Untitled, By Unknown

19: I mean, technically it could be worse...

Writing time: 5th- 9th December 2016

'What a beautiful wedding! What a beautiful wedding, says a bridesmaid to a waiter. And yes, but what a shame, what a shame the poor groom's bride is a-' I Write Sins Not Tragedies, Panic! At The Disco, A Fever You Can't Sweat Out, 2005. Probably best if I don't finish that, as the bride I was thinking of when I chose this quote is now my aunt. Not that I'm saying she's a ... yeah, definitely don't say the thing in full. Just pretend you're hearing it on a daytime radio show or something. I was thinking of weddings in general, I swear.

And so it came to pass, in the dying days of October... we were finally allowed some proper time off. Half term was here.

Personally, I thought I'd earned this. Seven weeks of hard work, hellish bus rides, multiple breakdowns and yet another failed attempt at romance had left me dying for some period of relaxation. Albeit one where we'd been given a plethora of work to do as well as one where plans were aplenty. I had something on practically every day, which was quite unusual. Generally, short breaks like this predominantly consisted of long periods of nothing, intersected by the occasional day out with family or perhaps an uncommon social encounter. Rarely were there so many events in such a short time for me. Anyway, I'm rambling. Actually, no, screw it. The entire chapter can just consist of vague statements: 'Things happened, most were good, but some were not.' Perfect. Or maybe not. I'm trying to hit a word count here.
A quick update before I detail the happenings of the holidays- I was still pretty fucked. My mental state was hardly improving, and I'd made no attempt to talk to anyone about it. You forget, I can be both logical and illogical as I see fit. Here, it was more the latter. Eventually, I'd build up the courage to actually say something. Well, maybe.
And then there were the comparisons.
At some point around this time, I'd gone into town with my parents. While there, I decided to finally purchase new copies of The Perks of Being a Wallflower book and film. I'd lent my originals to my ex, and then never received them back after the breakup, despite the fact he'd promised to post them. He'd claimed he had, but they'd never arrived. I didn't want to push the matter. Which I why I found myself in a bookshop browsing the 'teen' section, searching for the aforementioned novel. I located it pretty quickly, but then I noticed something strange: the cover.
It was of me.
Well, not exactly. For those of you who haven't seen it, it's basically a silhouette of the main character. Now, I'd always seen this as Logan Lerman (the actor who plays him in the film). However, at that moment, I saw something different: the shadow of my struggling face. That's probably not a good sign. Of course, I was probably just hallucinating in a moment of cognitive weakness. But if you can visualise yourself as a mentally unstable teenager with anger issues as well as an inability to form stable and meaningful relationships? I'm going to be honest, that's not a good thing. So there's a fairly accurate summary of how I was coping.

Our week of relative freedom began with a late bus. As if there's such a thing as punctual public transport in Britain. You know what would be great? If we had an extra £350 million a week to fund our public services... oh, wait. Fuck you, Farage. Normally, this wouldn't be too much of an issue, except my parents had made plans. Family plans. It turned out I was obligated to attend a dinner with various relatives to celebrate various things. Of course, I had not been informed... or had forgotten. Nevertheless, my parents had to intercept me halfway along the bus route so we could make it in time for the reservation. It says a lot that I've been related to these people for ten years now, and I still struggle to tell them apart. I mean, I haven't seen them that frequently, and I was always as antisocial as possible at family gatherings- but even so. Surely I'd at least know names if not faces. I just have to hope there's never an important situation where I desperately have to tell them apart.
Saturday. The train to my dad's. On the journey, I began something I'd wanted to begin for a while: my novel. I'd had the idea back in August, with the original premise of dramatising the last two months (up to about chapter 10). The concept remained unwritten in the back of my head, until eventually I returned to it, deciding instead to literally describe my life rather than twisting it to fit a narrative tone. I called it 'Untitled, By Unknown'. You may have heard of it. On that journey, I planned out chapters 1-18. Meaning I have now broken out of that original framework into new territory of other stuff. Which is good really. It's difficult to meet a word count with less than twenty chapters. Especially when they start off small.
The weekend passed uneventfully- I think. I don't really remember. I was certainly in a better emotional state on the train ride, and by my return home I'd finished the first two chapters. Both of which barely reached 1000 words. I've got some at over 2000 now, one over 3000, but to begin with I struggled to get close to quadruple digits. I had trouble getting to triple by the look of it. Monday was also pretty bland, barring the two eldest cousins from the Centerparcs holiday staying the night in preparation for a trip to the zoo the next day, forcing me onto an airbed once more. Now, I'm not the biggest fan of zoos. I don't really enjoy exotic animals from faraway lands; chickens are enough for me. So an entire day looking at a miscellaneous species, 85% of which I dislike, is not one I consider entertaining. This was more for the benefit of my younger cousin, who at the age of eight could still appreciate such delight- although I say that as if I once did. I never have, weirdly enough. Plus, it was such a long drive. Nearly two hours. Few things are worth travelling that distance, and a selection of giraffes is not one of them.
Unfortunately, my silent protests went unheard, and we drove the long distance to the unnamed zoo in the unnamed area of the U.K. (that's not just me being anonymous, I actually had no idea where it was). To be honest, the visit was... bearable. There were some furry animals, and some birds. That works for me. Obviously, the excitement of my younger cousin did plenty to brighten my day- and acted as a nice contrast to my other cousin, currently going through his moody phase in addition to refusing to accept that he was allowed to show happiness, despite the fact it was being painstakingly forced out of him by my over-enthusiastic parents. But yeah. It was alright. It would have been a lot better if the journey wasn't so bloody extensive. And if I wasn't missing out on seeing Doctor Strange on its first day of release.
Wednesday. Another trip out- although this was a little closer to home. An outing to the cinema with a gathering of friends composed of the nerdy one, the emo, and the artist, to see- strangely enough- The Girl on the Train (kidding. Clearly. Just thought I'd spell that out for any imbeciles). It didn't help that the artist showed up about twenty minutes late, but apart from that, all was good (she was at least in time for the film). Well, mostly. My brain apparently had decided to partially collapse for the afternoon and constantly remind me of my ex and the last visit we'd made here.
See, you're on the same type of bus you took! There's the pillar you leant on while waiting for him the first time! Then there's... erm... well, you're in the same place, aren't you? Look, memories! Release me from the present, I'm obsessing, all these questions. I coped that day. I had the distraction of company in addition to the refined skill of telling my head to shut the hell up (I say that as if it worked/works). I managed. Just about.