Odd Times.

Life has become odd. The term has finished, there is a lot of revision to be done and a portfolio to be started, and I have no inclination to do any work. Instead, I spend all my time playing The Sims 2 and writing the novel I have been working on for months that has, until recently, been a very slow project. And then there has been other things going on over the past few weeks: going to see 30 Seconds to Mars (verdict: amazing), going to the Clothes Show, attending the jungle-themed house party, complete with samba band, and then nights out with the housemates, a house Christmas dinner and girly nights in watching X Factor. I'm quite sad that term is over, and that 2010 is drawing to a close, but, with a bit of luck, 2011 will be nothing short of amazing.

Oh Yeah, We Went To Manchester...

So it was a while ago now, two Saturdays ago, in fact, but a few of us went on Returner's Ragraid (hello, fresher flashback) and spent the day in Manchester. We wandered around the shopping centre, tried on shoes and then ate McDonalds in the food court. It was absolutely freezing but we had an amazing day, full of giggles and gossip and, it has to be said, Manchester is a rather nice city.

Un-fairy Tale Style.

In our house, we like Sex and the City. We watch a lot of it, and like to pause it to discuss whatever might be going on in the episode. One topic we have covered in a lot of detail is that of Carrie and Big, and whether or not they should be together. The opinion most common seems to be that he is horrible, she should not have ruined what she had with Aiden and that they should not be together. And really, if Carrie was a real person, we would think she was crazy! Waiting 10 years for the man that may or may not be the one? Why would you do that? I once heard that everyone has someone in their life that they go back to, but why would you go back to him? It is clear that she loves him, of course, and she is almost slightly insane when it comes to relationships but does that make it better? Are these questions ever going to lead to an answer? Probably not, but the point is, this relationship to me is more believable than a fairy tale. Love can hurt, and at times it will, and, more than that, it is not easy. You have to work at it, and sometimes wait for the best of it. It took ten years but even Carrie, crazy and indecisive, got her happy ending in the end. Un-fairy tale style.

Halloween Hideout.

The only word to describe last night is epic. The only word to describe today is mellow. I'm still in my pyjamas and we are all currently sat in the living room watching X Factor and ignoring the doorbell when trick or treaters turn up. We didn't think to buy sweets and decided it was best to avoid the guilt.

Friday Nights In.

Of course, it wouldn't be a standard night in without some kind of drama and/or entertainment. Tonight, the drama came courtesty of one of my housemates being trapped in the bathroom because the handle broke. Two hours she was in there, while we attempted to unscrew the handle and kick the door in (all of which failed). After making several phonecalls to parents scattered across the country, we resolved to call the landlady and have the door removed with minimum destruction. Although that was slightly disappointing.

This week has been a strange week. As well as working on my essay, I had the most horrendous cold, had to miss a seminar or two, and leave a party and club early because my body had deceived me into believing that I had fully recovered. (I was well enough to stand in the street at 9.10pm on Wednesday night and watch a guy being carried out of a house and into the ambulance parked outside waiting. Initiation gone wrong, but we all agreed that had to be a new record. Not necessarily a good effort to be proud of, though).

Tomorrow, the Halloween house party that will no doubt put all parties for the rest of the year to shame. And so tonight we are taking it easy, catching up on TV (Russell Howard's Good News, currently) to be fully prepared for the carnage that will be Halloween at No. 3.

A Cup Of Tea + Cheese Melts + Textbooks = Essay.

The state of my desk after an afternoon of poetry analysis and essay planning. This mid-term assessment is already driving me insane and I haven't even started writing it yet. On the plus side, this did give me an excuse to create a new music playlist, the "essay planning" playlist, which consists of all sorts from JLS to Alanis Morrisette. There isn't really much to say in this post, except I have rediscovered my love for William Blake in planning this essay and have been reminded why I hate that Google books; it is always missing the page you want and/or need.

I realised it is now time to stop working though, as I was sat dancing to Ke$ha in my chair for almost ten minutes and got the fright of my life when one of my housemates came in and attempted to catch my attention by waving her hands around. Time for Saturday night TV, methinks...

"Study By Day, Stagger By Night..."

We could definitely be called insane. Last night was 7-Legged, the world's biggest bar crawl, and what a night it was. 7 (sometimes 6) people tied together at the ankle, wandering around the city in varying states of inebriation. The night started in my room, with pictures and laughter, and impressions of the girls on ANTM, screaming included. Our "theme" was onesies, which really means we went out in pyjamas. I've never been more comfortable on a night out and, despite the bruises I now have scattered across my back thanks to a trip down the stairs (thanks, drunk girl with no co-ordination), I had an amazing night. I am definitely up for doing it again next year.

"Life's short. Talk fast."

The days are slowly consisting of too much of this, and not enough reading (or anything else that is going to contribute effectively to my degree).

Pointless.

My attempts to get back into a routine are failing. I can't sleep no matter what time I go to bed, I end up sitting on bed with a pen and paper, writing for hours. The worst thing is, what I'm writing is irrelevant to everything else. I'm wasting time, reading things totally unrelated to me course, scribbling on scraps of paper, listening to music that reminds me of nights out and painting my nails green (my new favourite thing to do). The problem is that I want to work, but one of the other things that walked out of my life recently is concentration. I feel I should go on a quest to hunt it down and force it back into my life. Otherwise the new plan might fall apart.

This week has been good though. Girls night, which resulted in 20 girls gathered in our living room, some slightly improved lectures, a definite lack of work, a 'collective cold', an eventful night out in town, and far too much excitement at the new series of X Factor.

This is an almost pointless post, as I have so much I want to say and I am saying none of it. So I'm going to post this, and go to bed.

"Let's not forget that the little emotions are the great captains of our lives and we obey them without realizing it." ~Vincent Van Gogh, 1889

The Rare Event

When an author captures your heart and your mind, and becomes someone you admire for reasons hard to explain, you know that the book you have read is incredible. For me, that author is Nicole Krauss. 'The History of Love' and 'Man Walks Into A Room' are two of the most incredible books I have ever read, and now sit on my shelf, never to be removed. There are so many quotes from 'The History of Love' that speak to me, that I find it hard to pick a favourite but, if I had to, at this moment in time, it would probably be this:

"What about you? Are you happiest and saddest right now that you've ever been?" "Of course I am." "Why?" "Because nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder than you."

A Quick Rant

When did it become so hard to use a comma correctly? Or to write in sentences that actually make sense. When you spend a lot of time writing or doing things that require a grasp on the English language that can at least be called adequate there is no excuse for bad grammar, or bad literacy in general. I realise I sound snobby and harsh, but I will admit that at times even I make errors. The difference is that I pay attention to what I write and try to avoid these errors at all times. It is the job I am considering going into, and I am very aware of the way people will think of me if my writing is not up to scratch. So tell me, dear, why on earth do you insist on writing when you fail quite epically at getting anything across in CLEAR English???

I Dream Big.

Today I started writing again. Well, strictly speaking, I started writing again at the beginning of the week but today I put pen to paper and wrote more than one small paragraph that had the potential to be more but never would be. I've always tried the "write what you know" technique without much success but now I think may be getting somewhere. I know what I want to write, I know how I want it to end, and I know the style in which I want it to be written. Now it is just a matter of getting my thoughts straight, the words in the right order on the page and then making sure those words tell something that someone would want to read. It's weird what I have been finding inspiring lately. I've taken to sleeping with a notebook beside my bed again, on the off chance that something amazing might appear in my mind as I try and get off to sleep. And maybe one day these ideas might be someone's favourite thing to read. I dream big. Always have, always will.

30 Days Have September...

This week has been a scattered mix of awful and wonderful, and it is only Thursday. My lectures so far (except for one) have been brilliant and I am so excited about the upcoming semester that it is almost sad. I have a lot of reading to do this weekend, so there will be not much time for me to be messing around doing nothing, like I have for the last few weeks. I'm still far too used to lounging around in my pyjamas and wasting the day away doing pointless things, and I need to break these habits pretty quickly. I cannot believe that it is almost October; time has gone so quickly and I am more than a little frightened. My life is changing with the season and rather than panic and cry, I have decided to embrace it and see what happens.

This could be interesting.

Cinderella Was A Liar.

I started reading when I was young. Like, really young. I loved books, I loved words and I loved the magic that authors could create on paper. Fairy tales were my favourite, for a very long time. And then I grew up. I realised there was no such thing as magic, or happily ever after, and that nothing in life is free. There are no wishes and magical relations to come and make things happen for you; everything is done off your own back and no one will help you. Not really.

The first time I got called cynical I was so angry; I claimed, and still do claim, that it is not cynicism, it is merely a practical view of the world. I believe I will get where I want to with hard work and determination, and if I don't the fault is entirely my own. I believed in fate, but I believe we make our own fate happen. We have to put in something to gain whatever it is we are chasing. Love, money, success...Everyone is chasing something. But you're going to keep running unless you take responsibilty for your life.

Love was something I had a hard time believing in. I've seen love in its best and worst forms. I've seen commitment and betrayal, utter devotion and a complete lack of trust. I watched someone have their heart broken and completely lose their way. I've watched a misinterpreted infatuation become blown out of proportion and I've seen someone take a backseat while everything they want moves further and further away. There is no set story or standard plot for love to follow, but there is a fundamental structure that all relationshps should be built on. When that is fractured, even slightly, there is no hope. No matter what you tell yourself, no matter how many apologies are uttered or gifts given, you broke something basic. Buildings don't stand once the foundations are broken.

And so here's the thing. Cinderella, she was my favourite. She had nothing. Essentially, she was nothing. But there was something in her that spoke out to the Prince, and yes, she needed her fairy godmother's help; she needed the gown and the pumpkin and everything else to get noticed, and she only had a narrow time frame to work with (a good night is usually in full swing at midnight...who on earth would want to leave then??). But she made it happen. Her Prince Charming fell in love and she left behind her glass slipper (accident?) so he could come and find her. He found her and he loved her and they lived happily ever after. This does not happen in real life. Prince Charming will smash your glass slipper, and smash your heart with just as much ease, and with no obvious remorse at all. The truth is, sometimes it is too much to believe in happily ever after, because when it doesn't come the disappointment is all the more devestating.

Cinderella was a liar.

But I'm intrigued to see how this plays out for that other character, the one not mentioned in the common version: the lesser one who broke it from the start.

Your Door Loved It. Your Door is a Massive Slag.

We came, we lashed, we conquered.

This is round 2 ;)

So we've done it. Returner's. Like Fresher's, but much more epic and with a less severe flu. I only did 4 nights, but they each grew steadily louder and messier. They were some of the best nights out I've had, and I cannot wait for more. House parties, clubs and cocktails will fill my nights this year (and the occasional essay I'm sure) but I can hardly wait. And if this last week has been anything to go by, they are worth looking forward to.

As well as the catch up and the dancing, I've also been getting back to work. Lectures kicked off again today (at 11am. No early starts for me) and I was pleased to discover that it was actually quite fun - not counting the mad rush up the hill between lectures, of course. This year has only been going a week, and already I know it is going to be amazing.

♥

The End of Summer

Now summer is officially over, the season and that period of time where there are no lectures and seminars to worry about. We've been in the house, working (me a lot less than others, I will admit) and preparing for the coming year. For some, the work has already begun, back on campus for hours on end. Myself, I don't start again until Monday but that means that this weekend I have to buckle down and finally finish the book I have been saying I will finish all week. (I'm fairly certain it should not take this long to read 'Great Expectations'.) So that means barricading myself in my room, giving my laptop to a housemate to eliminate the distraction of the internet and then cups of tea. Lots of cups of tea.

Those Girls At Number 9

And so it is official. As of Friday, the five of us were all moved into and settled into our house. This meant food shopping, carrying more boxes and suitcases than I can remember and the reunion that has been, in some cases, around 12 weeks coming. But the transition was easy and by the Friday night, it was like nothing had changed. We were all dressed to go out in town, laughing, and taking pictures with Laura's polaroid camera; pictures that are now stuck to the fridge. And tonight it's all about the nice dresses and pretty shoes, with an even bigger group of girls, as we all go out for cocktails. We are all of the mentality of making the most of the time before lectures start. It's almost a shame: this is the kind of student life I could get used to.

The Best Medicine.

Now, here's the thing. I'm known to giggle, a lot. I can't help it. And it's always at the most imappropriate times, like when someone has fallen over or is getting told off. I don't know where it comes from, but more often than not it will burst out of me, and I will eventually fall into uncontrolled laughter, and more often than not will end up crying as a result. What I like most, though, is laughing at things that are childish and that won't result in someone being offended, such as the above. You always feel better after laughing, dizzy with amusement. And so an explanation about the pictures above: Henry, the house hoover but also the house pet (see him in his house??) clearly adores the red chair, and as for the fridge magnet poem...well, there needs to be an element of crazy injected into every mundane situation.

Ribbons, Stripes or Polka Dots?

Back at the house, I've found myself back into indecisive mode in terms of how to decorate my bedroom. I was always hoping to have something Wonderland-esque about my bedroom but it is becoming harder and harder to figure out how to do that without spending money that I can't afford. Although Wonderland inspired furniture would be lovely. So I'm trying to now decide what I want. I can't decide whether to have glaringly bright colours, all thrown together, or to go more muted with white and pink. Seeing as I will be spending a lot of time in here, the decision is crucial. It is going to take a lot more Googling before I finally make a decision.

Good Days, Bad Nights.

The house is rather cold. The floorboards creaks and the doors stick. But it's my house, where I'll be living with some of the best people I know, and I love it. Or at least, I love it until 8 o'clock. That's when it starts to get dark and the house starts making strange noises. Especially the fridge. The fridge likes to buzz loudly and really give me a fright.

My solution to this problem: I am searching for books online, books I want but don't need, books I loved once and books I could love in the future.

And I really need to finish Great Expectations.

Secrets.

This song is all kinds of beautiful and I've had it on repeat for the past three days. I can't decide what I love more about it: the use of the string instruments, the vocals or the lyrics. Everything about it makes me want to smile, dance and cry at the same time. In particular one line jumped out at me: "I'm gonna give all my secrets away." And it inspired me, and got my to overcome the writer's block that has been hounding me for the past month everytime I try and figure out where I want the story I am writing to go. I wrote down all of my secrets and I realised, there's a story just in that.

The biggest one of all: I try hard and want to do all of these things to be better, because currently, I don't feel good enough.

Counting Sheep.

I'm tired. In fact, I'm always tired and at the moment I'm finding it difficult to sleep. I'm restless, have weird dreams and I'm pretty sure its because I'm in a new place. This isn't the first time this has happened, and I doubt it will be the last, but it is starting to wear thin and my eyes are starting to show off my lack of sleep. I need to find a way to correct this. And fast. Rather than lying awake until it starts to get light outside, planning my day, going over things I've read in my head and wondering how much it longer it will be before I finally nod off.

Some Days I Only Think About You Once.

When I was a kid, I used to daydream. I used to think about flying away to far away places, or doing something I would never normally do, something outrageous and out of character. Then I'd sit and write them all down, save them for a later date and make stories out of them. Truth be told, I still do that. But I've also started doing things that are out of character and so the things I'm writing down are no longer just fantasy - they're things that happened, sometimes embellished a little, but overall a recount. Something that at a later date triggers things I've forgotten and reassures me that it was all real.

I'm easily distracted. I follow a train of thought, nonsense and dreams, or pure reality, and I lose all sense of what is going on around me. Sometimes it's a problem, especially when trying to complete a mundane task that has no appeal at all. One of my favourite things to do, usually at the most inconvenient times, is to sit and watch the clouds, how they move and become totally aware of the world moving around in a way we can't control. I think about the sheer amount of people in the world, and then the people I know, and wonder what they might doing right this instant, wherever in the world they might be.

Please Speak Softly, Or They'll Hear Us.

A year is a long time. 12 months. 4 seasons. Countless nights out, hours of conversation, masses of tears, uncountable laughing fits and too many words that can never be taken back. So much can happen in a year; today is A Level results day and I think back to myself this time last year, full of celebration and excitement at knowing I'd achieved my dream and got where I wanted to be. That day doesn't seem like a year ago, but when I think about everything I've learnt, experienced and all of the people I've met, it really has been that long. Time has just passed at an accelerated rate.

What I've been thinking is about how much has happened that I never thought would. Three things in particular that I won't go into, but they are by far some of the best (and in one instance, in an odd way, the worst) things I have ever done. I don't believe in regrets, I believe in looking back objectively and knowing their was a reason why you did what you did, and that should be enough. I've always prided myself on having a good memory, and it never fails me at the moment. Never. Especially when I'm alone and have too much time to think. And what I remember, is silence, broken only by the sound of breathing and the beating of a heart.

Letting someone take your hand is a dangerous thing to do.

Sleep All Day, Up All Night.

A habit I never before had has recently developed, and by recently I mean in the last week. I go to bed at a ridiculous hour and barely see the morning anymore. Over and over again. I moved last week - last Tuesday to be exact - and having spent time alone I've learnt the best way to make the time go quicker: sleep. There's not much to do when living alone. I've read books, watched TV shows and all the time I find myself getting bored, wanting something more to do. The problem is that no one is here and so I have resigned myself to the fact that even if no one is talking, I like company. I like to know that someone is there, even if it is in another room. Pathetic? Perhaps. But when the floorboards start creaking at 3am, it is more than a little comforting to know that you're not alone and that the sound is more likely than not someone you know.

Jabberwocky.

It turns out that living alone has as many negative points as it does positive. No bedtime and no set time to get up because there's no one to disturb - positive. There's no one to disturb also means that there is no one to talk to - negative. So, since the move, I have watched almost an entire season of One Tree Hill, half a season of FlashForward, far too many history documentaries online and Tim Burton's 'Alice in Wonderland' which still managed to disappoint me. As it goes, Helena Bonham Carter as the Red Queen is amazing, and her outrage at the thought of Alice killing her "jabberbabywocky" made me giggle. A lot.

Oops.

Its moving day. I have to be ready to go in about 3 and a half hours and I am nowhere near ready. There are things I fogot to pack, things I've been given that need to be packed and instead of getting on with all of the things that I have listed to do, I'm lying on my bedroom floor watching Futurama and typing this. I should probably get a move on.

Probably.

Corsets, Sex and Absinthe.

So, last night I curled up and watched Moulin Rouge, one of my favourite films ever, and as per it got me thinking about living in another time. Could there be a place more exciting and magical than Montmarte in the 1890s? A place all about expressing artistic talents, being free to be whomever you wanted, where sex and drinking were all part of the expectations. I know the film only shows that time in an exaggerated way but the clothes amaze me, the corsets and stockings, the sex and love is intriguing and forbidden and the drinking of absinthe makes me wish I could have seen it with my own eyes.

I believe in some kinds of magic, that is one kind I believe in, and if I could choose to live in any other time, that would have been it.

Talking Cats and Riddling Hatters.

I know I've said it before, but there's something about the story of Wonderland, about the girl some overcome with curiosity that she allows herself to fall down the rabbit-hole and find a world where everything is nonsense. After all, don't we all wish for nonsense to be plausible sometimes? So that all the things that aren't could be, and won't would be? We wish and we dream, for things that may be out of reach or even impossible, but it doesn't stop us wanting, or trying to find ways for the things to happen. Sometimes, I think we all want our own Wonderland, complete with talking cats and riddling Hatters.

Just because.

Strings.

There are moments in life when suddenly everything makes sense, when everything we've ever wanted comes to us, and recently I've been thinking about when this happens, and what the correct response to this should be. I'm fairly sure a cynical approach, complete with raised eyebrows and questions about what strings could possibly be attached, is not the right way to go. I can't help it, years of things always coming at a cost have taught me lessons I always felt I was too young to learn, despite now thinking they are some of the most valuable things to have happened to me.

I don't know what to do, because no matter how much I try and kid myself, I don't know what I want. I know what I miss, and I know what the right thing to do would be. But that doesn't make my decision any easier and so now I consider hiding away, with cups of sweet tea and many, many books until this all goes away and everything gets better.

i'll wear it as a beard instead.

It's official. My sister is a little bit more than weird. While undertaking a massive clearout of our room, I came across a pirate eye patch that I knew she would appreciate. Problem: the elastic wouldn't go around her head. Her solution: wear it as a beard. And I kid you not, she wore the thing around her face, attached to her chin, for the next hour, stroking it thoughtfully and declaring aloud that she loved her beard. It would all make sense if you knew her.

Despite many distractions, including a beating with a pillow by my brother early this morning, I am all packed for my trip tomorrow. I am more than a little excited. Although I am slightly alarmed at the rate of which the summer is passing. At least the ridiculous heat has passed for a few days. I didn't think I could take much more.

Easily Amused, Temporarily Pleased.

The sun has gone but the heat remains, and it's not fun. I am, however, enjoying the rain, and sitting by the window listening to the wind and what has the potential to become stormy weather. I've been spending money left, right and centre and all I have to show for it is an ever expanding pile of books that are going to be more than a little difficult to transport to the house when moving day comes around in just a few short weeks. (Current read: Jane Austen's Persuasion.) Spending time with the family was unexpectedly fun, as was further catch-ups with all friends, and lying on the floor listening to Stevie Wonder's greatest hits. Easily amused, temporarily pleased.

Days Like These.

Currently, life is slow. Aside from spending the best part of Friday afternoon helping my little sister get ready for her prom, little worth noting has actually happened. I've seen friends, caught up on the TV I missed when at uni, and spent many hours in the company of words written by others. It seems, though, that there is only so much time you can spend in the place you used to call home before you remember that you don't live there anymore.

A Haze Of Laziness

There is no doubt that it is officially summer, down to the excessive use of ice, the constant sneezing and restless nights resulting in lack of sleep. The heat shows no signs of letting up, and so I've spent these past few days in a haze of laziness. The weekend consisted of a catch-up with another friend, a barbecue, reading (lots and lots of reading) and writing. The laziness will not last. Plans are being set in motion, I am currently looking into booking train tickets to Leeds, among other things, including plans to move into the house. Although the prospect of packing is not something that I am looking forward to...

on the verge of vampire overload

Three days, 18 episodes of True Blood and countless cups of sweet tea later, I have finally torn myself away from the TV with the intention of doing something else. In the past few days I have caught up with a friend I haven't seen for over a year, and spent the day with my best friend, but all in all my time has been spent on my newest addiction, late night series True Blood. At this moment in time, as I plan my sister's 16th birthday present (a trip to the cinema to see an advance screening of The Twilight Saga: Eclipse), I am on the verge of vampire overload.

I am lucky enough to have a distraction, though, that does not include creatures of the supernatural. It was with an excitement that can only be found in literature students that I opened the door to the postman today and had to contain my excitement at the delivery of my books for next year. There is a lot of them, and so today my reading will begin. It made me sad that there was no one to share in my excitement, or to appreciate that new book smell that I love so very much. As for what to read first, there is such a lot to choose from that I hardly know where to begin.

Lets Play Croquet With Hedgehogs And Flamingos.

I've never really been one for the heat. I'm much more of a rain, pounding thunderstorm kind of girl. I've always preferred what summer represented rather than the season itself: time with friends, playing games, tall drinks with ice, light floaty clothes. And spare time to read. Even away from uni, I have alrady compiled a list of books that I plan on reading, which of course includes a reread of 'Alice in Wonderland' and a few books off lists which claim to boast the best books ever written. How true this is remains to be seen.

The main game being played right now is football. I've been watching the World Cup with little interest - I find the fights and arguments that arise much more entertaining than the actual football. There is little enthusiasm for the England match due to kick off in just a few hours, not that I know why. I spent the last England match packing boxes and preparing to come home. Clearly my enthusiasm has been dwindling for a while. All this fuss over a game...I hardly see the point.

I am excited to see my best friends, however. I am yet to see any of the people I have been so eager to see since I've been home, but hopefully that will all change tomorrow. There is only so much historical fiction one can read before wanting something else to do.

a day to remember (june 18th)

One year ago today, I finished my last A Level exams and left sixth form. An hour ago, I walked into my personal tutor's office to sit down and find out my results. I was shocked to discover that not only did I pass, but that I had managed to pass well. I stared at my results sheet for a good few seconds, taking it all in. It was over, my first year was definitely over, and I'd managed to survive it with an average of 60. I was proud, and rewarded myself with a cheese and bacon panini and a bottle of Pepsi Max.

Already today there has been tears as my closest friends start to leave. My room is looking scarily bare and I can't bring myself to pack the last few items that litter my desk and the top of my fridge. It's just a room, but for the past year it has been my home and it's full of memories that I don't want to ever forget and I'm not ready to relinquish ownership of the room just yet. In my mind it still is my room, and these halls are home.

I've had the time of my life.