I'm tangled up in you

This is my third post, reviewing my year gone by and writing down in concrete my hopes for the year ahead, so: here it goes. Goodbye 2013, you've taught me a lot, hello 2014, please be kind.

Highlights:

 I passed my driving test, only seven years late, but, first time with only three minors and my brother who drives the blue lights run for the police passed with fourteen. Smug. I went to Reading festival and saw some amazing bands;Green Day, Bastille, Disclosure, Imagine Dragons, The 1975, Eminem, Chase and Status to name a few. I almost met someone who turned my world upside down. It's not a conventional relationship, but he makes me the happiest I've been for a long time, and now I can't imagine him not being around. He's taught me to be calm, to smile, to be silly, to not bottle things up and to stop being so serious, that life doesn't stop when you take five minutes for yourself. He's  perfect and everything I've ever wanted, and i still get butterflies every time he looks at me. I cant believe I get to wake up next to him. He also got me McBusted tickets for Christmas, and for that alone he is my favourite thing in the world.

Resolutions from 2012 for 2013

1. Drink and swear less

I'm getting there, I don't drink as much as I used to, and my swearing is less frequent from spending all my time in a classroom full of impressionable children. The consequence of both is I actually feel like a better person, and to continue that I'm actually giving up alcohol in January completely, so we'll see how long that lasts. 

2. Pass my QTS tests, graduate and land a teaching job for September

Despite having to teach Maths everyday, I hate it and  have severe Maths phobia. So when told I had a 45 minute exam at A grade GCSE standard ( I got a C in mine. Just) and if I didn't pass it by my third attempt I couldn't teach for two years, it was easy to say I had a breakdown. I revised for five hours every weekend from December to February and it paid off. I passed first time, likewise with my English QTS test. It just goes to show how much hard work, focus and determination pays off. 

Landing a job was unreal, landing a job at my dream school was even better. I adore my class despite the fact they named me 'Miss Moose' when I lost my voice. Charming. 

3. Take a holiday

In July I spent two weeks in the Red Sea with my parents. It was actually beautiful and I couldn't have asked for a more perfect time away relaxing before September. I got an actual tan, and not just a multitude of freckles; however, I did land the day I went to Reading though, and subsequentially spent a lot of time asleep in my tent.

4. Spend more time with my parents

This was achieved, but for bittersweet reasons. In 2011, whilst in New York, my dad had awful bad back pain, which he put off as being from walking outside in minus temperatures. This continued to flare up now and again, and it was only when my parents went away to Mexico in April, that when my dad couldn't stand, or walk, that upon  his return, my brother drove him to A&E. I had started placement the day before and mum picked me up and I knew. It sounds ridiculous, but I'd felt sick all day and couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. I think we sat in the car for over an hour, crying into each others arms, then composing ourselves to walk through the door to be positive for the most important man in both of our lives. 

 It was confirmed my dad had advanced prostate cancer which had spread to his bones. The next few days were destroying. At first Dad wasn't going to go for the scans and it was only when I bawled my eyes out in front of him saying I wasn't ready to lose him, that he agreed to go.  I sat in that waiting room for over two hours staring into space whilst he had a whole body scan, thinking of how the next few months may go and every single possibility.  He spent hours in scans to see how far the cancer had spread and for a while we didn't know whether or not it was terminal. It turned out the cancer has spread to his legs, hips, pelvis and spine and this cannot be cured, but can be controlled. Through treatment his prostate levels have returned to within a normal range and he has to have four- monthly check ups to keep an eye on him. There may come a time where his treatment stops working, but for now, we're hopeful, and that's all you can be.

For this reason, and this reason alone, this year was one of the worst of my life. But it taught me the strength of a family unit.The importance of family, The importance of never going to sleep angry. The importance of saying I love you every single day. Twice, three times a day if you feel the need to say it. The importance of laughter. The importance of hope. The importance of positive thinking. The importance of him. His grace, strength and humility through the process reminded me of exactly why he's my hero.  

 

5.Rise above it.

I'm still trying. It's harder than it seems.

6. Be better. 

I think all in all, I'm a better person now than I was this time last year, and in the end, that's all that's important. That's not to say I didn't make mistakes though.

 Growth. Reflection. Change.

Lessons Learnt from 2013

Family first. Always. Not straightening your hair everyday isn't such a bad thing. If you mention you like chocolate oranges in passing, you will end up with fifteen at Christmas from your class. Drinking more sophisticated drinks does not lessen the hangover. Your friends calling you to say shes pooing at a time when you think you might die is a healer. Positivity is important. Rekordilig cider is incredible. Having a giant bear onsie is the best. Cuddling up on the sofa is just as good as going out, if not better. Taking time for yourself is necessary. Life does not end if you cannot do everything perfectly all the time. Somebody will love you even when you're not wearing makeup.

Things to look forward to next year.

Passing my QTS year, hopefully. Going to see, Bastille, Gary Barlow, One Direction and Mcbusted. Taking a holiday with the boy. Seeing my brother get married. 

Resolutions for 2014

1. Stop complaining. DO something

2. Eat cleaner.

3. Expect nothing in return.

4. Save more

5.Take sometime to breathe

                                                             

Remember that.

 How will YOU spend your 1440 minutes of a day?

 Get out.

 Do something great. 

Be something great.

     

A while ago, I proclaimed that men and women could be friends in a purely platonic way. I lied. It's impossible. I think, at one point or another, I have fancied every single one of my male friends. Be it for a day, a week or a month.

 However. There is a downside to my revelation.


I met my boyfriend's best friend last night and yes, she is a girl and yes I spent the entire week panicking about what to wear, how to have my hair, and whether I'd like her. But actually, I came very quickly to realise that none of that mattered, because she didn't like me.

The funny thing is though, she didn't speak to me. Not. A.Word.

 I braved my nerves and smiled sweetly and said hello, but she looked at me for approximately twelve seconds, flicked her eyes over me like I was something she'd stepped on, then proceeded to talk to my boyfriend for ten minutes whilst occasionally looking at me as if to say, ' Why are you  even here?' She then spent portions of the night pointing and staring at me with her friends, in a way that is about as subtle as neon sign  could be.

  I've come to the logical conclusion that the only reason she could have such a strong dislike for me without even engaging in a one word conversation with me, is this: She fancies her best friend.

Now, my boyfriend is adorable, without being bias. My friends love him, my parents love him, my colleagues love him. And now, it would seem, it's taken her to see him with someone else, for her to realise that she loves him too.

Now this is awkward. 

It's hard because I know the following things.

1. He wants to be with me. and doesn't think of her like that.
2. He would choose me over her if it came down to it. (He told me. I'm not being one of those girls and it would take a lot for him to do that as he is the sweetest guy I've ever known.)
3. He's fuming with how she treated me. (We left halfway through the Basketball match)
4. She's a shit cheerleader (I watched, and laughed obviously. But to myself; I don't want to be a bitch)

So why have I got ice cold shivers at the thought of her hating me because of how I think she feels for him and her being in his life?

I think it's because I knew from the start that she would potentially be a problem.

Women's instinct.
It's never usually wrong.

Move.

So.

I used to blog about the single life and my multitude of mistakes, embarrassments and awkwardness in general everyday life. However, now the unspeakable has happened and I have a boyfriend I've realized, that I'm just as bloody socially incompetent as ever.

Girls complain about being single. They complain about their gym fees, to get the perfect body so that someone will want to run their hands over it, the perfect haircut so that that person will put it in a fit of passion, and the perfect outfit that can be slowly teased off and tossed aside on the floor. They complain about nobody loving them.

Let's re-evaluate.

You don't have to shave half as often.You can practically grow a national forest on your body because there's nobody there to scrutinize it and judge you for feeling like a hairy Christmas Jumper. You can wear the same outfit on the three dates you'll go on this week because you know it looks good and not have to panic when you have nothing to wear. You can go out without makeup on because nobody will care, and you won't feel the stares that scream, " WHAT is he doing with her?"  You don't have the aching feeling when they leave and you know you won't see them for another week because they live an hour away.  You don't have to spend millions on Ann Summers underwear, which might make your boobs look amazing, but also makes you feel like you are being squeezed by an anaconda. You also get the benefit of having a normal sleeping pattern, you don't reach out at night and wake up to realise they aren't there.

QUIT COMPLAINING.

However, I have to admit. Being this happy is pretty damn good. My friends may hate me and the permanently etched smile on my face and I might sing along to songs on the radio a little louder but I think having somebody pull you back into centre is well worth it.

 So I'll take the loss of earnings to razors, underwear  and foundation, because really I know that I could turn up in trackies, with a pineapple on my head, my translucent skin on display and he'd still be there to take my hand and tell me I'm beautiful the way I am.

He'd be a liar though. Obviously.

But seriously, just go. Get Set.

English Rain

I graduated from Winchester uni this week, I'd only been there a year for my PGCE year, but i'm actually really going to miss the place.

 I'm going to miss the Learning Cafe and the struggle to find a space, and the calls of the coffee bar workers who scream out "PANINI "every 5 minutes. I'm going to miss the library staff, who really  I pity because their job is to basically suck the fun out of everybody's attempts to remain positive in a place that makes Azkaban look homely. I'm even going to miss the lecturers who blatantly hated me and my incessant need to talk through their classes and send me warning emails about my behaviour.

I had the best year there, but this transition terrifies me.

I am now an adult. In an adult job, with adult pay with a lot of  adult responsibilities.

 I also now have a boyfriend; he gives me butterflies with a glance, is the most caring person I've ever met and still finds me attractive without makeup on at 6am. Somehow, and I don't know exactly why, he wants to be with me. and I have suggested he undergoes a psychiatric evaluation just to ensure he isn't criminally insane. Either that or he needs a trip to Specsavers. We've booked to go to Ireland over New Year and now I'm actually acting my age instead of living like I'm still eighteen with all the time in the world. (I say this and I went into a sofa shop the other weekend with him, to pretend to be buying a sofa just so we could test which one we liked best. He is such a babe.)

Can I have Bernard's watch and just freeze time? Everything seems a little too perfect and centered; it's like I'm sat on the front porch, waiting for the hurricane to arrive and cause havoc.

Lover's Eyes

It happened. I am no longer a cat lady.

I am one of those 'sets her background to her bf', people.
One of those people who don't mind other couples kissing or being happy in public.
 I don't even squirm when he holds my hand.
I don't get butterflies, more like gigantic moths
I smile at the at the most ridiculous things and find the most inane things hilarious and think to myself 'I must remember to show him that'
It's disgusting how happy I am, and yet, the world spins madly on.

All of my Flaws are laid out one by one.

                 

 Right. I'm going to admit something here. I have never, ever cheated on a boyfriend, but I've been the other girl. You know the one. The one who gets cheated with. 7 times. 7 bloody times. Some I knew had girlfriends, some decided to tell me after, or not at all and I found out through other people. No this isn't something I'm proud of, it's just the facts.  I've come to a realisation, that as I approach 24 it's time to stop being a whore.

This comes after a particularly stupid incident from the weekend. I kissed a guy I've known for years who has a girlfriend, immediately regretting it, immediately realising what an utter pillock I was being. But, here comes the best part of the story, he told his girlfriend, I got a torrent of abuse, (which had such poor grammar, I had to laugh) and he has now blocked and deleted me on Facebook.

He obviously told his girlfriend half of the story, failing to mention that he came into my tent, he kissed me, and I  was the one to stop it from continuing, and from what I gather, made it sound like I practically dropped my knickers when he helped me set up my tent and that I was planning it all along.

I had to laugh.

It is always the girl that faces the abuse, when really, as much as I am to blame, he was the one with the girlfriend. Not me. I don't have a two year attachment, I don't have a commitment to somebody else for that very reason. It makes me wonder why girls face the names, the social awkwardness, the feelings of regret, and the guy gets away scott-free. Every one of the 7 has anyway. As far as I know, at least 3 of them are still with their girlfriends, who are unassuming,and  unknowing and 2 other girlfriends know, but are still with their boyfriends, who I know have cheated again since. As long as their stories are covered I guess. He'll be fine, none of his friends knew what happened, so he could tell her anything and she wouldn't know he's edited the events.

I don't know what I'd do if my boyfriend cheated, and to be fair, I probably deserve it to happen to me, but I for sure wouldn't message the other girl in question. I could tell her the details he has conveniently left out, but I think staying silent may be better, let her to continue to live in her bubble until it inevitably bursts again.

It always does.

                           

I'm ready to question

I've always professed myself to be the type  of woman that Destiny's Child sung about in 'Independent Woman'. I've got friends who make my ribs hurt, family who put up with me, (even in the mornings) and a job that I've always dreamed of.

I've been single for a while. That's not to say I haven't had dates and dalliances with men, some of which I've even liked, but none of which I've wanted to be my..God, I can't even say it but..boyfriend. Okay, that's a lie, there was one, but although constantly being re read and re edited, that particular story stays the same; nothing really changes and as much as it makes me want to jump into a shark tank having cut my leg when shaving, I'm coming to terms with the fact that it's not a fairy-tale.

So it came to my attention when a five year old asked why I didn't have a boyfriend, because I'm "old" that as much as it pains me to admit it, I miss being somebody's girlfriend. I'm quite picky when it comes to guys because I don't see the point in going on dates for the sake of it, dating is stressful as it is without the whole 'Does he actually like me, or does he just want to get in my pants?' scenario.

I don't want the perfect Ryan Gosling (though I wouldn't kick him out of bed) because life isn't like that, so may I present to you, my case for Nick Miller of New Girl. Yes, he's fictional, yes he's neurotic, and yes, he steals women's coats and wears them, but he's hilarious, kind and sarcastic. Plus he has killer stubble.

In case you haven't seen New Girl ,and if you haven't be ashamed, Nick and Jess are the type of friends with obvious sexual tension, who deny their feelings for each other, date other people, but who always come back to each other like magnets. She's quirky and optimistic, and he's downtrodden and a borderline alcoholic with low self-esteem, but they work. It's effortless because they're friends.

I want to go back to feeling butterflies and the rush of getting a text or Facebook message from somebody I like without the feeling of guilt and depression when it doesn't go the way I envisioned. I miss being able to wear my hair in a pineapple on my head, wear sweatpants and glasses with no makeup and not care because I have a boyfriend who isn't phased by my startling translucent skin and non existent eyelashes .

Let me be clear. this isn't an AGM for a single's support network, it's not a post that's meant to sound self-deprecating or sad, I'm fine being single. I enjoy being able to go out last minute on a Saturday night and not have to text someone to tell them I'm home safe, or worry about meeting their parents and whether I should slightly flirt with their dad or not.

But it would be nice to have someone to make me a cup of tea in the morning and hold my hand in public, even if PDAs do make me cringe. So, Nick Miller, call me.

Plant your hope with good seeds, don't cover yourself with thistle and weeds.

Hold Me

I shouldn't say it but I'm starting to think I care
I've had a drink, you probably think my judgement isn't clear
And it's getting late now, we're a long way from our homes
Before you leave, before you grieve, there's one thing you should know

When you hold me, when you hold me in your arms
Oh when you hold me, I can feel your heart, I can feel your heart beating.

Never has a song been so apt for me. I think I've finally realised that certain people only have me around because they know that I'd do pretty much anything for someone I care about.  The fact they wouldn't return the favour is something that I've suddenly cottoned onto, possibly two years too late. But the thing is, I'm a sucker for a lost cause, especially where people are concerned. I revel in the challenge of changing a bad boy, of saving someone from a path of self destruction, but this time, this time I'm tired. I can no longer be in one sided relationships, and this isn't limited to romantic ones.

I can deal without the shy smiles I get from our personal jokes, I can cope not having you text me pictures of your stupid faces you pull and I can certainly carry on my life without you making me feel like a princess for five minutes and a piece of crap for the other 23 hours and 55 minutes of  each day. 

Because let's be clear, I don't need you around , but it sure as hell would be nicer if you could just return the favour and and actually care about me the way I care about you. 

Please, Don't Say You Love Me.

I'm 23. I've recently landed my first teaching job. I'm currently obsessed with Gabrielle Aplin and Lewis Watson. I bake some mean raspberry and white chocolate muffins. The word 'beaver' never fails to make me laugh. I like boys I can't have. I've recently come to terms with having ginger hair. I procrastinate like a Queen and then panic when I have 4 hours to finish something I've had 6 weeks to do. Candy Crush and snapchat are my guilty pleasures. I try to read 'The Pact' by Jodie Picoult at least once a year. I have developed a 'work wardrobe' which makes me a little bit sick. I drink about 3 cups of green tea a day. Everytime I walk into urban outfitters I buy something. Every.Bloody.Time.
I'm scared of the future.

Salvation

Once upon a time there lived a man. He was not a celebrity, he was not well known to others outside of his circle, but he was good. He dedicated his life to helping others, he was a teacher, a role model and at times a substitute father to the boys who filled his classroom. A confidante, a leader and someone who children aspired to. He taught others to become the best versions of themselves possible and watched them grow with a love that burned bright. He had two children of his own, and ensured that they knew that they were loved everyday.

This story is about his relationship with his daughter.

She was a miracle, he was told he couldn't have any more children after beating cancer. She doted on him, she flew on his shoulders and felt like a giant. She ran to him when she first rode her bike, he clapped loudest at her school plays. He taught her to play chess, but never, ever let her win, he taught her to swim and called her his little mermaid. They were symbiotic, always in time with the other, and could communicate with the smallest of raised eyebrows. As she grew up, she drifted; convinced he was over protective, and selfishly she wished things were different, that he was different. She screamed, she hit, she swore, and yet in his unfailing state, he stayed, he remained and he told her she would understand.. She  moaned about spending time with him, wanting to be with her friends and boyfriend instead, he let her go. The girl struggled, the pressure to be popular was more important than time spent in the arms of someone who would never let her down. He studied for exams with her, not worrying about the reports, assessments, or commitments he had and took her to sport matches at weekends, and when he was already exhausted he stood in the rain for 90 minutes to watch her run, and see her look the most alive she ever would. She was not appreciative, but she was everything. Her teenage years, were a mix of her wanting to grow  up, and him not wanting to be left behind.

She left for university and she understood . He had done everything for her. He had worked everyday of his life, to give her what she had, to make her safe, to keep her. She moved back home, and explained she wanted to teach, she wanted to make children feel that they could achieve anything; something which even in his age, she saw in her father's eyes everyday. She understood, that he had loved her everyday, even when she was the worst version of herself. Qualities that people recognized in her, she had inherited from him. He had watched her grow and she was happy for people to exclaim at how similar they were. They were stubborn, and bad tempered but honest, loyal, trusting and did everything they could for others. Every single situation, every argument, every laugh was his doing, pointing her to a path which she would tread on in the quest to be better.  Later, he was once again diagnosed with advanced cancer which had spread to his bones and her world collapsed.  A man that had defied the odds before was trapped by a disease which was a dormant devil, waiting to strike when it would hit her hardest, when she realised how much she needed him. She fell from his shoulders ,no longer flying, but keeping him upright. He was tired, and scared, the girl was breaking and the roles reversed. Explaining he was going to fight, she struggled with normality. Everything had changed and so had she. A man that had always been her foundation needed her to lean against.  They were not running scared, they were staying right where they were.Did this darkness have a purpose other than allowing them to see the stars, hoping for one that burned so furiously to transcend and defy the fate which seemed set?

So I'm trying.
He is my father.
He is my salvation.

I GOT GLASSES AND I LOVE THEM.

Future

I cried this afternoon. I was sat, reading about two of the hundreds affected by the Boston Explosions.

Martin Richard was 8 years old and waiting at the finish line to give his father,who was running, a hug. 8 years old. This boy will never finish school, he won't see his senior prom, he will never have a wedding day or children of his own. His life hadn't even started yet and yet it was snatched away in a single second. His mother has suffered brain injuries, and his six year old sister has lost a leg.

The second, Carlos Arredondo, ran into the smoke to help those injured. He vaulted a fence, running  right into the centre of what had happened.  He helped paramedics move a man with severed legs, into a wheelchair and ran alongside him, talking to him so that he wouldn't lose consciousness.  One photograph shows him seemingly pinching the man's femoral artery shut whilst paramedics loaded him into an ambulance. Mr Arredondo recently lost both his sons. Nine years ago, his son, then twenty, died in action in Afghanistan, his second committed suicide shortly after in 2011 as the troops withdrew from the war that had claimed his brother's life. Mr Arredondo became a peace activist and was attending the race to support charities Samaritans and  Fallen Maine which is a charity established to honour the lives of Marines lost since September 11th 2001.

 One of the runners had dedicated the race to Mr Arredondo's son.

It doesn't make sense to me, that if this was indeed a terror attack, that anyone could claim this for the love of a God. God, whatever, or whoever, you conceive him to be, is about love. Yet, yesterday claimed the lives of innocent people raising money for charities which help others who are less fortunate, in need, or in remembrance. When your act of 'love' has changed a day for the worse, when it has snatched lives which should have another sixty odd years in them, when it instilled terror in what should have been a collective celebration of the human condition for unity, just how, how can that be justified?

The attention is on those responsible, but the fact is, we will remember those who tried to salvage some feeling of safety. And yet, in this truly shambolic world, people like Carlos Arredondo exist. In the face of tragedy and hatred, they exist. They rise, and strive to try and fix the remains of a city street where the consequences of a single act will go down in the history books forever. It will happen, it shouldn't, but it does. But as long as it does, we will rise. Together.

Does it always feel like nothing's changed at all?

Skirt: Primark SS/2012 shirt: BDG @ Urban Outfitters Belt:Vintage

                                                                   15th March 2013

I'm a big believer in fashion. I don't proclaim myself to be 'stylish' of 'fashion forward'. My lovely brother says I look like I've been blind folded and dragged backwards through a charity shop, but I don't really mind. My wardrobe is a fairly even split of Topshop, Urban Outfitters, Primark and Vintage. I'm naturally ginger, which I guess is a blessing and a curse. I hate the fact I can't wear certain colours; red makes me look like a postbox, orange makes me look like an autumn leaf, and yellow just looks plain ridiculous. However, I'm well aware that some people dye their hair to achieve a colour similar to the one that I was born with and I like playing around with it. I've dip dyed the ends, and I've made it more ginger in the past, but for now I'm settling for what my mumma gave me.

I love shoes, I'm 5 foot 10/11 but own some of the most stupid heels known to man; in particular a pair of Kurt Gieger studded heels which I have worn twice since purchasing them because I feel like I look like a rugby player called Steve in drag when i wear them, despite them being beautiful. I live in uggs, converse or vans, but I can't resist a good brogue or a heeled chelsea boot. I can usually be found  in jeans and jeggings, but will squeal over a lace dress or pearl beaded jumper. I possess some of the most HORRENDOUS cardigans you will ever see, inherited from vintage shops, my mother and my late grandmother. But it's one of those things is fashion. It has the ability to reflect a thousand and one moods, personalities and beliefs. I don't dress for my body shape: I'm tall, broad shouldered and have 'child bearing' hips (I eat too much chocolate and icecream) and an arse that rivals Kim Kardashians. But like I said, I don't proclaim to be stylish, I dress however I want on any given day. I mix it up. Some days I dress like a boy, other days I dress to feel like a princess.

So here are my rules:
1. dress however you want, pay no attention to trends or what people think.
2. wear lipstick whenever possible
3. have fun with it

Because really, where's the fun in looking back at photos in twenty years time and feeling no sense of shame?

We could be heroes

'We accept the love we think we deserve.'- Perks of Being a Wallflower

There comes a time where the deafening silence is louder than you would believe it to be possible,but I have come to the conclusion that maybe the silence is necessary and that sometimes it's better that way because it let's you realise who cares enough to break it.

 As humans, we are fallible and yet there is one thing that everyone is bound by, one common factor and that thing is love, romantic or otherwise. We all want to be desired,to be wanted, to feel content in the company of others. Yet the people you surround yourself with are indicative of how you feel about yourself. If you're with people who make you happy, it's because you feel like you deserve to feel content, and you recognize qualities in yourself which allow you to feel so. On the other hand, if you seek out romantic attachments which are destined to fail, where you question yourself, and realise they couldn't actually care any less, it's because you feel like you don't deserve any better. You feel lucky to have attention from that person in the first place, and don't question their motives, when really it's all too transparent. Most of the time you know what you're doing is ridiculous, unhealthy and destructive, however, in that space of time you fail to care, because after all, the feelings of being left behind and forgotten and used, they're what you deserve, right?

um. WRONG. Are you dumb? 

There are a million and one positives to come from this. People don't respond to negativity. I for one hate people who moan about someone who has screwed them over. If I'm going to be brutally honest,nobody cares; you won't be the first, and you won't be the last. People suck, it's the way of the world. There are 7 billion people on this planet, and I'm pretty sure at least 3.5 billion aren't total dickheads, go look for them and stop listening to Adele and Ed Sheeran whilst crying into a tub of Ben and Jerry's.Also, that sixth glass of wine? Not one of your finest ideas, so put it down.

  Turn the situation around, accept the love you deserve.

You fuck that person back up but worse. You don't let them get the better of you, you do it by being happy . H.A.P.P.Y. You fuck them up by being the better person, and rising up and by seizing life by the hands. You say,'Good, I didn't need you anyway.' Because you didn't, you didn't need it, but then again, nobody does. You made a mistake, and you don't make it again. You LEARN. Simple. You burn those bridges so you don't go back. Nobody ever moved forwards by spending time looking at where they had been. I repeat, be happy and rise.


You deserve it all. So accept it all.

Nothing Could Be Worse.

I've come to the conclusion of late that there must be some sort of reasoning behind the popular and somewhat over-used phrase 'Everything happens for a reason.' It's something heard endlessly when shit's hit the fan and when you're drowning in a pool of self pity and loathing. Quite frankly it's false. It reeks of people not knowing what else to say when confronted with an awkwardly horrible situation where you feel embarrassed at your inability to formulate anything else which may possibly make that person feel any better.

Popular times for this phrase include when you've been dumped.(perhaps your boyfriend/girlfriend was just a little shit) when you didn't get a job (someone else was more qualified) or when something hasn't gone to plan (you fucked up). It's used as this phrase to cloud what people are really thinking, to make you think you deserved better.

 Maybe you did.

Maybe you didn't.

 Guess what. There is no reasoning or lessons to be learnt from the horrendous crimes of Osama Bin Laden.  Nothing can be gained from the disappearance of Madeline McCann. Sure, it happened for a reason, but that reason is purely because those are hideous atrocities committed by the most heinous individuals.

My point is this. Not everything happens for a reason.  Somethings just happen. No reason. No explanation.No lesson to be learned. Stop trying to make yourself feel better about it, be the change you want to see in the world. Simple as that. The world doesn't care about 'reasons' you didn't, or couldn't or shouldn't, learn from it, move on and be better next time.

Be still for I am.
Be still for I.
Be still for.
Be still.
Be.

Somebody call out to your brother.

Life is short.
People forget that.
They shouldn't.
It took the receiving of some horrendous news this evening to remind me of that.

Life is: absolute, burdening, challenging, damaging, eventful, fickle, gregarious, honest, immoral, just, knowing,lyrical, messy, non sensical, opportunist, passionate, questionable, remarkable, scary, truth, unanswered, vigarious, wanted, xenomorphic, zealous.

An adjective for each letter of the alphabet.

It is also beautiful. And precious.
Live it.

When all is done there is nothing to say.

'I'd give anything to be 15 again.'

'Really? I hated that age, couldn't think of anything worse!'

That conversation just happened. When I was fifteen my life revolved around the following things: sport, boys, friends and avoiding Physics homework. I had football training on Mondays, Netball on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Athletics on Wednesday and Friday. My weekends were spent at athletic tracks and netball courts and homework was simply slotted in when I could find the time. Don't get me wrong, I still went to parties, gossiped about boys, passed notes which i always managed to sweet talk the teacher out of reading. I wasn't socially inept. I just studied hard and played hard. I didn't have a future as of yet, everything was perfect as it was. Time could stand still for all I had cared and I would have been happy. I didn't have a job, or university debts, I didn't have to think about anything of the sort, my biggest worry was what to wear for MUFTI days. Everything and nothing was mapped out already, all at once, symbiotically. I looked forward to school, I saw my friends and boyfriend, talked through Maths and I could eat a cheeseburger for lunch everyday without weighing more than 9stone, and trust me, I did.

I wasn't the perfect teenager. I had the worst temper known to man; I fought daily with my parents, slamming doors, leaving the house, staying at friends. I put flour and salt in my dad's coffee, I went out without telling them where I was or when I'd be back. I got drunk and smoked. I went to the doctors and got put on the pill at fifteen despite my mum freaking out. I was however, insecure, a constant battle to be accepted, liked and popular, and I blamed myself for everything that had ever gone wrong in the history of the world; I mean the holocaust was probably even my fault in my head . I was angry. I was scared. I was a teenager. My life wasn't like an episode of Skins but I don't wish it had been either. Balance.

So, a couple of weeks ago I was in Camden, eating a McDonalds (which I now only have to look at to put on weight. Damn childbearing hips) and there was a group of teenagers in there.They were laughing, they were seemingly happy and they had it all. They didn't give a shit, they had nothing to care about. Girls and boys were flirting, one boy was feeding chips to his girlfriend, another couple were fighting for the last chair and they had burgers, they were living the high life. The girls had bright pink and orange hair and ripped leggings, heavy DMs and their eyes rimmed by kohl to the point that their own mothers wouldn't have even recognised them. Now this isn't out of place for Camden, so that wasn't the thing that shocked me, nor was the fact that they had made the choice to have ginger hair. What did it was this: they were polar opposites to what I had remembered my teenage years to be like. Two of the boys who they were with were off their faces on drugs, and the others found it hilarious. 

I wanted to give them a hug and that disgusted me a little bit because quite frankly they were loud and annoying and I wanted to enjoy my Double Cheesburger, fries, vanilla milkshake and chicken nuggets in peace. But since when did your teenage years become about that? Surely at fifteen you should be dreaming about One Direction and like, totally arguing who is cuter, Zayn or Harry (it's Harry obviously). I wanted them to go home, for their mothers to tell them it gets better, to stop being angry at the world because the world isn't angry at them. Their sense of belonging through their Marilyn Manson tshirts and mental haircuts was their way of feeling accepted, and whilst I never had pink hair I completely identified with them. I got that feeling of wanting to be someone, because that was better than being nothing at all. Maybe they did drugs to feel something, or to numb it all out. Or perhaps they were just fucking stupid, I don't know. 

Being a teenager is hard. It took a night in Camden surrounded by them to realise that because at the time I wouldn't have changed anything. The feelings of anger, confusion, euphoria, love and self loathing will never change, it's something bound to the ages which end in 'teen'. I finally recognised and understood the looks of pity I had from my parents aged 14-18 because I had that exact look in my eye at that moment in time. It was a look of compassion, of empathy and forgiveness. I had misinterpreted it as disappointment and it was nothing of the sort.  

I take it back. My friend was right. I couldn't imagine anything worse.

What Might Have Been Lost

i am NOT ready to grow up. i don't want to have to be looking at jobs, and rent costs. I don't want to have to evaluate which county or part of the country I want to live and work in. I don't want to choose.

I want time to stand still.

so i'm going to sit in a dark room and listen to Bon Iver. Healthy.

Time Stands Still

Things to leave behind in 2012

yolo. gangham style. drake. rhianna and chris brown's drama. mitt romney. essay writing. groups of the 90's making comebacks, STEPS, I'm talking about you. celebrity fashion lines and perfumes. Paul's Boutique. secrets. harem sweatpants. Justin Bieber. INSTA FUCKING GRAM, i don't care about your breakfast, your shoes, your filters or lack of, literally fuck off my timeline. going back to the cashpoint more than once on a night out and only remembering when you find the receipts the next morning. The words swag and peng. Real Housewives of... . Snooki and anything else Jersey Shore related. Lee Evans as he's potentially the least hilarious comedian of all time. Ever. Closely followed by Ricky Gervais. double denim. concave fake ugg boots. stupid Facebook status, such as 'like this unless you want a puppy to die.' flaky friends.  expectations.