By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes as William Shakespeare puts it in Act IV in Macbeth. Or in this case, it is the circus that is coming, and the sound of thunder at the horizon grow until it becomes a tsunami of texts and calls to yours truly.
I’m sitting here in the bubble of calm and quiet in the school library. I have a free period, and I am supposed to delve into the fates of Iago and Desdemona and their doomed love, and I’m supposed to think of something clever and original, but instead I find myself wandering the wilds of the internet in search of stimulation and inspiration.
And there, in the direction of Heathrow, the circus has landed and my peace and quiet will be gone for the next week until mum and dad leave again, back to the north and the snow and the cold. Here? I think it’s beginning to spring. It’s the end of March, and soon there will be summer again.
This summer will not be a period of quiet and reflection and writing, and there is no danger of yours truly sitting in a farmer’s cabin counting the ways to climb the walls out of a sense of cabin fever. I’m going to spend most of it doing that magazine. There’s so much to learn on that front. And to think that a month ago, I was seriously considering a gap year.
I exaggerate about my parents, and I am thinking that I am allowed to because I have the facade of the big bad teen to keep up, but truth be told I’m actually looking forward to seeing mum and dad. They annoy me endlessly, and the annoyances may be petty and insignificant, but I’m happy that they’re coming, and I can’t wait until they come.
Having made that damning admission, now you can dismiss me as uncool and a mama’s boy if you want, but I’ll stick with my guns. They’re my parents, and I’m used to them and their antics, and I wouldn’t actually have it any other way.
Among the dozens of texts today is a question about where we’re going to eat dinner. Mark has already decided that we’ll not go out. He’s going to cook, and therefore I’m going to meet up with him after school and go and buy a few things that we forgot to buy when we went out shopping groceries the other day.
And we’re going to fetch more wine – since our last purchase apparently didn’t please some of the critics on this blog. 😀 I am pleased that Mark these days do not immediately think ‘mounds of meat’ when he thinks about cooking dinner, so we’re going to try to find some nice cod or salmon. I feel like I want a fish dinner for once.
Rather than face the wrath of the wine connoisseur that is coming, it means we have to buy some white wine to go with it. I’ve already stroked his ego by texting him to ask if he has any good suggestions for the wine. Or does that sound horribly manipulative?
In between trying to organise a dinner for six people, by phone and text I have, as I’ve mentioned, to try to come up with something original and clever about Iago and Desdemona, but I can’t really put my head into the task at the moment.
I did get some positive feedback today. My teacher said that “it had looked a bit touch and go” for me a while, but she was pleased that I appeared to be back. And I’ve been thinking about that, and I have to say I am pleased to be back.
I won’t say I have this huge new goal and plan going, because I don’t, but there’s only so long that I can sit and feel sorry for myself that other people don’t affirm my specialness by giving me things for free and without any effort on my part.
I think I have recognised, finally, a dangerous need for that affirmation in me. It makes me too dependent on what other people think of me. The whole thing with Cambridge wasn’t so much about getting in, but that it felt like a put-down. “Are you joking? Why on earth should we let you in? Go back to your state school. Learn a trade, son. Don’t try to reach above your station.” That is a silly reaction.
I think I have that need for affirmation because I think that kind of sentiment about me is right. Which is not good. I have to work at it.