I confess!

Warning: lazy blogger! Here's my homework for my Life Writing class. A very rough draft which become increasingly apparent:

I'm pretty wiped guys - deadlines and all - but still have glimmers of enthusiasm so, briefly, here's my rule-break:

The rule: "Do not smoke indoors Lucy!"

The break: I only went and smoked indoors, didn't I!?

My mum and dad found out that I smoked when I was 15 which was quite good going for me since I was throwing up regularly from nicotine rushes from about the age of 12. Either way the rule was 'smoke in the garden' or at least blow the smoke out of the back door in the kitchen whilst shivering on the door step.

My folks regularly went to stay with my mum's brother and his wife (aka my aunt and uncle) so I had the house to myself. This was when I'd sit on the sofa in front of the 'big telly' (the one in my room is a 'medium telly') and light up a Marlboro Light (are they still called that? I think it's just Marlboro now).

How did I feel? Well, firstly, warmer than I do in the garden but also independent and empowered. 'This is what it'd be like if I had my own place', I'd think. I did indeed have my own place for 1.5 yrs where I smoked EVERYWHERE - in the bath, even whilst cooking. Yep! - but being an impoverished student I came back to mummy and daddy, tale between my legs, ready to take my place in the garden. I sound like a dog don't I?

When the folks were out I was the Lady of the house and I smoked in that house! BUT, there is a price to pay for taking such liberties in a place where they were never really yours. The price here was anxiety and an obsession with the smell of smoke resulting in me spraying air freshener, walking out of the living room and then walking back in nose in the air sniffing around. Again...like a dog! What's going on here?

So, yes, it was nice being warm and comfortable, nice to puff away in front of the, quite frankly 'massive telly' but in the end, I felt very guilty and anxious and somehow increasingly like a dog.

Here we go again...

As is the Friday tradition I went to the pub for a drink and a chat with some other students from one of my classes. Some of them I know very well and some I've only briefly chatted to before. This mix seems to create an odd dynamic of relaxed exchanges between friends and stunted and edited exchanges with mere acquaintances. It was this dynamic that left me driving down the M6 having imaginary arguments with several of them.

We were chatting about an upcoming assignment and I mentioned how French sociologist Jean Baudrillard used the fantasy of having sex with identical twins in relation to his work on simulacra and simulation. A student I've not known very long suggested that it's all just about sex really and that academics are just like the rest of us (who knew?): driven by sexuality (not necessarily my opinion). Another student who I know particularly well concurred and joked about my naivety when it comes to befriending (male) lecturers; something about them genuinely wanting to talk to me but ultimately being driven by their libidos. Again, I'm putting it 'nicely'. What followed was cackles and hypothetical scenarios that were both rude and derogatory to all involved. And they wonder why I look elsewhere for conversation (this, of course, is not true of all my student friends. I'd say around 3 of them are friends of mine).

After advising the group that I talk to particular lecturers because of shared interests (music, books, film, food, etc) and that I have never once felt targeted for anything else they calmed down a bit. I understand that within the banter of a few beers after class this sort of thing is to be expected if you admit to associating with the Others: the 'tweed wearers'. You know: blow job = A grade and as vile and disrespectful as this was to me, as a student, and to the integrity of academia I accept that this sort of lecturer/student mythology exists. This doesn't mean I like it though, in fact, it really winds me up because I have worked at my education with a passion and dedication I didn't know existed in me and have earned every one of those grades. But, yes this kind of ribbing does go on, especially if you're the one doing well.

What really wounded me was when another student said, quite nonchalantly: 'it is all a bit weird though'. As if it were immoral, icky even, that I, a human being with particular interests, have conversations and connections with other human beings with similar interests. The 'confession' that I have also had lunch with lecturers was met with bemused faces and 'well what does your husband think of that?' Of what, me having lunch and discussing my thoughts on the counter-hegemonic practices of the Goth sub-culture? Not a lot as it's not really his area of interest.

Given that I do enjoy delving a little deeper into social interactions and what they may be saying about the individual or indeed society, I could really go to town on this and observe what may be afoot, both from my perspective and my fellow students. But then I decided not to bother because I've better things to do and what the others in my group were suggesting is just as banal as it has always been: lecturers are all sex-mad predators and us students are either vulnerable or out to exploit the situation for a decent grade. Yawn! It didn't surprise me to discover that they didn't bat an eyelid when I mentioned that I regularly email and speak to a female lecturer in the 'real' world too. I can befriend an academic as long as it's a female of the species? Again, yawn.

THE END.