It's Just a Stage

Ah look. January’s gone.

So, what life-changing, soul-affirming things did I do, in manner of last post’s gauntlet-throwing “watch this space” declaration?

Herewith the summary of my first 31 days of 2011.

WORK

• Found a flat for a relocating abortionist (ok, fine. Project managed a relocation for a Marie Stopes employee. But wasn’t it more fun the first time around?)
• Sat through a job interview where I was told that “We’ve only had a few race-motivated attacks and they rarely involve the lecturers.”
• Strongly considered taking the lecturing job out of sheer curiosity-cat syndrome.
• Instead taken a slew of other lecturing, editing and publicity jobs, committing me to five bosses, no benefits and an as-yet-unquantifiable amount of work.

PLAY

• Tried gamely to buy a sexy Mac at an I-Store, believing lectures will no doubt practically write themselves on machines that intelligent.
• Decided the name I-Store is only applicable if the I stands for imaginary, as they certainly don’t sell any actual products (even when you wave a credit card at them ever so nicely).
• Realised that I’d have a better chance at successfully owning a Mac if I won one in some lottery-odds competition.
• Entered a competition where you can win a Mac, by writing a cheery short story about a leukemia patient.
• Grew my own rocket, basil and mint, then invited friends over to quaff them in Light Summer Salads of Jamie Oliver-inspired insufferability.
• Irreparably burned new flat countertop at attempt to provide something more carb-tastic when Light Summer Salad clearly wasn’t cutting it.
• Began new regime of 7am mountainside runs, in manner of equally-insufferable Lifestyle Magazine Summer Physique article.
• Aggravated incipient arthritis in reconstructed hip and melanoma potential in delicate English skin. Turns out African terrain in the summer is bloody steep and bloody hot (probably at least one of those in the winter too).

PERSONAL

• Wished the man I used to date a happy engagement and the man I wished to date a happy birthing of his first child.
• Wished myself close to Siberian Salt Mines or similar.

All in all, most excellent work, then. Onwards to February, I say!

Ever had a morbid fascination with the car odometer?

[ok, it's that thing that counts the mileage]

Ever watched it at some precariously-balanced multiple 9 digit number, in rapt awe for the moment when it finally clocks over to the shiny new row of ’0′s’?

Of course you have. Why, it’s one of the finer examples of human nature, right up there with helping the aged cross the road and obsessively wondering why the chicken did.

Perhaps it harks back to something deep and primal in our nature that was vital to our cavebound forebearers’ survival, like herds of wildebeest tending to get rowdier once they hit critical mass of double figures. On the other hand, perhaps it could be a nice dose of nurture. I mean, school maths training with those little wooden abacus beads has a lot to flipping answer for, if you ask me – we’re Pavlov-trained with pink fizzers to want to make sets of ten.

Perhaps. I think it’s just general bloodyminded vapidity.

Don’t get me wrong, I love bloodyminded vapidity. It’s brought a lot of magnificent things to my life, like freecell marathons and The Onion. But it’s got its limits.

Entirely constructed phenomena that’d have Foucault popping a pulsing vein just seem to strike a chord with us. New Year’s Eve is one (hey, happy 2011 everyone!). Turning “the Big (insert digit here) – O” is another. I mean, the visual fascination of time ticking over to 0 draws the rubberneckers like nothing so much as a multi-car pileup.

…which leads us nicely back to our opening analogy of car odometers. There’s really no time quite like a big 0 number to start evaluating your car’s performance. Little things that might have escaped the attention for months suddenly become something to worry about; you start thinking of the engine, the smoothness of the ride, whether you even LIKE the car to begin with or if it’s time to trade it in for a newer model.

You see where this is going.

The trouble is, when we become distracted by technicalities, we lose focus on the things that really matter. And, somewhat like those drivers who find their gaze drawn irresistibly to that slowly-turning odometer, we just might find ourselves blindsided by a bit of life happening in the interim…like a bus.

Anyhoo, in completely unrelated news, I have nine months till I’m 30. You can do a lot in nine months, apparently.

So, um, watch this space.