things can always get worse

Well, hello there. It’s been some time. Are any of you still out there and desperately waiting for the death knell that is my next message in your inbox? Well, catharsis and release are here! And you know it must be because I rarely use an exclamation mark.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll start off a post lucidly and smoothly, like we’re jumping into the next chapter of a book you're unsure you enjoy but perhaps don’t want to put down simply because of the absolute state the central character is in and that very scenario serving as a consolation that at least that’s not you. Other times I think a greeting is in order and today is one of those days.

My last post was a slight detour from my usual lightness – a venture into asking the bigger questions and leaving with as just many – because I like to mix things up now and then. But we’re back to regular programming, which is to say, the endless catastrophe that is me, and namely me out in public interacting with other people. I’m keeping it brief because I really do not need to haemorrhage my reputation further but I’m a masochist clearly.

People will always say “oh i’m a mess”, “I’m so embarassing” but I’m always thinking are you really? Because otherwise, that’s a disservice to the truly cringeworthy, eye-watering, painful characters among us. I am one of the latter, a person whose job it is to communicate professionally through writing and words and someone who always seems to find the wrong ones.

I have so many examples, but let me give you one.

Enter a cool Friday night in spring. I’m at a party housed in a former dental school turned club, and the weekend is here. Dark techno crackles in the background and conversations rumble inaudibly next to me. I knew I was an adult when I realised that a party on a Friday is perfect for me because it meant I could have a full day to recover and another day to actually enjoy the weekend. I could avoid a party altogether but people tell me I’m still young and so here we are.

The night continues at full speed, as do I. It’s about 6am and anyone left behind is either barely conscious they’re still there or hyper vigilant of who absolutely is still there. Meanwhile I’m meandering through the crowds, bleary-eyed and shimmering (I’m so pale I positively reflect light under the glare of anything i.e. strobes or sunlight). At one point I bump into a guy who I start chatting with. He’s cute, handsome and seems to want to talk(!). While conversation isn’t exactly easy with heavy electronic music blaring in the background and while you’re wearing earbuds, he gave it a go.

He talked animatedly to me and I continued to nod. As he did, though, I kept seeing his eye look elsewhere. It had been a good 10 minutes of us chatting, so I wondered if this was his signal, as if to say get me the hello out of this conversation. I passed it off as momentary and returned to the conversation. “So where do you live” I asked him. “Nearby here actually”, he replied. And there it was again! His eye flickered to the right of me and I tried not to glance over and show him I was aware of his wavering attention – and increasing one for someone else – so I kept focused. It’s obviously fine if he wanted to go off and was interested in chatting or flirting with somebody else but he could just go! This delicate dance was not for me.

I was getting ready to ask him something hugely generic when I saw his eye looking elsewhere again. “Enough!!” I thought to myself, weighing up the melodrama of the situation in my head, encouraged by the substances making their way through my body. This was just embarrassing. “Just go!”, I thought, my imaginary diatribe continuing at length. Leave me and my corpse-like body in peace.

I gathered the courage to confront him. “Hey, by the way, is there someone you know behind me? If you need to go, it’s no problem,” I said in the most nonchalant way, feeling entirely chalant and chagrined by my public scorning.

He smiled. “Oh I’m not looking at anyone – I’ve got a lazy eye.”

When I tell you a small part of me died in that moment.

I looked closer and realised he was right. Amid the streaking lights, my addled state of mind and my own terrible eyesight, I realised this was not his wandering eye but in fact, his medically diagnosed wandering eyesight.

I froze and screamed (inside). How do you come back from that? I was prepared to agree to anything this man asked of me, but I didn’t stick around to find out what that might be.

In fact, I fled the scene and dancefloor, citing I needed to find a friend (and ended up getting locked in the club bathroom) when in fact I needed to find a conscience, some grace and decorum, and perhaps a pair of glasses. The search for all remains ongoing.

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• every time I get around to posting these songs i’ve already moved onto some new ones but this one is still going strong! what a voice and she’s bringing back those early 2000s indie vibes like Bloc Party etc.

• I was once told by a friend that their parents refused to sit at the dinner table because Wet were playing and they were simply “too depressing”. Years later, Daniel said something similar when I played them on the day he moved to Brussels. But guess what we love miserablist anthems and Wet do that bittersweet poignancy and hushed kind of murmur singing that gets me teary (ish).

• bon iver is the nicki minaj of folk rock in terms of featuring on songs and this one with a Danielle Haim is lovely, somber and wistful.

• playing this while I cycle into the sunset

• and playing this when the sun comes out!