Won't you be my neighbour?

Neighbours are a funny thing, I think. Funny weird, that is. Not funny ha ha. Not usually.

For most of my adult life I've lived in apartments (some fabulous, some not so fabulous) and it's always struck me as bizarre that on the other side of a relatively thin piece of plywood or cardboard or rice paper or whatever it is that they make apartments out of these days, is a person whom I've only ever met in the elevator and have never spoken to beyond the odd grunted salute. Whilst I'm lying in bed reading my book, this stranger could be lying inches away from my head, and could be getting up to all sorts of tricks, from kinky sex to cannibalism.

When you think about it, it really is quite strange how, in a single apartment complex you can have literally hundreds of people living side-by-side and yet they know nothing about one another. The last place I lived in in Dublin was like that. It was quite a fancy complex of about five or six four-storey buildings, with about 20 apartments in each building. I lived in one of the penthouse apartments (ooh! posh!) and I think I only ever exchanged greetings with one person in my building for the entire six months that I lived there. And that was only because we just happened to step into the lift at the same time. In fact, I know there were people in that building (yes, stuck-up-lady from number 419, I'm looking at you!) who used to deliberately wait to make sure no one else was leaving their apartment for the elevator at the same time, so that they wouldn't have to make small talk with a stranger. How bizarre is that? Why are people so afraid to make contact with one another nowadays?

Anyway, at the moment I'm living in the upstairs apartment of a nice little duplex about twenty minutes from Manchester city centre. My downstairs neighbour should be The Neighbour From Hell for many reasons, some of which include the fact that he's a complete alcoholic and has a very tempestuous relationship with his ex-wife. I've only been living above him for two months now, but he's a constant source of soap-operatic antics that will keep me amused for many a time, I hope.

One day last week, I left my apartment in the morning and found him fast asleep on his doorstep. He'd obviously been so pissed when hed gotten home the night before that he couldn't even get into his own apartment. I checked to see if he was breathing, but didn't try to wake him up as I was in a bit of a rush to get to work and just didn't need to deal with that first thing in the morning. However, Norman the Mormon (my car) was parked right next to his door, and his head was resting about an inch from Norman's front bumper. The guy didnt budge even when I slammed the door, started the engine, revved it a bit and drove off. He was out cold. Nutter.

Every now and then, his ex-wife calls over with the kids and they have the most spectacular rows. They'll be screaming insults at one another, calling each other every name under the sun, slamming doors etc. They're very considerate though - it often spills out on to the street so that all the neighbours can watch. Hilarious. Thank god for soundproofed apartments, is all I say.
But he's by no means the worst neighbour I've ever had the unfortunate luck to live next to or above. He doesn't watch TV at ear-splitting volume, doesn't play his Dire Straits album at full blast well into the night, doesn't throw garbage into the back garden until it rots in the sun, etc.
Even the smallest thing can turn a good neighbour into a bad neighbour. I lived in a terraced house once and the girl next door had the most beautiful singing voice. She liked to sing aby herself quite a bit, and it really was a pleasure to listen to her. Sometimes. At 3am, it's not quite so magical. And no amount of banging on the wall would shut her up.

I like to think of myself as a good, considerate neighbour. Although that wasn't always the case. In my first year at Uni, a bunch of us were sharing a ground floor apartment in a duplex in a student village. The students who lived above us were noisy buggers always dragging chairs across the ground when we were trying to watch Friends or Podge & Rodge. So we used to phone them, pretend to be the owners of the building and tell them they were having a spot check in the morning to make sure the place was clean. All night long, we'd hear them vacuuming and cleaning like mad trying to get the place in shape, whilst we sniggered downstairs. Childish, I know, but you take your pleasure where you can. And they never copped on it was us either. Dumbasses.

But that's neither here nor there. The point of this blog was merely to say how strange it is in this day and age to live literally side by side with someone else, often for years and years, and never even know their name. Or have a decent conversation with them. I think human beings are possibly the only creature on earth that could have this amount of unfounded fear? loathing? for another of their own species. At least dogs sniff each other's arses when they meet for the first time. They don't scurry away, afraid that the other dog might realise how lonely and vulnerable they really are.

People make me laugh.

In a weird way.

Not in a ha ha way.

Random thoughts make for a rather pointless blog

There's a saying that goes along the lines of "Life is what happens while you're waiting for it to start". Sometimes, I wonder if my life is just slipping by whilst I'm looking in the other direction, trying to figure out what it's all about.

Human beings have this fundamental belief that we are all in control of our own lives. And to a certain degree this is true - we can decide what actions to take in particular situations and how to handle events that we find ourselves in. I don't really believe in the idea of fate or destiny - that our lives are predetermined by some higher power.

But, every now and then, I seem to 'wake up' from the daily grind and wonder "How the hell did I get here?" I wonder how I ended up in this particular situation, with this person, in this country, with this job and having to deal with this boss. I don't remember signing up for this, so how did it happen.

I wonder if someday I'll 'wake up' and I'll be 50 with three kids and a house and a car and stuff, and wonder "When did this all happen?" Is it just me who feels like this? That sometimes life is like a dream and that, whilst I'm the one making the decisions and taking the actions, there's something else out there that's guiding it all along? Some higher form of... something... that's whispering in my ear "marry that man, buy this car, live in that area, take this job, call your child this name". Some might call that "advertising" and maybe they're right.

I met a couple in their 60's at the weekend, and they'd been married for about 30 years or so. They seemed like a very happy couple and very contented with their lives. But the woman confided to me at one point that inside she still feels like she's about 20. I know what she means. I'm only 28 (! nearly 30!) but inside I still feel as confused about life as I was when I was 16.
It seems like life has become so much more complicated and busy that we all get too bogged down in the minute details, and never take the time to look at the bigger picture. I think life was so much simpler when I was younger. When I was 16, I was able to look forward to life. I could sit back and think about "what I want to be when I grow up". The possibilities seemed endless.
Nowadays, there's so much crap that people have to worry about. Are my family ok? Do my friends all get along with one another? Is this person that I'm sharing my bed with the person that I want to spend my life with? Were the clothes on my back made in a sweatshop? Were animals tortured to test the mascara that I'm wearing. Will the food that I eat choke the planet with exhaust fumes from the delivery trucks? Is my job really advancing my career? Will my boss give me that pay raise next month? What's my credit rating like? Will I be able to get a mortgage? Will I ever be in a position to buy a property? Where will I buy it? If I move to California, will I miss my family and friends? If I don't go to the gym today, will I put on weight? If my car gets a puncture, can I afford to get it repaired? Will I be able to pay my bills this month? And so on and so forth.

We get so bogged down in the minute details of everyday life, that life just slips by. We find ourselves in situations that we had never envisaged when we were younger. If someone had told me, aged 16, that this is where I'd be and this is what I'd be doing, I would have laughed in their faces. A big nervous disbelieving laugh.

I remember a previous summer job that I had, and there were a couple of people who worked there full time, and they used to live from week to week. All they ever seemed to think about was "get through this week, and then it's the weekend". And they never seemed to be able to see beyond the next weekend. I remember being horrified and thinking I'd rather hang myself than fall into that trap. And yet, here I am. Maybe not living from week to week, but not far off it. It's so hard to think in terms of the future. Where will I be in 5 years? Who fucking knows. I can hardly think in terms of where I'll be in five weeks.

Life seems so transient now. People have become so demanding. We want everything now. Instant gratification. But... what happens after that? Do we ever really think through the ramifications of our actions? Or what we want to do with our lives?

I have a couple of secret ambitions - huge, epic goals that I've always wanted to achieve. But they seem so ridiculous in this day and age. People used to dedicate their lives to a single cause before, be it climbing Mount Everest or finding a cure for cancer or whatever. Do people actually do that any more? Or has this new celebrity/wealth/status/instant gratification culture destroyed our interest in anything more than the here and now?

I don't know what the point of this blog is. Random thoughts, I guess. Just trying to sort my head out. Am I the only one who thinks about this kind of stuff?

Livin’ the dream (or Meditations upon turning 28)

Today is the eve of my 28th orbit around the sun. Like many spacemen my age, I shall celebrate by eating cake, drinking far too much wine, and having drunken sex with a stranger (they dont get much stranger than my beau). And, as many of us do on this annual day of celebration and debauchery, I've been thinking upon my years past, present and future, trying to decipher what I've made of my life so far and what's in store for me in the coming years before I shuffle off this mortal coil.

Most importantly, do I feel any older? Short answer, no. Long answer ...eh, no. I don't feel 28. I don't feel 38. I don't particularly feel like a teenager either. I don't really feel any age. I mean, what should I feel like at 28? Should the joints start stiffening up? Should my memory start to go? Should gravity be taking its toll on my bits and pieces? Should the sound of my biological clock ticking keep me awake at night?

After all, in two years time I'll be a third of the way through my life (although I am still toying with the whole live fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse idea). I'm glad to say that none of those things has yet happened. The joints are still fairly well oiled. My memory is still in good nick (relatively; alcohol-related stupidness not taken into account here). Gravity is still my friend and my lovely lady lumps are all still where they should be. As for the biological clock, I can't think of a worse punishment for me to inflict upon the world than the creation of a mini-me.

So what does 28 feel like? Should I feel like an adult? Well, I dont. I still cringe every time one of my friend's parents insists I call them by their first name. I still die of shock every time I hear of one of my peers getting married or buying a house or dropping a sprog. I overhear couples younger than me arguing about the best fridge / washing machine / insurance policy to buy and I think "Jesus, theres something really wrong with this picture". I still can't curse in front of my parents.

Should I feel accomplished at age 28? I suppose so. Many people at this point in their lives have been in their chosen careers for a number of years, and are moving up the ladder, making a name for themselves, getting that company car and yearly bonus, etc. etc. I, on the other hand, have spent far too many years farting about, doing mildly interesting jobs, dipping in and out of university, and thus am only six months into my chosen career. I'm still not sure if its the one for me, and have no idea where it'll take me in future years.

Thing is, even though I'm relatively behind in the career stakes, I've still done quite a bit in my 28 revolutions around the sun. I've travelled. I've lived in other countries. I've got a doctorate. I've had many 'interesting' relationships and jobs. I've been married and divorced, damnit! Mind you, that was a complete headfuck - more like two kids playing at mommies and daddies than a real marriage or even relationship. And yet, part of me still feels like I'm hopelessly immature when compared to my peer group. The thought of buying a house, let alone furniture, horrifies me. The thought of settling down in a nice area, close to the good schools makes me want to reach for a tequila bottle. I don't even wear skirts and heels unless I'm making a real effort on a night out, and even then I feel like an impostor because I don't think I'm nearly adult enough to carry them off.

When I was younger, I suppose that I did think I'd be terribly sophisticated by the time I was 28. Actually, I probably thought that would happen by the time I was in my mid-twenties. I didn't really think I'd make it past 27. Many of my then heroes (Hendrix, Cobain, etc.) choked on vomit or blew their heads off aged 27 - it seemed to me that they knew something nobody else did, so why on earth would I want to live beyond that age? They probably figured that from 28 onwards, life would be consumed with mortgage repayments, washing machines and cleaning baby puke off every item of clothing. Makes sense to me...

Anyways, to cut a rambling drunken story short (drinking a fine Italian wine on a Sunday afternoon - is there anything more decadent?) I suppose my overall sentiment on this eve of my 28th birthday is that I feel somehow disassociated from the whole thing. I dont feel I am destined to run the usual gauntlet of life school, marriage, kids, death. I feel I am destined for something, if not greater, then certainly different. I look forward to finding out what that is. I have a strong sensation that by the eve of my 29th revolution, I shall find myself in quite different circumstances. Here's hoping they're hot and sunny ones, and that it's your turn to go to the bar. Mine's a glass of red.

Slainte.