I find myself stuck between a longing for simplicity and a strong desire for innovation and a vague conviction that the combination of the two will be perfection but am so far away from achieving this it makes me sad. It struck me today walking in the drizzle to the tube station that not a single person I passed was not carrying a bag. What is it that we feel we need to take everywhere with us? Necessities, that’s what. Necessary things. Wallet, phone, book to read whilst travelling, tablet computer to get some work done on the go, some random item required for work/leisure/whatever it is you do to pass the time during the day or night. I had: wallet, keys, sketch book, tictacs, chewing gum, tissues, lipbalm, notebook and diary, mp3 player, bottle of water, ID badge, two biros, a bit of ribbon, panty liner and paracetamol, rubber, sharpener and emergency headphones, empty Hello Kitty lunchbox, large brown envelope with documents to be filled out job-wise, book to read whilst travelling, pencil, hand cream, alcohol gel. And that’s a light day for me. I’m not sure if I agree with contingency planning (I used to carry around a knife, fork, salt, sugar, set of screwdrivers and a few spare bits of wire and fuses...) or if this is just a whole lot of unnecessary.
I’ve had another good day. I went over to the Other Hospital today, theatre from 8.30- 11.30, receiving inspiration and wisdom from a ‘savvier than initially expected’ Consultant. Feeling inspired (which was possibly his cunning plan) I then spent 11.30-5pm data gathering. I made 97 phone calls. I broke for 10minutes to eat and read a bit of my book. So, with a feeling of accomplishment and a resolve to come back to London from Nottingham to engage further in this slog, I travelled to the other side of London to meet Dad for dinner. This was the highlight of my week for sure. I don’t get to see too much of my Dad and historically, being Weekend Dad, I’ve always kinda valued time with him. Also we get on really well and talk about everything and anything and really bounce ideas off each other. We went to a random little Greek restaurant and shared some lamb and wine. I was sad when we had to leave. My step-mum had sent me a bag of cool wool down and I managed to leave it in the restaurant. So after arriving on the tube platform, realising, I then walked all the way back, collected it and then came home. 20minute journey dragged out to an hour. Never mind. At least I got to enjoy the drizzle. I felt kinda sad too, but let the drizzle wash it off in favour of a cuppa and some mild pondering.
Communication is something that the modern world specialises in. We are all about social networking, wifi, phones that do everything and go everywhere, neurosis about being uncontactable. And yet we seem to have lost the art of traditional communication. The productive sharing of ideas and thoughts. Why don’t we ever share the important things? I’m not even talking about feelings (although these are obviously important), I’m talking about why Science in the news is bits and bobs, usually scaremongering and yet Football has hours devoted to it. I have so much to say on this topic I’m not going to continue in this space, you’re just going to have to wait for my BMJ article, Guardian article, novel and little box on the street corner where I throw my badly photocopied leaflets at you as you go about your daily business.
Today my glasses fell apart on my face. One of the lenses fell out as I was walking down to the tube station. I have never been more scared in public, panic attacks aside. This wasn’t physiological, this wasn’t cold sweats, gut ischaemia and inexplicable fear- this was cold hard logic. I could not see. I could not tell who was who and I could not read any signs. I couldn’t go anywhere. I tried wearing them with just one lens and was granted enough vision to stave off catastrophe but was immediately met with a searing headache. I made it to the ticket and ‘help me’ counter and begged some sellotape form a very helpful guy who offered to tape them for me. I said it was ok, just bunged loads of tape over the lens and head for the tube. Once on I sat and carefully arranged the tape so that it looked like I was just poor/been in a fight and had broken glasses as opposed to had been attacked by some tape. And so I met my Dad, looking like a damp cardigan-clad victim of domestic violence.
I was starting to wonder the other day about why I blog. Desperation-fuelled narcissism? Not being able to bear the thought of my stream of consciousness being mine and mine only? The fear that if I do not share the narrative of my existence that my existence will lack meaning? Well, all of that but it started as a way of initially staving off boredom and loneliness and then became a way of telling my Mum what I had been up to that day without a half hour phone call. Since then, it seems to have just become habit. And a way of ensuring I continue with this stupid self-portrait scheme. This will be self-portrait number 38. At the end of this week it will have been six weeks. That’s 43 self- portraits, ending on Sunday. I have been toying with the idea of trying to keep it up for six months. That’d be over 100 more portraits added to the six weeks. If social networking has taught me one thing- it’s that I should not take this decision as an individual, I should canvas for opinion and see what others think. Bollocks to social networking. I’ll see how I feel.
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