The Amazing Sounds Of Orgy

treefingering:

I love sleep as much as I love Radiohead. 

So, Bjork, Alison Mosshart and Emiliana Torrini are all on the Sucker Punch soundtrack, why am I only finding this out now?

Why didn’t anyone tell me, hmm?

Man, I’m so competitive sometimes, it’s become quite the factor and something I’ve really come to notice recently. At first I just put that ‘edge’ down to elitism, something of a by-product from being a teenager. Then I was talking with my grandmother who, rather incidently, is the least competitive person I know and it sort of brought it home.

I’m a good listener, but it’s rarely something I would use as a way of learning about myself; I was, and continue to be, a little insular. 

She asked me what was the one memory I have of school. I finished secondary education a couple of days ago, and we were going over some old memories. The first thing that came to mind was my medal story.

The school held this race that everyone was invited to join, and I decided to enter for some reason, that’s what thirteen year old kids do right? Some really athletic people were participating, and running was never my kind of thing, shooting jumpshots in the gym alone was more my forte. The day of the race I wasn’t really talking to anyone, because I just wanted to win and tried to block everything else out. In the end I finished second, and I was only beaten by the best track athlete the school had to offer. This was a real surprise to many, because I was kind of portly and I sucked something awful at track.

I didn’t say a word, got changed and went to the assembly where the prizes were given out. I wasn’t really thinking at the time, I just recollected all the events and tried to work out why I didn’t win. The assembly was packed, maybe 300 people in attendance and I was towards the back, sitting amongst a group of girls I had nothing in common with; which is something I have since grown accustomed to. The winner went up and received his medal, beaming and he even had his parents there as I recall. Then my name was called.

I sort of leaned over the person in front of me, as if I was vaguely interested in what was occurring at the front. Everyone was applauding, a little, but I didn’t move. Eventually after a few seconds it was evident that I wasn’t going up and the clapping subsided and everyone was looking at me. Well aware of this, I started going red and I looked down. A teacher came over, teeth bared a little and touching my arm and asked if I was too nervous and I replied no. She was remotely perplexed, firmed her grip on me and asked again. I said rather stoically that I wasn’t going to go up and that they should just announce the 3rd place winner. That latter part I remember saying with some bite to it. They took a photo and everything, but every eye was on me.

People were saying afterwards that I was doing it for attention or that I was a coward. Really, in my mind, I couldn’t accept taking that second place. I couldn’t bring myself to go up and admit to 300 people that I couldn’t beat everyone else there. It sounds a bit selfish and dramatic typed out but it makes sense to me, and it’s the truth.

To this day I still consider anything other than first as a losing position. I can’t stand losing, and I certainly couldn’t receive something that symbolised that, to me.