21-Up

Today was my birthday.

Officially, if you abide time and stuff, I will be twenty one once the clock strikes 11:30pm on November the second of this year.

No, this is not me begging for people to wish me a happy birthday or anything like that, I was just stating a fact.

This morning, I woke up and was greeted by my mother. In one hand, she held a card, and in the other a thing that I didn't really think about. I opened the card, and it was the usual fair; "congratulations on living, we're rather fond of your existence" type of thing.

I was then given a gift. Since we're not a well-off family, I assumed it was just a filler, something that she wrapped up just so I could open something on the day of my birth.

I opened it, and it was a ball of bubble wrap. Fair be, I thought.

I then began to open up this ball, which at its centre was an iPod Touch. It didn't matter from what generation it was, an iPod's an iPod at the end of the day.

My first thought, and the first thing I said, after realising what they bought me was are you sure you can afford this?

My mother said they could. She bought it in a sale and slapped it on the credit card. She added that she thought it would be better for me to have a dedicated MP3 player than using my phone, as my old iPod died a few weeks back.

That statement has stayed with me all day. My family have spent years saving up for things. I remember for months, if not years, we were living in a house where we could have no electricity or heating for hours or days. The first computer we had was this weird franken-computer from old pieces years after they started to be big.

For my past few birthdays, all they did was give me some money. Nothing major, just a tenner, or maybe fifteen if things were looking up. So, for them to get me an iPod Touch for something such as my twenty-first... I don't know why, but that hit me big time.

I've never really valued money in the same way as others seem to do. For me, money is not something to just flitter away for a cheap laugh; it's a necessary part of life where it must be treated right.

Maybe some people will look down at me, think I'm just a hoarder, someone who would rather see the colour of money than happy days or whatever. That's not the case. I just never want to be in that situation if/when I have children. Same goes for anyone I care about.

I'm getting off topic. Anyway.

My mother then asked if I had anyone on Facebook asking me why my birthday's not visible. I just said that I don't see the point advertising my birthday to everyone, just so they could quickly write something simple on my wall. I find that just as awkward as someone coming up to me and making me sing happy birthday to a stranger.

I can't explain why, it is just like that for me.

That's why, if I ever wish someone a happy birthday, I always do it via textual communication, and even if I do it would be later in the day.

Anyway, safe to say that only family members have remembered. Which is fair enough. I'm not complaining, considering I've never really publicised my birthday at all.

In work, towards the afternoon, they planned a little thing, which ended in me taking home a piece of cake (which my parents ate, I'm no fan of cakes m'self), a card with all nice words from the people who work there and an A3 piece of paper that has Happy 21st Birthday Gareth! Promo love you. Oh, and the memory of the accountant trying to serenade me. I'm pretty sure I'll never say that again for a long while.

But other than being pre-occupied with the thought of my parents getting me something I thought they wouldn't and what had happened in work, it was a rather normal day.

Which is was my birthday is, really.

So, twenty-year-old me is now dead. Hopefully, twenty one-year-old me would have better luck with everything.

Have a good'un.

- FIN times eight. FIN. FIN. FIN. FIN. FIN. FIN. FIN. FIN.

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.

Foot In Mouth Disease

Over this bank holiday weekend, I was up in Pembroke Dock (that's in Pembrokeshire, fact fans). Why? Because it was those happy days with the people from Clic and the other sites like theSprout, Swoosh and YoungFlintshire. Well, other people went too, from counties that have no site yet, but since they have no site yet, I cannot link them here. Ah well.

But yeah, young people from all over Wales collected in Pembroke Dock to have a residential. This was my third one. the first one being up North Wales, where some people from Newport decided they didn't like me for some reason. The second was in Cardiff Bay, where I was punished with cups. But this was a weird one.

To be fair, I realised my insanity would take over the moment I got out of my father's car to get on the Clic bus, with one of the people who tormented me with the cups of dread from the Cardiff Bay showing me the fact that she brought a cup to this one. Joy. Not only that, an eleven year old girl (I think that's her age) attacked me as we were waiting to pick some other people up.

Yes. I got attacked by a young girl. With plastic forks. Happy days.

But alas, we arrived safely at the place. Nice place, to be fair.

Nothing really happened in that Friday, other than the dreaded icebreakers. I'll be honest, I don't understand icebreakers. I can't really describe some of the icebreakers, or how it made everyone look like they're attending a mental institute (no offence intended to people who have any sort of experience with mental institutes). On the Saturday, we actually got into the whole 'doing stuff for Clic', which went alright. The music activity didn't go well though, as I took my bass and I had no idea what to do over the chords Paul (a guy from Anglesey) played (damn you, capos...). But alas, I figured out what he was playing and just played the bass notes. That's the joys of the bassist, eh?...

So, why have I named this post Foot In Mouth Disease? Well, basically, y'know that young girl who attacked me on the bus on the way to the place with forks, well on that Saturday she decided to attack me again. This time with her feet.

Well, most of the time she was jumping on me and Elin (the cup tormentor from Cardiff), but other times she was messaging my face with her feet. But I think we got away with a little of that girl's evilness, as she was off attacking Dan most of the time.

But yeah, it was an alright residential, to be fair. Also met someone else who is off to the Atrium too. Woop. But yeah, roll on the next one, eh?

Edit - if you are bored or have a fetish for deja-vu, then feel free to read this article that I've written for Clic about the residential. I've added more to that one, so it'll feel more like semi-deja-vu. Happy days...

So, in other news. It's MkI's birthday on Friday. She'll be twenty-five and she wants to go out for food. So, it's a chance for people to watch us eat, and judge us for what we are eating. Not only that, MkII and MkIII are both being baptised in September. MkII one week, MkIII the next. I'll be honest, it seems to me that they are only getting baptised to please their boyfriends and their families. I, in all honesty and sausages, do not want to go to either of these baptisms. I'd feel like a fake. I'd feel like the whole situation is a fake. I'd feel that my sisters are fake.

But, before I go, I'd like to wish Rhys Bowen Jones a happy birthday, as he has finally turned eighteen, right before Sarah Thomas turns nineteen. So yeah, happy birthday for you two dudes. Don't die too soon, yeah? =].

Whoa, there's a load of links in this post, eh?

- Just one cornetto, give it to FIN.