I went into university six hours early by accident this morning. A true record. It rains in London constantly now so I waltzed into Urban Outfitters next to the Olympics and bought myself a sparkle and fade coat. It’s the most extravagant thing I’ve done since yesterday when I was handed a tiny dog in a red jumper sitting in a bag and carried him through the streets of London before boarding the tube with him. He was great, he liked licking socks. I’m going to my first seminar of the new year in an hour and then I’m going to get on a train and go to Bristol to see one of the besties and a surprise gig she’s booked for my 21st birthday in a month. I’m going to read never let me go on the train too because my course demands it, a great book to demand actually. I also have to read Harry Potter and Narnia for part of my magic literature class. It’s like I’ve enrolled into Hogwarts and its all just so perfect.
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My mother got home later than me tonight. I got in at 1 am.
She’d always promised herself that at some stage he’d get the letter, the one where she had written down the reasons for their collapse. But in the year that it had taken her to turn to the lines of the paper and pick up a pen, she’d realised that it wasn’t their collapse, it was her’s. And what she’d seen in her memories and in the past 10-12 months was her own downfall. She’d found that, in growing up, she was no longer immortal and the mistakes she’d made that got her to where she was now-where they were now, rather, were her fault. She was no longer invincible and she could no longer promise him the same adventures any more because her heart was made of dust instead of gold, and with every breath she was losing it- her heart I mean. If her heart was still gold then maybe he could still love her, but nobody wants to love something that isn’t gold. Dust isn’t treasure, dust is dust. She set down to write about the recollections of street views and fast cars scorching in the moonlight, of hockey pucks, ice dispensers and all the other bad things, but it all became so obvious then. These were all bad things because she was. Because her heart was made of dust and not gold.
Also this little punk who also happens to be my best friend is getting married in just over two weeks. We went and had our hair trials last Friday and she sat in rollers for two hours whilst I fell off a salon stool by accident. The floor was extra slippery from all the hair spray.
My brother and his wife got married in Oklahoma almost a year ago next month, I can’t quite believe it. The photography and the entire wedding was simply astonishing.
I’ve also spent the last week practising the fifty states on sporcle. I’ve got it down to 1 minute 45 seconds precisely. My friends say this is useless being I’m English. They’re wrong.
I’ve just written a very long and undignified epilogue about my living, in fact it was so long I suddenly remembered why I normally wear my bracelets on my left hand, so they don’t interfere with my writing skills on my right. This epilogue consisted a great deal of moaning about my degree at the little uses it has in my life and what I think is involved in my future. But, now I realise thats a complete and utter shambles because I don’t want to be in control of my future, thats the Big G’s job. Sure I want to make plans, the best of us do. Such as the desire to go to a theme park any day soon, that would be thrilling. But in all seriousness I need to stop letting my own insecurities about my future and the roll my English Degree plays in it bother me, my God is bigger than that, He’s too good to me. I’m still figuring this out at twenty but He’s the sweetest reminder.
I have come to think that the biggest trick the media can play is on our hearts. If we are not moulded by God then we are moulded by the media, by the masses of our generation. There are only so many times we can straighten, curl and dye our hair until it falls out. And in that sentence I feel it is summed up. By looking like London in my city, my body is affected, my hair will fall out, my money will run out. If it hurts my body and my bank balance then what is it doing to my heart? That’s only part of the point I’m trying to make because really I wanted to say that the media has nothing on God, they can bombard you with charts and perceptions on your relationship status and how old you should be by the time you should be having kids and kissing many men and all the rest of it but truly they have nothing and it is nothing to you what they think. It is everything to God what you think. Do you see? I’m beginning to.
Putting God second and being sad go hand in hand.
