Dear Tuesday - 24th May 2011 - @DonkeyColm

“Living” out of a suitcase

Dear Tuesday,

I awoke this morning on the couch in my rental house. I do this because my room is not yet available to move into yet. Actually it is available, but me being nice, I’ve let someone else move in until her room is free which has left me homeless for the last month. It's such a strange feeling to be in my new home but not really IN my new home. And it's a very apt metaphor for my time here in London; I'm living here but I'm not yet LIVING here; close but no cigar.

Moving to London has been probably harder and more emotionally draining then I've cared to admit to anyone. I'm still trying to keep up the masquerade that everything will work out and that I am not worried or stressed, though over the last few weeks I think my “smiley-happy-paddy” mask has started to slip somewhat.

One of the hardest things to overcome is the loneliness. I spend much of my time on my own with my own thoughts (which is never a good idea). While I have Irish friends here, they are all coupled up and have their lives to live. And as for new friends, friends who were one of the major reasons I moved here, it’s even harder. Not only do they have their lives but they have their groups of friends and I'm not high priority (which is only to be expected). And now that the shiny lustre of my "new boy in town" has started to dull, I’ve found it even harder to solidify these friendships. So I am left, once again, trying to break into these groups and show them the real me. And with that comes the insecurity of wondering where does trying to weasel your way in cross over into becoming an annoyance to people.

Maybe that's the crux of my problem. I find it hard to show new people the real me. While I'm not the same guy who couldn't look in a mirror (though sometimes it’s still a struggle), my self consciousness can be quite debilitating so I’ve over compensated. These new people only see me when I'm out, when my shield is at full strength and I'm projecting the person I want to be and am trying to be. And because of that I’m afraid people have gotten the wrong opinion of me. They only see self confident, flirtatious, drunk me. Not the quiet, introverted “me”. Not the “me” who people always come to talk about their problems. Not the “me” who travels across cities to see a friend for 5 min if they need me to. And I can’t seem to get the chance to show people this side of me. These thought occupy my mind and are the reason for numerous sleepless nights on couches and inflatable beds.

I wonder if that's the reason for the disparity between me living and LIVING in London. The real “me” has not been allowed out yet.  I haven't unpacked my suitcase yet so how can I expect to unpack myself. I'm still zipped up, protected while I and wait to find a home; a place where I belong.

Dear Tuesday - 17th May 2011 - @_laertesgirl

Dear Tuesday

It’s time like these that I don’t mind having used a few days of precious annual leave. We’re right in the middle of performing a show. Well, it’s a dress rehearsal but it’s almost the same. The stage is set as though it’s a proper run and the lighting too. Costumes are worn and props are being moved from stage to specified areas backstage as and when needed.

Yesterday, I didn’t want to eat a thing. Today, due to how incredibly nervous I am about this whole event, my body needs lots of fuel. But not too much. Don’t want to be bloated on stage.Especially when I’m supposed to be lying in the middle of it, dead. After the dress rehearsal is finished I think a rather good meal is in order.

Currently, I’m sat in one of the many dressing rooms the theatre has. Sharing it with Anna. Lindsay has put her stuff in here too and is acting a rock to us all. The mirror has lightbulbs around the edges. I think this means we’ve made it!

My character is now deceased. Killed when a bomb landed on the pub that she runs. She inherited this from her parents both of whom are now dead. The play explains that her mother was killed after a sudden illness. Her brother has been fighting in the Second World War and only learns of his mothers death, upon his return. I’ve done the scene where he finds me amongst the rubble. Trying not to take too obvious breaths is hard but I think I’ve managed it well enough. Through the PA system I can hear the other characters making mention of my characters funeral. I really do never seem to make it past Act One in these shows.

Later on tonight we hope to play to up to two hundred people. Something of a record for our theatre group. Those in the audience with be a mixture of friends and strangers. Either way I hope they enjoy the show. We started all this in October, after tonight ‘The War Within’ will be put to sleep. No more dowdy skirts and cardigans. No more curly hair. Time to start something new.

This whole experience is fairly new to me though. Being in this theatre, one that’s used for a whole host of other shows and that a lot of people know of. So many of my friends have been performing here since they were young children. It’s taken me twenty one years to get here and do just one night. Others in the company, longer. Getting to act, instead of being in an office is something that feels so much more natural to me.

"CAN WE PLEASE KEEP IT DOWN BACKSTAGE" Sorry that was our DSM, Emma, over the tannoy. She’s done a marvellous job. She seems to have become a complete pro in the space of just a few hours.

So yes, I’m here ‘doing my craft’ or ‘treading the boards’. The boards, squeak. Loudly. I hope one day i get paid to do this. I love it so much that it just feels right that one day it should be my main job. I doubt that  anyone will be waiting for my autograph tonight. Maybe one day, they will be. That would be funny in a huge turn of events for me. I wouldn’t think a single one of them were strange. Well, maybe the ones who only want to sell the signed standard 8x6 on eBay. I know who you are and I can spot you a mile off, sunshine.

It feels strange performing just one show on a Tuesday. Normally on a full ‘show week’, this would be our day off. A dress on Monday. Day off today and then shows Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Instead everything is being crammed into sixteen hours or so. Busy times. I’m still hungry. Time for another lollipop? I seem to be getting through this two litre bottle of water ever so fast. We still need to rehearse the end scene as we’re on a smaller stage for this run and it needs a little tweaking to accommodate this.

Catch you on the flipside.

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Everything went fine. People turned up and came to see us. So much fun! When can I do it all again?

Dear Tuesday - 17th May 2011 - @maleo

Dear Tuesday,

Remembering the stories of the elderly are our way of immortalising them. Telling stories are their way of making sure the mistakes of the past aren't repeated, their legacy for following generations. My Granddad had a way of telling them that really set him apart. Though not my biological grandfather (I'd never even referred to him as "Granddad" other than on Father's Day cards; his marriage to my Nan when I was 14 made him my step-granddad), Les was the closest I had on my mother's side of the family to one. Born on Tuesday 2nd April 1940 meant his youth had seen World War Two, the moon landings, the fear of Cold War and nuclear proliferation, the assassination of Kennedy, Margaret Thatcher, both rounds of Nelson Mandela, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, and plenty of other historical moments. He was always willing to tell a tale about his youth and about the things he'd seen happen over the years, and his morals and principles made him a good man. My memories of him are pre- and post-school when, for almost 5 years due to Mum and Dad having to both work to raise my little brother and I, he and my Nan were the people who'd accept us in at 6am, get us ready for school, walk us to school and meet us after (until I was old enough to do that myself), and feed us. His easy smile, good sense of humour, and skills on the hob were revered, though his propensity to demand Channel 4 racing wasn't always appreciated - especially not by Nan, whose viewing was more Neighbours than gee-gees.

We thought his health issues had been beaten when the recurring angina was fixed by a heart bypass, but it seemed that there was more in store for him. The blood cancer was a surprise to all of us, forming in his leg. Chemotherapy and an adjusted diet held it from spreading for 18 months; the treatments were destined to finish after 6 months, but the doctors kept trying to force it to recede until the chemicals were causing more damage to his body than the cancer. A cancer-induced diabetic coma put paid to any further treatment; his resuscitation was accompanied by the worst question anybody should have to answer: "Where would he like to die?"

On Monday, I went to see him at my Nan's. His gaunt husk of a body was a fraction of his former self, the sometimes soft and sometimes hard, pain-ridden, moans forced out of his body, cutting through me like a sharpened spade forced again and again and again through my rib-cage. Every now and again, his hand would rise to his pursed lips as if he were hold a teacup, and I'd wish that the cancer had left his throat alone so I were able to repay the thousands of cups of tea he had made for others over the years.

Earlier today, my Dad phoned me to let me know that Granddad had passed away. I'm sharing this because his legacy is more than his stories: he leaves me with 28 years of his kindness, his generosity and his love. Go gently, Granddad; through our memories, you're immortal.

Donate £1 to help fund research into curing adult blood cancers by texting 'cure05 £1' to 70070, then take a look at www.cureleukaemia.co.uk to find out more.

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Tuesday Twist - Tuesday 10th May 2011

Tuesday 23rd November 2010

Dear Tuesday - 10th May 2010 - @thisisthebang

Tuesday's are my third favourite day of the week, after Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday. That would make it for fourth favourite and I am stupid.

I have always prided myself on having an excellent memory, which is great for my “I told you so” persona. I recently have become unemployed as such, but I'm not unemployed if that makes sense, because I'm also freelance which makes no sense. Put it this way, I do lots of stuff, and I don't always get paid. Tuesday was another such day where I was debating – what for breakfast? Cheerios or Toast? What interesting things can I do today. What adventures can I have. Unfortunately for me, I cannot remain inconspicuous. It's like a disease. Someone will always notice me.

I JUST WANT TO BLEND IN.

Sadly, it doesn't happen.

Tuesday was full of dismay, disgust, dread and a whole host of other words beginning with D. To not go into it in too much detail (because I'm slightly embarrassed and actually rather secretive) I ended up in a place I vowed never to step in again, wearing a free t-shirt which caused a lot more people to look at my chest more than usual. In this place, I was on the verge of having a small panic attack, or perhaps a large panic attack. But I averted it by frantically messaging a friend telling them how my life just SUCKED.

I can't even drive.

Called up to the desk I was then, by a friendly youngish black guy, who was smiley and seemed like an alright sort. So I relaxed. He then took my smiling and nodding as a precursor for a conversation. A long winded conversation. Oh for fucks sake.

He asked me if I had any children and waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively. I hope my face showed sufficient outrage. Being 24 but looking like a 15 year old, according to a well known photographer is an annoyance, but it also means no-one ever gives me a funny look for ordering a Happy Meal. He then proceeded to go on about his cousin who had married (or knocked up – I was trying not to listen) an Asian bird, and how it'd caused a lot of tension with her family or whatever. I nodded and muttered something about families always worry whilst inwardly cursing myself for being friendly in the first place.

“I mean her parents won't even talk to her anymore!” I idly wondered if I stabbed myself in the eye with one of the pens on the desk if he'd even notice. “I mean what is wrong with you people?”

I snapped back to attention. YOU PEOPLE? I told him how offensive that was, actually I more or less snarled. He immediately retreated, like a mouse into its hole and stammered that he was sorry and he didn't mean it that way. I told him to just get back to what he was doing so I could get out of there.

After I left, I was irritated. But also slightly thankful. His verbal gaffe caused me to momentarily forget my panic and unease. Although who tries to chat someone up by asking them if they have any kids? The mind boggles.

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Sabrina Bangladesh

http://www.thescienceofstyle.com/

Dear Tuesday - 10th May 2011 - @TeamRivers

Dear Tuesday,

Today I have learned valuable lessons.

• Poppers burn
• Karma bites
• Having sex to Nicki Minaj is distracting
• A group of crows are called a murder

So Tuesday, what a day you were.

Prior to your arrival I had been working on an essay for English literature and had to have it finished and emailed to my tutor by the Tuesday before. I had not done this and as I didn’t want to apply for an extension I emailed my tutor saying ‘please find attached my essay’, obviously with nothing attached. She replied advising that there was no attachment and to cut a mundane story short gave me till Monday to get it send.

I had it done by Monday and emailed it to her and thought nothing of it. Tuesday arrived and I check my uni email to find I have one inbox message, to Adam Rivers, from Adam Rivers. When I had sent the email I’d replied, so I thought, to one of her emails but in fact sent it to myself.

HORROR.

I sent an email with the

To: Adam Rivers

From: Adam Rivers attachment and awaited a reply.

Dear Adam,
 I have consulted Spencer and explained the email mishaps but unfortunately your assignment has to be treated as a late submission and will be capped at 40%. I will get it marked asap and sent back to you.

I wanted to kill myself but held back suicide and instead emailed the head of my year informing them I was going to quit university and papercut my wrists and get drunk on Sailor Jerry’s (also 40%). Luckily for me this worked and they revoked the capping decision which is good because I would have knee capped him otherwise, I’m from Birmingham; it’s what we do.. This was my Tuesday lesson making me aware that karma will bite you in the ass. 

A email wasn’t the only thing you delivered to me, Tuesday. My 28th year is fast approaching and so I’m hitting the gym harder than Vanessa Feltz on ketamine. I needed things to waste my student loan on and so purchased creatine in the hope I would wake up buff.  Tuesday, you woke me up but not with a buff body; oh no you wake me up with a belly like Mariah Carey.
To my dismay, my stomach could only be described as pregnant, apparently this is known as the creatine bloat.  I decided that he would be named Hudson and the father was the fit ginger bloke from Grindr.

Which nicely brings me on to my next Tuesday tale… I had a gentleman caller (from Grindr) and through intercourse normally play the Kings of Leon, it’s my sex album. This time I decide on a bit of Nicki Minaj which is cool enough I think, to play during sex.

I’m a Gemini so I’m easily distracted, it’s in my nature.  Out of all the lines to pick I sing out loud ‘and I don’t sympathise, cause you a simple bitch.’ To which he replies in his thick Welsh Valley accent ‘did you just call me a simple bitch?’ I tried to explain that I was singing along to the song but he left leaving me with nothing but popper burn marks around my face and a stained vest.

I do however, see you out with style Tuesday. Armed with bottles of vodka and a dvd of Lady Gaga’s concert I head for my friends to drink and sing. My friend Lee already pissed smokes a cigarette that we shall describe as ‘full of herb’ and throws a whitey. (My ex boyfriend trying to be cool once referred to it as throwing a bluey)  So I end Tuesday with these wise words…

“Do you know the worse thing for a whitey? ME!”

I love you Tuesday….Please call again.

TuesdayTwist - Týr and Fenrir - by Dave Kelly (@maleo) - Tuesday 10thMay 2011

Dear Tuesday,

Every name has a root. Even yours…

You’re named after Týr. He’s been known by many names since the fall of the Norse, including the Olde English root of your name, Tīw. Have you heard the most famous story featuring your namesake? In it, he helps the Æsir bind the Great Wolf who is prophesised to devour Odin at Ragnarök. Týr loses his right hand, due to a deal the wolf to put it into those lupine jaws as a safeguard (correctly, as it transpires) against divine betrayal. The story is of dominance and fear, victory and protection... but what if the Norse were a little more romantic? You see, sometimes the stories of epic battles and victories are stories of the heart that our patriarchal ancients and their feather-light emotions couldn’t accurately articulate. You could actually be the memory of their mutual sacrifice and mutual gain. This is your story, Tīw’s Day.

Firstly, the name “Great Wolf” is a terrible misnomer and never really referred to his appearance: Fenrisúlfr was Loki’s progeny, and was a handsome fellow; built well, with a captivating and infectious smile, an attractive personality, a deep and broad intelligence, and a demeanour that oozed confidence. He was clearly and entirely his father’s son. He gained his sport from hunting, luring and dominating the souls of the youthful and the naïve, but he would eventually outgrow this restricted diet. Asgard’s only hope was that his desire for possession of permanent equal was increasing, and increasing faster than his desire to possess the souls of all.

Týr was always the God with the perspective. As the God of War and Justice, his generally balanced view of most situations was valued in Asgard, but he had a tendency to sometimes act in ways that defied explanation. He could be very hot-headed when he wanted, sometimes combative when diplomacy may have been a better route, which wasn’t always positive. In this and many other ways, he was very similar to Fenrisúlfr. He had, in the past, found himself mingling with mortals in an earnest effort to find an equal; their interim prurience was unabashed. They’d communicated before; for two years they’d spoken periodically, always positively and with reverence. It was clear they knew each other well, and had much in common, but for whatever reason Týr had never pursued Fenrisúlfr’s light advances. Odin’s wife, Frigg, surmised that it was because Týr was unsure of his destiny, and made a great many mistakes of his consorts in the past, and wasn't because of Týr's attraction. Anyway, all of this was moot: it was imperative that Fenrisúlfr was settled before he lost his path. This task was stolen from the hands of the Gods, all the plans tabled by Odin, Thor, and Baldr became mere speculation when, entirely by chance, Týr and Fenrisúlfr met in the correct circumstances for them to connect on their own.

It was a warm day. Very warm. Strangely so for Harpa, but all races sometimes reflect that a gift quadruped shouldn’t be looked in the proverbial. Týr found himself taking an opportunity to enjoy his immortal youth by roaming Midgard for entertainment. A late decision found him settling for a while on a town where the mortals were in abundance, their cavorting and blithe spirits providing him with an abundance of merriment. Fenrisúlfr had made this town his home many years prior; they soon made arrangement to cross paths. During an afternoon with one another, it became truly apparent how alike they were: they were of matching intelligence, but with different outlets; they were of matching age; they were of matching maturity and outlook. As the day wore on, they grew closer, sharing serpentine conversation. They shared their deepest secrets, their true desires, their light humour, and their fragile ambitions with each other, finding that most of them were parallel.

Soon the sun began to set, and they sat alongside one another, the birds beginning their evensong and the fragrance of the blossom echoing through the atmosphere. The firefly stars blinked on, and the moon slowly grew brighter, its light supplemented by newly lit candles on the table beside them. The low but rising heat from the wavering flame caused the tender blooms of the thorny flowers beside them to add to the miasma of perfume from the blossom in the air; this heady aroma of blood-red roses and pink cherry blossom surrounded them, infusing their hearts. Tenderly, Týr reached across the elderly wooden table, and placed his right hand between Fenrisúlfr’s. Through the air, a gossamer ribbon (so light and fine that it was invisible, yet it was wrought entirely from impossible materials and stronger than diamond) flowed from and wrapped around them. Only the watching divine could see it; mortals are excluded from the ability to see the preternatural, and these two were so entirely absorbed in one another’s gaze that they could not have seen anything or anybody else even if they had wanted to. Fenrisúlfr looked deeply into Týr’s soul, while forces beyond the physical worked to bind the Great Wolf; his muscles relaxed but his heart danced to the symphony of terror and elation. Týr trembled slightly as his slowly grown and latent love was allowed to gazelle-leap from his chest, and he slowly, slowly, lifted his remaining hand to Fenrisúlfr’s gentle face. “I give to you all that I am, and all that I will be,” he declared, using nothing more than a piercing look from his sea-emerald eyes. Fenrisúlfr, with reverence, bent his head toward the hand and lightly kissed it; his smile announced: “We’re as one, now, Týr. I, the devourer, and you, the just. This bond cannot be broken, and this is our mutual sacrifice: your hand is mine, forever.” The Gods observed and bore witness from the halls of Asgard: Fenrisúlfr was willingly bound and joined with Týr, who gave up his hand, and so they shall remain until the end of days.

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Tuesday 23rd November 2010

Dear Tuesday - Tuesday 3rd May 2011 - @_jamesabraham

It was the first day back after 11 days off so the morning was a bit of a struggle! Like a lot of people I had taken leave between Easter and the Royal Wedding weekend, which meant my 7:48am train from Plymouth to Paddington was packed!

My mood lightened on the journey as the weather got better and better the closer to London I got. I was travelling with my beloved fold up bike and had a long cycle to Roehampton and back to look forward too. My first meeting was a classic access meeting, mainly with me trying to be nice and convince someone that our project is great (which it is) and that there is no need for concern. Meetings like this happen every day across the media sector, especially TV and content production. It’s these meetings that mean that almost every factual programme you ever see on TV or online can be made, content is king but access is everything! My cycle back to Victoria takes me 45 glorious minutes and I am forced to stop and snap some brilliant graffiti regarding Bin-Laden.

My second meeting of the day is a big one, a catch up on my favourite project of all time. It’s a video diary project for Channel 4’s coverage of the Paralympics, we are following 30 athletes and their stories all inspire for very different reasons. I think this short form online documentary content is powerful and that we will see more and more of it in the near future, it reflects how people are increasingly consuming media and allows the viewer to personalise content from the get-go.

The meeting goes well and the client (and friend) and I go for a drink after. My final cycle of the day is only a couple of miles to the hotel. All in all a good day, not your average Tuesday as it is really an honorary Monday but they are the best Tuesdays aren’t they?

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James Abraham is a digital media professional.