Flash fiction! Stream of consciousness assessment piece

So, this is the edited, extended version of the Virginia Woolf-inspired stream of consciousness piece which I have submitted for the Urban and Contemporary Creative Writing textual response assessment, I hope it does ok!

Anyway:

Locked Out

The filament sparks to life above my bed, I turn my head to cut out the glare. I hear the curtains being thrown back as I stare at the wall. It’s the same every day, an 8 o’clock start, even on weekends. Even on days when the rain is throwing pebbles against the window and the leaden light barely bothers to show itself at all. Days that, in my previous life, I would have pressed the snooze on and burrowed down for an extra half hour. Not anymore.

“Morning Jack,” they say as they throw back my duvet. I feel my carefully cultivated warm air dissipate, I get cold so easily nowadays. I see them stood at the side of my bed, hopefully a woman but sometimes a man. I have my favourites, I tend to like the older ones, the ones with the soft hands and maternal touch. The younger girls make me nervous, they aren’t quite so confident and I harbour suspicions that they gossip secretly about my package, or wrinkle their noses at my nightly bowel movements. I sometimes think I catch them indulging in a side-long glance at each other, ‘He’s gone again’ they imply, or ‘it’s not much use to anyone now is it? I wonder if it works at all’.

Before I got really bad I used to get embarrassed in front of someone like this, as naked and helpless as a baby, lying prone in all my dilapidated glory. I used to wince when they put their hands near my manhood. Something which I used to wield as a divining rod in my 20s, which I used to jokingly refer to as ‘the Devastator’, now reduced to just another meaty piece to clean around. Now I barely care. I sometimes wonder why they bother dressing me at all.

We go through the routine: pyjamas off, Depend off, hoist sling on, into the bath (which is always a little on the cold side, but hey, who’s judging), hair wash, shave (I used to leave a designer stubble, but that appears to have fallen by the way-side), onto bed, dry and dress (they take my nice clothes and dress me like a twat, and my socks never match).

Breakfast is usually chosen, although not by me, from a riveting selection of sloppy Weetabix, mashed banana or flavoured porridge. Sometimes I think that I could never look at a Weetabix ever again, I’m surprised they don’t notice the wide-eyed, pleading expression on my face as they spoon it into my mouth. I eat it, of course, against my better judgement it’s easy to swallow, and it really is simpler to just comply. They dab at my face like a toddler before feeding me my thickened coffee through a straw. After breakfast comes meds, and after that it’s ‘activity time’, an expression so ludicrously pre-school that it used to really grate me.

It usually involves them driving me somewhere and then wheeling me around for an hour or so, laying out my ineptitude for all the public to see. A big flashing sign over my head;

 ‘Look!’ it says ‘this man can’t walk anymore’,

 or ‘Attention! I changed this man’s nappy this morning’,

or the old favourite ‘He may look young, but he hasn’t had an erection for years!’.

On one particular day, I was parked in the corner of the cafe, that one which we always go to. They like it because it looks out over the lake, plus there’s a nice covered outside area where they can take it in turns to chain smoke.  They bring the stink back in with them, clinging to their Primark polyester. I can smell it on their breath as they lean in close to bring the straw to my lips or wipe the dribble off my chin. It turns my stomach.

They were discussing one of the other carers, who they suspected to be shagging one of the bosses. 

“Jenna seen ‘em in town holding hands”, one said.

“She’s a right slapper anyway, she is. I heard that one time she were caught on a Fanta crate round the back of the Legion. Letting three guys take turns on her, she was.” said the other.

“And now she’s strutting around like she owns the place. Slag.”

I had zoned out and was letting my eyes wander, when in walked Benny Marlon, the Marlonator, Slimy Marlon, Benny Benny ‘got a blowjob from his sister’ Marlon. I recognised him instantly, he looked exactly like he did in school.  He even dressed the same, as if he just rolled around in the bargain bucket at Sports Direct.

Benny fucking Marlon.

A guy who, in year 9, was caught peeking in round the back of the girls changing rooms with a hole in his pocket. Who, when 16 years of age, was almost (he wasn’t, but should’ve been) convicted of raping an unconscious 13 year old down the park after plying her with Mad Dog 20/20, and who, rumour has it, did indeed have more than a good time with his younger sister. He’d dropped out of school when he was 15 and started peddling sketchy batch drugs to kids, earned the delightful monikers Benny ‘K and MDMA’ Marlon and Benny Brain Mangler.

Yet there he was, standing gloriously upright, walking and talking and skiing and roller-skating and whatever else took his fancy. Hell, he could even turn his life around and become a Ballroom champion if he wanted to. And furthermore he had little Marlonites, a veritable herd of them. How delightful for him, his own ready-made target market.

I prayed he wouldn’t come my way, but of course he did. I averted my eyes as he shuffled past, all Lambert and Butler and Lynx Africa. I stared at a passing swan with such intent that you’d think it was about to turn inside out. My body still pointed his way though, it was ludicrously obvious. I could feel his eyes locked onto me, laser pointing the side of my face as he passed. Oh yes, he’d recognised me all right, he’d probably sent some texts about it; ‘Guess who I jst seen. Jack Smith! Luks like a right spazz. Lol’, or some other retarded, text speak wank. I could hear him hissing about me as they unceremoniously snapped off my breaks and wheeled me out the door.

Twat.

Woolf-esque (could be considered a tad penis-heavy).

Ok, so this is basically an exercise in stream of consciousness narrative, which is basically like an inner monolgue. Virginia Woolf was pretty much the don of this, before she drowned herself in a river that is...

Wheelies

The filament sparks to life above my bed, I turn my head to cut out the glare. I hear the curtains being thrown back as I stare at the wall. It’s the same every day, an 8 o’clock start, even on weekends. Even on days when the rain is throwing pebbles against the window and the leaden light barely bothers to show itself at all. Days that, in my previous life, I would have pressed the snooze on and burrowed down for an extra half hour. Not anymore.

‘Morning Jack,’ they say as they throw back my duvet. I feel my carefully cultivated warm air dissipate, I get cold so easily nowadays. I see them stood at the side of my bed, hopefully a woman but sometimes a man. I have my favourites, I tend to like the older ones, the ones with the soft hands and maternal touch. The younger girls make me nervous, they aren’t quite so confident and I harbour suspicions that they gossip secretly about my package or wrinkle their noses at my nightly bowel movements. I sometimes think I catch them indulging in a side-long glance at each other, ‘He’s gone again’ they imply, or ‘it’s not much use to anyone now is it? I wonder if it works at all’.

Before I got really bad I used to get embarrassed in front of someone like this, as naked and helpless as a baby, lying prone in all my dilapidated glory. I used to wince when they put their hands near my manhood. Something which I used to wield as a divining rod in my 20s, which I used to jokingly refer to as ‘the Devastater’, now reduced to just another meaty piece to clean around. Now I barely care at, I sometimes wonder why they bother dressing me at all.

We go through the routine. Pyjamas off, Depend off, hoist sling on, into the bath (which is always a little on the cold side, but hey, who’s judging), hair wash, shave (I was previously trying to grow a moustache but that appears to have fallen by the way-side), onto bed, dry and dress (they always manage to put together my nice clothes in such a way it makes me look like a twat, and my socks never match).

Breakfast is usually chosen, although not be me, from a riveting selection of sloppy Weetabix, mashed banana or flavoured porridge. Sometimes I think that I could never look at a Weetabix ever again, and to top it off, they never sprinkle enough sugar on. I’m surprised they don’t notice the wide-eyed, pleading expression on my face as they spoon it into my mouth. I eat it, of course, against my better taste it’s easy to swallow and digest, and it really is easier to just comply. They dab at my face like a toddler before feeding me my thickened coffee through a straw. After breakfast comes meds, and after that it’s ‘activity time’, an expression so ludicrously pre-school that it used to really grate me.

It usually involves them driving me somewhere and then wheeling me around for an hour or so. Laying out my ineptitude for all the public to see, a big flashing sign over my head, ‘Look!’ it says ‘this man can’t walk anymore’, or ‘Attention! I changed this man’s nappy this morning’, or the old favourite ‘He may look young, but he hasn’t had an erection for years!’. I am strapped, buckled and zipped in, paraded at their every whim.

 

x

What to expect when you're perambulating... (taken from the other blog, I'm going to delete that and stick to one!)

Well, it's that time of year again - the time where I up sticks and disappear to exotic climes for a few (or more) months. I always miss all manner of interesting events, this time being the Olympics, the Jubilee and my niece's christening.

I swear no one plans anything for when I'm here, but as soon as I've booked my flight they're like, "Sweet, she's gone! Let's get married/ engaged/ pregnant/ freaky." It's a conspiracy!

This time I seem to be worringly blase about the whole situation, bumbling along until my flight. People ask "Who are you flying with?", "Are you having a stop over?", "What countries do you plan to visit?", "What's your itinerary?", "When's your return flight?" - all questions I do not know the answer to.

I have booked my first two nights in a hostel in Bangkok and through this indepth and thought-out planning, I consider myself sorted.

So without further ado, I have compiled a list of Jodie's travel must-haves (in no particular order apart from the one in which I took them out of my semi-packed backpack):

1. Passport

Yes, the obvious one, you'll notice mine has a lovely stickered design courtesy of the troglodytes at Camp America.

Check your passport is in date, check you can actually find your passport, check that you (like my brother) haven't accidentally put it through the washing machine causing it to look ludicrously counterfeited and check it is in your bag before you leave.

Also, make sure you have all the necessary visa documentation before you go. The best way to check on this is on the embassy or consulate website or just check in a recent guidebook.

A lot of visas cannot be applied for way in advance (the Thai is within 30 days of arrival) but plan ahead and gather any documentation you may need. This may include a bank statement for proof of funds, a letter from your boss or university, a postal order or a correctly completed visa application.

By being organised early you have time to gather anything you need for your visa applications; be it shockingly overpriced photobooth photos, a feather from a golden eagle or a toenail shard from the lesser-spotted wombat.

2. Guidebook

"My name is Jodie and I buy the Lonely Planet" - there I said it, and you know what? I'm not ashamed.

There seems to be this feeling out there by 'die-hard, found yourself on a beach and never stopped travelling because you're not part of that world anymore, maaaan' people, who believe that anyone who travels with a guidebook is a corporate tosser, a slave to the 'man' and an unadventurous sheep.
And you know what I see to these people? Shove it up your batik you pretentious toad.

Yes yes, it is important not to travel with your head jammed in a guidebook and be open to diversions and recommended routes/hostels/bars. But, when your bus gets stuck on the wrong side of a flooded road on your way to Panama, and you end up in your destination town in the middle of the night, you'll be glad to have a list of albeit out-of-date-price-wise accommodations to choose from (as I did when it happened to me).

Travel books provide the history of your location as well as customs and religious information, as well as addresses of local embassies and police stations, should anything go wrong.

I always travel with a guidebook, but I don't stick religiously to it and remember to put it down to look around. I even go one step further and go into STA pretending to be interested in their tours, take the brochure and steal ideas from them. Win win.

3. Mesh bags and pegs

If you're going travelling, mesh bags will become your best friend. You can use them to separate your smalls, carrying your laundry or even collecting mangoes in.

Trust me, take some cheapie laundry bags; you will not regret it.

As for the pegs, you'll be the jealousy of the hostel as you hang out your freshly scrubbed washing gloriously straight. Just watch their longing eyes as they gaze upon your t-shirts drying stupendously quickly in the warm breeze, whilst their knotted messes hang damp nearby.

You will grow to love the pegs.

4. Bikinis

I always take a load of bikinis with me travelling, mostly because I have a few that stay on when I'm surfing, one that's good for lounging around in and another that allows me to tan the previously untanned places. I was thinking more like different strap locations instead of going tiny, in case that was what you were thinking.

Also, bikinis (and boardies for that matter) are great because they are clothes that dry super quick.

There's no point in carting around a load of frilly knickers when you can totally rock a bikini every day. Plus, washing is a doddle so there's no need to cart round a huge laundry bag of four-times-used smalls.

As well as the very real point that people are far more accepting of a bunkbed-attached washing line full of bikinis than they would be of a polka dot curtain of your M&S undies - I'm looking at you, Liz.

5. Pashminas and cover ups

Pashminas and sarongs are great.

You can use them to cover your wobbly bits, as a sunshield, a temporary towel or blanket or as a scarf to keep you warm.

However, one of the most useful uses for a pashmina is to keep respectfully covered when entering a place of worship. You don't want to be turned away or accidentally insult someone due to your inappropriate attire.

For the same reason girls, always remember to pack t-shirts and at least one long skirt or pair of trousers for when you want to visit the temples.

Also, in some countries western women are seen as fair game with lose morals so try to shun the stereotype by keeping covered and don't show your cheeky bits to anyone unless you really, really like them.

6. A pack of cards

I was gifted these cards many moons ago, although I can't remember who by, and they have been everywhere with me.

I can't even begin to guess how many hands of inappropriately named card games have been played with them or how many fellow travellers have commented on the poor photo choices or bad spelling of the pictures.

Cards are great for playing patience in airports but are also a useful social tool. Everyone from everywhere seems to know a variation of the game Shithead and through arguing over the power cards, you may have just found your travel buddy for the next few days or at least a drinking partner for the night.

Now, whose turn was it to shuffle?




7. Locks

Now, not to be a scaremonger, but people do get stuffed nicked. I myself have had stuff sneakily swiped whilst I wasn't looking.


At the end of the day, if people want your stuff they'll probably take it.


The best way to avoid being the target of a thief is by not advertising yourself. Don't take out your fancy laptop, your top of the range SLR, your expensive jewellery, your original Monet or your Faberge egg, because you're just asking for trouble.

Be discreet or just leave it at home.


Locks can go so far as a detterant for an opportunist but if you have everything under lock and key then people will think, "What have they got in there that's so important/expensive/awesome?" and then Bingo, stuff: gone.


8. Feminine hygiene!

A word to the wise - you won't be able to find everything over there that you can over here. Like, for example, tampons. Now, I'm sure many heavily touristed places do stock tampons, but in Guatemala you cannot find them for love nor money. Something which can be so run of the mill over here is unavailable other there, in turn they had stuff that we don't, such as a weird skin bleaching kit which I really did not want to learn too much about.

So in short, take a supply. The same goes for hand sanitiser gel and sun tan lotion and bug spray.

Many of the locals will not use these products as they have no need for them - a natural immunity to the bugs or a darker skin tone.

I'm not saying become a rambling apothecary, but remember that if you really want it, consider taking some with you.





9. A crap phone

Hello 2001!

Seriously, crap phones are good for two, well three, reasons and they are:

1. They are super awesome as an alarm clock for early morning bus rides and surfs.
2. They act as a relief from the 'ominous, foreboding throat knotter' experienced whilst waiting for your emails to load. Scary stuff. No news is good news, right?
3. Their lights are great for drunkenly finding your way back to your bunk in a pitch black dorm room. Accidentally getting into someone elses bed is not good for international relations. Mr Annan would not be happy.

Also, because it's crap it doesn't matter if you lose it, aside from the incredible reasons above, obvs.


10. A book, or two

If you're anything like me, you will get through a lot of books whilst travelling and through swapping, the standards will vary greatly.

One minute, you're retina deep in one of the classics pictured and the next, you're wondering if Suki ever does get ravished by Henley in the dire chick-lit you've picked up.Examples I have previously read include 'Total Recall', 'The Phantom of the Opera', 'The Total Brewing Annual 2004', 'Mens Health Ultimate Fitness Guide 2006' and the first of a four part explanation of the start of the Second World War (ask me anything about Rommel).

11. Sensible shoes

Just look at these bad boys, they've seen a few amazing places.

However, they are perfect. Light, hard wearing, comfortable and sexy. Ok, so maybe not sexy but they do the job if you fancy a ramble up a mountain or are moving through a city and don't want to get your feet stinking.

I have previously made the mistake of lugging around a pair of hiking boots, but unless you're planning an extreme hiking holiday, I'd say they probably aren't worth it as they take up a load of backpack space and are heavy.

Also, I left mine outside my tent in Nicaragua for two weeks and when I went to put them back on, I realised an entire colony of ants had moved in, eggs and all. I could almost hear them shrieking "Save the Queen! Save the Queen!" as I shook /gassed them out. Lovely.

12. A torch, a camera and a first aid kit (torch and camera not pictured as I am getting them tomorrow for my birthday)

Welcome to your little bag of salvation, your first aid kit.

I tend not to buy the shop kits (honestly, who wants to carry around a foil blanket and a thumb bandage applicator?) and just make my own.

I include immodium (other soupy poopy tablet brands are available), germolene, antiseptic wipes, one of those long plaster strips, nail scissors, Dioralyte and some wound closure strips.

I could have done with at least two of those when I contracted Giardia but unfortunately did not have them. Doh.

As far torches, I have previously gone for the old head torch but have realised they aren't great in social situations what with you blinding everyone you're speaking to. I wondered why everyone looked so squinty eyed and creased. This time, I think I'd prefer a normal hand-held one but hey, I'm not fussy.

And as for a camera, something small and compact is best I think, this time I'm getting a waterproof one! Amazing! Just make sure you take either a big enough SD Card or a USB stick so you can transfer all your photos.

So, that's it and anything else is surplus. Bring on the travel!

x