#newyorkwankers

Whenever there is anything exciting to be excited about, I turn into a small child all over again. I’m a little bundle of energy, all sparkly eyes and high pitched voice, annoying as I remind you bi-hourly about whatever event it is that has me all worked up.

In two days and twenty three hours, Abbi and I will board a plane bound for New York. On twitter, where we regularly talk bollocks, it has been granted a hashtag of its very own – #newyorkwankers. (Abbi’s twitter is here and mine is here!)

It’s the first time I’ve been outside of the country since I was thirteen, and that was a family holiday that my father insisted on dying in the middle of, which ruined everything frankly.

When I was twenty-ish, I tried to get my passport so that I could go on holiday, but no no! Thwarted! Pesky housemate had thrown my birth certificate in the bin. This would have been a mild annoyance, but I was born in South Africa and it took three applications before I finally got my birth certificate a few months ago. I’m twenty-five!

So when my passport finally plunked through my letterbox, it felt like a weight off my shoulders. It’s really hard to prove anything about who you are without a passport or a driving license, which I also couldn’t get without my bloody birth certificate. I hope I’m adequately conveying how fucking, fucking annoying it has been.

This trip to New York, although short, feels like a really big deal. It feels like my freedom, my coming-of-age, and not to mention my dream of visiting America coming true.

So when we are sitting on the plane, and Abbi will I’m sure be thinking about shoes and shopping and museums, I’m going to be thinking about myself. And a bit about my dad too. And maybe a bit about shoes and shopping and museums. God, such a #newyorkwanker.

Overpeopled

Today, I’m feeling very overpeopled.  I don’t know if that’s a word that I’ve made up or if it’s an actual proper word, but whatever, that’s how I feel.

I need to have time to myself regularly.  If I don’t get it, I start to get very irate, anxious and uptight.  That’s the feeling of being overpeopled.  The only way for me to get rid of it is to be on my own for a while.  The longer I’ve gone without lone-time, the longer I need to get over it.

When I get this way, the smallest, most innocuous thing can greatly irritate me.  Someone scrunching up a can.  Someone coughing.  Someone breathing.  It sounds a bit ridiculous, but these little things all build up and up and I find it incredibly hard to not start screaming and shouting and crying.  Over something as everyday as breathing.

I don’t tend to tell people when I feel like this; I’m worried they’ll take it personally and think that it’s an affront to them.  It really isn’t though.  It’s never anything personal.  It’s just the strange way that my head works.