day ten (started on day nine)

So I was just thinking "Ahhh I only have 7 minutes to write something today otherwise I haven't written anything!" (which in itself is a stupid thing to think), but then I realised as long as I wrote something today it doesn't really matter if it gets uploaded or not before midnight.

Phew :)

So let's talk about Harry Potter shall we?

Look, I know you might not think it's very cool to like it as anything more than a book. But I'd like to stop you right there and tell you that to like a book (and I mean really, properly like it) is way cool. And important. And to really think about a book that you like and above all, to talk about a book that you like with other people is super important.

And because I went through a apathetic towards 'childish' things phase, I feel I can talk about this subject with some authority.

So I picked up my copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban in primary school at a book fair. I didn't know a thing about it. I mean obviously I didn't know a thing about it, I read the third one first. But I was hooked. I needed to know more and I needed to know what I'd missed. Suffice to say, I became fairly obsessed. I dressed up as Professor McGonagall for world book day (not even going with the obvious choice of Hermione) and I went to some kind of convention thing where I got to hold an owl. It was awesome.

And the best part about it? I had no shame. I could talk about it for hours and hours and hours and I wasn't embarrassed about how much I liked it and I didn't think it was stupid or immature. I was enthusiastic and unashamedly in love with this fantastical world.

And then I went and got all teenagey.

I don't know why. It wasn't like I was popular at school or that people thought I was cool. Definitely the opposite in fact. I still went to see the films and when one of the books came out we'd still buy it and I'd read it. But there was just a phase when I didn't care. And I think secretly, I did care, I just didn't want people to think I did. Makes no sense I know, but that was my ridiculous apathetic logic.

So wind forward to now. When I finished Deathly Hallows I cried. And I felt like I was losing part of myself. But I didn't really have anyone to talk about it with. But here I am now, age 18, re-reading my favourite series and falling in love with it all over again and thinking that my 9 year old self would be proud of me. If I told her that one day there'd be a theme park where she could wander around Hogwarts I think she'd die of joy.

So okay, I understand that wizards might not be your 'thing', but my gosh it talks about so much more than just the adventure (which let's face it, is one of the most epic of all time). It's about friendship, good vs. evil, mortality, truth and above all it's about love. Not obsession or sparkly non-threatening vampires, but love. In all its forms and in all its glory.

Jo Rowling is so integral to who I am, and for that I am eternally grateful.

day five

Today was going to be a write something on paper day, but I decided against it as I'm sat in my pyjamas in a very cosy state with my laptop. Attempting to find paper just doesn't seem worth it.

I love my family. That is the only thought I have today. They're silly and a bit eccentric and stupidly British and I just love them.

Oh and every now and then my Dad finds this blog and spies in on my life...HI DAD!

I think university has probably made me appreciate them much more than I did before. Some people will remain ridiculous and stupid, but you know what my family have taught me? That I am worth so much more than the occasional glance or the odd forced conversation. Because people that care about you don't run off or give up on you. Fleeting and family may be alliterative, but they certainly don't belong together.

I'm lucky. I should remember that.

day three

I've been trying to write in as many different mediums as possible. Putting pen to paper and doing it the old fashioned way always feels so good. Usually I only do it for letters, but yesterday it was just a bit of a diary entry kind of deal.

I think I'm going to combine all this stuff from the hundred days into a scrapbook along the way, or once it's finished. Maybe it'll encourage me to keep going.

I should be writing an essay. It's not compulsory and honestly I just don't want to. I'm stuck at this university for the next three years and I'm not excited about this prospect in the slightest.

MOVING ON!

Snow Ball is in a mere 15 days and this makes me ridiculously happy. It's going to be awesome and geeky and hopefully make up for how much it sucks here.

Sorry! Positivity! I keep forgetting!

HOME TOMORROW!

day one

So every now and then I'll enter a writing competition (I'm yet to win anything...this fact will be ignored). The latest one was to write a complaint letter about anything you like. Mine was on a somewhat popular (and thus controversial) topic. The funny thing about it is, one person has commented. Complaining that I'm complaining. Oh, Internet, you do amuse me.

Here it is for your reading pleasure:

Dear Twilight Fans,

I’m so good to you normally. When you’re all crowded around me fervently debating the pros and cons of Team Edward and Team Jacob, I grit my teeth and internally declare my love for Team Jo (J.K.Rowling for all you deprived Muggles). I bite my tongue whenever I feel the urge to yell that glitter glue doesn’t equate to vampire or that stalking isn’t the same as love.

But I’ve been quiet too long. I need an outlet. Even a passive aggressive one such as this.

What annoys me about Twilight, more than the constant barrage of information we get about it, more than the screaming pre-teens, more than the complete lack of literary value the books possess, is how Meyer has feebly attempted at aligning herself with greatness.

The Romeo and Juliet allusion? It might just be me, but I don’t think good old Bill quite had broody vamps in mind when he conjured up his two young lovers. Bella likes Wuthering Heights does she? Fine. I can cope with that. What I cannot cope with is that now Charlotte Brontë’s classic is packaged up on our shelves to look like it’s a part of the saga. As if Brontë’s work needs the Twilight seal of approval.

Your series lacks life (excuse the pun), it lacks imagination and it most certainly lacks plot.

I could of course go on, but nothing I say will change your minds. So for now, I’ll continue to keep my mouth shut when you swoon over Robert Pattinson’s gravity defying hair and flour based complexion. He will, after all, always be Cedric Diggory in my heart. We got him first. Remember that.

Signed,

A disgruntled Harry Potter devotee.

In case anyone is remotely interested, I failed NaNoWriMo quite spectacularly. However I'm going to keep writing because I actually quite like where the novel's going. The characters are starting to feel alive and I've never had that before. It's kind of amazing.

Reading - The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Oh, and Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J. K. Rowling.

new leaf

Dear Self,

Starting tomorrow, you are being the most positive version of yourself as is humanly possible. You might not feel like it, but it's how it's gonna be from tomorrow onwards. Every day until the 25th starts with a chocolate. How could you possibly be unhappy? We all know that the bad parts of life are just as important as the good parts, that they're not to be ignored. But maybe they're teaching me not to wallow?

Love,

Sara.

Tomorrow I start Josie Long's One Hundred Days project which I'm super excited for. I've set myself the task of writing and reading every day along with doing all the things I always say I will. By that I don't particularly mean work related things. I mean things like keeping a better record of my days, taking more photographs, making scrapbooks, start to play piano more often, join the library and a whole host of other things. They might not seem like much but I think they're important. Inching my way towards becoming a better version of myself.

Lesson of the day - sometimes people will surprise you in the saddest of ways.

bloggy blog blog

Two blogs in a week? What is this madness?

Oh hang on a minute...it's because I have nothing of interest to do.

This blog is pretty much going to list things that I need to do. SORRY.

In no particular order...

• Read Hamlet.
• Bask in awe at Hamlet.
• Wish to see Tennant as Hamlet again.
• Read and note take from critical essays regarding Hamlet.
• Some more basking.
• Write a Medieval Literature essay.
• Re-read Chaucer's Wife of Bath.
• Remember what happens in Chaucer's Wife of Bath. Unlike last time.
• Remember how much you hate Medieval Literature.
• LAUNDRY.
• Read some Shelley poetry.
• Russell Howard's Good News.
• Write some stuff you're never going to show anyone ever because it's far too honest and you're not really that good.
• Eat at some point during all of this.

You know what I miss about home? Being able to listen to music loudly. Basically everyone here does it anyway, but I think I'm probably just too nice a person. OH and SINGING to that ridiculously loud music. And dancing like a flailing fool around my bedroom.

I really don't get why most of these people came to university at all. Really. It just doesn't make sense in my head. I don't mean it in a "I AM SUPERIOR" kind of way. Just in a, if you're not going to go to any of your lectures or do any of your work or couldn't give two flying foxes about your course, then why the hell are you bothering?

I just want something to be excited about. To invest my all into and to have other people that care just as much as I do. Apathy isn't cool and it isn't ironic, it's just plain stupid. This is your LIFE. I know I'm spending a lot of time complaining about stuff, but I don't want to. And when good stuff comes my way (because it will) you'll hear about it. So much more than all of this nonsense.

This, like all things, will pass.

/angst.

time flies

I always promise myself I won't acknowledge how long it's been since I last blogged, but I just can't help myself. It's been AGES hasn't it? I'll refrain from excuses and apologies, I really don't have any good ones. I've been busy doesn't quite cut it.

So what have I been doing you might wonder? Well, in some respects very little. I haven't exactly been flooded with things to do at university. Work is fine, I'm not swamped by it or anything (as much as I'd kind of like to be sometimes. I'm a bizarre person, I know) and lectures/seminars/study groups don't particularly take up very much time. I've been doing a strange amount of exercise and actually feeling really pretty good about it. You don't need to know me very well to know that this is most definitely unusual. But I can't help it. As much as I can't stand that kick aerobics teacher, it feels good to be told to kick and punch the air with everything you've got. It feels even better to go to the gym the next day and not feel like you're dying. Yoga tonight! We got given a free session by the woman in the health shop because we were doing volunteer work. I like it in there in a very middle class, "I can't really afford anything because I'm a student, but one day my cupboards will be full of this yoghurt covered fruit" kind of way.

On another healthy note (though I really couldn't care less that this is healthy. It could be as good for me as a tub of Ben and Jerry's and I'd still do it), I think I'm going walking at midnight at the weekend to see the sunrise. Believe me when I say this simultaneously excites me beyond belief and fills me with an inescapable sadness. I'm silly.

Other things I've been doing with my time include deciding what to do with my future. As peppy and positive this blog may seem, I still don't like it here. These fleeting excursions are not enough to make up for the complete absence of life in this place. I don't think it's just me expecting too much of university, it's that I'm not in the right place. I think I'd forever regret it if I didn't at least try for something better.

NaNoWriMo...argh.

Julia Nunes. She's on Spotify but I implore you to YouTube her first. You'll love her.

accio books

Stuff is weird lately. Really, really weird. I'm sort of looking forward to going home next weekend and I'm sort of dreading it.

Anyway.

I'm sat in the library right now, trying to get a head start on the next essay for textual analysis. So far all I've managed to do is check all of my online stuff and decide to write a blog. I guess procrastination at least keeps my loyal readers informed of my life. Hello loyal readers! How are YOU?

Just kidding. I know I don't have any loyal readers.

So November approaches and I've decided to give NaNoWriMo my attention for the second year in a row. I have a tiny bit of a plot and a tiny bit of a character, but so far that's about it. Oh well. It's more than I had last year in some respects.

I kind of decided on a whim that I'd do it. I'd been uhming and ahhing about it for a couple of weeks until I (for want of a better phrase) decided to screw it and just go for it. The little voice in my head that makes me do silly things no longer wants to be a part of my life, but like it or not I've definitely been changed. Life's too short.

I feel that seen as I'm sat here pretending to be scholarly, I should express just how much I adore this library. I don't know how old it is, but it feels old. It's draughty and promises knowledge and inspiration from the moment you step through the double doors. The high ceilings and rows of bookcases interspersed with long tables designed for hours of fervent reading can't help but remind you of the wizarding world that I so unashamedly love. It's laced with possibility and just a tiny sprinkle of magic. One day, something with my name on it will be permitted to sit on one of its creaky wooden shelves. One day.

With any luck I'll be receiving two visitors very shortly, and my I cannot wait.

Now I really should be reading King Lear...

updates

It's been a while since I've updated this thing with any points about my general life. Incoherent ramblings can only go so far, so I think it's about time I wrote something with cold hard facts rather than airy fairy analogies.

Plus, talking about anything other than the cold hard facts makes me head hurt.

American Literature is possibly my favourite thing ever. I can't quite pinpoint what it is about it that I love so much. It makes me feel quite unpatriotic to say that I enjoy it far more than I enjoy any of my other English Literature modules, but there you go. My Professor is everything that a Professor should be. Passionate, encouraging and challenging. I was worried I wouldn't find a brilliant teacher here (I thought after 6 years of the most fantastic teacher in the world at my last school that my luck would run out), but he makes me think and question and really learn.

Other than that, classes in general are going okay. Admittedly Textual Analysis makes me want to slit my wrists every Friday, but I can cope with that. Medieval Literature is all a bit swings and roundabouts at the moment. Interesting seminars, not so interesting lectures.

What else, what else, what else...

I met Philip Pullman!

There was definitely a part of me that considered the phrase "never meet your idols" before we went into the lecture theatre, but he was wonderful. Wise, inspiring and warm. He signed my book afterwards and told me (as it was set in Wales) how to get to the place he was thinking of when writing it. Just in case I ever wanted to explore.

Oh how well you know me Mr Pullman.

November sees the start of NaNoWriMo and I still can't decide whether or not I want to subject myself to that kind of torture for a second year running. We'll see.

There is, of course, a mass of other information that I could impart. Like going to watch Toy Story in 3D, adventuring to Anglesey and Conwy (to a CASTLE!) and generally eating far too much ice cream. But I'll refrain. I will however have a quick moment of pride. I've been to the gym many times. And fitness classes. Kick aerobics* is so many kinds of fantastic, mostly because the instructor uses phrases such as "No pain, no gain!" in real life. She's crazy.

Now I must shower, read, lecture and sleep. Though not necessarily in that order.

*It may in fact be "kickaerobics" (all one word) but I absolutely refuse to spell it like that.

there's no place like it

This will undoubtedly get deleted.

My blog is set to private thanks to my nosey/stalkery family anyway.

I went home last weekend after having spent 3 weeks in a completely different country. I was excited. Friday is my longest day at uni and all I could think about all day was rushing back to my flat to get my stuff to get my train. I love home. I don't understand how you can spend 18 years somewhere and not grow somewhat attached to it. Everyone's so excited to get away from it and have a fresh start and whatever, but I don't get that. The friends that I've known and loved for quite some time now have all gone off to uni and I've barely heard from any of them. I suppose I must be pretty disposable.

And so, to go home to the one person I knew would be feeling similar things to me was ridiculously comforting. I've had best friends in the past and it's never a term I throw around lightly, but oh my is she the best of the best. I was looking forward to seeing my family and the other 3 people that I love and miss constantly, but there was definite concerns with how the reunion with one of them was going to go. I didn't have any worries about this though. She is my sanctuary and it makes me very happy to know that seeing her would be like putting on a comfy old coat. Nobody here could ever compare to that.

The reunion I was worried about? Yeah...weird. It was all confusion and racing hearts and staying up far too late. And this summer was just too good. And I wish I had the backbone to tell him that some things are worth the fight and that missing him is awful but I wouldn't trade it.

I don't know. The wrong person is telling me he misses me and the right person is barely speaking to me. I'm being selfish of course. There are other important things he has to worry about. But...eurgh. This is such a livejournal entry. Sorry. Definite deletion when I finally make this public again.

Kay. Going to go do happy things now.

freedom

I've always been all for education. The best example of this is when I was in primary school and told my favourite teacher that I was glued to the floor and refused to leave.

University is...crazy. It's different and exhilarating and I love learning and reading and learning and talking. I'm so in awe of my Professors and the passion that the other students have for this breathtakingly vast subject is so incredibly exciting. I don't know what I'd be doing if I wasn't studying. I'm not ready to work that's for sure. I love ridiculously late nights and sneaking back into my room. I love silly Harry Potter jokes and serious Harry Potter discussions. I absolutely adore seeing new places and adventuring everywhere (even if it's just to cheap clothes shops). Most of all I like how university makes me feel. Like I'm brilliant and intelligent and fascinating. How much it makes me just want to live and live and live.

And yet.

At home, there are people that make me feel more alive than all the books in the world could do. I want to see the whole world and I want them right by my side. I wish I had the guts to tell them.

Anyway I'm sat listening to Brand New as I now (thanks to the lovely Christopher) own more of their music than I even knew they had. Daisy was a disappointment, but Deja Entendu is ridiculously brilliant so I'll forgive them. Just.

I refuse to stay in tonight. I go back tomorrow morning, and as pathetic and desperate I know it'll make me look I'm probably going to drive a stupidly far way to see someone way better than anyone in Wales ever could hope to be.

"You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself."

fear and loathing

Before I went to university I hated one person. Just the one. Admittedly a disliked a whole host of other people, but I only ever hated one. I felt that was important. Hate's just as monumental as love; and I certainly don't throw that word around lightly either.

If I could stop hating that one person I would. Hate is ugly and vicious and consumes you. But they make it impossible to be just indifferent about. They are beyond forgiveness. But I think it's important to state that I wish I could devote all my energies to loving and to seeing the good in every person that crosses paths with me.

And so it pains me (and oh my does it pain me) to tell you that since coming to university I've discovered I hate two people. Two. That's double! Good going there Sara.

And I don't want to. I want to just not care and not be angered by a lack of respect and a lack of substance and standards. But I can't. In a way I'm glad it annoys me so much, because I don't want to be the type of person that just accepts that some people are a bit shit and that we shouldn't expect more from humanity.

I don't know where I'm going with this. There's not big philosophical point I'm trying to make and I don't think this is even going to be particularly cathartic. But it just makes me sad and it makes me feel like a horrible person, that I have the capacity to hate not just one, but two people.

extremes

Hello. I'm at university.

It's fucking weird.

Before you leave, everybody will tell you that university is a huge transition and lots of things are going to change for you but ultimately it's going to be the best three years of your life.

I have some issues with that.

Firstly, these will not be the best three years of my life. They just won't. I plan on making the rest of my life all kinds of awesome and these will not be the only years I look back on with joy. Things don't just stop after you've done the uni thing. Life goes on.

Secondly (and possibly lastly, I haven't really thought this through), though everybody acknowledges the change that you have to go through, nobody cares to mention that every single day here is an extreme. I am yet to have a day of just average. Average emotions and average activities. Everything happens at once. "Quick! We're taking away everything you've ever cared about! Make all these new friends! Live away from home! Look after yourself! Do a fucking DEGREE!" Separately you might be able to cope with these things, but when you're forced to deal with all of them all at once, it tends to be a wee bit soul destroying. I imagine living here is the closest I will ever come (touch wood) to being bipolar.

Example.

"Woo I'm meeting intellectual people that like things I like and we stay up till 3 in the morning just laughing and being ourselves and I finally understand what uni is all about. Gosh I'm lucky to be ALIVE!"

To...

"I miss my friends. Nobody here knows me at all. I don't want to hug a stranger. I'm ridiculously bad at meeting new people. I can't cook and my kitchen scares me."

It's exhausting.

I had to run to my kitchen to get breakfast this morning. Out of context that makes no sense. Sorry.

My room is very unhomey. This makes me sad.

open letters

Dear "Friends" I am yet to make,

Do not be offended by my use of air quotation marks. It's simply because you are the most daunting prospect about leaving the comfort of my own home. I do not believe I am going to make any of you. Ridiculous I know. Everybody thinks like this before they set off to university, but I genuinely don't see any of you in my future. You probably think I'm being melodramatic, but seriously I really don't expect you to like me. I'm an acquired taste. One that takes longer than a freshers week to comprehend. But in case (by some wild chance) I do happen to make some of you (and you compare in any way, shape or form to the ones I've already got and are quite happy with and do not want to leave) then there are a few things you should know.

Firstly, you are not replacements. Everything's changing and maybe I won't stay friends with everybody I want to, but there are approximately 5 people in this world that you are not better than. I don't care how much you love the same stuff I love, or if you possess a large amount of spirit or if you're the sister of my soul. I just don't. They win. Hands down. Sorry. It's nothing personal.

Secondly I think I should probably address my sense of humour. Sarcasm may indeed be the lowest form of wit, but it also happens to be my favourite. If you find I take joy in shooting you down, I probably like you. As long as there is a sense of playfulness to my tone, then honestly I'm not being a bitch. You'd know if I wasn't your biggest fan. Embrace the sarcasm. Learn to love it.

When we first meet I will be awkward, shy and generally anti-social. I know the glasses and the degree choice don't help matters. I'm bad at small talk. Let's get that over with as quickly and painlessly as possible and settle into being friends. I'll be better then. I promise.

Pronounce my name right and we'll be BFF's in no time.

Dear Friends,

No air quotation marks for you (see previous if you've cheated and skipped ahead), you're certain. Lucky you! I'm pretty darn selective and you've made the cut. Hurrah and suchlike!

I should probably be saying this to your faces. I imagine I'll write a letter to each of you. An actual letter. With paper and everything. But for now, this will do. I'm packing. Putting my 18 years into boxes and leaving the home I so ferociously adore. And I'm leaving you. Actually that's quite a vain way of seeing it. We're all leaving each other, I suppose.

You (and you all know who you are) have made this period of life so much more than just bearable. Your combined wit and humour, loyalty, generosity, honesty and just the tiniest sprinkle of magic are what is making this transition so painful. I am leaving, tomorrow. I keep having to say it to myself. It's not sinking in properly. I don't want it to.

I wish I could kid myself into thinking we'll stay exactly how we are and that we're stronger than distance and our friendship surpasses time; but If we fall apart and we never speak again, let us not clutch at half forgotten jokes when we see each other again, and let our friendships not fade with bitterness or even anger. Let's stay this way forever (in our memories if nothing else). 18 and in love with the world.

Dear Boy,

Who knows why I can't just say your name. Everyone that matters knows already and the Internet doesn't care. But oh well. A little ambiguity (even fake ambiguity) is always fun.

Why did you have to go and make life so much better? It's annoying.

Dear Family,

I'm not a complete disaster. I can't cook very well, but I'll cope. I think you did okay. In fact, I think you did way better than okay. Everything I ever achieve, it's all for you.

Lots of love,

Sara (no h).

(almost) perfect

It's late and I can tell you now that if you came here in hope of some high quality prose then I'd leave and continue your search elsewhere.

But there is no way I can go without recording today's events down.

Today (other than the fact I barely ate a thing, and what I did eat was pretty darn awful) was possibly one of the best days of my life. One of those days that I will undoubtedly remember parts of for years to come. One of those days that probably seems quite unremarkable from an outsider's point of view, but will have me smiling for days on end.

Sadly, one part of it is quite materialistic. Ignore that part as much as you can. Honestly, it really wasn't the highlight.

So I woke up this morning to the sound of my Dad calling my name, telling me my lovely, shiny new MacBook had arrived. This, in case you hadn't guessed already, is the materialistic part of the entry that you should probably avoid. I even put it right at the very start so you wouldn't really be missing out on anything. That and it's chronologically sound.

A friend had slept at my house the previous night, so we both gasped and gazed in wonder at my delightful new piece of technology. The post was particularly wonderful towards me today, bringing me my railcard as well. Wonderful!

We lazed around for quite some time, until deciding that getting ready would probably be a good option. She departed from my house, but not before we'd made plans to go on a driving adventure later on that day.

We ended up going to a relatively local forest and joked about being 'at one with nature', taking stupid pictures stood on wooden thrones and generally enjoying the surprising burst of sunshine. We continued this for a couple of hours and then headed home (listening to S Club 7 all the way. It had been the Grease soundtrack on the way there. Lucky we have immaculate singing voices, eh?). Another friend and myself then sort of spur of the moment (as things tend to be with him) decided to go to the cinema. We hid from people we knew and ran away at the end to avoid even more people. (500) Days of Summer is wonderful by the by and even managed to raise some semi-serious questions in the car later. A rarity, believe me.

This I believe is where things got particularly weird and particularly wonderful. This particular friend lives a ridiculously far way away. And I being the kind soul that I am, was giving said person a lift home. Except then we saw a sign for a lake near(ish not really) to his house. So we went to the lake. Now dear readers, this is the part which you may consider trespassing. However I disagree. Don't look at me like that. OK. It might have been. A bit. It's only a lake! Not even that good a one at that! There were other people there! They were scary.

So we wandered around a bit and sat down for a while and general looked at the sky and how beautifully bizarre the moon appeared. Then I got scared of the approaching voices and we left.

We next ventured to another viewpoint (which genuinely is near his house) and sat on the bonnet of my car for quite some time, looking at the lights of the town and the sky and the cars. It was honestly one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

Then (with some difficulty) I finally dropped him home and headed home myself. Tired and hungry and feeling like nothing could ever be better than this.

new year(ish) resolution

So on my birthday I made a resolution. It was pretty simple really. To make my 18th year on this little planet my best year yet.

"Grand!" you might be thinking! "She'd never be able to give up chocolate or anything that required any kind of will power/dedication, therefore this is the perfect solution!"

Except here's the thing...I don't really know HOW to make this my best year yet.

I do have a few ideas though. Ones that I need to stop playing around with in my mind and make happen. Which I am doing, albeit slowly.

What seems like an age ago, I wrote these two ridiculous essay things (to be found near the beginning of this blog if you're really that interested) about risk taking. Namely how I needed to do more of it. Finally, months later, I seem to be actually doing some of that. Granted it's only little things right now, but it's a start. I constantly surprise myself by saying things I wouldn't normally say (though of course would like to) and doing things with less hesitation. Sounds stupid I know, but each and every one of them is like a mini victory for me. And if you can't take delight in the small things (pretty sure I wrote a blog with that exact title...lots of self referencing today) then you're just going to spend most of your time waiting for something big and exciting to happen. I don't know about you, but I don't really want to rest all of my happiness on monumental moments that will ultimately (as all things do) pass. Waiting becomes tiresome after a while.

I don't want days where I'm just sat around, waiting for something to happen, accomplishing nothing. This is starting to sound like some kind of preemptive midlife crisis. I can assure you it's not. I'm just trying to get better at living in the now instead of the past and the future. I want to be challenged.

Honestly, if you can think of anything to help me with this new initiative then I'd appreciate it.

I love pretending I actually have an audience.

it's been a while

I was just looking through my little blog archive thingy (concise) and I realised that during April I posted 26 blogs, whereas now you're lucky (debatable) to get more than one a month. I don't plan on trying to blog every day, but I'm going to try my hardest to fit it into my day more often than not from now on.

I'm also going to avoid talking about University as much as humanly possible because it makes my head hurt.

I'm also going to avoid talking about Wednesday for similar (though not entirely the same) reasons.

So enough talking about things I'm not going to talk about! Now I've ruled out two of the major things in my life, I need to find something I can talk about. Confusing.

Last night, I went to see Eoghan Quigg perform at a ridiculously awful carnival near where I live. Do not be alarmed dear blog reader, I am perfectly aware that my phrasing implies that I actively decided to go and hear this young boy's dulcet Irish tones through some kind of actual want. Fear not, it was free and we had absolutely nothing better to do.

I wish I could say we got there with cynical mindsets, but as soon as the beat kicked in and the teeny bopper started to croon our hearts were melted and we stayed for the encore. Alas, he was awful and murdered several covers that weren't very good to begin with. C'est la vie.

I should probably address the fact that this has been privatised for a little bit. Nothing personal, I just wanted somewhere to write stuff and not have anyone read it. Sometimes it just feels good to publish something and know that nobody will read it. For posterity or something like that.

Must dash, going to watch some awful television with someone lovely.

perfect fifth

Man made light doesn't suit you. The harsh, unrelenting, unchanging, unforgiving lights of the modern world just weren't made with you in mind. I am perfectly aware that many will tell me that artificial light can capture almost every cadence of the day just as well as the big burning ball of gas in the sky can do. And yes, I'm sure they're right. I'm sure it can capture every cadence of the day. Of the day. Not of you. You are far more suited to natural light. Your infinitely complex moods and modulations could never be done justice by the mere flick of a plastic switch. But the sky and the sun, the dark and the stars; they seem to be able to grasp your inner most thoughts and feelings in a way that makes me almost green with envy. It is not uncommon to fear the dark, though of course irrational, I am among the many that do. But you always say you prefer it to any other part of the day. Maybe you can see clearer in the pitch black. Despite this rational feeling of content within the night, there is undoubtedly some irrational reasoning. There always is.

self conclusion

Forget about everyone who's jaded...

Isn't that everyone?

Seems like quite a task to forget about them all. I quite like some of them. As hard as that might be to believe.

Oh The Spill Canvas...you're so wise, but sometimes your logic is a little flawed.
I'd be jaded if I was filled with as much angst as you seem to be.
Oh WAIT a minute...

Ready for some more philosophising on life? I know I am.
I read this beautifully poignant poem the other day. Now I know copying and pasting poetry isn't the best way to keep readers, but I suggest you at least skim your eyes over it. In 30 years time it'll probably seem like something you should have remembered. For now, it's filled with the sense of future that both intimidates and fascinates me.

Love after Love by Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here.  Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine.  Give bread.  Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit.  Feast on your life.

What do you think he's saying? I have my ideas. I'll refrain from literary analysis, but there's a few things it makes me think about.

The person doing the greeting (who I know I shouldn't do, but I immediately assume is a woman) seems to have learnt to love themselves. After years of putting all their hope into someone else, maybe more than one person, they have realised that instead of obsessing over the love of another, they must bask in the sunlight of themselves. You can't pin all of your hopes on to someone else. Trust yourself to be beautiful.

It may, of course, be that they have lost a loved one. That through this grief they will come to terms with what they have. They will be filled with elation at their own life. But I think I prefer what I initially thought. Gut reactions might not always be right, but I find with personal interpretation that sometimes you have to defend your own opinion to the death. Otherwise how do you differentiate literature from maths? Finding a bit of yourself in anothers words is what makes it so utterly compelling. You might not like Holden Caulfield, but I challenge you to find a human being on this planet that hasn't felt like he did at some point. It can be terrifying that we relate to someone that seems to be so lost and confused and angry with life. But he's just a construct. An embodiment of millions of people's lives all rolled into one. Gosh I love that book.

Maybe in 30 years time, I'll read this poem again and I'll find a whole new meaning from it. For now I'll just hold on to the parts I can fit around my own state of being the best and tell myself that to live off of anothers looks, is to not live at all.

she's cheer captain and i'm on the bleachers

TBOME went exceedingly well the other night. You have to be a pretty avid reader of this thing to know what TBOME actually is. Special Points made of magic to you if you guess right without going to search for it.

I have so much to do. And yet all I can think about are things that inevitably probably aren't as important as passing my exams.

I've officially decided that Taylor Swift is probably some kind of deity. Judge me all you like, but I think she's a little bit incredible. So THERE. I've been watching the "You Belong With Me" video on a loop all day and singing far too over-dramatically at the top of my little awful voice. My excuse is that we've got new neighbours and one of them plays drums REALLY loudly, REALLY badly. I'm just giving him some competition.

Unfortunately the new neighbours also have two REALLY BIG dogs. We also happen to have two QUITE BIG dogs. They also seem to be in competiton with each other. As natural as barking might be to a dog, it's not exactly the most delightful of quartets to hear whilst you're trying to go to sleep/read/do anything that involves any kind of concentration whatsoever.

I need to finish in filling in a job application form for a MAIZE MAZE. The theme is 'witches and wizards' and it involves dressing up. Win. Then I need to sort out student finance which is being a complete and utter bitch. THEN I need to get started on some revision.

If only life could be a little bit more Disney-esque.

she's crazy

My body is showing all the signs of happiness, but everything else about me disagrees.

I keep thinking, "if this happened THEN I'd be happy", "If I looked like THAT then things would be better".

There's this line in the play we're doing and it talks about people walking past a woman "with eyes averted" saying "why can't she be a bit more like us?".

I feel like that sometimes. Feeling simultaneously inferior and superior to a group of people that should in theory make me feel accepted. I should really get over that.

I hate being so selective with what I can or can't tell people. One day I'll just explode and tell everyone everything and people will think I'm made of pure crazy but at least I'll feel a bit better.

In brighter news...
Oh. Right.

This is REET depressing. Soz.

the end (well, not really)

So here it is, the last day!

I know I haven't been the best of bloggers, but it's been fun. We've had some laughs me and you. We've also had some depressive rants and some silly thinking. But mostly I like to think we'll both remember the laughs.

I want to finish on a high but it turns out I don't have very much to say.

I'm going to a party tomorrow night and I can almost guarantee I'll end up blogging something about it. It may even be coded and guarded. They're the BEST kind of blogs, right?

I need to finish reading The Odyssey and I need to find some inspiration and I need to be a bit more interesting.

Please?

In other news I really need to get me a copy of Looking for Alaska sometime soon. My father was kind enough to purchase me Paper Towns and Katherine's whilst in the States a few months ago. He was there when Obama won the election. Jealous? Me? No. Never. He bought me a badge though, so I suppose that makes up for it a bit.

It's strange this blog. It used to be incredibly private. Nobody knew of it's existence. My own little pocket of web to indulge in silly ramblings or intense thought. But now with Twitter being something a few of my friends use and suchlike, it's a bit less private. I'm not complaining, nor am I assuming that any of my friends read this (though I know a couple do), but I think there's something to be said for anonymity on the Internet. I like people reading some things I write, whereas some other things are quite personal. Admittedly I shouldn't post anything personal on the Internet as I know there's a chance it could be read by someone I know, but sometimes it feels like it's the only (and undoubtedly the best) form of release I have. It's an irritating little paradox and it annoys me that I've deleted a few earlier posts because of it, but as is life. I don't want to think about it too much, it's making my head hurt.

Despite copious amounts of tea, I'm still really rather exhausted.

foolish

So apparently it's that time of year again...

And no, I'm not referring to exams.

It's the time of year when my nose itches and my eyes go all red and horrible and I sneeze every two minutes.

Oh yes, it's HAY FEVER time.

I never used to get it. Now I VERY MUCH DO.

40 minutes of lying in the park + one stolen flower later and I'm a complete and utter wreck.

Oh well. It was worth it. Probably.

Oh and don't worry, I'm almost certain it's not swine flu.

"What are you thinking about?" "...not much"

angst

I've been reading some old blog entries from when we all used to blog on MSN spaces.

LOL at my angst.

hot beverages

Yesterday, I had a genuine conversation that ended in "you could write about this in your blog".

So here we go. I warn you, I think this can only be considered cute and endearing if you happen to like me quite a large amount. Otherwise I just sound a bit crazy.

I was discussing hot drinks, and if asked out for such a drink what it would be I chose. I decided to narrow it down to the three main contenders; tea, coffee and hot chocolate.

Let's start with coffee. Coffee would be chosen if I were trying to seem sophisticated and literary. The cool city type that I'm just completely not.

Tea would be chosen if I was perhaps being slightly more myself. Going for the whole quaint, "oh how very BRITISH of you" type vibe.

Hot chocolate is chosen for occasions when I'm trying to be cute and precious and perhaps even a little ditzy.

I think about things too much.

made of awesome

I don't want a theological debate right now (though normally I'm more than open to them), nor do I want to discuss my lack of posting.

But I really do love God.

In other news, I had an informal interview today at Bangor University and the guy offered me a lower conditional offer.

WIN.

put on your dancing shoes

I want to dance all night long in my heels, forget about exams and do something impulsive just once.

I hate all that ridiculous teenage drama and the kissing boys your mother would sorely disapprove of, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I could be a little more carefree. Not so uptight. Not so...me.

Sometimes I feel so boring in comparison to all the infinitely more fascinating than me people I know.

I don't know. I don't even know what I want.

I think I'll go do some work or something. That'll help.
Le sigh.

ironic

Time for some comic relief.

So some of the more dramatically inclined members of my youth group are doing some drama for a youth event that's coming up on Saturday. One of the pieces involves a few of us taking on the role of a sin/temptation. Now originally I was going to be addiction. I didn't particularly think I'd be too wonderful at acting drunk on stage (as I'm rarely drunk in real life) but this was fine. This was more than fine. This was positively DANDY in comparison to the role I later received.

Due to some conflicting schedules, I was given a new part.

Envy.

I have to wear a "flattering" dress and strut around the stage like a model whilst another girl stares enviously.

I'm going to feel like a FOOL. My confidence concerning the way I look isn't exactly SKY HIGH. I'm just going to think everyone's laughing at me.

Oh WELL.

In other news, SUNDAY.
That is all.

je suis tired

Today has been far too stressful for my poor little brain to handle.

Tomorrow will be less stressful I hope, with more chance of sitting and quite possibly sleeping.

Tomorrow I think I'm doing some work as an extra for this film made almost entirely by young people, with the help of some professionals.

One of my favourite people ever just signed in on MSN. Dammit. I wanted to blog, put my pyjamas on and then go to SLEEP. I doubt he'll be here long. Fleeting moments and all that.

What was I saying? Oh yes, the film. All I have to do is wear a school uniform and walk around a bit, so I'm not too fussed. Who knows, it might even be successful one day and my starring role as 'school girl number 104' will forever be immortalised.

Tomorrow, I should also really try and get me some of that motivation.

too early

It's 5 to 7 in the morning and I'm hurriedly completing an essay that I just couldn't handle last night. It'll be awful, but honestly I couldn't care less.

I used to be such a conscientious student.

Something horrible happened yesterday and I fear my mind will be fixated on it all day.

I have a silly school photo to be in today and there's no way on earth I'm going to look halfway decent for it. Oh well. My parents are used to awful school photos. It's not like you'll be able to see me anyway. I'll wear a bin bag with confidence and say it's all the rage in France.

Or, y'know, I'll wear something normal and fade into the background of so many people's lives.

Either way.

rawr

I have so much work to do it actually hurts a little bit.

But let's not talk about that. Let's talk about better things than that.

This week has been bizarrely good. I saw lovely people and went to a ridiculously awesome animal place (it's not a zoo and I don't know what else to call it) and the sun shone and it was just generally good (if ever so slightly confusing at times).

Next week I go back to college, which I'm actually looking forward to (despite the fact I haven't done nearly enough work as I should have done). And I get to do some dramary stuffs with some churchy people and that's always fun.

This is pretty atrociously written but I don't really care. It's sunny out and I'm happy :)

If this isn't love, I don't know what is.

My top has a lion on it. Awesome.

capitalisation

Let's not discuss the lack of writing yesterday. If nobody mentions it then it's like it never happened. Which technically it didn't.

I was re-reading some of my earlier entries and I realised that I often seem to go from one extreme to another with my writing. It's probably because I'm not very good at putting my thoughts down on paper (or whatever the technological version of that phrase is) when I'm in a steadier state of mind. I have so much more to say when I'm flying high or hitting rock bottom. Perhaps not exactly coherent, but certainly more.

So today, I'm going to speak normally about those relatively dull things that everyone else seems to be able to make entertaining. No pretentious literary techniques here, no sirree (how the hell do you spell that?).

I've been rehearsing the past few days for what is slowly becoming The Bain Of My Existence (TBOME). We're performing a reworked version of the Greek tragedy Medea (did I mention I do Classics? When I say my life is tragic, I literally mean it) and it's taking over my life. We're all far too apathetic about the whole thing and the less said about that the better.

I'm re-reading The Odyssey at what can only really be described as a snails pace. I think I remember liking it the first time round. But that seems a very long time ago right now. The language is archaic (which I don't mind at all, and really why would I expect anything different?), but when it seems like all the characters do is offer their guests food and pour libations you get a little bit tired of it all.

Today, I'm going to go and MAKE AMENDS.
Also, consume copious amounts of caffeine and feel atrociously sick afterwards.

I got the nicest (screw you English teachers, NICE is a NICE way of describing NICE things) of emails this morning. GOOD START!

haiku

Saw some animals.
I had a really good time.
Going to sleep now.

epic poetry

It's funny how it's the little unexpected things that always make my day.

The last 20 minutes of conversation has had me positively beaming. I'm so lucky to know the people I do.

Today I've read some of The Odyssey. I decided to try and make it more interesting I'd read it out loud. Whilst stood in the middle of my living room, reading and half acting it out, my brother tapped on the window with a sort of distinct curiosity.

The conversation went something like this...

Him: You're weird.
Me: I'm a drama student.
Him: Yeah. You're weird.

I should really read some more but I don't want to. I want to sit and talk to the people I love and revel in my own confusion.

teenage kicks

My life is absolutely ridiculous.

Least I'm not angsty about it.

brain tax

I didn't realise thinking of something interesting to say every day would be quite this taxing.

I've come to the conclusion that I like looking forward to the future. And I like thinking about the past. But they both make me incredibly sad. How quickly time is flying past me. I hope I do some wonderful things that one day I will look back on filled with joy and sadness.

In other news I'm absolutely awful at living in the now.

I want(/need) something to happen. Something that'll change the way I look at my life or simply make me appreciate it a little bit more. It's been so long since anythings happened that's worth daydreaming over or worth forgetting myself a little bit for.

It's sunny (I'm British, get over it) out today, and I'd really quite like to go to the park with some lovely lovely people.

Life, you're so confusing. I love thee.

incoherent

It's Easter and my thoughts are all over the place.

Normal (better) blogging will resume tomorrow.

stuff of legend

This is my blog and I'll talk about whatever the hell I like.

Therefore I make absolutely no apologies for what is about to come.

I love Doctor Who. I absolutely adore it. So much so, that a little part of my soul belongs to it. It's fantastical and wonderful and pure magic. Even when the plot is becoming near invisible, I'm always thoroughly entertained by it. The cast is rarely flawless (though David Tennant is constantly brilliant and carries even the most dire of episodes) and the monsters are sometimes a bit unusual. I don't like all of Russell T Davies' decisions, nor (dare I say it) do I like Rose. But it's spectacular. Not only does it takes you on these extraordinary adventures throughout time and space but it demands you to think and to expect something more of humanity and to question authority and to not take anything sitting down.

A little bit of impossibility goes a long way.

I love Doctor Who for all the same reasons I love literature. Sometimes I think I need to remind myself of that fact.

i'll gamble away my fright

I was going to be a complete and utter cheat and just fill today's entry with quotations, but I decided instead to talk about music. One gorgeous band in particular.

Beirut.

The only way to describe them, is to ask you to imagine a group of people coming together in a little hamlet or town with their own battered instruments and just playing. Playing to celebrate. With life and soul and love. But anything I say about them won't do them justice. I implore you to go and listen to this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R781LDKOVJE&feature=channel_page

I've been feeling so very empty lately. I find myself hating the writers I adore because I think it's easier to blame them for this feeling. Maybe all they've ever really done is give metaphors and analogies to this feeling. My very own bell jar.

I don't know if I'm glad nobody reads this or not.

expression of self

To explain the lack of update, I was in Canterbury yesterday with no computer or Internet.

I think on this occasion nothing was better to the something that you got the day before yesterday.

My sincerest apologies.

Canterbury was gorgeous. I like the course and I liked the people that I met. Edinburgh will always be in the back of my mind, but I suppose that can't be helped. It feels like it was destined to be part of the fabric of my being. I have no doubt in my mind that I'll be there one day. Just not in the way I had originally anticipated.

There was a first year student that sat with us at lunch yesterday and he said two things that particularly resonated with me. Firstly that he was doing the whole ambassador thing because he liked talking to people, he just didn't really get the chance to do it very often. And secondly that words could not convey how much he adores literature. I was envious of him, because I realised that I felt exactly the same, I just never say it. How beautifully and brutally honest it was as well. It felt like he was made up of every single piece of writing he's ever read. That he thinks the essays are easy, not because they necessarily are, but because he's absolutely fascinated by what he does.

Maybe I was reading a little too much into him.
Then again, I am a literature student <3

apathy

Off to a University thing.

Officially the worst blog ever.

Soz.

apparel

I don't know what time I'll be getting in tonight, so I'll do this now, in case (god forbid) I get in after midnight. We wouldn't want that now would we?

Yet another unusual day (I am beginning to question what precisely a normal day would consist of), but you don't want to hear about that.

Instead you can hear about just how long it's taking me to decide what to wear tonight.

Girls judge. People judge in general, but girls are awfully good at it. And awfully quick at it too. I've got changed more times than I can count already (and I'm not due out for another 45 minutes) and I simply don't know how to present myself. I want to look comfortable, but not so far as wearing jogging bottoms. I want to look ever so slightly quirky without looking like a complete fashion disaster. I want to fake a sense of self-confidence and depth without looking completely up my own arse.

And most importantly?

I don't want to look exactly the same as everyone else that's going to be in that room.

I'm so tired of forcing myself to fit in where I don't belong.

Metaphors revolving around clothes are the BEST kind of metaphors.

seventeen forever

The party last night was...bizarre. In so many different ways.

I wore a dress that had apples on it. Intrigued? You should be.

It's the Easter holidays now. A whole two glorious (revision filled) weeks of no college. Yet Sunday's still have the same feeling as they always do. A sense of lethargy coupled with an expectancy and impatience for the coming week.

I'm filled with a sense of nostalgia and awareness at the moment. I'm painfully aware of what September is going to bring and how everyone's growing up and how I can't shake this feeling of dread. I love my life. I adore my friends. I want to carry on feeling infinite and like the summer will be endless. Seventeen forever.

I think maybe this writing a little bit every day is good for me. Maybe it's not. Who cares? It's merely a blip in my life. A momentary endeavour.

I need to go listen to something happy and talk to someone good.

take a moment

I write this in a rushed state as I'm about to go and get ready and I should really be out the door in 15 minutes. Not going to happen.

I've been thinking a lot about life recently. It's beauty, complexities and most importantly the transient nature of it.

I've been reading a lot of Shelley, which is undoubtedly both a blessing and a curse.

Must dash, will edit this later.

Edit - I'll just make the next entry better than this one.

excuses, excuses

Apologies for how late this post is. I am perfectly aware that it's no longer the 3rd, but I've had a busy day and it's my blog and I'll do what I like with it.

So there.

I have no wish to be coherent or interesting in this blog, so you may wish to leave right about...now.

My day consisted of wearing a summery lovely dress and being judged by all who saw it, going to Manchester, seeing JASON MRAZ in Manchester (he was epic), going to a 'Geek Party' (I didn't need to dress up anyway) and then going home with some weird drunk people in the car.

It's been a surreal day and I think I'll reflect on it tomorrow when I have time, but for now my bed beckons me with promises of comfort and the cold side of the pillow in the morning.

empty vessels

I have a sneaking suspicion that blogging every day is going to be about making tiny insignificant aspects of my life have more importance than they actually deserve. It's OK though. I'm good at that.

However, today something happened that I think is worth sharing. Not for the reader's sake, but for my own. I said au revoir to a friend. I won't be seeing him for a little over 3 weeks now and that makes me sad. I think I've just become so used to him being a permanent fixture in my life that I don't like the idea of him not being around for so long. Even the people that are supposed to be permanent fixtures in my life have ended up being nothing more than empty promises and half forgotten memories. I think the people I surround myself with now are far different to that. We'd never have to fight for our friendships to survive, because we'd never let it slip away from us due to something silly and petty. Indeed it might be the case that we can barely fill up a dining table for prom, but it's quality not quantity.

I try so hard to imagine people complexly, but some girls can often seem like such vacuous beings. With no want to be anything other than empty vessels. Maybe that's a tad judgemental and it's a bit too much like a sweeping generalisation for my liking. But that's how I feel.

On a completely different note, (one that will undoubtedly make me seem like an empty vessel myself) I bought a new dress today. Hurrah for the summer sun and the dreadful materialistic side it brings out in us all.

Blog Every Day in April

Or BEDA for short.

A snippet of my life every single day of April. Hopefully I'll be able to keep it up (lack of Internet allowances may have to be made at points) for the entire month. I'm good at starting things but awful at the middle bit.

I warn you now, my life is incredibly boring. I'd get out while you still can.

I got my college report today. The best line from the entire thing was from my form teacher (who, of course, has no clue what I'm like), and it read as follows...

"Sara is a studious and sensible member of the form group who is popular with her peers."

Oh the irony.

Now if you'll excuse me, I really should be writing an essay about Shelley's views on life, death and mortality...

paradoxical

"I love your darkness cloaked in light. The way your beauty simultaneously surpasses and conspires with my imagination. How seemingly contradictory your idiosyncrasies are, yet how your actions never betray your thoughts. That every movement has purpose and life. There's fear in your eyes, in your heart, but you have to look closely. You have to be allowed to see it. Your absolute impossibility is astounding and terrifying and necessary. Tell me; how do you exist?"

Communication is Key

Friendship. A plethora of platitudes (found, for the most part, on fridge magnets and tea coasters) tell us that friendship should be treasured, clung on to and-ironically this is the one that is always said with the most conviction-fought for. So when was the last time you and your best friend, your confidant, your kindred spirit sat down and had a conversation about something meaningful without relying on there being a screen (a computer screen if we're talking specifics) between you?

The 21st Century has changed the way we see our friends, the Facebook generation has simultaneously expanded and limited our ability to communicate with each other. Remember your playground boyfriend? He's now seen every single photo of every wild night out since '06. The beauty and the innocence of your childhood romance is shattered via a tagging system. Your closest friends send you wall messages on your birthday and "buy" you a drink (some pixels of varying colours) and thinks that's enough. Whatever happened to letters? Whatever happened to taking the time to have an actual conversation, rather than spending an hour exchanging emoticons and meaningless pokes?

So what's the crux of the matter? A multitude of reasons I'm sure, each more complex and analytical than the last. I'm not one for generalisations. Yet people don't seem to want to make the effort anymore. Or, on a different, perhaps less condemning and slightly more melancholy vein of thought, have we simply forgotten how to communicate without some kind of crutch?

Shelley tells us that life is "Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery". We're all so scared of our own potential. Of freeing ourselves from whatever it is that's holding us back. What would happen if instead of sending a text (as a side-note, the politics of texting is one of the most convoluted things in the world) to ask someone out, we did it in person? It'd be daunting and exhilarating, life-affirming and so much more than anything 140 characters could ever offer. I'm guilty of all these things just as much as anyone else is. I write letters, but rarely. There's so much life behind a letter. Thought processes, scribbles of excitement, the way a persons handwriting reflects a part of who they are.

Take a tip from the Romantics (crazy kids that they were) and take a step into the unknown.
You might just like it.

Blank.

The university of my dreams just told me they don't want me.

I feel hollow. A shell. A whisper.

I prepared myself for the worst. But I think I underestimated just how much I wanted this. Just how much I'd have given up for it.

It just goes to confirm what I already knew. I'm average. Mediocre. Less than that.

I feel like a failure.

Ironically enough, I should be doing my literature coursework right about now.
I see little point.

On Love, Life + Loss

I have a love-hate relationship with nostalgia.

Can you imagine not remembering the tiniest moments of your past that define the very person you are? The moments of clarity, confusion and pure hysteria. The running across bridges at sunset and the twirling in bookshops. Moments of pure infinity. The tears you cried when you found out he wasn't everything you once thought. I adore the past; it's safe but it's precarious and so very dependent. Step on a butterfly.

You'll never get them back. You'll never get to be the 4 year old that's allowed to run into their dad's arms when they're scared. You'll never get to do any of that ever again. No matter how much you wish, not matter how much you long for it.

Looking into the future is a kind of nostalgia too. Looking forward, knowing one day that you'll be looking back, thinking the exact same things that you do now. And what if the decisions you make aren't the right ones? What if you never amount to anything but a few tired clichés on a page?

What if you made a mistake, and the boy you think you don't want anymore is the one you ultimately need.

What if him being willing to change everything for you isn't what's necessary. What if what you really need, is to change everything for him.

Why can't for one minute you pretend you're somebody else and just take that step into the unknown.

I'm so scared of everything.
Hold my hand.