Apologia - D'oh

“Sorry, I must’a backed over it this morning” Reginald held up Sully, the cat Jesse had been given for Christmas.

Jesse’s kitten, once full of life and curiosity, now lifeless held by the neck within this old man’s stubby little fingers. It’s head propped awkwardly to the side and it’s once admired ginger coat was smothered in dried blood. Lots of blood.

The only words Jesse could find to softly utter were “Sully” before breaking into loud obnoxious cries that caused his mother to go investigate.

Jesse’s mother rushes to the door to see what all the commotion is about. Gasping at the sight of her son’s dead cat clutched within her neighbours hands. “My word Reginald, what have you done?!”

Reginald solemnly removes his hat and places it on his chest as a mark of respect.
“Trudy, I am sorry, I must’ve hit him when I was backing out the driveway this morn’n. I didn’t even see him at’ll, didn’t find him till I got back just now”. Jesses mother nods her head understandingly and tries to usher her boy away from the door.

“I will replace ‘im I will, if the boy’ll let me” Reginald adds
“That’s kind of you Reginald, we’ll see.. come on Jesse, come away from the door”

“You know what’s strange though miss? This poor little bastard, completely soaked in blood ‘e is.. but my driveway, barely a drop on it. And you’d think I woulda heard him, or felt him had I ran over it this morning, but I don’t ‘member anything out of the ordinary”. Reginald wasn’t sure if Jesse’s mother had heard his defence over the young boy’s wailing, but she responded quickly and sharply.
“He was just a kitten, a small cat, I doubt many would notice if they back over it. Now I thankyou for your honesty and bringing Sully back, but I must tend to my poor boy now, he is traumatised”
“Very well miss, I truly am sorry” Reginald turns to walk away before turning back once again “Oh miss, what would you like me to do with this?” He held up the dead cat in his hand, Jesses crying seemed to get louder whenever he did this.
“Put it in a box, leave it by our door.. my husband will take care of it when her returns from work” Reginald nods, feeling genuinely sorry he had caused such grief among his favourite neighbours.

After a long while of coaxing Jesse to calm down, she managed to get him into bed and to sleep. Her husband comes home not long after.
“How was your day?” He lovingly asked his wife.
“Good, bleach seemed to work wonders on that stain you left in the driveway”

Apologia - Borealis

Even when I was a toddler I was nerdy. I used to ask my mum to make me flashcards to learn new words on. She had to buy more paper we went through so many. When I could read more fluently my chosen books were encyclopedias and I spent Sunday afternoons flicking through our Longman's copy, a book so heavy I couldn't lift it. After finding something interesting, I'd follow all the cross-references until I had enough to make a project out of it. Whales; Copernicus; Hieroglyphs - I covered them all. My project on whales featured a small A5 booklet, with messy little pictures of whales and all the facts about the different types and why they were going extinct. I recently googled whales and discovered another kid with my same name, doing her own online project trying to save them. That made me very happy, like I didn't have to defend myself on that front anymore, at least. Copernicus was another favourite, where I remember making the front cover of this A4 booklet by doing stripes of different-coloured crayon and then covering over in black and etching out his name and the orbiting planets. There is no word for this other than geektastic. I was a little researcher in the making.

Then there was the maths. My mother is convinced it's because I liked to bake and balance out the weights and measures, but it's more likely it's the pay-off that got me, grinning at the ticks and furrowing my eyebrows to fathom out the crosses. I love it. Not realising that I was ingraining in myself an innate understanding of indices at a young age, I used to sit and double 2 until I had sums too long to fit onto a piece of paper. I work in a school, in a maths department, and I'd probably feel sorry for any kids I saw doing that.

17 years on and I've found the world doesn't find all this quite as whimsically adorable as I'd hope. Starting off doing a maths degree and then switching to History has lead to years of questions on the topic. "But why?", people ask. Working in a high school means topic often comes to degree choices, the mathematicians assuming that anything other than Maths, Science, Medicine or Law makes you a lightweight. History is often mentioned in passing along with other 'unworthy' subjects like "Art, or Media Studies". If I was a cat, my hackles would be up. But it's easier to stay quiet than to defend, mostly. When we go to school we are encouraged to enjoy and excel in as many subjects as possible. In the outside world, people want you to stick to one thing, it seems.

For all that I adore studying Maths, it saddens me that so many mathematicians view it this way. Historians seem much better; "yes", they say, "mathematicians are geeky, but they are worthy". Historians have to have a huge amount of self-belief to weather all the comments like "Gosh, all those facts to remember!", a phrase which only serves to emphasise why people rarely learn from their own mistakes - facts yes, but the analysis, the pondering, trying to understand the other side, that's why people choose to devote years to studying History.

So at work, I live with my apologia for History. In the outside world, I live with my apologia for Maths. It's always a bit embarassing explaining you find maths really, really fun. Responses include: gobsmacked looks; my nan's favourite of "oh yes I was always good at arithmetic too dear"; and another classic upon telling someone about my apparently paradoxical love of History and Maths - "I'm glad you studied History though, that's what makes you interesting!" After this, I understand why my Maths teacher at Sixth Form used to tell people she did Psychology instead. Much easier. Anything sounds better than Maths when strangers strike up a conversation with you.

The facts of the matter are this: I adore studying History and trying to see something in a way no one else has ever seen. And I adore studying Maths, having to be creative in solving problems and seeing the world from this other mechanical and precise view point. I love them both. They don't match up but I don't mind that. And the older I get, the clearer my reasons become. And that's what means I don't mind defending myself for it.

The first thing I found when wiki-ing this was the example, "The finest apologia of what drives a man to devote his life to pure mathematics". This piece could never be described as such, but in 45 minutes it's the best I've got.

Apologia - Jow Bates

"I'm not really sure you can get away with doing that." Quibbled Paul over the thunderous drone of early morning traffic.
"Get away with what?" Retorted Tom. "I'm engaged in a public service, anybody can see that."
As Paul had little to counter this argument with, he remained silent as Tom continued to spray paint the word "BALLS" across the newly painted white walls of the Cambridge Police Station.

Sunlight began to pierce through the rain-broken cloud cover that had been blanketing the majority of Cambridge that morning. As light gamboled playfully of the wet cars and pavements of Cambridgeshire's Constabulary car park, the strong smell of damp flora mingled with the ever-present  exhaust fumes of main road transit to create a quintessentially English backdrop for the two 'graffiti artists'.

"Is it morning already?" Enquired Tom.
"It's been morning for hours mate."
"I'd better get a move on then."
"So you don't get caught? Mate you're definitely getting caught, you're practically in a Police Station, there's fucking loads of cameras."
"Say what?"
"Cameras, fuck-loads, Police Station."
"Ah." Tom sipped from a rain dappled can of Carlesberg Export and studiously eyed the four foot high, orange "BALLS" in front of him, nodding approvingly.

"I literally have no idea why I'm still here." Lamented Paul to the inquisitively poised CCTV camera pointed directly at them both, about ten metres away.
"This is a thing of beauty." Tom proudly continued, his slight frame swaying in the wind as he swigged again from his beer can.
"It's balls."
"It's art! Creative expression and I'll defend to the death my right to do it."
"You've written 'BALLS' in massive orange letters on the side of a Police Station."
"Don't stifle me Paul."
"You're definitely getting arrested."
"That's only probably going to happen. I had my hood up the entire time."

The hood of Tom's black Parker jacket had indeed been up for a large portion of the time he'd spent painting, however Tom had pulled it back a few minutes earlier to study his work and had since been brazenly standing, hood-free in the middle of the now well-lit car park.

"I've got paint on my Arsenal shirt." Declared Paul to no one in particular.
"It was for a good cause."
"It wasn't a great cause."
"The fact that it was for a cause at all is enough mate. 'Cesc would be proud of you."
"Why am I here?" Paul moaned rhetorically.
"Because you're a dreamer Paul,  a stalwart prevaricator of justice and social liberty, you're part of hope's militia, staring undaunted into the heart of everything that's wrong and saying proudly; 'we deserve more'. Now sign my 'BALLS'."

Apologia - Beau

Apologia
I don't know what that means
Hilarious, Jow

Apologia - Megan Pozzi

Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. I’m boring you and you seem busy.
You’re not, you’re really not and I’m not. I’m not busy. I’m having fun but if you want to go you can. I want you to stay.
Really? You’re having fun?
I am. I really am.
Cool. I’ll stay then.
Cool.
Soooooooooooo....
Soooooooooooooo when you say you’ll leave me to it; it actually makes me feel as though you want me to go. If you’re looking for an out just say you need to go and leave.
I like talking to you...it’s just that you’re so interesting I can’t help but feel that someone like me would bore you. I am dull, vacuous and generally of no interest to anyone.
Don’t say that.
Why? It’s true.
If you say so.
Huh? If I say so? What do you mean by that?
Nothing. I’m just saying that if that’s how you believe yourself to be, then you must be like that. Of course, I don’t think that, but I don’t see much point in trying to change your mind.
Right. I get it.
Well, what do you want me to say? You’re wonderful, interesting, amazing, fascinating, intriguing, destined to change the world? I can say it if you want.
I just want you to say what you think.
I think you were born to expand others’ minds.
Shut up.
...
...
Have you seen Zombie Kid Likes Turtles? It’s pretty funny.
Yeah I have. Anyway, I’m going now.
Cya.
Bye.

Apologia - Darly Bites

This is my first go
At a Haiku. Don't judge me
Harshly; I'm trying.

Apologia - Dogmatix

The word vexed him, he’d looked it up, that’s what he always did when he wasn’t certain . The etymology lead him to Greek, and the same route word as the modern apology. They said they didn’t want him to apologise, but it felt like it was an apology they were asking him to write.

He stood barefoot looking through the bars, the window faced east he knew that much, he got to watch the sunrise. He never used to watch the sunrise, it had seemed unimportant, how could it be unimportant? he thought. Sitting on the floor he leaned back against the concrete, the cold against his naked back waking him, giving him momentary clarity.

He knew why he was here, he didn’t understand it, but he did know.

No apologies.

Apologia - Tom Swarman

Apologia for playing FIFA

Speakers are broken from the tweeters 

Online line orders of retro sneakers

From a eager beaver with glandular fever