Sometimes I'm just too bouncy...

I'm in Year 3 at primary school. I'm in the Juniors now... I'm not supposed to ever ask to leave class for the toilet any more... Our bladders should be made of steel apparently, I think this rule is ridiculous.

We're learning to write 'joined-up'. Last year we were the first year to do the Year 2 SATs pilot. I was in an extra class for the "gifted and talented" pupils in the class... Handwriting went towards the level so we were taught to join up...

I enjoyed joining-up in pencil.

But now I'm in the Juniors and I've been given a pen... And apparently I'm not managing very well with it... My teacher wants to teach the whole class to do joining-up... So I'm told to stop joining-up my way and do it his way... It's difficult and I can't read what I've written.

I'm often told not to rock on my chair... Apparently I'll fall backwards and crack my head on the floor, or a table, or something. I've been rocking on my chair, I've been shuffling on my chair... We're meant to be quiet... We're writing something (22 years later I'm not sure what exactly is was we were writing) but my teacher has had enough of my rocking and fidgeting, and my talking, and fussing, and general exuberance. And I'm going to have to do without my chair for the rest of the lesson. If I can't learn to sit still I can see what it's like with no chair at all...

Everyone else still has their chair...

I try not to cry, to not be totally embarrassed, but I am, I'm flushed and angry, and I really was not rocking on my chair just to annoy the teacher.

I try writing while standing up and but I'm taller than every other girl in the class.. And I'm taller than the 6 boys as well.... I'm the tallest and I'm trying to stand at a desk and carry on working and everyone is looking at me.

Tall and chair-less...

I decide that I'll have to crouch I tuck one leg under the other and I spend the rest of the lesson balanced... I am now definitely being defiant... All I can think of is annoying the teacher because he embarrassed me. So I'm determined to balance AND do my work... Balancing and being able to write become the most important two tasks in the world... And I think that the teacher should know that I'm perfectly okay WITHOUT my chair... And so I tell him so... Not a good idea... He's more exasperated than ever and even though I get my chair back, eventually however, it's clear that I'm just too bouncy.

Later on I'm in Year 6... My parents are good friends with the teacher of the parallel class and her husband (he and my father were colleagues.)

I'm now the tallest girl in the school, I still talk too much, I still have too many opinions, I still shuffle about on my chair and don't finish my work. But still seem to learn everything I need to... Other than correct spelling, punctuation and handwriting. I have yet to finish a whole book from the reading library... (In the whole school year, I read two books, eventually)

It's Christmas, I'm at school late a lot for rehearsals and events... The night of the Carol Service, it's late (past 9) and I'm still going strong, I've played my flute, I've played my recorder, I've sung, we're all standing around... Mum, Dad, Jackie (the teacher) and John (her husband) and I am involved in the adults' conversation and I am being polite, but voicing my opinions and (for some moments of peace for my parents) I'm sent to fetch some mince pies.

I return to the circle and Jackie says (because it's the end of term, and they are all teachers and teachers work crazy hours)
"Aleks, I don't know what you're on, but I think we could all do with some!"

I'm 10... I am not entirely sure what she means, but I'm pretty certain that she wouldn't... I seem to elicit an "Oh no, 'too much Aleks'" response from most adults and even though they think I don't understand I'm like an over-wound spring, I totally do, I just can't do anything about it.

This morning I arranged to meet a friend, someone I've known for years online, but have never met in person. We meet at 10... I have a coffee and then something to eat and another coffee.... For the two and a half hours I talk almost nonstop... I talk with my hands, I draw invisible diagrams on the table with my fingers and I'm vaguely aware that I'm jiggling my own legs occasionally. But I'm engaged and the time flies by, and soon we're walking down the high street, and hugging, and saying "Goodbye" and "We must do this again soon."

I do some shopping and come home and still have buckets of energy... And I realise I need to pace myself.

Today is my first day working for myself. Not to make money or to become famous. But to be able to balance out the requirements of my work, with the requirements of my own life and wellbeing.

Now I'm 30, I can go to the toilet when I wish, if I want to rock on my chair, I can, no one is going to mark my handwriting. As long as I harm no one else I can, within the shape of my Friday every week, work towards my own goals and objectives. And I'm overwhelmed and I'm so bouncy... I am occasionally 'too much Aleks' even for myself. But it's good harness-able bounce... Energy that, if I spend it wisely, can make a difference in the world.

So I'll try, and even if I can't change the world it will make a world of difference to me.

I wrote this...

I wrote much of this in my head,  in a sort of internal dialogue while I was driving my car to the supermarket. I was as I say driving at the time,  and you may worry I was not concentrating on the road. So rest assured that I know for certain that I was concentrating very hard on driving because the part of the journey where I was doing this thinking is etched into my mind.

Also thinking about what I wanted to say in the following text gave me a headache, so naturally I carried on thinking about it all around the supermarket  as I ticked off things on my electronic list and scrabbled around for items to replace those the store didn't stock.

I was wondering how I came to enjoy writing. Directly to type, like this, because I know for certain that the advent of my ability to write is almost inextricably linked with the decision my family made in the mid to late 1990s to "get online".

I know this in part because I remember the hundreds of blank pages of my childhood exercise books/jotters and the red responses from my teachers that informed me of the occurrence of one or two regular events in my earlier/pre-teen school life:

A) That I had written almost nothing... I remember a lot of stories that started and never finished because try as I might my right hand was just not capable of going any faster. Or that I tailed off part way through an idea.

B) What I had written was illegible... Teachers often asked me if I was left handed so shockingly awful was my written presentation... Even worse than being leftist many of my teachers were also sexist and wanted to know why I wrote so much like a boy and in not beautifully formed text like the other 24 girls in my class (I'm excluding my sister from this...  She suffered the same presentation issues I did)

The other thing that would happen that my teacher never commented on since in the context of my writing, because they couldn't see it, was what happened in my head when I was asked to write. I did not, as some people say when asked why they have not done something,  have no ideas... I had the exact opposite...  I had too many ideas... The fact that there was nothing on the page or alternatively, everything looked like it had spilled out there as an incoherent scribble was that I was either trying so hard to wrestle one strand of thoughtful response to the stimuli from the screaming mêlée or I had given up trying to appear coherent and they were going to get everything I had whether it were relevant or not!

The issue with presentation and getting started didn't go away once I reached secondary school (from 11yo onwards) for the most part it got worse, there were more subjects and homework to manage,  and I lived the furthest away from my school it was possible to live and therefore I had to wait for my dad or mum to get out of work and collect me from the library where I waited after the bus journey.  I'd finally get through our front door at around 5.30... Then dinner, then homework.... I did lot of my work in the school library just before lessons or on the bus on my knee on the way into school! Initially my teachers were pretty hard on my lack of diligence and due care to my work but as I got older I learnt to get by with enough input to get through my classes and I was ubiquitous enough to get away with the occasional late, or sometimes entirely absent, submission.

Examinations were a physical challenge to be practised for... I didn't need to revise, in the main I could scroll back mentally to the actual time we had studied a topic in class and work from there. So unusually my study time was often devoted to handwriting practise where I filled page after page of patterns and letters which helped my fluency and devouring other people's texts in the form of novels so I had used up the extra in imagination that may get in the way of my thinking.

So the thing with my writing is that I only recently realised I can write. I have a voice. It's such a strange realisation to make,  and I think it's probably something akin to the child who learns to walk not actually being all that sure how it happens. I love the Internet,  I have since I first heard Joanna Lumley bid me "Welcome to AOL." I just guess I never saw online chat as writing.

I talk. A lot. I am in almost constant dialogue with someone else if I am around people,  and if I am alone or appear silent I am probably saying something in my own head to remember for later or rerunning something that already happened. Even in my sleep I dream with conversations. So my writing voice developed as a natural extension of my interaction with what I would now call digital media... But back then I called simply IT. I used chatrooms to make friends and develop relationships with others... I was at an age and inclination that I just accepted this new form of communication as entirely natural. In fact in many ways it was preferable to the awkward social interactions I had to perform with my peers... I was an "awkward" teenager... I know everyone says that in their lifetime... As if what a terrible time you had as a teen has some sort of resale value in later life,  but for me it truly was painful... I hated being in between the carefree existence of childhood and the responsibility of being an adult. My outlook and interactions were reasonably mature for my age and this singled me out for some pretty rubbish experiences. I was not interested in doing anything remotely irresponsible and I certainly had exactly zero interest in dating anyone! Combine that with the remoteness of my home to those of my school friends and naturally I became an early adopter of many social networking tools, MSN, forums, chatrooms, later MySpace, Second Life,  Facebook and Twitter.

Over time, to me, every word I typed on the page became a word I spoke verbally out aloud in my own head, the same way someone would voice the characters of a book. And it became my voice, a way to have clarity...  I realised I was good at writing about myself in glowing prose when I completed job applications, but that the young woman who attended the interviews was not initially who the recipient's of the forms thought they would be getting... I had come alive in text form at the same time as realising that the adult I had naturally returned to become was more introverted and reserved than I  had been as a child. I have said before that there is something about being a twin that makes you ubiquitous... It is almost impossible to be a shy pair of identical twins... I honestly don't know of any... Even those where there is a natural inclination in one or both of the couple, there is something so fascinating to most other people, about the similarities of speech and posture and gesture that is so often expressed in stereo, that one becomes available to speak with others about this unique perspective pretty much whenever called upon. I realise with hindsight that the best company I often have is my own and I felt a deep contentment in solitude.

That said what people are always surprised about when I speak about my experience with online communities and communication is how honest I am. Everyone fakes a little...  It's a natural inclination... If we don't feel well but need to work anyway or if we are nervous about something. However the media for a long time portrayed online communities as frequented by hundreds of people who basically lied about every detail of their lives. Now those people do exist, but they really are in the minority. Just as they exist in a bar when a married person pretends to be single to flirt with someone. Or when someone knocks a few years off their real age to give a more flattering image of themselves.

I have always made sure I am me.... I don't doubt that over time who I am has been to a greater or lesser extent shaped by my online interactions, but the same again is true of face to face encounters. I don't give out my details to everyone I meet, but I do offer them genuine connection, and find I get back in return generosity and encouragement that spurs me onward in tough times.

Writing this blog started because of something someone said about making those sort of genuine connections... I realised that although my long held pseudonym had become an inextricable part of my own identity, that my name and general location were really powerful things to share with the world, if I believe that in working together we achieve more, more than the sum of the parts, more than any one can alone.

I wrote this and shared it here because I can, and because in part I am compelled to write, and share and debate and discuss, because my belief in connection via the Internet is so strong and important to my own identity. I have written of myself and in the writing I have seen my own strength and endurance and that perspective has helped... It's work but it's in the main enjoyable and I'm glad you are reading. 

Thank you for connecting, I am deeply grateful. 

Whoever you are.

Wherever you are.

I wrote this... For you.