I received a letter from college yesterday morning, telling me that I should present myself, my portfolio, "evidence of recent written work, visual diaries, sketchbooks and anything else which you consider to be evidence of your thought processes" to college at 9:30 on February 9th for my interview. And suddenly I got extremely scared. I consider my work to be of a rather poor standard as it is, but when they're asking for all this added information, and saying that whilst at the interview "you may be asked to write on a given a topic, which will be related to your subject area," I was shitting it, to put it slightly.
Finding little support from either Rory or my B3ta friends, I went and hid for a while. Soon I started considering how I might be able to jazz up my portfolio a bit. I decided to split my work into sections: Graphic Design, Photography, Visual Studies and Life Drawing, Work from outside of college, and so on. I decided it would be best to create some kind of "subject headings", a page to announce a new section, which I would make with photographs, images clipped from magazines and other such items. As my printer isn't wired up and probably doesn't work anyway, and seeing that when I have an idea I have to go act on it there and then, I rang my dad and he agreed to come pick me up so I could print out my pictures on his computer, instead of having to wait until Monday and pay lots of money to do it at college.
My parents had both gone to the gym so I was alone when I was cutting up the pictures using my dad's craft knife-cum-scalpel. And I was alone when I sliced through my finger by being too careless and not ensuring it was out of the way of the knife. And so I was also alone as I rushed around the house frantically searching for bandages, plasters or anything else which might stop the blood. Dad arrived home after twenty minutes and found me a fluffy bandage thing, which I proceeded to bleed into. We realised another would be needed though so I gathered my things and he took me home via the Co-Op, Morrisons and some petrol stations, trying to find something suitable. When I finally got back home, I rang the
NHS Direct helpline, as it had been bleeding for two hours and showed no sign of stopping, despite holding it above my head and applying pressure. They advised that I went to A&E so eventually I did. By the time the blood stopped flowing, it had been bleeding for three hours. The nurse who saw to me put some kind of bandage made from seaweed on it, which should stay on for up to a week she said, then placed a finger dressing over it.
It hurt. Lots. I'm probably going to have a misshapen finger for the rest of my life. It bled more this morning when I was in the shower. And accidentally hitting the "return" key isn't a good thing to do either. I can see this next week being quite painful.
This afternoon I met David and took photographs of him riding up and down a street on a bike. Afterwards we went to the park and I took pictures of him on the swings. I had a go too, I forgot how fantastic the feeling is as I'm soaring through the air on a swing. They should recommend them as a therapeutic technique. I managed to lure David back to my house for a while, and we sat and hugged and talked nonsense for a while. That's just the kind of thing I miss: curling up with someone I love, having my hair stroked, being hugged, talking bollocks and it not mattering. If there was someone I could hire to come do this with me, I would happily pay. I don't get nearly enough hugs. Though Alex is meant to be coming over next Sunday, so I shall a few from him for a while. And Thom should be coming down from Edinburgh in three weeks or so for the weekend. It's just the more long term view I need to secure them for.
17:39
