Monday 20 December 2010

The difference between talking and writing

Apparently I don't express myself enough. This was a judgement made by a fellow writer. I wonder, how exactly does she think I express myself? Writing is what I've always done, sorry I can't change specifically for her.

I remember when I was 10, and my parents had told me I had no choice but go to the Girl's school. I really didn't want to, I wanted to follow Bob to Hobart High and continue my ridiculous infatuation. But no, they told me it was for my own good and that I had no option but to comply. Of course, I knew I had another option - to not do either. I thought 'hey, I'll run away, I'll live with Louise, and I'll just learn from home.' Great plan, but of course, my parents knew exactly where I'd go, and since I only had a bike, and Louise lived about an hour's bike away, I didn't even make it to hers. I went to the park, chilled out there for hours, wandered around and eventually came home. But I had left a note to my parents, telling them that if they were so concerned for my well-being that they wouldn't ask me to go to this school, because it was killing me, or something amazingly dramatic like that. I can't really remember the outcome, but I remember my sister telling me off for being such a drama-queen, and my mum and dad never brought it up. They never even acted like they'd read the damn letter.

I think that's what my problem is: I feel the need to force people to know how I feel because I think most of the time I'm ignored. That was always the case growing up - no one ever really cared what I said, as I was just the little one with annoying pointless stories, or ridiculous lies. I could never win, and I could never communicate either. But I've carried that burden with me, and now I can't shake it off. I know that it's not healthy to let these issues build up, and when I eventually explode it's just sillyness written down in a way no one will ever truly read the way I want them to.

I've done some shocking things this year. I got bored of my boyfriend, had casual sex with a close friend and when things ended with the boyfriend, the friend said to me one night 'i don't think we should have sex anymore', and I felt so used. I know sex is a two-way thing, but he'd only ever been interested in the thrill of cheating. I felt so low, and so degraded for so long that I did suck people in to my hell. I purposefully slowed down someone getting over me, just so I could feel loved. I know I shouldn't have, but at least he's over me now. And I screamed bloody murder at that boyfriend: he begged me to stay with him but I knew that it was wrong. I knew I wouldn't be good for him. And fuck, seven months later I broke his heart again. Sorry, I truly am sorry, but I tried to hurt you then to keep you away but you never bloody listened. You always think you're right but sometimes you're wrong, and I was right, and that's why these last few months have been easy. I miss him at times, as a friend, and as a figure in life who has been there for two years, but I don't wish I hadn't broken up with him. I know it was right.

I kissed him back, and at the time I hated myself, but now, I'm glad he kissed me in the first place; I wouldn't change that for the world.

Yet when talking recently to two friends, they saw my 'worst actions of the year' to be 3 different 'letters' of varying forms: One, just after all the cheating and lie, when I accused my friend of being a bitch. I know that was harsh, and I've apologised, and I really mean it: you're not a bitch. At the time everything in my mind was backwards though - one friend had betrayed me, another was clearly choosing one friend over me, one I couldn't trust at all yet all three linked back to the one who received the letter. I hate that I dumped all that anger on her, because I still haven't sifted through the hurt that everyone else caused.

The second letter, a text, was sent one drunk night. I won't use that as an excuse though. I have an inferiority complex that flares up like crazy every time someone flaunts that they have something I don't have. And most of our friendship has been that way, so I constantly feel belittled and meaningless around her. Sorry, that text was harsh, I know, but we never got to the bottom of our problems. You ignore my texts all the time, don't even say goodbye when I leave for christmas and why? Because I pissed off your flatmate? Because I spend time with my boyfriend? I constantly find time to see you, to be with you, to pop round for silly reasons because I just want to remind you that hi, you're supposed to be my friend. I know we spent two summers together and things came to blows at times, but I value our friendship, and I feel like your throwing it away because you've got all you need in your flat.

And the last letter was facebook message, to a girl whom most people have issue with yet no one will say anything about it. So I did. I know it wasn't the best way, but at least I'm honest. And hey, maybe she can threaten to set her cousin on me, like she did to our friend before they started dating.

I have a lot of issues, and being stuck in Norfolk in the snow with my family gives me no way of venting. Sorry that this has been so long and boring. Sorry that I'm a miserable arse. And sorry if I've ever hurt you; my news year's resolution is to love, and nothing else.

Merry Christmas.

Sunday 19 December 2010

Happiness in abundance

The best thing about Christmas is the spreading of love. I tried to explain this to my flatmate, who swore blind his mother didn't want to receive presents from him - I said no matter what she says, showing your affection, your appreciation and your gratitude to someone is only really expected twice a year (Christmas and birthdays). So I say, spread more love. Tell it to the people around you as often as possible, do little acts of kindness, boost your karma... SPREAD LOVE x

Wednesday 15 December 2010

Just a quickie...

You ever been in a car with someone and worried about their driving skills? I always panic when my brother drives me places. He drives too fast, he likes taking corners fast and he won't let other motorists slow him down. When I was 14 he crashed the car when driving me home. It wasn't scarring or anything, but it's made me nervous to be in vehicles with him. But I realised today - he's a trained helicopter pilot. He can fly planes and massively destructive machines at ridiculous speeds through a war zone. When the RAF train their boys up, they get rid of the part of the brain that says 'Woah, watch it, last time I drove this fast I crashed'. The RAF deletes caution from the mind to enable to brain to push itself further.

I don't think I would do well in the forces. Writing it is then...

Sunday 5 December 2010

What is one minute of your time really worth?

I flicked on my TV earlier, and E4 popped up, showing the end of the film Just My Luck. I will admit to owning this film. I bought it purely for McFly, as Lindsay Lohan fell off my radar when she started gallivanting with the wrong Ronson. And yes, it's terribly. No, McFly didn't make it in America. And that film is the reason Chris Pine ended up as Captain Kirk, so the film has a lot to be blamed for / wrong with it. And as I watched the credits roll past, mindlessly scanning what else was on, I saw a whole real (about 7 or 8 names) of people who's role ended in 'for Ms Lohan'. Assistant for, Second Assistant for, Wardrobe designer for, Hair stylist for, etc etc. Some were so mundane I've already forgotten them. I have to ask - why does Ms Lohan need so many people buzzing around her all the time, it's not like she's rushed off her feet being an excellent actress. She could save thousands, maybe even millions of pounds if she just fired them all and did it herself. Or have one, call them 'personal assistant' and make them deal with all the other crap. If you can't dress yourself, how the hell do you have a film career? No wonder paparazzi shoots up-skirt shots all the time, she clearly has trouble with her wardrobe.

But this isn't about Lindsay Lohan. God, I could go on forever, but I won't. Waste of cyberspace (and I'm sure there's already plenty of ranting blogs about her anyway). But all this reminds me of something my favourite teacher when I was about 12 used to say - I'd ask her hurriedly 'do you have a minute?' because I wanted to go through my latest piece of creative writing, or whatever, and she'd always reply 'I've got as many minutes as you want'. This isn't the case with teachers anymore. University lectures won't give you unlimited supplies of their brilliance and their time. Sometimes they don't even bother reading your whole essay when marking (or second marking, to be exact). Or, worse still, if you finally grab that teacher and spend a whole minute chatting to them, you can go outside and your friends won't be waiting for you, because their time is equally far too precious. When did time become so sparse? Did the clocks get quicker suddenly? Did the gloom of immortality cloud everyone's mind? Or do we just live in a culture of speed - everything has to be quick, prompt, faster-than-the-speed-of-light or better. Internet is a classic example. I remember when we first got the internet - we had a gateway computer, a good old modem with the dial-up tone and it always took about 5 minutes to connect, so you'd go make some toast and/or tea whilst it connected, but as soon as it was up you'd do what you had to do and log off as quickly as possible because it was like the telephone, and you paid for the minutes you used, and its darn expensive. I was 10, so I don't know how expensive, all I know is that the idea of making Mum mad at me because I'd spent too long downloading Bejewelled scared the big jesus out of me.

Now, 10 years later, our internet is brilliant. But my father, Mr. I Don't Need Technology (and Mr. We'll never have a television in the kitchen), enjoys watching the iPlayer every night during dinner. The computer in the kitchen has an 15inch monitor. In the next room we have a projector, and lazyboy recliners and a fuck-off nice fire. But no, dinner is time we won't get back, may as well watch the tv at the same time in the kitchen. And every now and then, because its 7.30, Eastenders has started and a quarter of the country are doing the exact same thing as us, iPlayer lags badly and jumps, or pauses, or stops altogether. Everytime this happens without fail my father will shout at the computer. He'll scream rude (and unjustified) words at the monitor, telling it to 'come the fuck on', and then the classic 'what a piece of fucking shit'. Teaching him that yelling at it won't help didn't work. He just yelled at me. Teaching him to yell at the router instead of the monitor did help, because it means he leaves the room. But I find it absurd that a man who once though travelling from Norwich to London was a very dangerous and long journey and certainly couldn't be done alone in one day (oh the joys of the '70s), is now infuriated by how slow our amazing technology is. Why must we be so demanding for things we don't need any quicker? I stood in line at asda today for 20 minutes holding one item. Every single person that walked past the queue would comment on its length. Every person then had to go join a longer queue, because they'd walked past the first one thinking we were all patient little sheep who just enjoy queuing up for some reason.

Next time your in Asda, buy more the one item, stand in the longest queue and yell profusely about how awesomely slow it is. Get your phone out and chat with that person you've been meaning to call. Make a list of things you need to do when you get home. Learn the names of all the states if the queue is really long. Just learn to love time. Time will always be the same, we've got to accept that: it's what you do with it, how you use it that counts.

Saturday 20 November 2010

If the wind changed and my face stayed like this

I want to remember happiness. I love reminiscing; I know it's nostalgic, doesn't achieve anything and some people think it shows signs of weakness/unhappiness, but I think it's a very natural thing. There must be a reason our brain stores things, more than just learning things. I can recite 50 States and their capitals, 195 countries of the world and about 130 of their capitals. And I'll still have that information in my brain in years to come - that's what I love. The brain is a magical thing, no one can completely comprehend the ins and outs, the reasons why or how, but the brain is impressive. And my brain impresses me daily. I will be thinking about something non-important and my brain works at lightspeed to bring a hundred related thoughts into view that I can pick my way through, I can figure out where all the associations and meaning comes from until I find that that first non-important thought was actually very helpful, one way or another. And I want my brain to be better, to be bigger, to be so full that I have to tell people my stupid stories otherwise I'll forget them forever - that's the dream of how I'll be when I'm 70 odd, grandmother, happy and simple living next to the sea somewhere in Europe. I'm so excited about being there.

But I guess I've got to live my life first. I've got to write those stories before I can tell them. I've got to have those kids to produce grandchildren, which means I've got to find someone who wants to have babies with me. Small screaming balls of pink made of my DNA. Most guy's nightmares. But for some reason I have faith in myself, that when I'm with him, and when we're at the right age, and the right stuff is happening, kids will naturally happen. I am so scared every day that I'm infertile, that 'he' is someone I've already lost, or am going to lose because I can't seem to hold on to relationships: its like a big hurricane comes through my brain every now and then and makes everything move, change, and re-arrange itself, and I lose the love I once had. I tell myself I had good reason to break up with Shane, but maybe I didn't. Maybe I wasn't doing it for us, I was doing it for me. And maybe I should give people a better chance. One week seems a bit quick to know what I wanted. And maybe I should have been more willing to compromise, to figure out our differences.

Or maybe I should just apply these worries to the future. After all, worrying is like a rocking chair. So I gotta stop rocking, and start moving...

Sunday 7 November 2010

I like life. Bit weird thing to say, but I really do. Its full of little surprises, little twists and turns, and even if life isn't treating you well, one day when you're happy again, it makes for a good story. And I've always tried to look at the more important things, like love and friendship and family and just fucking living. Just grabbing life by the balls and saying "fuck it", because those are the moments you end up remembering.

So it really grinds my gears when the people around me just act like life isn't that important. Now, don't get me wrong, this isn't a rant. It may turn into one, but I'm in a good mood writing this. And it seriously gets to me when you hear someone saying little things to make life seem pointless. My old flatmate constantly said "fuck my life", even in situations not that bad, which put a negative spin on everything. And nothing against her or anything, but she's definitely not the first person I think of when remembering happy people...

Another example, birthday celebrations. I'll be the first to admit that sometimes I'm overly excited by something quite lame. I had an awesome time trying to give my friend a great birthday party. And from what I've heard, everyone seemed to have a good time. But then there's the people that didn't come. Now I spent money sorting out that party, I made a bright blue cake, I bought a crap lot of alcohol and I greened my entire self (and most other people at the party) up. So when someone I've invited says no, I'm a bit annoyed that I've gone to all this effort, not even for my own birthday, and some people can't even be bothered to walk down the road. But the thing that upset me more is that its our friends birthday, and he was so excited at the idea of a house party that I felt I was letting him down because my friends, supposedly his friends, didn't show. So so uncool.

So my question is: what the hell was so bad you couldn't party?? Partying, be it a different definition from each person, is the celebration of something, enjoying a moment and having fun. Why don't people want to have fun? Why are some people so wrapped up in their own self-pitying negative, monotonous and frankly dull lives that they don't want to party? If anything, a party is exactly what they need to get their frowning behind into the spirit of things, forgetting your troubles and just letting loose for once. I admit, sometimes partying is not the answer, but life is too short to be shit. If your feeling down - get back up! If you're stuck in a rut, fucking jump the hell out of the their. If you realize that you have no idea why your with your boyfriend, break up. And if you then realize you just want to spend all your time with someone else just bloody do it. Screw what people say and think, because life is worth living to the full. I've never done well with grades, I tend to spack out at the last minute and fuck things up a bit; I'm not the greatest secret-keeper, as I tend to forget if someone has told me not to tell people; I'm pretty immature, I'm very self-absorbed and frankly I'm a bit of a twat. But at least I can dance until I got blisters on my toes and still call it a freaking good night.

So to conclude: p - a - r - t - why?? Cos I gotta!

Also, if your gonna bail on a night out, don't be mean to people about it. Its just uncool. And you may get a slap for it.

Tuesday 2 November 2010

Life would be simpler if I were a Sim..

I know, The Sims is a child's computer game. Mainly for little girls. But it is spectacular at giving you perspective on life. Now I first played the Sims when I was about 10, I think. And I used to stay at my friends house and wake up early just so I could go on it before she did. She was all about the playing families bit, having lots and lots of kids before you get too old. Whereas I liked to build the houses, spend hours on each room making it awesome, then would create one awesome character to live in that house. She always thought I was boring, and I wasn't playing the game properly. And sorry for going all Matrix-y/Truman-showy here, but that is literally life. It's not a game, but it is about how you play it. Louise, that cute little 9 year old girl who used to name every woman Tina and carried Little Teddy with her everywhere is now 19 and 8 and a half months tubby as hell. I'm currently deciding if 4 hours on the train is worth seeing her baby boy come into the world. Put into words like that, I don't know why I haven't booked the ticket already. But she is about to pop one out, and if she can survive this, her little boy grows up well and her mother doesn't ruin both their lives, she will undoubtedly be popping out another one before I've even started having babies. Whereas I'm at Uni, I'm trying to build my future and focus on myself, and yeah I want kids, yeah I really want to get married, but sometimes you've got to take time into consideration. I was, and still am slightly, convinced that my ex-boyfriend would be the guy I'd marry. There's something about us that I would say yes to. But I threw it away. I threw him away. I know its crass, but I can't stay with him because we might get married - that is years from now. I need to live for myself, for right now, and I don't want to be the one that regrets her life when shes 40 and alone. If I get to 40 and am still alone... well, I've got a couple back-ups. But still. Whats the point in regretting things - life is too short. I wanna do right by me now, and not by some suit-wearing arrogant boy. So I'm living my life as if I were a Sim, being played with by me. Because my characters are awesome. Its time I started being awesome too.

Monday 25 October 2010

Norfolk and Sons...

Since Autumn in Southampton feels more like mid-winter in Norfolk (damn coastal icy nights), I've been listening to my wintery music collection. As of last year, I added Mumford and Sons to this list. Now, many of my friends have discovered and learned to love Mumford for one reason or another, but everything about this band reminds me of home. My sister was pals with lead singer Marcus at university, and I remember her telling me about him back when I was 16. And she bought the album for our mother's Christmas/birthday present, and my brother loved it, and wouldn't go on a car journey without it. Our Christmas day walk on Walberswick Beach was sound-tracked by Mumford. And the video to The Cave looks weirdly similar to the drive up to Walberswick. And there's something country, dark and kind of deeply disturbing about the album that belongs to the country-side of my brain. The city-side likes Motion City Soundtrack blaring out at 7.15 as I waited for the morning bus, wishing to be anywhere but Norfolk during my puberty. City-side now says listen to Breaking Benjamin and Fightstar first thing (11am) to wake up the cute Asian baby next door. City-side says don't walk on your own at night, but country-side says lonely walks are best took at night. Parks are dangerous in cities, but parks are the safest part of the country.

I've been thinking about London a lot recently. I want to be there, but I don't want 'there' to be London. I don't want to live somewhere where I have to catch a train just to get to school. I don't want to live in a bedroom not big enough for all my stuff. I like my stuff. I've always been crap at getting rid of things, whether its clothes, doodles or boyfriends. Recently I've been giving my whole life a spring clean, and I don't know when to stop... Hopefully I've now stopped. Hopefully I have found my little snigger of happiness in what used to be a pretty simple week. And I want to keep that happiness. I'm terrified that I will, as per usual, fuck everything up. But that's not who I am. This is a new me, who makes good choices and doesn't get drunk or pass out or wake up next to people I don't remember falling asleep with.

This is new. This is now. This is... well, get ready to be fucking surprised.

Saturday 9 October 2010

I wish I had a pensieve...

I've been thinking too much. It hurts my head. Not to sound incredibly blonde, but when your brain is constantly mulling over the same problem, there aren't many ways to get some peace and quiet. One is sleeping, but my dreams are so bizarre that it often doesn't help. One is watching something, a story that sucks you in long enough to forget your own. Problem is, watching something distracting isn't distracting when you watch it with the person you want to be distracted from. Oh God why won't my brain shut up.
I can't do this. Not again. I hate that every second of being with him reminds me of last time, and of how guilty I'd feel for the tiniest thing, but I still don't have that control. More frighteningly, I don't want that control. Its worse this time. Its like a fire that if I put it out, I won't be able to light it again. Shit me this is terrifying. Its like I'm on the edge of a cliff which is about to collapse, but the only way off is a burning bridge. Which plunge do I take? Its not going to be a happy ending for at least one person. And so far, I'm thinking it should be me. I'm the one that has gotten myself into trouble. And I'm the one that keeps wanting people when I know I shouldn't. I think I need to chop my heart off, or something. Stop looking at people. I heard something on the radio about how your more likely to fall in love with your best friend than you are likely to have a successful blind date. And I can see why.

FUUUUUUUCK. Sometimes, staying up until 2am is a great thing to do with a friend. Most of the time, with me, it leads to very difficult situations.

Don't kill a boy on the first date.

So far, a pretty gloomy representation of my life has been portrayed by these here blogs. And I hope to alter that somehow, for the better or worse I don't know, by this entry. And so, I come to Buffy. A little piece of joy in my life that I constantly look back to. See, I used to watch it when it first came out, I was pretty young and a bit terrified, but my two big sisters loved it, so I watched it to be with them, and talk to them, and not feel totally alone. And for a few years, Buffy taught me some pretty important things about growing up - like not to kill boys on first dates (unless they are vampires), or not to fall in love with vampires (unless it's Angel with his soul) etc etc. Vital things 10year old's should know. And then my sisters paid less attention to Buffy, and for a few years she wasn't a constant fixture in my life. But then the bizarre stuff started happening when Emma came to live with us. I was 13, she was 22. I was just hitting puberty, and she was a lesbian but the parents couldn't know. I was young and impressionable, and she was probably drunk 80% of the time, including being at work. But despite how dangerous this all sounds, she really helped me grow up. She made me recognise the good deed my parents did by employing me. She helped me come to terms with being the youngest and the one everyone ignored. She even used to make me do her crazy-ass fitness routine with her, which was pretty brutal as she needed to re-stretch her legs for being a trapeze artist, and she'd do my legs too. Kinda wish I'd kept going with that... But anyway. As much as my family is completely fucked up, because she was more insane than any of us, she sort of brought order into the house. And since Helen was already at Uni, James was home only at weekends and charlie went off on her gap year, at 16 I was the only one there during the week, and Emma's presence in the winter months kept me grounded. Literally, grounded, she encouraged a lot of the drinking and hooligan-things we did. But then she left. The circus finally put money in her pocket, and Dad didn't really want her in the house anymore. So she left, and the garage was empty, and summer came around and James' squadron got moved so he didn't come home all the time. And it was just me left. And those last two years of school broke me. I didn't want to be at home, with two parents wanting to rant and rave all day long because they work themselves and each other, and their staff including me into the ground. I was torn between helping the business and running away. And in a way, I still am today - if they retire, I don't know what will happen to their marriage, so being at home will become yet more painful. And I love our house, I love our family and I love seeing my friends. I love Norfolk, because despite the things that get said about it, I come from one of the most beautiful places in England, beaten down by Edinburgh, Cornwall and Devon's coast, Hampshire (yay) and maybe a handful of pretty cities and landmarks. But considering how freaking huge Norfolk is (second biggest county, I do believe), most of it is stunning. Like, Narnia could be filmed there, if we had a lion. I know this blog makes very little sense, but what I'm trying to say is, sometimes home doesn't mean home anymore. I spent the last two years swinging between Southampton and Norwich too much, because I was working and seeing people and studying and living in two places etc etc. But my home, the place I live and the place I will sorely miss next year is Southampton. My life, however, and everything that made me who I am, is in Norfolk. So no matter how distant I am from my siblings, and no matter how fucked up my parents are, I will always return to my tiny little bedroom that is never the right temperature, because otherwise I'll forget who I am. Hey, maybe that's why I'm like a furnace.

Thursday 7 October 2010

Anger leads to hate, which leads to... something

I can't honestly say I'm the happiest person in the world. And I know that more so than the normal person, I feel anger. I get angry when I'm playing crash bandicoot; I get angry just by looking at myself sometimes; I'm very quick to snap and I am easily provoked, hence one of my boyfriend's favourite games is to wind me up. And the people around me know this too. Some say I got so angry at a club that I stood up, pushed over a table, flipped off my friends and stormed off. Truth be told, I stood up too quickly, the table was in my way so got a bit of a nudge from the thighs, and when someone asked where I was going I mimed the action for 'drink'. They don't believe me, but its the truth whether they like it or not. Digression aside, people know how angry and frustrated and royally pissed off I can get, yet they still believe the right thing to do is poke the sleeping bear. And laugh when it swipes out. And poke the bear, and laugh some more, and poke some more, and pokey pokey oh the freaking hokey cokey, the bear lashes out to smack them back. And whatever angry come back is used, said poker recoils, horrified, hurt, bruised and accusing, and calls the bear mean, rude, unjustified and a bitch. Now I know, there's two sides to every story. But God damn it, I am always aware of how hurtful little things can be. I am super-sensitive to anything a little bit prejudiced, and I have been on the receiving side of all the taunts and jeers since I was like 4. Not to say I was bullied, I wouldn't count it as that, I just have three siblings slightly older than myself. But to those of you who claim to have been bullied, yet are totally happy to be the bullier when something is a little bit funny, and you can join in the laughter too - fuck you. Fuck fucking you, because it's a waste of time. I love my friends, I really do, but hypocrisy is not something I enjoy being near or part of. So take your awesomely witty jokes elsewhere, because you poke this bear one more time and you'll feel the lightning strikes.

Tuesday 5 October 2010

My brain and head are different things

Sometimes I think things, like 'maybe I should just stay up all night instead of going to bed at 4 and risk sleeping through my 8am alarm' although my brain holds the knowledge that tells me that a) that fails 90% of the time, and b) sleep is good for you. Therefore I doubt their co-existence in my skull sometimes... but again, my brain tells me that of course all these thoughts comes from the same gray matter. duh. Yet I feel strangely drawn to one of my friends at the moment, and maybe because the others are a bit hard to be around at the moment, but it genuinely feels like a gravity pulling me towards them. I want to be with them all the freaking time, yet when I am with them, I wonder why I craved their company so much. Its like an addiction that doesn't have a kick. And all my thoughts at the moment scare me a little anyway; my writing is seriously jeopardized by my lack of focus, motivation, originality and above all, ideas. Since calling Dali off, I've found every idea falls into a little rut that's too deep to salvage, but shallow enough not to lose it completely, so about 4 ideas just sit there, looking hopeful but I know in my heart that they just don't do anything for me at the moment. That and all I seem to want to write about is sex. That's never good, as it means something in my brain/hormone make-up/pants is trying to filter through subconsciously. PANIC. Hopefully my next entry won't be 'I did something silly...'

Regrets, I've had a few...

Everyone fucks up from time to time. That's granted. Its like your toast landing butter-side up; it's inevitable, you can't stop it, control or it hope to know when it'll happen, it just does. So some say butter your toast less. Others say butter both sides. Metaphor or not, mistakes happen one way or another, but what's up to us is if we regret them or not. I remember an episode of Dawson's Creek, from way back when I was a whipper snapper, the one with Pacey and Joey on the boat, I think. They're in a storm, and really worried, and relying on Dawson to save them even though he hates them both because his ex-girlfriend and best friend are bumping uglies. Understandable. Needless to say, Joey asks Pacey if he has any regrets, to which he replies something along the lines of 'No, life's too short to regret things'. I've always hoped I'd have the same outlook, but it turns out I don't. I have made some pretty embarrassing mistakes that I wish I could erase. The three prominent ones that pop to mind are: the fateful night I half-lost my virginity; the guy I dated in first year and it took me 2 months to break up with him; and my general being during winter last year. I do regret these things, because I believe everything happens for a reason, and it's all helping mould us into the people we will be, and the things we will do, and I feel that those three things may have altered my life for the worse. But little things, like doing something stupid, or wearing that racy dress, or being friends with someone you know is bad for you; they don't count as regrets. At least not yet. So I'm not going to regret what I did yesterday, because as upsetting as some people find it, I honestly don't know how this could spiral into some uncontrollable problematic life-altering scenario. So get over it, get over yourself and get over him because I'm pretty sure he has, and we all have, because what's done is done.    Rant over.

Saturday 2 October 2010

Do we start as we mean to go on?

First week done. I don't think I've ever felt so aware of my own failings. Sometimes life poses little problems, little quizzes that singularly are simple, but when there are 5 at once, you feel a bit stumped. This is my problem at the moment. And I want to be good, I want to be able to do 10 things at once and feel great at the end of the day but just thinking about it tires me out. I need to go to work. I need to enjoy work. If I don't, I need to quit. But I can't bring myself to do either. ARGH.

Tuesday 28 September 2010

Another beginning

Well, it's the beginning of my third and final year at Uni. Nothing feels different, and so far nothing very amazing has happened. If anything, bad things have happened so far. But still, I want to hold on to it all, really savour this last ever Autumn term, and make damn sure I don't fuck it up, in any way. OK, brief history of me: I got born one day. Wasn't very remarkable - my Dad actually missed it, as he needed to pee and the closest toilet was the public loo in the subway underneath St Stephen's Street roundabout. Turns out, that toilet got closed and locked up because someone got raped there and the council saw it as an 'eyesore'. But yeah, after my birth nothing much happened until well, now, when I started writing things. Never thought I'd be a writer when I was younger - always had a knack for poetry, but hey, I was being emo, it's what we did. But here I am, studying as a screenwriter. Can't quite put together how I got here. Its a long and boring story. I'll probably tell it one day, but no one will be listening. Which, by the way, is why I've decided to start a blog. Apparently, I sometimes find life too difficult, and telling people about it doesn't always help. And I'm sure as hell not paying for some psychologist to tell me I have distance problems with my parents. I already know that. So instead, I'm writing things. Hopefully nothing will ever get too hairy, but I guess if it does it just makes for a good read from someone else. And so, to launch into my first issue.