Dandelion Mind

In just a few weeks, I will be twenty-one.

If you want to be absolute, I'm already twenty-one. You know, considering I was living in my mother's womb for nine months. Good thing she never asked for rent. But for the case of reason, logic and sanity, I'm twenty-one in a few weeks.

For some reason, the same thought just keeps coming back to me...

I don't like where I am in life.

Now, that has nothing to do with my work, my friends or anything like that. I really do like working where I am, and I have a good time with the people I see on an irregular basis. It's just, looking at where other people are in their lives, it makes me wonder if I am in the right place in mine.

When I say that, I don't mean that I look at the people who I went to school with and see how varied their lives are. I mean, some are already married, some have kids, some are working in the industry they want, and some have wealthy parents who can buy everything for them to have an easy life.

And then there's me, still confused as to where I'm heading in life.

As I said, it's nothing to do with the people I know or what I do. It's all about me.

And that, my improbable reader, is something that will make me sound like some attention seeking whore who wants nothing but attention. Didn't need the second attention there, yeah? Seems I need a lesson in grammar (orly?).

I look at myself and think, what can I do? And yes, I mean both skill-wise and personally. If that makes sense.

And I don't like thinking like this.

You know, where the only thing you can think of is your own worth in the world. Whatever I can do, there are at least three people I know who can do it better, faster and the like.

I know, comparing yourself to people is looked down upon. The whole it doesn't matter what or who you are, as long as you're you or whatever bullshit that gets spilled out to people. It's obvious that it does matter. Would you employ someone who has no skills in the required field just because their honest with themselves? I highly doubt it.

For the most part, I know that everything is relative. Like my ability with the Welsh language. To those who have no clue of how to speak Welsh, I am a font of knowledge, but to those who speak the language fully week in week out, I must look like a right amateur.

As I said before, it's not just about skills. It's about me as a person also.

I have probably used up a quarter of my life, and what have I done? Nothing but stay in my room and try to get better at the things I like to do. Some might say that's a good thing, meaning that I'd develop into something that can only mean good things for me career-wise. And in a way, they're right. I mean, if it wasn't for the abundance of my time just spent lying in bed, watching After Effects tutorials, I'd probably be slightly worse than I am now.

Shit, this is gone into skillsets again. My apologies.

Anyway, those twenty-one years have mainly been spent in my bedroom, the smallest room in my house. Everyone else my age has probably spent most of their lives outside, doing what young people do these days, whatever that is.

At first, it was because none of my friends lived close to me to meet up. Then, when I found someone who actually did, I didn't know how to start socialising with them. That story started roughly thirteen years ago, and has repeated itself from the start about two to three years ago.

Anyway, as the social began to be more social, experimenting with drink and money, I did what was natural to me; stay home and waste my time power-leveling characters in games or thinking about pointless subject matters like my own mortality.

And that has made me into the person I am right now; someone who I don't really like.

I mean, considering my profession of choice, I will need to talk to people and possibly maybe teach people. A good example is of today, there was a work experience girl who had no idea how to use Photoshop, so I was asked to teach her something basic.

I did so, but I could feel my voice shaking. It was like I had developed a stutter in the two minutes between being told I had to do it and actually needing to do it. She did it, but it didn't help that I seemed like I had no idea what I was on about.

I mean, if someone was teaching you something and they were bloody nervous doing so, would you really trust what they were saying?

Fuck.

In other news, the closer November comes, the more apparent my thoughts of death appear. I don't know why this happens, but for the last few years or so, the closer my birthday comes the more I think of death. And I don't like it.

And before anyone says otherwise; I am trying to change. I am trying to be someone who isn't just a rat in a self-built cage. But every attempt that I do, it seems to backfire on me.

C'est la vie, apparently.

- Satan, laughing, spreads his wings. Oh lord, FIN.

Night Shift

I discovered something last night.

Well, I discovered many a thing last night, but only one I'll discuss.

Yesterday, it was my friend's birthday party. He's twenty-one in a few days, but had a celebration yesterday.

When I was there, I was on form. And by that, I mean that everyone was drinking and being merry while I stayed in one spot, noticing things that others didn't. This time, it was about the green lights that where on the wall. First, some didn't move, then some vibrated to the bass. What a fuckhead I am.

Anyway, that's not what I discovered.

When I was home, I tried to go to bed. Well, I succeeded with actually going to bed, it was just the process of sleeping that I had trouble with.

I'm not sure if I was dreaming, or if it was just my brain was in a stasis of rest while my entire body was awake, but for about an hour, I remember working on this DVD that I'm helping with in work. The only difference is that I was using a programme that was a mix between Premiere Pro and DVD Studio Pro, and the other person who I was talking to about the work wasn't a fellow worker, but the girl who I have feels for.

In that hour, all I remember that I was working on the DVD, feeling weak, as if every little change took the maximum of effort. The girl was pissed off with me for some reason, either because I was fucking up the work or she just felt awkward and ashamed to be forced to work with me. Every wrong thing that I did resulted in me banging my head on my bed. So, I was conscious to know what was happening, but unconscious enough to not being able to stop myself from being in this state of delusion.

The thing is, I don't understand why this happened. It's not like I'm stressed about work, because I'm honestly not. The work, albeit time consuming, isn't difficult. There are setbacks, yes, but nothing that I haven't encountered before. I had to use DVD Studio Pro in one of my assignments last year, and I had a decent mark in it, so I know how to work it and that. Premiere's just Premiere.

Maybe it's about her.

Maybe I'm just being a fool.

Yeah, it's definitely the later.

Anyway. That's another thing that confuses me. This is the first time where work and my personal life has merged, and it's in a dream (or whatever you call it). I've always kept my different lives separate. I mean, my work, university, family and personal lives are just that, four separate aspects of my life. Granted, there are some overlaps (Clic, for example), but on the whole, I try not to merge the different aspects of my life.

I have no idea why this is the case, it's just always been like that.

Anyway, you might be wondering what I discovered.

It was about three in the morning, when I came around from the dream-that-probably-wasn't-a-dream-because-I-wasn't-completely-asleep dream. I was wide awake, and I only wanted to do one of two things.

The first one will make me sound like a soppy arsehole, so I''ll forever keep it to myself.

The second is, I'm much better suited to working than socialising.

I mean, look at the evidence. The only real time I feel somewhat comfortable is when I'm doing work. Whether it's something I can do off my own back (like designing a banner for Wicid, editing video footage, writing and editing articles) or something I have no idea what I'm doing (like photography, anything administrative), at least I'm doing something constructive. Or at least trying to do so.

When I'm socialising, what am I doing? Nothing. Most of the time, I'm just awkwardly being there with  nothing of substance to add to the conversation. Well, unless they're talking about something I actually have confidence in, like anything multimedia or how to effectively kill bosses in Final Fantasy X, but let's be honest how many times with that happen?

I don't know. It just seems that I was not bred to talk. I was born to work, even if my chosen career will help humanity as much as a dog shitting in the woods would add a loving ambience to a political convention.

Most pointless description, ever.

Before I stop writing this idiocy, I have one question that might make my sound like a right numpty. I don't suppose that any of you have an idea how to escape from yourself for an hour or so? And I don't mean ways to have time off from work and just relax. I mean, actually separate your thoughts from your brain for even a moment, just so you can think about something other than the usual stuff?

So yeah, that's a thing.

- And this is a FIN.

Thinking Time

Today, I'm working from home.

About an hour ago, I saw something rather innocent. Nothing major, just something that is normal.

But for some fucking reason, my mind's decided to make it into the massive bullshit arena. I've seen something that is usually normal, but I've connected so many things to it, I've made it into something that's made me feel paranoid and, for some fucking reason, like I've been punched in the stomach.

And to top it off, I just had a letter from Student Finance, saying I'm only eligible for the bare minimum.

Fuck.

Not only that, the way they've spaced the payments out means that I wouldn't have virtually any money to use if need be. For this term, I'm only getting over £400. I'm lucky in the fact that I only pay something like £350 for housing and that, but by fuck I'd just have £50 or so for the entire term.

God damn and custard creams, it's lucky that I don't have a social life and horde all the money that I've ever had until I blow my budget in one purchase. Fuck, I'm a dickhead.

So, for the past hour or so, I've done no work. All I've done is stare at my keyboard or aimlessly looking between social networking sites, thinking about pointless shit, making matters in my head worse.

And you know what the worst thing is? I really wish I could stop. I wish that I could restrict the thoughts that go through my mind. I keep telling myself stop it, you're being a twat, but alas poor reader, my brain decides the best call of action is to persist, which makes my day even worse.

In other news, I made myself look like an even bigger bastard of boredom on the weekend, as I was asked to photograph some bands for this year's Wicid Battle Of The Bands final. Unfortunately, out of the 200+ photos that I took, only eight or so where ones I thought were adequate at the least.

I used my old camera for this, my Canon 600D. I have a 5D Mk III now too, but didn't use that because I didn't feel I was used to it yet to use it, if that makes sense.

So yeah, that's a thing.

There's nothing else to add.

So, I shall end it here. I should be going back to work. Hopefully I will and not think about shit.

- Fuck it all, fuck this FIN.

Define It

Do you ever think who and what the fuck am I??

I do.

It mainly occurs when I read other people's biographies on social media sites. I just saw one who described them as loving, caring, intuitive person and the like.

My main thought on that, without sounding like I'm being a total arse, is what makes you think you're the things you think you are?

I mean, I'd like to think I'm somewhat a decent person, someone who has a sense of humour and can be relied on. But it's not really up to me to describe myself. It's up to the people who are (un)fortunate to meet me.

For all I know, people may consider me an absolute twat who's only plus side is the lack of socialising I do. I don't really know what people think of me, but that's their right. And let's be honest here, they are a better judge of me than I am, considering I only see my own perspective while others see everyone else's.

Does that make sense? Does anyone read this blog? Not sure if any of those questions will ever get answered.

But the main one is when it comes to what I do. I've heard/seen people call themselves all sorts, just because either that's the thing they do most or they just can.

I mean, I can call myself a professional photographer, a director, cameraman, editor, translator, designer, compositor and writer. But I don't. Why? Well, just because I do those things (and by directing, I just tell people where to sit/stand so they are in shot and the like, nothing arty or anything like that) doesn't make me them.

You know that saying I live, therefore I am? It's either that or something like that, I don't know.

Back to the point; I'm not completely sure that's true.

Just because you live, doesn't necessarily mean that you're alive. Probably. This is all coming from someone who's only slept outside his home country for eight days, so I'm not the most knowledgable when it comes to life lessons.

Anyway, I think it's true. Just because I played a few games of cricket for Pontypridd, doesn't mean I'm a retired cricket player with a decent bowling average and a terrible batting average. It just makes me someone who used to play cricket.

And yes, for those who think that's a boring sport, I actually like playing cricket. Bowling can be both a stress reliever and a good way to make you think. Don't judge me, ya?

It's just that I see loads of people defining themselves as something just because they have an interest in it, when in all honestly they are either not good at it, or not as serious as they say they are.

That's why I hate it when someone asks me to describe myself to people. Unfortunately, where I work, we get a few young people in for work experience. And I have to say what I do. And I just repeat the same thing - I help out with translation, media and sometimes with moderating written content.

I have a problem defining myself, it seems.

There's only two things that I know I am, and that is a student and a male.

And that's the major one for me. I'm male, and I'm almost twenty one years old, a combination that usually results in someone describing themselves as a man.

But not me. Why? Mainly because I don't think I've done anything worthy of the title.

And no, I don't mean releasing my seed within a woman's baby chamber.

There's so many ways to define what a man is. And I don't think I'm any of it. Yet.

Maybe that'll change in decades to come. Maybe I'll be on my death bed, looking back at my past, and thinking that my younger self was just being an utter arse. So, nothing new there, then.

So, that was a blog post worth forgetting.

- I spent a few minutes trying to think of a way to end this by adding FIN into it, but I couldn't think of anything better than what I've just written. So yeah... FIN.