Lucy... Is Unwell

Inspired by Blur bassist Alex James' monthly diary entries in Q Magazine, between December 1999 and June 2000, I have decided to start writing a blog. I've named this first one 'Lucy... Is Unwell' to match the format of Alex's titles. Nothing to lose. Here goes:

Currently listening to: Seven More Minutes (Album) - The Rentals

Favourite track: Big Daddy C. (ft. Damon Albarn)

07/06/2024

Transitions

I'm in my final weeks of A Levels at college. It's the end of the second week of June. Three exams done, three to go. It's a Friday morning, 9:22am, and there's no exams for me today. I'm here for lunch with my Alisha, potentially our last together, and to use up the last of my printing credits. 

It would be wrong for me to say that exams aren't killing me slowly. I don't show it, but there's a girl in a friend group opposite me right now who's softly crying about an exam, and I feel as through I've just peered inside my own soul. However, I'm starting to convince myself that I'm the same student I was two years ago, when taking GCSEs. It seemed so easy then: turn up to all lessons (albeit a mandatory task then), complete the twenty minute weekly homework, and just get the right answer from years of practice. It's apparent that something changed. I could chalk it down to narrowing my academic subjects to Physics and Maths, things I was good with at school, but I had minimal interest in. My 'downfall', as I joke, could also be the product of a few genuine traumas and my changing home life, which, to cut into a few brief words, has been turned upside down over the past 2 years.

No matter the reason, I'm struggling with academics for the first time, and my grades have fallen. My feelings towards these exams are a mix between denial, apathy, no motivation and complete terror, so, likely, I have found myself, many times, unable to choose between focussing on work or switching off to relax. A limbo state. Sublimation.

I remind myself I only have 2 weeks more, but that doesn't seem to bring me much comfort. When I started college, I hated it. I was absolutely miserable for a few months, but I'm sure that was the stress of settling into a new environment. That, and the fact that I was mourning the loss of a secondary school I really loved. Now, I find myself in the same situation. There's something about these poorly insulated classrooms and uncomfortable canteen benches that has provided me with some comfort: stability and routine. I figure my problem has never been with the physical environment, but the social settings and academic mental challenges thrown at me.

So, I'm moving on the midst of a calm chaos. Damon Albarn, when writing the lyrics for 'The Magic Whip', revisited Hong Kong, and observed that in environments of constant motion, a unique stillness emerges. this is how I interpret the end of college life.

In September, I move 170 miles away to Plymouth, the outcome of my attempts to run away. Luckily, I received an unconditional offer from Arts University Plymouth, formerly Plymouth College of Art until 2022, to undertake a Bachelors of Art in Fine Art. I'm not sure I would be going if I had the pressure of achieving certain grades. That stress would have probably tipped me over the edge. I have my accommodation sorted - as far as I know, a room on the second floor. What this room outlooks is yet to be discovered. If I am to have an outer-facing room, my potential views, from north going clockwise, are: the trainline (less than a kilometre from Plymouth station), a Kwik Fit, a large B-road, or a Puregym. I might channel my prayers for a room facing the small inner courtyard.

In lighter news, I seem to have been absorbed into a small friend group of students from my Fine Art class, even if the only times we meet up is to go to the pub. They're a good group, interested in art and music (Chappell Roan's 'HOT TO GO!' is the latest craze), and they might be only thing that makes me sad to think about leaving home. But there's nothing I can do about that, and I probably need to accept that friend groups constantly float between collapse and a state of thriving. There's four of us migrating far away: London, Sheffield and Lancaster, and four of them staying in Portsmouth. 

I'm looking forward to uni life, especially the opportunity to join craft workshops in mediums such as glassblowing, sculpture, printmaking, and ceramics. Once there, my only limit to what or how I create should be myself. (I have no doubt I'll find something to complain about.) I'm planning to immerse myself in an art genre, just to make sure I get going, and aren't stuck for ideas. To quote Alex James' 'A Bit of a Blur': "Next door to Paul the space was vacant, though. I asked him what had happened and he said that the guy came in one day, didn’t paint anything, just stared at the wall and was never seen again. ‘He dried up,’ said Paul, with great foreboding. It was like a horror story: like someone had died. I could tell Paul was terrified, as if they were infantrymen and the next guy in the line had bought it. For some sad reason, the unknown artist had given up." Thanks, Alex, I'm terrified.

Anyway, it's just turned 10:29, so I've been at it for an hour. Alisha's exam finishes in a few minutes, and I'm eyeing up the canteen food. So, to keep this short and simple, I will sign off here.

Cheerio!