Old Flame, New Spark

It's a fat day. I went out for dinner with an ex, so obviously should have been preparing all day and not eating, but, alas, I had a Sunday roast and then fell asleep with about twenty minutes to get ready. I only changed outfits once and didn't brush my hair (luckily I was working the just got out of bed look- literally) and my make up was pointless as it melted off due to the heat on the tube. I then went on to meet my ex, ate an obscene amount of dim sum and went on to a pub where I made a big deal of choosing the cheapest thing on the wine list, only to find that a spritzer is, in fact, more expensive than a large glass of wine. I proceeded to make a fuss and proclaimed that "all cheap wines taste the same anyway" and a fiver was just an extortion of the student population, comparable, to say, slavery in 19th century America. On the tube home with him, I burped- spritzers are so damn gassy- and we went on to gossip about people we had gone to school with when I made some very unsavoury comments about his friends without attempting to sugar coat.At the end of the evening, he smiled at me and said, "Stef, the spark, it hasn't completely gone, has it?""I don't think it's supposed to." I replied and hopped out his car before it could go any further.

Meeting an ex, well not just an ex, but an ex-love, an ex-everything, is not supposed to be like this. Anyone would be able to tell you that. You are supposed to care a little more about how you look, how you behave and the things that you say. Not me. There I was, insulting his friends, making ignorant comments, eating like a ravenous dog rather than anything human and still, at the end of the evening, we agreed that we'd like to see each other again and that "this whole friendship malarkey isn't actually that bad." There we have it. My one and only friendship with an ex-boyfriend. To be honest though, most of the time I have either been to bitterly hurt to consider friendship with boys or been such a bitch that other guys want nothing to do with me. The point is though, I was totally myself... And it was fine.

Why is it that it is generally considered so difficult to be friends with an ex, or even be yourself around them once you have already terminated the relationship, for one reason or another? It seems like people forget that exes were once the biggest part of their respective lives and that these are people they have been sick in front of, been hungover and disgusting looking around, heck, discussed bowel movements with, yet have to put on a facade of having 'moved on' and of being happy and fabulous without them. Which, as a concept, is just ridiculous. Most of the time, the great loves in your life have had a massive effect on you and your life, and, in a way, have helped form the person that you have become. Pretending otherwise is both transparent and insulting because you secretly hope that you have had a profound impact on their lives as well. Most people blame the elusive ‘spark’ as a reason as to why exes cannot be friends, but what better way to found a solid friendship than with someone who knows you back to front? A friendship with an ex doesn’t always work, but if you’ve screamed at someone until your voice is hoarse, (“What do you mean she’s attractive in a different way?! Fuck off and leave me for her then you bastard!”) and blamed them for everything shit in your life and they still care about you, it’s stupid to let a person like that out your life. To quote a friend of mine, “if they can deal with the crazy, don’t let them go”.

Is it weird that I still feel some sort of je ne sais quoi for a boyfriend that I broke up with over a year ago? My friends would say yes, "remember how much shit he put you through, Stef?" and "the spritzer could have put false ideas in your head, are you sure it was really there?". But I honestly believe that if you've ever had a really committed and intense relationship with someone, especially during your defining late teenage years, then the spark will never completely dim. An ex is called an old flame for a reason, and if you add all the memories to a spark that was there to begin with, and add a couple of ill advised post break-up, for want of a better word, shags, then what are you left with? Now I'm not saying I'm still madly in love with this guy and want to run off and have his babies tomorrow, in fact, my feelings for him are totally platonic and friendly. Even so, there’s a strong connection of some kind, at least, that, for now, is unwavering. Can the remaining spark be seen as a measure of the greatness of a relationship?

I am a bit of an idiot when it comes to deciphering feelings though, and the spark itself is an ambiguous concept. I, many times, have fooled myself I’m in love with someone when, actually, it’s just that enough time has passed with the spark still there that I know I should be. I still believe I have a spark with a guy I only spent about fourteen hours with (problem is, he lives in Australia so I guess I’ll never know for sure). And for months I hung around this no sparks guy, only to very suddenly and shockingly realise that he gave me butterflies whenever he said my name.

Sometimes the spark is a lasting side-effect of a great relationship, and other times the spark can lead somewhere magical, but just because sparks fly, it doesn't mean there's going to be a fire.

Run! Revision Rodents on the Rampage!

Being a student, and it being about that time of year, there is no shortage of weirdos with utterly odd and, at times, frightening revision habits. I began to note that a couple were comparable to woodland critters, but there are some kinds of people that even the wild spits back out. Being also a freakishly observant student, I noted them down.

Revision Rodent

Have you ever been in your university library at the dead of night? No, not for a sneaky deserted book aisle tryst, but to actually try and get some work done? Well, then you will have undoubtedly met the Revision Rodent. They are so called because they are nocturnal, eat rodent like food, most often nuts or seeds, they all tend to all have the same sort of mousy (or ratty) appearance, and are shockingly quick in movement. You see that- whoooah, you'll never catch that suspicious screen saver on their phone- in and out the pocket like a flash!

Advice: Do not sit next to one. Not only will they make you feel frantic and panicked, they will also most likely steal your shit in so flash a movement you'll have no idea until they're gone.


Is that another tube of fruit pastilles in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

Otherwise known as constant never waning snackers, these people just don't give their mouths a rest. The funny thing is, they never ever speak. Their jaws just gyrate constantly with the next vending machine snack (see V for Vendetta... Against the Vending Machine) while they stare incessantly at the screen. Chomp chomp chew type swallow type type type chomp chew swallow. Quite the symphony, if you haven't had the pleasure of hearing one of these bad boys all to yourself. The iPod, I think, is essential here, otherwise it's a hop, skip and a jump to murder in the first degree and regular loving sessions with your cell mate Babo.

Advice: If you are lacking an iPod, choose your moment and take a seat next to one of these right after they have opened the next confectionery delight. Also take the opportunity to do something chivalrous, for example, clean the computer screen, spray the surrounding area with pungent perfume or even pull out their chair- even if they're already sitting on it. They will realise you mean well and will without doubt let you enjoy a variety of yummy snacks residing in the pockets of their cargo pants.

V for Vendetta... Against the Vending Machine

We all know the drill. You're working hard, then bam! Out of nowhere you can't stop thinking about something completely unrelated to what you're supposed to be learning about; the Nauri Decree, how many calories were in your dinner, or Henry VIII's 6 wives. You know there are three Catherines. It is at this time you hit the vending machines for a coke or a little su'n su'n to nibble. Now me, I'm a vending machine queen, ain't no packet of crisps got stuck under my watch, but sometimes those damn machines can be hard to extract anything from and despite putting in extra money and shaking the machine, there are people that fail like a liquored up lover trying to get wood.
There was this one girl, and you'll excuse me for saying she was not on the small side (just trying to give you a mental picture) and she put in the money, as you do, typed in the code, as you do, and suddenly, her face contorted in pain. I expected her to let out an anguished squeal, but she composed herself and tried again. Checking the buttons carefully, she put in another load of change.
"Angghhhrrrraaah." She hissed, like a rabid dog/cat/monkey.
She proceeded to hit the vending machine, first at the front, then on the side- I tell you, it was like watching Mike Tyson trying to fight a sturdy oak- next it was an upper cut, slotting her hand inside the flap and trying to grab something, anything, to satiate her hunger, lack of concentration, and now rage. Noticing me staring, she straightened up and smoothed down her hair. But not before kicking the bottom corner and turning back to do some more work did she concede, saying to me, "s'not working," before whipping a chocolate bar out her bag. Huh? My sentiments exactly.

Advice: If you are confronted with problems with the vending machine, accept defeat in the hands of a machine and call it a truce. If you are confronted with an enraged vending machine-ee, turn in the opposite direction. Then, like a granny with a visor and cup of nickels in Las Vegas, grab your change and see if you can steal their chocolate bar. It really is the small victories in life, isn't it?


Eager Beaver

Cigarette break? Slow amble to the god forsaken vending machines? Not for these people. You will recognise them by the fort they make around their work stations. There are piles of paper, folders and notebooks complete with cans of energy drinks and packets of crisps surrounding them in a rigid formation. They are the ones frantically typing, even whilst swigging from a can of Red Bull- an impressive life skill crucial in any future work situation.

Advice: Start playing jenga with their work fort and then feign ignorance when they breathlessly tell you that this is not a game and you have now ruined their lives.
"But why else would you pile a can of Coke, a can of Red Bull and a not very clearly labelled folder of loose notes if it were not some kind of challenge?"


Squirrels

No, not one, but two. There are always two. They natter away at each other like, err, squirrels, loudly and incessantly.

Advice: Avoid at all costs. If you are unlucky to be in a position where you are near a couple of squirrels, begin to cough, not in an impertinent manner, but rather in a hacking fashion. Then, repeat after me;
"Should have sorted out this contagious illness, really," cough louder, sputter a little, "but it's not the cough that bothers me that much," shift on your chair and grimace in pain, clenching your buttocks, "it's the damn rash."
Silence, a quick rustle of a papers and they'll be gone.

Ain't Got no Gorm

They'll sit, staring into space, chewing on the end of their pen for eight to ten minutes at a time, before glancing at the computer screen, noting down a few words and then use their pen as a scratching device for their back. This is not work. This is not even procrastination. This is not cool. Because while other revision types already mentioned can be annoying, sure, they at least give you work guilt when you're staring and getting quietly agitated enough to snap your pen in half. But these people- these people- don't even make you feel like you should be getting on with work, they make you feel confused, they make you feel lazy and they make you fabricate unlikely and often insane reasons as to why they bothered to come in in the first place.

1. Well obviously he came in because he just cheated on his girlfriend with a man and is now confused about his sexuality and just had to come to the archaeology section of the library to mull it all over.
2. Maybe her mind is like a sponge and while it looks like she's just sitting there sleeping with her eyes open, she's absorbing everything and is actually a genius. Wait- did she put a 'gh' in 'beaughty'?
3. Of course, he's got photographic memory. (I don't care how many people tell me this is a real thing- it's bullshit. And totally unfair.)

The worst thing is, it is these people that sit there distracting you with their nothingness that end up passing everything and saying, "well, I was in the library, like, every day." GAAAAAAAAAH!

Advice: Poke one aggressively in the ribs and see what happens. I've never tried it but I have a feeling it's a great way to unleash your frustration and possibly even make a new friend.

Skunks

So, you wake up in the morning, have a shower, brush your teeth, maybe moisturise, maybe put on make up and then put on deodorant. Yes. You put on deodorant because you are a considerate person who wants to keep your friends until you lost interest in them. You are not, kind reader, the person who 'forgets to change the top they've slept in for three nights' or 'didn't notice there was vomit on their shoes' or, quite simply, has no respect for others, which is the second most important factor when it comes to personal hygiene. The first, obviously, is to keep clean for the reason that Johnny Depp might randomly sit on the train next to you and ask you to a flashy dinner followed by passionate love making. Also a reason to wear matching/intact underwear, by the way.

I don't know whether mental work makes some people sweaty, but this is clearly the case for some of you and I urge you please to take some precautions and perhaps bring with you some nice smelling spray, or perhaps dangle a car freshener from each ear. People will think you're so hipster.

Advice: Have a sneezing fit. The smelly person will ask if you are okay and you will respond with, "yeah, sorry, I just have allergies to some kinds of deodorant."
"But I'm not wearing deodorant."
"You disgust me." Then, move away. Some people may consider that rude, but I consider it a total symbol of disrespect to humanity if you do not ensure you smell acceptable in the small confined spaces of the library.

But then I realised. I'm the weirdo that's not paying attention to her work, and turning around and staring at other people before laughing to herself and taking another swig of her energy drink.