.

If so, it's not a life I want.

Masks

I like to imagine what life would be like if no one had a screen to hide behind. Those people, you know the type, who act like they're all that because they dress in a certain way and own certain brands.

What if we didn't have foundation and everyone could see what skin actually looks like?
What if we didn't swathe ourselves in material and everyone could see what bodies actually look like?
What if we didn't wear high heels and everyone could see how long legs actually are?
What if we didn't have bras with padding in and everyone knew that we're all different sizes and shapes?
What if we didn't have jewellery and no one knew how much you can afford to spend on precious metals?

Don't misunderstand, I adore self-expression and clashing colours and bold prints and neutral tones and pastel shades and interesting textures and sparkly things and feeling great.

But... why do we need these things to feel great? Clothing, in fact appearance in general should be an accompaniment to ourselves, not an article to hide ourselves behind. Wouldn't it be nice if the reason you came home happy at the end of the day was because you'd managed to make more people laugh than normal, or because someone complimented you on your smile?

I just wonder how relationships and friendships and the way people interact would change if it was all swept away. If all the wobbles and freckles and mismatchedness and insecurities were on show, maybe they wouldn't be insecurities at all.

Yours, naked,
Abby

Charlie Charlie Charlie

Something happened recently, and I'm not entirely sure where I want to go with this blog post, but we'll see where we end up.

Charlie Mcdonnell is a Youtuber from Bath who currently has 1.68 million subscribers. When I first truly discovered the potential of Youtube - how completely this little site is a community - the nature of Charlie's skill became apparent. He has a magnetic personality, which shines through in everything he makes. He is cheery, and creative, and genuine, as well as funny, sensitive, and doesn't take himself too seriously. Also Stephen Fry voices his outros. It never comes as a surprise to me to see multiple comments asking for Charlie's hand in the comments of his videos.

Part of the follow-ability (who needs real words? Whatever.) of Charlie is his willingness to share his audience. I've become something of a Youtube addict, subscribed to over 80 channels, and many of these are people Charlie has collaborated with or mentioned in his videos, and the rest are people those people have mentioned. It's a slippery slope. (Actually, I lie, I small portion is due to my odd and eclectic music tastes). I am aware it's my opinion, as there are many influential Youtubers out there, but to me, Charlie is the centre of the Youniverse.

Therefore, as time went on, and I noticed a distinct lack of content from Charlie's channel, charlieissocoollike, I was not the only one. Because the quality of his work is so high, and the effort which goes in so entirely apparent, I for one assumed he was just putting that much time into each video, and that he had a life to get on with outside of Youtube as well. But after about a year of less and less of Charlie's face in the 'most viewed' section of Youtube's front page, I and his other millions of viewers were faced with this heart-wrenching video:

And his followers responded. All over the internet there are people rallying for Charlie to get back to being comfortable enough to entertain us. On the video, on his website, on twitter, and in video responses. The latter is where I was most impressed. The sheer number of friends from the community who know him personally, as well as those who don't, showed how empathetic humans will be when someone lays their heart bare. And because we all understand. Of course we do. The terror of putting yourself out there, trying to make people laugh, or think, or lead better lives, only to be beaten down and criticised is a feeling we all have known. To some people this is felt by posting their opinions on the internet, but to others it can be felt in as small an action as raising their hand in class.

One of my favourite reactions is from another Youtuber who doesn't post so often, but when he does, wow. I can go into this another time, for now I just want you to listen to Michael Aranda, and his wise, wise words:

Without being falsely complimentary of covering up the truth, he makes me feel so much better about my problems, and the video wasn't even directed at me.

I think this is something which has made me love people a little bit more over this past week. We're all different, and that's wonderful. But we are a little bit the same too, and when we realise this, and put the plea for help out there, friends, family and strangers will respond. Even just the knowledge of the potential for support can help me through a difficult time.

Yours, lovingly,

Abby

Entwined

He knows well the curve of her back, the smell of her hair.
She misses his arms, one under her neck, one cradling her waist, if they're not present.
Breathing slows, mumbling ceases, and they slip into dreams where they can run.
Run with the deer, soar with the falcons, and glide with the otters.

In dreaming, they understand how to live. Everything is easy, easy as breathing.
No decisions, no choices, and no parting, they can explore their own world together.
By the giggling stream they can chase the ripples, in the sun-drenched field they can spy the clouds.
In the rain they can dance, and in the storms they can race.


Upon waking, nothing is as clear.
The swirl of responsibilities pushes and pulls them, the currents allowing brief glimpses,
But never the freedom they had by the brook.
Exhaustion draws near, happiness is tattered, tempers flare.

But their worldly troubles can be pushed aside for a day here, an evening there,
So that they can return for a spell to the place they were free.

Too Many Feels

It seems I am always so angry/passionate about something. Whether it be gender politics, rights for the disabled, the disadvantages of technology, oh my goodness, all the things, I seem to have an opinion on. It can't be making me any friends. I, for one, enjoy a good debate which everyone can just walk away from at the end, but what if everyone else doesn't feel the same way? What if most others hate being challenged, and I'm riling everybody? But what's my alternative? Wander through life in a daze, never questioning or caring or wanting to change anything at all? So many questions. Maybe I'd be fine if I wasn't too worried about what everyone else thinks of me thinking my thinks. But I am! I'll get properly into an argument and not be worried at all at the time but I think I have a debater alter-ego who's not worried about the same things I am in real life. After the heated discussion is over and we've walked away (either physically or mentally) I'm sure the other party forgets everything we've just spoken about. But I get anxious about everything I've just said, will re-play everything over and over to try and convince myself I had my side of the argument correct, get nervous about seeing that person again, or even cry. Yes, really. I'll often try to distract myself immediately after a debate, watching Youtube or working or striking up a new conversation with someone, but my thoughts will return to the agonising possibility that I may have hurt someone's feelings or stirred up someone's beliefs. And the question logically follows, 'What were you trying to achieve if it wasn't those things?' And I have no answer. An irritating conflict of aspects of my personality; wanting to stir things up, keep people's opinions fresh, but wanting to make sure that everyone I know feels constantly all right, that they're not worried about anything, that I've done all in my power to make sure I'm supporting them 100%.
No paragraphs today, no eloquence, no flowers in this language. Too many feels.

Yours, overwhelmed,
Abby

The irony...

...that the very week I post about how to keep your head when all around you are losing theirs, I have the most extreme panic about an assignment. Well, that's life, but it's meant I've kept a lot of thoughts cooped up, and now the stoopid essay's finally complete, they're begging to be let loose. So, one post per day this week, let's see if I can keep up with myself. And no, they won't all be at 2am. Most, perhaps, but not all...

Yours, vocally,
Abby

Sometimes

Sometimes, all I need is a visit from my family.
A chance to catch up on their news.
To be treated to a delicious lunch,
And have my fridge filled with healthy.
To be bought magic pyjamas for the winter, perfect for staying in all day to write an assignment.

Sometimes it's just the little reminders of home,
that are all I need to be happy.

Chill Out

"A memory test - What were you worrying about one year ago today?"

Something I am exceptionally good at, worrying. About? Oh, about money, uni work (2nd year counts?!), my job, being punctual, eating well, the dark, my relationship, the future, audition rejections, my appearance, cleaning the house, keeping everyone happy, performing well at frisbee, my health... the list, as they say, is endless. And see if you can tell how many of those I have absolutely nothing to worry about. That, my situation regarding them is perfect, and I wouldn't change a thing about them.

It's odd, we battle with so many things, and try to better ourselves in so many ways, how is it that so many of the things that keep me awake at night are not problems at all, are even barely the potential to become problems in the future.

"I've been through terrible things in my life... and some of them have actually happened"

I think I've become so used to dealing with stress in my life that if there isn't any - it stresses me out. I put a lot of pressure on myself to succeed; I enjoy often telling the story of how I used to get stress nose-bleeds in GCSE chemistry lessons because I couldn't understand a single stupid thing. Isn't the irony beautiful? Something which used to cause me so much discomfort, actually provides me with entertainment a few years on down the line. And I still don't know what a freakin' mole is.

What I'm trying to say, is that everyone needs to chill. I see constant facebook updates worrying about deadlines, and admittedly it is reassuring to know that I'm not the only one, but I think instead of everyone rushing through life in a blind panic, we should all make a pact to stop the hell worrying about it all. If I just review my life, and breathe, and imagine how in a year's time I'll be making people laugh with tales of my present situation, it helps. Of course that's not actually very constructive, so here is some real advice if worrying about everything is a problem for you, too.

1. Write it all down, in order of priority - Not only will you realise you have no way near as much to do as you think, it'll encourage you to do the most important thing first instead of putting it off.
2. Take breaks during work - Especially important, because it's so easily overlooked. If you don't take 15-20 minute breaks every couple of hours you're just going to lose concentration and go round in circles and take twice as long to get anything done.
3. Ask! - Teachers, lecturers, classmates, anyone you know who has some level of expertise in the subject you're struggling with, will probably feel touched that you've come to them for help. So have chats with people when you get stuck.
4. Don't be so hard on yourself - No one in the world is as hard on yourself as you are. Instead of finding fault with everything, work hard at discovering what you like about your body, personality, whatever. Make a list of things you would never change. Add to it all the time. This girl will help you out: Laci Green
5. You can't be friends with everyone - One that's particularly hard for me to take, if you have opinions, some people will disagree with you. As hard as you try, Abigail, you will not be able to get on with them all. Learn to appreciate those closest to you so that the others cease to matter so much.
6. Ignore the advertising - You are beautiful. Yes, you really are. You're just going to have to get used to it. Ignore products telling you to be thinner, younger, smoother, taller, curvier, big-eyed and pouty. They will never leave you alone and you will never feel good enough. Come to terms with how you really look, and it will be hard for people to shake your confidence.
7. Don't let rejection get you down - It can be horrible, putting yourself in a position of vulnerability and being trodden all over, but try not to let it get to you. Stand up, shake it off, and the most important thing here is that you learn from what went wrong. In most cases, it's not because there's anything wrong with you, it's just that you're not what the Director, boy, girl, etc. was looking for. But don't change for them, soon you will be the person someone is looking for.
8. Use. Your. Words. - Directing this one at relationship issues, but applicable in literally any situation. No one (apart from Derren Brown) can read minds. Are there problems? Talk about them, they will be resolved. Is something going well? Talk about it, so it can be repeated. You just want to have a moan? Your partner will probably be glad to know what's going on in your head, and relieved that it's nothing to do with them. I can't stress this one enough, but I'll give it a go. Use Your Words.
9. Take tissues to chemistry lessons

Of course these are all personal to me, both the problems and the solutions, and things you're struggling with may not correlate with mine at all. But I hope that I have encouraged you to try and think a little more positively about everything.

I think that's probably enough for now. I didn't realise just how much I had to say on this subject until I started writing. I might return to this at some point, but I need to stop for a while. I was only exploring this subject to try and stop myself worrying about my first assignment of the year (due in a week), after all.

Chill out, y'all

Abby

Philanthropy to Misanthropy

On the London South-bank, half-way between the London Eye and the Oxo building, almost underneath Waterloo Bridge, nestles the National Theatre. An archetype of Brutalist architecture in Britain, the theatre is in the impressive position of appearing simultaneously in both the 'most popular' and 'most hated' building lists. It has housed a broad range of productions, one of the most recent and notable being War Horse, but a great many others including Frankenstein and Antigone, as well as Shakespeare works often cropping up. I was present at this historical building on Wednesday, 31st October, but despite being away from the university on Hallowe'en, I feel I may have had a somewhat similar experience as the rest of the students there. Plenty of dressing up, of course, but also fake blood, partying, an excess of expense, greed, and, in a manner not unlike trick-or-treating, a scene where feces was served up for dinner. I was, of course, viewing a little-known Shakespeare play.

Oh, not obvious? Maybe I'll go into a little more detail. Timon (pronounced like Simon) of Athens is a work we're lucky to have knowledge of at this time at all. In 1623 the publisher of the first collected edition of Shakesparrow's plays was having trouble obtaining the rights to Troilus and Cressida, intended to follow Romeo and Juliet in the tragedies section. At the last minute, they grabbed Timon of Athens to fill the gap. We can only hope that plays don't have feelings.

The play contains an ambiguous moral to say the least. The first Act sees Timon (Simon Russell Beale) throwing great banquets and giving presents of expensive jewels to his friends. They flatter and feast and generally make merry until Timon's steward (Or in this production, Flavia the stewardess, played by Deborah Findley) is forced to point out that his money is fast dwindling. Our tragic hero turns to his friends for help, but as it is perhaps possible to guess, every single one can think of an excuse preventing them from returning even a small portion of the generosity displayed to them over the years. My personal favourite was the character (I forget which) who was too offended to give any money, because Timon had not come to them first.

Timon releases an extraordinary amount of rage, loses all his wealth and abandoned his class. Shortly before abandoning Athens completely and making for the wasteland beyond, he throws one final grand supper. Unlike earlier in the play the plates are covered, and somehow the vision flitted through my mind, of what might be on them. Timon gives an impressive speech on the feeling of generosity being met by greed, and the favour never returned. His guests, bound by social convention, sit there spell-bound, and when are told to dig into the feast, uncover plates of excrement. Still they sit (though gagging and choking) to hear Timon out, though the spell is broken when he lifts a handful of their 'meal' to palm it onto a guest's head, and they flee.

Whatever anyone says, Shakespeare knew how to keep the audiences coming, and was not afraid of shocking, repulsing, and insulting his viewers. But Timon was not intending this as a prank, to be forgiven in time. The remainder of the play explores his all-consuming rage with everything Athens is and fails to be, and eventually dies. But it is off-stage, and quiet, and the audience never truly finds out if it is suicide, or by another means. It is a sad death, given no spotlight, nothing overly-dramatic. Now he's no longer freely handing out his wealth, no one is interested in whether Timon is alive or dead. All except the one redeeming character of this play, the stewardess Flavia.

The production was an enjoyable one. I appreciate modern dress in Shakespeare when it is well done, as this was. The scenery and costumes served to show how relevant dear Shakesparrow still is. Particularly appropriate was the scene of the rebelling lower classes camping in modern 2-man tents and brandishing placards. I also liked seeing a work I'd never even heard of, it will be perfect to compare to King Lear, as the most clear example, as well as many other works of Shakespeare's. In addition, one of my favourite things about theatre is the audience themselves. Sharing the atmosphere, laughing, groaning, flinching together, only adds to the experience.

Indeed, it is due to the audience that I experienced the most entertaining conversation I've heard in sometime, as was related by my mother to friend Amy and I in the interval. Two ladies having a conversation in the toilets:
"So, what was it he'd served up to his guests?"
"It... it was faeces."
"Oh! I thought it was poo!"

Fortunate, perhaps, that Shakespeare would never have over-heard that conversation from where they were situated, even if it had been the correct century.

Yours, feeling cultured,
Abby