Minding P's and Q's

... which actually means mind your pints and quarts, not please and thank you (geddit? Than-Q? Eeeeehhh).

As you could probably tell by my last entry, I've been suffering a bit of the melancholy lately. (Heads up, I wasn't really feeling lonely; just reflecting on the notion of it). But this is less about the grey cloud that surrounds us every now and again, and more about something that makes me annoyed every time I bear witness.

When I was growing up, it was always stressed that I must mind my manners. You know, calling adults Mr. and Mrs. Lastname, saying please and thank you, standing aside to let people pass, not talking while eating, and so on. What this lead to was a basic consideration for other people (or at least, I like to think so), because really: it's nice when people use manners. It becomes a mark of respect, because if I give it then surely I will receive it in turn. Carrying on from this, my semi-intolerant nature has meant that I absolutely hate feeling like I've been rude to someone, and I detest it when people are rude to me. As my Mum used to say: Manners don't cost a thing, but they're worth a lot.

Unfortunately, a lot of people young and old seem to have forgotten this. I've noticed a lot lately that at my work (an electronics store) where I work behind the cash desk, a lot of people are incredibly disdainful and treat me as though I am below them. I don't really understand why; I work hard, and even if I'm not having the best day I still try my absolute hardest to be pleasant. After all, I'm taking large amounts of money from some members of the public. And yet - and I must stress that it's far from the majority of people who do this - there are some customers who are so awful and have no respect for me in my workplace. It sucks; it really does.

Then there are the people who push in front at the supermarket. The friends who change plans at the last minute and don't tell you. The children (!) who run past and knock things over without bothering to pick them up. The people who steal your car parks. The old people who cut in the queue at the deli. The women with prams in the food courts who assume right of way. The sulky store assistants. The up-market store assistants who assume you are too poor to even deign stepping inside. The people trying to get past who say only 'excuse me' with no please, as though it's your fault that they didn't plan their journey properly/have a large trolley/are just plain rude. Everyone is gulity of a bit of rudeness now and again, but seriously. I'm starting to lose faith in humanity.

My advice to everyone: make eye contact. Smile at people. Say 'please', 'thank you', 'hello' and 'goodbye'. Pay attention to where you're going. And remember: if you're nice to people, they'll generally be nice back. And that's where it starts.

Sound and feeling

You know, I was thinking the other day about emotions and how they relate to sounds. Kind of like image association, but aural and in reverse. Anyway, the one feeling that I thought had the clearest sound was loneliness. If loneliness were a sound, it would be a cavernous echo, that has been repeated so many times that you can't even tell what the original noise was. I honestly think that loneliness is one of the most powerful emotions; it's kind of consuming and has physical symptoms. That's why it's an echo - that sound perfectly mirrors the gnawing emptiness inside that is loneliness. Something to think about.

It's all relative

We're closing in on the end of winter (spring starts next week - when did that happen??), which means that in theory, the weather should be warming up, but in true Canberra fashion winter is making sure we don't forget the cold too soon. The mountains I can see from my house are covered in more snow than I've seen all season.

For my friend's birthday last night, a few of us went ice skating. While I'm not very good, I always have a good time, and honestly, it's a bit of a feat for me to enjoy physical activity, so I'm always happy to tag along. So, for two hours, five of us did rings around the ice rink. It was freezing in there - I was wearing my hoodie, two shirts, a skirt, track pants, tights, gloves and a scarf - and I did really feel sorry for the people who were just watching, because it would have been worse for them. But by the end of the night, I was incredibly warm (which I'm told is a usual effect of exercise). I ended up taking off my hoodie and carrying my coat and scarf; when we stepped outside, I could see my breath fogging up in front of me, but it felt quite pleasant outside of the rink (even though it could have been 5 degrees at most).

This lead me to think, cold, like so much else, is relative. Maybe next winter I'll spend a lot more time inside in the cold so I won't complain as much about being outside in it. But as we head into the hot Canberra summer, I have a feeling that I'll be crying out for my coat and boots sooner rather than later...

A scattering of thoughts

For the past two and a half weeks or so, I've been housesitting. Aside from the obvious getting used to sleeping in someone else's bed, how-their-kitchen-works thing, it's been pretty good! I think though, what I'm going to miss the most is the clothes dryer. I wish I had something more profound to offer; maybe how now I'm more accustomed to thinking about the nature of independence, or that I've discovered what I talk to myself about when no one else is around. But no, it's definitely the dryer. What I've come to realise, is that when you put your pyjamas in to the dryer for maybe 10 minutes, the feeling when you put them on is literally like a whole-body hug from a best friend who you haven't seen in ages (pretty specific example, I know...). It's almost inappropriate. I think it's safe to say that I have well and truly abused this appliance during my stay here... might have to start saving to get one of my own!



In other thoughts... I think that I've decided that nothing beats a really good hug. And this carries on from the feeling of having your pyjamas in the dryer (and incidentally, not much tops a hug from a friend you haven't seen in ages). I love them. I live for them. I've got a couple of friends who I honestly think could compete in the World Hugging Championships, if there were such a thing. A truly good hug feels like love though; it feels like the giver really means it. My friend Patt gives the hardcore, bone-crushing hugs that are halfway between laughing and crying. And my other friend Scott pretty much picks you off the ground. My brother's not too bad either, he just has a knack for picking the worst possible times (as I think is a God-given gift to most younger brothers, in terms of everything). A good hug should be given freely, and should communicate friendship and love. And romantic hugs are something else entirely. I've managed to write a fair bit on this topic... hmmm. I must be some kind of hug slut. I should look at this.


Finally, I've decided that I can never watch the movie The Notebook in the company of other people. You know the one... from 2004, with Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams, and based on the book by Nicholas Sparkes. Anyway, it's one of my favourite films, and I watch it every couple of months or so, and every single time, I cry in the final scenes. Like clockwork. And I've decided that it's just too embarrassing to share with people. Which is a pity, because I can think of a couple of people with whom I'd like to watch it, but I guess I'll just have to lend them the DVD. It's a public service really... what if they cry too? I don't think that sitting on a couch and blubbering over fictional characters is the best way to bond.