I found myself submitting to a particularly disorientating bout of vivid teenage confusion. The disorganisation and loss of control thoroughly took its toll on me. If I were the typical teenager I would not have noticed this, little own cared, but I think it makes it all the more distressing when you know that it’s not normal, that there’s more to life than who’s fucking who and the sides in latest fight.
Illustrated perfectly by last nights events at work. After working for about half an hour the usual antagonists started in on me. They thought I was 13 just like them. Of course they haven’t heard me speak much at all, and that was only to tell me that I sounded decidedly British and ask me to impersonate Mr. Bean (Rowan Atkinson, obviously the most famous Brit to them). When I told them I was 17 they nearly fell off their milk crates for one, and then began the personal sexual questions (“She’s seventeen, she must have done everything!”). Now, previously one of them, the one with the most outstanding mind for complete and utter fiction, had said that I was going out with, of all people – Mr. Emo. Whom I haven’t spoken to since primary school, but do find most aesthetically pleasing, it’s a marvellous coincidence that she picked him; but it is of course untrue. Now they started on about “How far I had gone with a guy” and I almost admire them for this; because there is no escape from this line of questioning. I tried the usual dry almost parental defences “That’s a bit of a personal question to be asking someone you hardly know.”, “I’m not sure I’m so comfortable talking about that here.” and “Why are you so interested anyway?”. But to them it is simple, and they have no problem with spouting off their sexual exploits in the middle of the work environment to hear mine. To them it’s yes or no, hot or not, you will or you won’t. To me it has more dimensions than that, and is a mite more convoluted. In a different environment with more open minded people it would be something that I would enjoy discussing a great deal, but their simplicity makes things more complicated.
Among other things they said that one of the boys who worked there thought I was hot. This was a boy whom I had actually noticed, quite possibly the most attractive one there (although that isn’t saying much). Naturally, they asked me if it thought he was hot. I answered with the usual practiced refrain, a pleasant impartial “Well, I don’t think he’s unattractive.” To any normal person this would suffice, but they don’t seem to get the subtlety of the passive double negative. To an adult this sentence has a meaning, it means “My options on this person range from disinterest to friendly acknowledgement.” And that expressed my sentiment exactly. I do not know him well, he looks OK, but he seems like just another one of the guys. They asked me whether I liked him, to which I answered with another practiced phrase, which had less impact considering I used the other previously. “I don’t dislike him, but I do not know him well.” This did not go well for me. They would not tell me why they wanted to know so I had to bring the subject up again. Which brought on a fresh attack of “Would you kiss him if he asked you to?” I attempted to explain that this was a very subjective dependent thing: “If the person had been friendly to me, I knew them somewhat and had assed them to be a good person, we were alone and they approached it well, then one might be inclined to do that.” And although I had taken especially good care to use the most measured cautious language, (as one has to do when talking to teenagers that smell blood) they took this to mean that I wanted to kiss him. I knew this had got out of hand. I approached them again, keen to establish some damage control. I told them that as I knew they would pass on all I said, to tell the boy, if he did indeed say that, that I was flattered, but ‘no thanks’. They acted as though deaf. More of them joined in, I managed to sway some of them with my earnest unembarrassed manner. But then they caught sight of the boy in question, and I could tell they were going to take it further. Despite their persistence I know there is one thing that you can count on with teenagers, they are completely and utterly feckless. I marched straight up to this boy, in front of his friend and my boss, and in a smooth authoritative manner told him “These girls seem to think that I like you or you like me, we both know that none of that is true, (and turning back to them) lets just get that straight.” He nodded politely, they immediately dissolved onto a fit of hysteria. Thirteen indeed…
But that cool sense of triumph and control has not been the feeling which has dominated the week. I had more important tests, which always add a shade of urgency to everything, but are not frightening on their own. It’s just another deadline, another thing hanging over my head until the big countdown at the end of the year. This whole phase of my life.
We explored more possible implausible options (confounding or what) for my life after school in the big city. Things are not looking up. I completed the exhausting MyFuture online job determiner, which when I first did it three years ago I regarded it as trivial and unnecessary; now I was almost relying on it; and it helped me none. I spent a lot of time engaging in some morose pensive window gazing. They played
The events at the supermarket shook me out of thinking that my life was unravelling like I big ball of string. I realised how far I had come from where they are, and once more that I would not trade the insight for anything. Wednesday was the worst. Wednesday was nowhere. The unrelenting implicit pattern of thought went something like this.
Why am I doing this? Why did I pick singing, bands, rockstar life? What on earth did I think before I read about Amanda and her life? What did music mean to me before I heard the Dolls? When and where did the plan emerge? Did/do I just want to be taken notice of? Most of my dreams included absolute not necessarily singing career specifics, like being interviewed by Andrew Denton. Where do I find this magic band? What if I never do? When will my blog obsession end? Why do I look forward to that if I am enjoying it so much? Is that normal? What the hell am I going to do next year? If I do nothing I know I shall kill what little creative energy I have left. I am safe here. There is nothing I can do until I finish school. I am safe on this bus, I am meant to be here. I can cope with this to the point of actual satisfaction about it. What happens when all of that is taken away? All I want right now is for people to read my blog, to like me, to comment, to talk with more of the fantastic people I have already connected with through it, the Shadow Box and the like. I want to write for a purpose, for a large market. Would I really hate journalism that much? What about rock journalism? Would I resent them at all? Maybe I just want fame? Is that so bad? I’m not offering anyone anything. There is no reason behind any of this. I am no sitcom, I am… so much and yet so little like everyone else. It’s so easy to fit into the tortured artist stereotype, to become attached to that label, to use it as a crutch. But you know when you really are one. Am I one? I haven’t written a song in… since May. It’s only June, why do I feel so drained? I at least felt like I was serving some larger future purpose when I was writing songs. Building a career even. What am I doing with my blog? Why must I justify and qualify everything? I will be back at work tomorrow. And the boredom and tiredness will flatten me unto death. But not tonight, never tonight, tonight I get the pleasure of taking these thoughts home…
I admit, the feeling hasn’t gone away completely. The school term has ended and I am no longer safe from all the things I could be doing. I missed another singing lesson, but I got another consecutive set of full marks in English. It’s not like I have a problem thinking of a job for myself, I have employable traits. That’s not the problem here. Consider the full implications of the phrase “I do not know what I want to do with my life.”
That’s it. I don’t. And I do not revel in the freedom this indecision brings. I want to decide now; not for the rest of my life, but for a while; to at least have a dream, even if it remains unsatisfied for some time. I never thought such a painful difficult dream like becoming a singer could be so painful and difficult to lose.
☆Anika☆
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