So long 2013, it's been nice knowing you.

So, people, this is it. It's 50 minutes into New Year's Eve. This time in 24 hours, it will be a new year. Celebrations will be underway. Auld lang syne will have been sung by thousands in unison. Champagne bought in crates. Balloons, fireworks and any other celebratory stuff people buy in the run up to a new year. Excitement is building! I'm making plans, painting my nails and generally just anticipating what will undoubtedly be a really fab send-off. 

It's funny, celebrating the end of one year and at the same time, the arrival of another. Only a minute separates the two, and yet in those sixty seconds, we all expect big changes. In that small amount of time, we enforce goals, resolutions and cement changes that we naively, or optimisticly expect to carry out and fulfil said targets in only 365 days. Silly really. Yet we all buy into it, the facade, the illusion, the concept that with a new year comes new possibilities. In one respect, it does. In another, it kind of frustrates me. I'm all for new years resolutions that people are actually capable of fulfilling, but those irritating people who take to social media outlets and drone on about "new year new me". Well frankly, they can do one, because you can change any time, or more likely, change gradually. It doesn't happen overnight, nor does it happen in the space of the countdown timer. 

I love new year, no matter how I spend it. Then again, it's no secret that now I go out for new year, it's even better. Throwing silly amounts of money at the barman in exchange for something lethal that will make you hate yourself in the morning. Hysterical laughing, singing and generally just being surrounded by faces you know and love. Being outrageous and nostalgic and happy and drunk all in once place, and it's just sort of brilliant. Every year, I big it up, and every year, it falls short, at my feet. This year, I'm absolutely positive, will surpass expectations. The end of this year, I think, is something worth celebrating like hell about. It's been rough, for some, very rough for others. There seems to be a cloud of negativity shrouding 2013 and it's complete existence, but by the looks of it, we'll rise from the ash in 2014. The verdict is good, everyone seems optimistic, plus, thank god, it's not snowing yet. *touch wood* 

Whatever 2014 brings, I'm ready. I'm hoping it's one of the best yet. I haven't got many concrete plans, but that's okay, it's not even January 1st yet, so you could say, I've got a bit of time left. There are things I want to do, see and achieve. Places I want to visit. Things I want to experience and people I want to share it with. Let the countdown begin. I'll be ending the year in the way I started it, surrounded by friends, shotting tequila, totally and utterly intoxicated, and absolutely in love with my life. HERE GOES. For the people I lost this year, I'll never forget you, and the ones I gained, hold on tight, 'cause you aren't going anywhere. So long 2013, I guess it's been nice knowing you. x

<3

"I want to write."

The answer I always give every time a friend, relative or stranger asks me what I want to do with my life. My response causes multiple reactions, but the one I've come to recognise perfectly is this; the vague look, the confused creases at the side of your mouth, eyes darting from side to side, and then hover somewhere over my shoulder as to avoid my gaze altogether. "Oh.." someone mutters, as if I've gave a response that did not fully answer the question that was put forward. "What, like books and stuff?" Yet again, the gaze is bored, disinterested. It's as if my answer has put each and every individual way out of their comfort zone. I mean, don't get me wrong, there are people who are supportive of my goal, but I know it's kind of met with a bit of resentment. I know fine well my grandparents would feel a lot more comfortable telling their friends that I was studying Law or something at university, or that I wanted to be a teacher. "A writer? That's not exactly a career." Well, I beg to differ. I've been shot down a thousand times, told I'm not putting myself out there enough, and simply being far too narrow-mindedly ambitious expecting such a naive career prospect to spark from a few dreamed-up scribbles. But I really, honestly, hand-on-heart, indignant face expression worn, don't care. If you don't try, you'll never know. That's how I feel. Writing is my only passion in life, and I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than channel my literature degree into teaching. (I'm not slating this choice, I just know very well that this path would not be for me, as I'm just not that way inclined.) With a severely open mind, a brand spanking new pen at my disposal, and some fresh ideas on the horizon, I've started writing creatively for the first time in ages. Maybe it's because I've finally realised that it's something I want to pursue, regardless of what other people think of it. It's like, I know I can write. It sounds silly and somewhat overconfident, but I can. In the same way that I am aware of my weaknesses, I also know my strengths, and that one of my biggest strength lies in my ability to write. Getting my words down, on screen or paper, is important to me. I want to be heard, I want my writing to be read and acknowledged. Even if it's hated, great. Brilliant in fact. After all, I always think there's a reason behind loving or hating a piece of writing. If I hate something, it's kind of a positive. Maybe it's a personal belief, a wrong sense of style or something totally different, as long as my writing has affected someone in some way, I'm happy. I've been blogging for around 9 months now, and I've come across many other talented writers along the way; Gracie, Hannah, Lucy and Amy, to name just a few. Blogs I follow constantly, admire and react to. I learn from them and try to adapt and change my writing with everything I discover. So, if you're reading this, send me a message. Send me your blog URL in a comment here, or probably more appropriately, on twitter: www.twitter.com/eleanorward_ If you've got something to say, write or shout about, I want to hear it! 

X

One's company.

From the mundane to the insane, we all have our days. It's no secret that one of my not-so-guilty pleasures is disappearing. Not literally. Just socially. While usually, I love nothing more than to surround myself with friends, people who make me laugh, finish my sentences and are willing to publicly embarrass themselves along with me. Sometimes, I like being on my own. My own company soothes me from time to time. Disappearing into a boxset, a season of whatever the latest addiction is: (Grey's, Private Practise, Downton, anything...) or even just a good book, that time I spend on my own and in my own company is something I cherish. Whether I need personal headspace or just a breather from constant social interactions and commitments to just have time on my lonesome, it's important. To write, read or simply zone out, I like my own company at times. To be able to ignore my phone, lock the door and just chill. Sometimes, I think people take it personally, my absence is mistaken for ignorance, my silence for anger or resentment. It's none of those things, well, not usually. If I'm angry or upset or down, I tend to shout about it, unless it's something very close to my heart, in which, I'll deal with privately. There are some things I've never ever said to anyone. Some things I don't want a response from, so I never say because it's sometimes tainted by someone else's interpretation. That's the same with my writing. There are one or two pieces of writing I probably will never share publicly, due to them being so important to me, and yet, so private at the same time. So if I suddenly go off the radar for a few hours, or a few days, don't worry. I'll be just recharging my batteries or something. If I don't contact you, contact me, I'm not being ignorant, maybe I've just got too much going on to have time. If you need me, I'll be there, whether it's snowing and I've got no make up on, or you're drunk and not making any sense. I'm only as absent as I need to be. I'll always sacrifice my own needs for someone close to me, it's just what I do. Quiet time doesn't last, so just bare with me. Likelihood is, I'm having the time of my life. 

The simple truth.

The plain facts stand at this. You're the only person I'd answer my phone to at four in the morning and talk about anything and everything even though you're probably drunk. You make me laugh and think the world of me and things are just so much better when you're around. You have a unique ability to make me grin even at the smallest of things and I can't even explain why. Part of me is shy around you, and yet, you probably know me better than most people, and I love that. It means a hell of a lot that you know me, and don't want to run a mile. Christ, I want to run a mile from myself sometimes. You're someone I don't want to see walk out of my life. If I'm being totally and completely honest, you're one of very few people that I'd hold on tight to. I trust you, I love the way you make me smile, and the prospect of being without you is just grim. I find myself going red every time your name is mentioned, my stomach flutters and my tongue gets tied. I feel about fifteen again sometimes, it's funny. I'm stupidly insecure at times, and it's hard for me not to be, but I'm trying very hard. Secretly, or perhaps not so secretly now, I'm terrified. Terrified of messing up. Being the usual screw-up I always am. Especially when I know you think so much of me, I'm not sure I can live up to it. I mean, I hope I can. I want to. Who knew I'd be back here, and yet further forward than I've ever been. Silly little me is ready to take a risk, because if it pays off, it will be pretty incredible. 

It's all over.

Well, this is it. We're officially waving a fond, nostalgic little farewell to Christmas 2013 and yet, are stuck in the limbo that is the six days between it and the new year. A new era. A new start, full of fresh prospects and opportunities. January sales. Also, January spells end. No more christmas tree, fairy lights, or gift-wrap. No more drinking cava at 3 in the afternoon because "it's Christmas!" The tins of celebrations only have the bounty's left, the weather goes from bad to worse, and getting out of bed for work, school or uni becomes almost too much to handle. It's grim. It's out with the seasonal stuff and in with the real-life. Full-force back to sensible. For me, it seems like I've been partying and lazing around since about May. Exams ended, along with uni, and summer was full of parties and long lie-ins, light nights and suntans. As autumn arrived, we held onto the memory of summertime with an intense sort of nostalgia. The hottest summer we'd had in years. It seemed so bittersweet, so unfair, that now it had all been snatched from our grasp so viciously. Autumn turned to winter, December arrived and received a mixed reception. Panic-buying was at it's highest. And then the dreaded day. The one day everyone is left wondering what to do. Today is 27th December. The day after Boxing Day. Sales are in full-swing, families are back in their own beds and the January blues are peeking over the horizon. I'm deciding to take it all with a pinch of salt and an overly-enthusiastic smile. Let's get optimistic people. 

"I'm...happy."

Yes, there you go. I said it. There are nervous butterflies nestling in the pit of my stomach as I type it. It's like as soon as I've said that, it's just tempting fate. It seems like every time I say that, catch myself thinking it or anything, something always comes along and turns the tables. For every glimpse I get into that place called happiness, I spend what seems like hours in the dark depths of despair, so saying it, and not being (as) afraid of doing so, is a big step for me. Hell, it's a huge step for me. I think I've genuinely smiled recently so much that my relatives are starting to realise how miserable I had been. 

The last few days, 72 hours or so, have been just wonderful. I now laugh every time I hear that word, because when my mam and dad got married some twenty years ago, my dad got tongue-tied in his speech, and just said everything was "wonderful." So, now I smile l every time. It's nice. Christmas Eve, this year, broke any previous tradition I had become accustomed to. The usual night spent in front of the fire and the telly, watching Christmas films, wearing new Christmas pyjamas, that all fizzled out-ish. That's okay, though. My twenty year old self made plans to go out for the first time ever. Christmas Eve, little did we know, would be one of the most heaving nights of the year in our home town. For a rather small place, Chester has it's fair share of pubs, and the nights out are fab. While you can't walk twenty steps without seeing someone you know, whether that's a blessing or a curse still remains to be seen. I, however, have always kinda liked that. The friendliness. The familiarity. Knowing that there's always someone you can talk to, over a coffee, a glass of wine, or a tequila or two. (Okay, side-tracked. Sorry, I've been drinking.) 

So yes, Christmas Eve was busy. That's a huge understatement but it doesn't matter. A good night was had by all. I spent Christmas Day, just like I do every year, at my grandma Juney's, where she cooks an amazing dinner, and the whole family spend the day laughing, drinking and reminiscing. Today saw round two happen. Boxing Day for some means early morning sales, going back to work or simply just going out to carry on drinking. For my family, it's like a second Christmas Day, except with tonnes more food and we swap the cava for anything and everything. By the time the evening wound down, and everyone began to leave, I caught myself smiling. Not a grin, a smirk or a laugh, just a half, happy smile. It had all gone well. No glitches, nothing. Just surrounding ourselves with loved ones and appreciating every minute of it. 

Tired, a bit tipsy, and totally run-down, I'm wrapped up in bed and just feeling a tad elated. Things are just how they should be. My chest is tight, as if I'm struggling to catch my breath, my stomach feels like it's in my throat, and my face hurts because I simply cannot stop smiling. I lie here now fully aware of how lucky I am, and how I must always cherish what I have. Soppy but I honestly mean every word. I'm all mixed up, but it's a kind of good confusion. When everything is going right. Every single thing in my life seems to be fitting right into place (touch wood.) Finally. I won't lie, I even said it out loud today, uni lately has made me miserable. A lot of things made me miserable. I burst into tears this morning when my mam spoke to me because I felt down about something. I've just been so unnecessarily stressed. I can't help it. It's not even that I hate uni, or my life or anything, the serious truth is, I just can't handle pressure. Stress of any kind causes me so much heartache. I mean, it's actually dangerous. It actually got to the point a few weeks back where my parents were going to take me to see a doctor. Yes. I just wrote that. I don't know why anyone needs to know that. Maybe I don't want people to. But hey, it seems I'm carrying on writing..so. I can't handle stress. I get irate and teary and just kind of break down. Needless to say, I should probably work on that. But it's all to one side. It's out of the picture. 

Happy days are in full swing. I passed my uni assignments I stressed so much about. My family are closer than before and I feel like I'm making the effort to be a nicer person, oh and..nah. I won't mention the third, although I kind of want to. I suppose there's something of a private life I should keep private, for now, at least. I'm ready for the new year and whatever it brings. I know I'll be seeing it in the only way I know how, bad renditions of auld lang syne and lots of alcohol, with my favourite people. Nothing can beat genuine happiness. That's all anyone should ever wish for. 

Rough diamonds.

Contrary to popular belief, media slurs and silly internet trolls, nobody is perfect. Everyone has flaws, failings and things that make them something other than perfect. It makes us who we are. The little funny things we do that aren't always right, the mistakes, the differences, the traits that are ours and only ours. The way you drink your tea or walk across a room, the amount of times you say "like" or fidget when you're uncomfortable or laugh so heartily. It makes you who you are. The negatives we are told, and even convince ourselves about, are just really quite irrelevant. If you think you can sing, then sing. If you want to dance on a table in a pair of six inch heels, even if it is ill-advised, go ahead. If something makes you happy, you should usually pursue it, regardless of what other people say, think or feel. Just think about it, do the people around you always worry and respect your opinion on every decision they make? It would be impossible and unrealistic to think so. Mistakes are just things you can, eventually shrug off, shut out or sweep under the nearest rug. There is no such thing as the perfect body or the perfect life, it is just what you make it to be. If you wake up every morning frowning, you're not giving yourself time to appreciate the nice things to come. Instead, wake up and smile, look in the mirror and take it all in. You may not be perfect, but you sure as hell are amazing. There are people that do think so.  After all, I'd much rather have a rough diamond than a perfect stone. 

Meeting deadlines.

Its as one of my best Friends would say, (yes. Phoebe Buffay does count) "merry Christmas Eve eve!" Tomorrow is the day that every child waits eagerly for, stockings out, a drink for Santa and lots of presents wrapped cosily under the tree. Songs constantly playing, traditions in full-swing. Excitement is brewing. It's only a matter of hours until December 25th, and everyone is getting frantic. Whether you're one of these overly organised people, with all of their gifts bought, wrapped and hidden, or, instead, you're burying your head in the sand and trying not to think about how many presents you still need to panic-buy. I'm somewhere in the middle of this. I have one or two things I still could potentially need, or could buy. My bank account is gasping in shock every time I charge another item it's way, after months of attempting and failing to pace myself with regards to my lovely student loan. (What can I say..) 

So as I started thinking of the limited time until Christmas, and then caught sight of my blog view count. There's around 8300 views since March this year, when I started blogging for real. I'm shocked and chuffed that I've got anywhere near a figure like that. It baffles me that anyone would like to read the stuff I write, I mean, it's not like it's overly literary or profound. It's just truth. Mostly anyway. None of what I write is dishonest, it's just I don't tell full truths in certain situations. So, this is my dreamed up target. I hope to, and I am determined to, keep my blogging up next year, and hopefully get somewhere with my personal writing. I'd perhaps, quite naively like to reach a huge, 10,000 blog views to see the new year in. I know that's ambitious, but I am. Let's give it a go. Get reading. Pass my link on if you're feeling nice. Let me know if there's something you particularly enjoyed reading. I want to know! Gimme some help if you can :) 

Let's get seasonal.

Somehow, while I've been blinking, staring vainly into a mirror or tweeting something, Christmas has arrived (well, almost!) Less than four days until everyone goes all super-festive and splashes out on turkey crowns and lots of stuffing, Christmas crackers with bad jokes in and of course, stupid hats. Whether you're a fan of this time of year or you're more negatively known as a total Scrooge, there is something kind of magical about it. 

I love Christmas (even though I hate winter.) The happy smiling faces, the tinsel everywhere and the endless reel of festive music played everywhere you go. It seems I can't even go to the shop without hearing someone attempt a BandAid tribute act sporting tatty, bad-fitting Santa hats. It's lovely though, right? Maybe that's just me. All the silly, stupid, eccentric kind of things are all acceptable at this time of year. Spending an unnatural amount of time in close proximity with family, some of which you will probably only see twice in the coming year. The extortionate shopping sprees leaving hundreds of people in debt to enter the new year, because treating anyone and everyone you know is an absolute must on December 25th. The only time anyone dares to wake me up early and doesn't have to fear the wrath of my sharp tongue. From Jack Frost to The Santa Clause, the festive films just seem to be shown on a loop. Fireworks, food and family. Exchanging gifts, spending time with the most special people in my life and just having some time to really reflect on the year gone by, whether it be good, bad or downright ugly. 

So, I'm currently wrapped up in bed watching QI and Mock The Week repeats and humming along to a Christmas song I can't even place now. A smile is resting ever so slightly on my lips. Four days to go. A matter of hours. The shops are going mad. Everyone is frantic. Wrapping paper, cellotape and batteries have never been in higher demand. There's so many fairy lights donned around some streets that it's only a matter of time until they fuse the national grid or the leccy company shut them off as a sign of bad will. 

I'm making Christmas Eve plans to go out, for the first time ever. The first year I'm celebrating Christmas no longer a teenager. Heidi's first Christmas. The first time I've been really unprepared, and I have to be honest, I'm nowhere near as excited as I should be. Fair enough, I'm the big 2-0 now, but still. It's still a special time of year, and I'm thinking of changing my name to Ebenezer unless I start slapping a smile on my face and feeling the spirit. (And no, that's not alcoholic spirit, to my dismay.) The counting has truly begun, everyone is having the will-it/won't-it snow debate and waiting for 25th with bated breath, butterflies and the occasional beer. 

I'm getting there. There's nothing better than spending three days straight with your family talking and reminiscing and exchanging gifts and drinking and eating your own body weight in gorgeous food. 2013 has had it's ups and downs, highs and lows, and I don't know whether I should be nostalgic or relieved to see the back of it. I lost someone special this year, made a hell of a lot of bad choices, and a few good ones. I've made friends and the occasional enemy. I've had a lot of firsts, and hopefully not any lasts. I love and cherish everyone in my life, and I never want to lose them. So, here's to you all. If you're even half as happy as me come Christmas Day, you'll have a wonderful time I'm sure. Whatever you're doing, whether it's a wild party, or a quiet affair, a family reunion or just a peaceful close-knit Christmas, enjoy it. Appreciate everything, especially this time of year. So pens down people, it's officially on it's way. Turn the music on, the heating up and crack open the alcohol. Now that's an entirely different meaning to a merry Christmas. 

x

Duffy Moon did it!

Okay it's 5 to five, I've been up about twelve hours already. Exhausted, stressed to death, totally and utterly worn out. My heels are trailing, my eyelids are dropping and all I want is a massive Chinese and a strong drink, and a spooning partner. Sounds blissful to me. Today was one of the most stressful days of my life so far. My first real degree-level (if you actually call it that) exam that counts towards my final grade, and the last day of my first semester as a second-year student at Northumbria uni. Don't get me wrong, I can't fault it, it's just I'm so stressy that it's got me really down lately, but that's more of a personal problem than something to do with my degree itself. 

So today is, as many, if not all of you know, Friday 13th and as of yet, *touch wood* I haven't experienced anything other than extremely good luck. My exam went well, to my utmost relief, I calmed myself down and did what I believed was my best. I collected my two assignments and got 2:1s in both, which I'm so happy about. I'm finally, it seems, able to breathe again. I've felt so suffocated as of late, and it had got to the point of total utter misery. With some wonderful people to cheer me up, encourage me, and hand me the occasional drink (or revision notes) I got through it. I made it. I did what I was stressing so much about. Panic stations weren't necessary. My phone has been inundated with "good luck" followed by "well done" and "I knew you could do it!" And of course, the special one off my grandma Juney, which reads "hope the exam went ok. You CAN do it Duffy Moon!" so, I guess she's right, I can and hopefully, I have. 

Eventually home, after exams, assignment collection and a few too many intense hours of Christmas shopping, I'm now lying sprawled lazily on my bed, staring at the ceiling feeling happy and dazed.  I have no plans for tonight even though I've spent all week striving to make some involving a disgusting amount of alcohol, but I'm kinda okay with that. I'm tired and hungry, and chilling may seem like the perfect way to end a very stressful, important day for me. Tomorrow, that means, I'm getting drunk and stupid, with some lush people, so if you are reading this and not planning to be out getting messy with me tomorrow, I'd really like you to. Certain people definitely are who I have in mind. So, lazy time today and celebrations tomorrow. I can't wait to just sit back and enjoy Christmas festivities surrounded by people I know and love (my dad says I'm soppy, he's so right isn't he?) I'm so happy right now, I feel like I'm spaced out, but in a good way. I haven't really come to terms with the fact that I have the next seven weeks off, to do what I like, socialise and just see the new year in in style. Plus, there's someone who could really potentially make me very happy (soppy alert again) so I'm feeling overly optimistic, and yes, I promise I'm not under the influence narcotics of any kind, I just am genuinely happy. 

I'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck.

Little miss negative has just plummeted to the depths of despair and thank god there's surely no further to fall. I'm overly pessimistic, I keep picking faults with everything I do, I'm lazy and I put everything off, and I'm pretty hopeless at times. I bite my nails and stress a lot, I let stupid things get to me, I'm clumsy and dull and I have days I don't even want to get out of bed or see anyone. I push away the people who care about me, and pull the ones who end up hurting me even closer. I'm naive and gullible and people take advantage of that. I'm quiet beneath a shouty exterior. I'm uncomfortable around people I don't know, so if you know the silly things about me, I must really trust you, so don't make me regret that. I take things too literally, I have the worst laugh in the world, and I don't look in the mirror and like what I see. I have a bit of an addictive personality. I can't function without coffee and enough sleep. I'm thoughtless at times, I can be selfish and self-motivated. I don't think before I speak or act and then have to deal with the unexpected consequences. I don't think full-stop sometimes. I'm ditsy and clumsy and a little bit stubborn. I'm shy and cagey at times. I don't confide in many people these days. I spend too much money and I'm constantly living outside my means. I have about six people outside of my family I'd trust with my life. I'm horrifically insecure sometimes. I wake up with no confidence some days, and other days, it's there in abundance. I don't ever like to share my personal writing. I'm shit scared of taking important risks. I have a couple of irrational fears. There aren't that many people who have my back. I shout when I need to whisper and then can't find my voice when I really need to speak up. This might seem like a list of negativity, pessimism, faults. In one respect it is, in another, it's my venting process for today. All of this is true. Very true. There's things I don't write and never will probably, because there are certain things I don't want anyone to read, even if they are very close to me, or, differently, total strangers. This is my risk. My outward splurge of who i see myself as, who I am, and the things I shrug off every single day. I suppose what I'm saying is, everyone has their demons, and here are some of mine. Enjoy, hate or revel in them, I frankly couldn't give a damn. 

x

Breathe easy.

Well that's it. My poetry assignment has been handed in, a dreaded eighty lines that took me much longer than it should have. Eighty sodding lines that caused me a lot of aggro, stress and headaches, but now, I can breathe, if only temporarily. The real tester will be Friday. The dreaded unlucky 13th has, for some sick reason, been the day that our Early Modern Cultures exam has been assigned to. The joys, ey? I'm not at all prepared, and a little bit too tired to put in the right amount of effort. The sooner 11.30 on Friday morning arrives, the better, in my opinion. 

I keep saying it, but the tequila will be got in at the bar. I'm deadly serious. Even if it is before 12pm, I think it's someone's duty to have a little tipple waiting for me as a congratulations it's all over kinda thing. Yeah, we've established I do not hold up well under pressure, so you probably know, uni is making me a lb even more miserable version of myself. On the upside, I'm starting to get into the Christmas spirit. I've just purchased a few gifts to begin with, and still have quite a few more to go. The decorations are up, the fairy lights are shining and even the pubs have started playing Christmas songs at 2am amidst broken glass and dirty pints. I'm smiling and getting excited to spend time with my family and friends, and of course, the very amazing Christmas dinner prepared by one of my fave peoples on the planet, (MASSIVE SHOUTOUT TO THE LEGEND THAT IS MY GRANDMA JUNEY!) so, happy times are coming in full-force. Plus, I kinda think I'm about to be very happy indeed. Surrounded by people I really need and want in my life. I'm so lucky. I can breathe. 

Indescribable.

Half nine on a Friday night in December and I'm in bed, tipsy and teary eyed. Yes, there's something wrong with this image. I never really blog properly after a drink, but tonight it seems necessary. I'm in a bad mood, because of countless things. Oh, and by the looks of things, wine makes me depressed. Which, obviously, isn't great. 

Suddenly everything seems to have caused my shoulders to collapse. The pressure seems too much to take right now. With I'm a celebrity blurring in the background, I'm all too aware how alone I'm feeling. I can count on one hand how many people have attempted to contact me today, or even the rest of this week, and it's making me miserable. As someone who is very centred around friends and social goings on, when my social life shatters around my ankles, I feel very glum indeed. No texts, phonecalls, tweets, Facebook messages, snapchats or physical interactions. Seems like the people I'm not even closest to are the ones ready to cheer me up, while the people who are physically (and chronologically) closer to me are AWOL. it's making me unnecessarily sad. Disagreements and arguments I just don't want to get involved in. Stress I just don't need right now, with my first real second year exam looming in just a week's time. I feel like there are certain people I need and want in my life and they are nowhere to be seen. There's someone I really need right now, and you just don't even seem to acknowledge this. I'm sick of negativity, and misery and stressful situations. 

I'm too young to feel so upset. Fast forward to Friday 13th at 11.30 and that's when my cares go completely out of the window. Happy times will be welcomed and the festive season will be truly out in full force. Yes. That's what I need. 

21 days and counting.

So, I've heard Fairytale of New York about half a dozen times today, there's a tree and lots of tinsel adorning many houses, and advent calendars have begun to be opened, or in some cases, demolished guiltily on December 1st. (We've all done it, don't lie.) The Americans across the water have celebrated thanksgiving, cards are being sent and received and panic-buying for the festive season is at an all-time high. Yes, I suppose the Christmas countdown really has begun. Excitement fills the air as many children cross off the days until Santa arrives, and adults make plans of festive cheer and buy shed loads of Christmassy food and crates of alcohol to see in the new year. 

All of this hustle and bustle, and the imminence of snow, has got me thinking about the ending of one year, and the anticipation of another. As of midnight on January 1st, we will be in 2014. Kind of has a good ring to it, doesn't it? I'm sort of looking forward to it. Maybe because (it's no secret) I love the run up to new year, the organisation, the making plans, the fresh start, clean slate, all that kind of sentimental bullshit bandied about all over greetings cards, fridge magnets and social networks. It's kind of true though. There's something quite liberating about drinking your way into a new year, a new beginning, full of possibilities and new opportunities. Everyone's singing and swaying to Auld Lang Syne with alcoholic beverages in their hands, messily entering a new year. It's just wonderful.

I'm never overly strict with New Years resolutions, but this year, I'm going to make a concerted effort to stick to it. So you're thinking, with bated breath, 'what now?' Well, I'm not planning on anything too unrealistic or unachievable, just this: my New Years resolution is to be a nicer person. Yes, I'm going to make the effort to be a kinder, more helpful, thoughtful individual in 2014. I'm going to try and be selfless where I can, and show the lovely people in my life how much I value and appreciate their presence. Nice and profound ey? Well, who can blame me? It's something a lot of people should work on. I've got one or two people in mind when I say that but I won't give them the satisfaction of naming them. 

So that's mine, what's yours? Or do you have more than one, or an entire list? I imagine that closer to the time, I'll end up compiling a '2014 To Do List' because I'm just the most neurotic person ever, but that's all I've got for now. Anyway, that'd be different. I'm intrigued what everyone else has in mind for a New Years resolution, so let me know. Tweet me: @eleanorward_ or send me a message/comment on here. I'm interested.

Taking over me.

Its Friday, the term "Friday feeling" is being thrown about all over the place. Also, for our friends across the Atlantic, today is Black Friday; the Friday after thanksgiving when the shops slash all their prices for what becomes one of the most chaotic, manic shopping days ever. But back in sunny, chilly Newcastle, as I am now, there's something else on everyone's mind. Friday marks the end of the week, the end of work, and the start of what Newcastle is perhaps most famous for, nights out. If you've never experienced a piss up in geordieland, you've never lived. A typical weekend begins around 5pm, when people begin to crawl out of hibernation, braving the weather, in any number of unsuitable outfits. Without fail, there's a group of people in lewd, hilarious or confusing fancy dress hovering/stumbling around the gate in town on a Friday night. 

It can't be beaten. I live for the weekends mostly. Living at home, around 50 minutes drive from Newcastle itself, in little Chester, a weekend isn't complete if it isn't spent at one of Chester's many pubs. I know the bouncers and the bar staff, the drinks prices and even where the karaoke machine is. There really is a few perks of living at home and commuting to uni, and for me, home nights out are a big part of it. 

There's nothing I love more than getting dolled up, putting some stupidly high heels on, and heading for a long night in my local surrounded by so many familiar faces. For that song to come on, and no matter where you are; the dance floor, the smoking area or queuing impatiently at the bar, and it all just melts away. That song comes on, and everyone seems to stop, like a pre-planned, less crazy rendition of Hammer Time. And then what? Just complete awe. Smiles on everyone's faces. Problems disappear and you just all evaporate into the music, the moment. Nothing else matters, you find yourself grinning, singing and drinking, and realising how wonderful weekends really are.

She said.

She said she'd never get upset because of him again. She said she'd spent her tears a while ago, and she couldn't cry any more. She wouldn't let herself hurt like this, because it was so damn exhausting. But as Allie found herself curled up in a ball, wrapped tightly in her duvet, biting back those all so familiar bitter tears, her heart just sank. A kind of sinking that made her feel like she'd never be happy again, she'd never smile or laugh or have fun and genuinely mean it. There would always be a niggling in the back of her mind. That thing. Remembering the way she felt and how stupid she'd been. It had been okay. A tough few weeks, but she'd made it through. She picked herself up even when she never thought she would be able to. After crumbling, after everyone around her asking "are you okay?" Eventually, obviously, she caved. 

"No," she said, shaking her head a bit too vigourously, as to not show her teary eyes, "no, I'm not okay." Words she had bitten back so many times before events came flooding out, and with them, a sigh of relief. She had been brave enough to admit she was wrong, and even to be honest about it all. The strong one, as she was known, wasn't meant to crumble under all of this upset, but she did. She sure as hell frightened a few people when she did it too. Faces of friends were a picture. All staring open-mouthed, as if what was happening in front of them seemed to disrupt their entire belief system. Maybe it did, she didn't know. So, she'd done all that. The hateful rage, the resentment, the harsh tears, the sleepless nights, the stress, the anguish, and came out of the other side, smiling and laughing and displaying genuine signs of happiness. How was she to know that it was all just too good to be true? It was only a temporary ceasefire. The smile of hers would soon fade. So soon. So out of the blue. 

He was there, the one night she just needed a break from everything. The one relaxing night she'd allowed herself in months, and he just happened to show up, unannounced. A smug look on his face, as if he was totally oblivious. He couldn't be. He wasn't blind to the trouble he had caused, and even if he chose to believe that, the elephant in the room was ever-expanding. Awkward glances were exchanged, people shuffled around uncomfortably, a tell-tale sign that they knew too. This wasn't supposed to be like this, they weren't supposed to see each other like this. There was nothing clean cut about it. Nothing at all. It was painfully awkward. Her smile faded into a crumpled sort of expression she tried so hard to fight back and failed to do so miserably. It was obvious. She spent the next few hours hovering around slowly, avoiding his gaze, trying not to get upset, annoyed or pissed off, when of course she was all three. 

"It's not fair, you being here," she thought to herself. "It's not fair that as soon as I'm okay again, you somehow walk back on the scene and expect me to be okay with it? I'm not okay with it! I'm less than okay with it, I'm not even sure I know how to cope with it." 

Her mouth went dry, her cheeks a crimson shade of embarrassment and humiliation. She had never felt so small, so meaningless, as she had been made to feel just then. She fought off the impulse to just grab her coat and head for home. Instead, she vowed to enjoy herself. It was going to be an uphill battle, admittedly, but she refused to give him the upper hand yet again. He may have broken her, but she wasn't giving him the satisfaction of knowing that. After all, nothing is irreparably broken. 

Panic stations.

The first exam that will actually contribute towards my final degree grade is in two weeks. I have a poetry deadline requiring me to write eighty lines of verse due around then too. Deadlines are looming, along with the festive season, and I'm miserable. Stressed to death. Bored, uninterested and just bleugh. I feel like I'm walking in blind. I can't concentrate no matter how hard I try. I'm too stressed to function and I can't manage what I've got to do. The voice in the back of my mind is telling me that I'm wasting my time at uni, because most of the time I don't even enjoy it, because it stresses me out so much. I want to scream and cry and tear my hair out a lot. I find myself burried under too many textbooks and reading and I'm pretty much drowning here. I've got everyone around me telling me that they believe in me and are pretty sure I'm just overexaggerating and being my 'dramatic' little self. However, it is all true. Winter blues are a thing. I hate winter, and yes, sometimes it does make me sort of feel depressed, and down and low. The long, lonely nights, the freezing temperatures, the having-to-wear-a-coat thing. What's there to shout about? Yes, I'm neck-deep in negativity. I'm questioning the relevance of my degree, and I know fine well, I keep getting told it often enough, that being a writer is an unrealistic career path. I'm sick of people telling me that, but only because I know they're right. I'm holding out for something that probably won't happen, and if it does, it probably won't even be enough of a good thing to pay the gas bills. So yes, you could say I'm panicking. I'm being irrational. I'm sitting home alone at 18:47 and all I want is a large drink and some stupidly unhealthy comfort food. 

Quips and crutches.

Believe it or not, I've actually found myself voluntarily thinking about something I've been taught at uni. According to a theorist we've been introduced to, we only understand what an object or concept is due to the existence of an opposite. This is known as dialectics. (Something I've found quite interesting!) For example, we only understand what 'light' means because we are familiar with that 'dark' means. You get it, it's pretty simple really. This then, strangely enough, got me thinking about, as the title suggests, quips and crutches. Just because something can be seen as negative, does that mean it can never be positive? If a habit, a flaw, a quip or a crutch has negative connotations, it doesn't always automatically mean that this is a negative attribute that someone possesses.

While a quip sounds positive, whimsical even, a flaw or a crutch immediately make you think pessimistically, right? Well, what if that way of thinking isn't to be encouraged? Think of some habits you possess, do you put a positive or negative spin on them, and why? In my oh-so-deep train of thought, I got wondering why do we let our flaws define us, when really, they are only a tiny part of who we really are. I am, perhaps, quite proud of my habits. Well, most of them. I practically advertise my daily dose of caffeine, my occasional binge drinking and inability to stop tweeting. I bite my nails and swear too much and I'm really annoyingly pessimistic at times. I'm overly opinionated and can sometimes be offensive. I'm slightly OCD at times, and like everything my own way, I play with my hair a lot and I life way out of my means. I'm a creature of habit. And all of these things, well, are they necessarily bad things? Since when did our habits become our downfalls? Why should my coffee addiction be a negative? Or the fact I'm slightly predictable, -it just means I'm reliable and pretty easy to track down if/when you need me. I don't think my habits are flaws by default, nor am I solely defined by these things, instead, they are just a small part of who I am. If you know my habits, you are one step closer to understanding who I am, under the smiley exterior. I like to think that my habits, crutches, quips, flaws and failings are what make me an individual. United and apart, they are a small piece of who I am, as well as who I want to be. Some conscious, others unconscious, these things make me who I am, and who my friends and family know and love. Sure, I have things I wish I could change, but then again, would it be the same? My gullibility, my stupid, slightly 'blonde' moments, my obsessive streak, these are what sometimes I'm known best for, even if I don't like them, someone does. 

So, maybe we should be appreciating those flaws, instead of trying to hide them. Who says anyone else sees them as flaws except you? Insecurities are only just that because you feel a certain way about them. Just think, imagine if what you hate about yourself is exactly what someone loves about you?

Insomniac.

This is what the dictionary definition of 'insomniac' is. It's 00:35 right now, early Monday morning in very chilly November, and I've found myself in the same old predicament. I'm wide awake. I'm a self-confessed, rather than medically-diagnosed insomniac, like most. Usually, I'm okay. But every now and then, my sleeping pattern seems to totally obliterate itself and my mind begins to wander like Alice in Wonderland on fast-forward. My eyes are darting from one corner of the room to the other. My sighs are broken up by the constant ticking of a watch somewhere in the deep depths of my darkened room. Every half an hour or so, there's something else. Another noise, sign of life, reminding me that I'm perhaps not the only one up, struggling to sleep, with dialated pupils and heavy bags under my eyes.

Theoretically, I should be fine. There's nothing weighing heavily on my mind, no immediate anxieties or stresses to keep me up, no worries or excitements to prevent me from getting any sleep. That, however, is perhaps the most frustrating part of it, there being no fallible reason at all as to why I'm awake. You should know this, I get very stroppy when it comes to lack of sleep. I'm terrible to experience when I'm hungover or just plain exhausted because I just can't handle feeling tired. The kind of tired that makes your muscles ache and your whole body feel like it's a dead weight and it takes every ounce of strength you have to stifle yawns and keep your eyelids open in unison. See, this also isn't helping. I have a few things I do when I can't sleep. One, mainly, as you can probably tell, is write. I don't always blog, although it's becoming more of a midnight ritual than it used to be. I keep a tatty notebook by my bed so that if I can't sleep, or if I wake up during the nigt and think of something creative, I can immediately document it, before drifting back off to sleep. Apart from writing, I tweet. Maybe that's kind of the same thing, although my tweets aren't anywhere near as well-mannered or eloquent as my blogging is (and even that isn't saying a great deal.) It's no secret, I'm a bit of a twitter-whore. The app on my iPhone basically is never shut. I've tweeted, moaned, shouted, whispered, projected all kinds of 140-character nonsense into the twittersphere over the years, and as the insomnia hits hard, my tweet count seems to rise infinitely. Then there's the more usual stuff; relaxing with a hot drink and a film or, of course, my Friends boxset, my iPod or the latest book I'm reading, any distraction is welcomed with open arms and grabby hand gestures at stupid times in the morning.

Right now, I'm feeling pretty worn out. I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with a cold, and my head seems to be pounding every time I blink and yet, I can't sleep. Everything seems to suffocate me or I end up shivering and even more uncomfortable. My insomnia is putting me in a bad mood on what is always an unwelcome day anyway: Monday. I truly believe in the stigma attached to Mondays, especially the dreaded Monday mornings, full of stress and time limits, letting go (more like watching it get snatched away) of the weekend, and having to once again, abide by normal social constraints. It is no longer acceptable to sit and eat until your heart is content in your onesie while watching reruns of Come Dine With Me. You are now unable to get away with looking slightly bedraggled, and/or drinking your way through the afternoon and well on into the night. So you can see my problem. Approaching 1am and I'm yet to sleep, and I have to face the dreaded Monday schedule with a grimace rather than a smile, dark circles under my eyes, not happy lines, yawns not laughs, and mostly, negativity, not positivity. I shall, of course, try my hardest to break this cycle. Mondays are, obviously best dealt with with lashings of optimism and a big grin, so why not.ets just hope I can sleep before then, because I'm not sure how far my pokerface stretches. 

Push back.

Recently, I've come to realise how many people I have around me. By that, I mean the large support system I have around me. My family, friends and loved ones, who are just utterly amazing. From the family who never fail to make me smile, to the brilliant group of friends who cheer me up when I'm down. I've found myself definitely counting my blessings with regards to the people in my life. I wouldn't change them for the world, and it is a lovely, indescribable feeling knowing that even on bad days, if I push them away, it doesn't matter. If I push away, they are always there, to push back. 

Predictable.

Yes, I've discovered it. Finally. I am, I hate to say it, a creature of habit. I'm predictable. I have a 'usual' way of living and a routine that many people are all-too aware of. While some people would perhaps think this is a positive, I am not one of those people. I've never wanted to be one of those people who lives their lives by train times or the television schedule, although I'm afraid to say I am in dangerous territory here. 

It's a Friday night, or nearing the early hours of a Saturday morning and I'm in bed. Tucked up warm and cosy, wondering, thinking, moaning about the fact that I am not at my usual place. The pub. Weekends are always to be spent at the pub, or at the very least, out of the house and enjoying life. So I break the habit, and I'm miserable. I waver from my oh-so predictable life and I feel all out of sorts. A bit lost even. While I love and encourage spontaneity, and truly believe it is very important, the irony it is, it seems, is that I am perhaps the most predictable person I know.

Like Chevy Chase's character Henry in Funny Money who eats bumblebee tuna sandwiches every day, and asks for the same brown lambskin briefcase every birthday. Yes, okay, I've seen the film a thousand times, I know the dialogue, and find it quite hilarious, even when everyone I know tells me how crap it is. I am, it seems, almost as predictable as Henry. 

You can rely on my coffee addiction, my almost constant negativity and swearing, my need for comfort food and sitcoms and my always being cold, as much as you can rely on Monica for being a bit OCD, or Chandler for making another sarcastic comment, or Ross getting divorced. Anyone that knows me well knows I am a creature of habit, for my sins. I drink too much coffee, I never get enough sleep, I stress an awful lot, I drink a lot of sambuca but not quite as much as coffee. If I'm not at uni, in bed, or watching Friends, I'm either planning to do one of these things or, more than likely, I'm at the pub. Yes. My home from home. I even know the bouncers. Yes. Now.. What does everyone seriously think? Is someone who is predictable, in turn, boring? Or is it a nice, comforting sort of thing, knowing that there's one person who can be relied upon for certain things, like always having am umbrella, or a positive comment or something. Is predictable just another way of saying relianble? Would one rather be easily relied upon than deemed unpredictable or, even, unreliable? I don't know. I'm yet to fully decide on whether this is a good or bad trait I possess, or whether it is actually a trait at all, or a habit I can, if willing, break out of. 

We will see. 

Misery loves company.

"Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life."

-J.K Rowling.

Have you ever just wanted to disappear for a while? Get up and vanish? Imagine your life without you, or perhaps, with someone else living your life? I have. A series of low days caused me to fall into this negative way of thinking. I'm a pessimistic person anyway, but I sunk pretty low recently, and ended up mulling over stuff like this. The feeling of being away from it all. A break from the life you're living to just relax, chill, forget, de-stress, some necessary R&R. 

I've had all the cliches fired my way, including "it's their loss" and "everything happens for a reason" and eventually, I just wanted to scream. It was right, I did want to escape. I strived for more of an escape than music, or television, or film, or literature, or friends or even alcohol could give me. I wanted the solace, the solidarity, the absence of something more than just a sitcom or a song blurring in the background of my mind. However, I found, that during a hard time, the more I tried to isolate myself, the more company I found myself in. I shut my bedroom door and hid beneath the covers. I turned my phone off, and was absence from any social networking I'm usually such a big part of. I ignored texts and phonecalls. I missed the escape of television. I lost interest in the outside world. I fell behind on my Uni work and reading. I didn't pick up a book, or my ipod, or anything. I sat in such a deafening silence that just made me want to cry and never stop. It was awful.

So, that's when I thought, what if there are people out there that don't want me to go AWOL for a while? What if there's someone out there depending on me, needing me, or just trying to get in touch with me? I gradually reappeared. I left my bedroom. Turned my phone back on. Tweeted, logged into Facebook, Blogged, emailed, Snapchatted even. I put some make up on, and got dressed up. I turned the television on and the radio up and did all I possibly could to drown out the silence I was now stuck in. And apparently, that was all I needed to do. My support system leaked through my walls, and every social networking site you can think of. Friends text me, arranged meetings and made plans to see if I was in fact as 'fine' as I'd told them all. Nights out were arranged, smiles slapped on faces, drinks poured and heavily drank, laughter was even heard. Turns out, misery does love company, but not in that sense.

I gave myself some space to cope. Some silence to appreciate the noise I was trying to drown out in the first place. Now, I thrive in the shouts, the constant whir of contact I have. While at my lowest, I questioned everything and everyone in my life, as a personal matter of insecurity, when I needed them the most, they forced themselves into my life (and me out of bed) and refused to take "no" for an answer. I got hugs and happy messages thrown my way. Positivity was practically drowning me, and yet, I had the wonderful support system around me to keep my head above water. As it happens, lonesome misery is exhausting but sometimes, it's necessary. I didn't want to sit and vent to loved ones about something I felt so strongly about. It was, in a sense, private. I didn't know who to tell or speak to. But after coming out of a temporary hiding, they were all there for me. Eagerly awaiting my company, and being ready, if I needed it, to be the shoulder to cry on. For this, I am undeniably grateful.

So, this is for everyone who helped me through something that hit me really hard. Something that left tears in my eyes and a suffocating feeling in my chest. To my family, who were there and didn't ask too many questions, and my endless string of friends who gave me time to sulk, cry and get back on my feet. For all the hugs and positive words, the venting, the coffee (and alcohol) supplied, the comfort food, never saying "I told you so" even when you know you did, the silly laughs, the reminder of what I'm worth. I won't name you all, because you know who you are, and that's what I like about it. I just really need you all to know that I'm very thankful for you being there for me, and not walking away even when I pushed you.


...If I stopped lying, I'd just disappoint you.

Useless.

Considering today is the devil's day, my Monday didn't go too badly. Considering. That's a big word today. It's been used a lot. It was okay, considering... The night before, and the night before that, and every other weekends plans. The excessive alcohol, the cringeworthy embarrassment, the complicated situations I attract like I have my own personal magnetic field. The next day, tasting bitter alcohol and regret on your tongue. A blinding headache and a total blank as to what last night entailed. Today, I've been a bit useless. I slept in, after forgetting to set my alarm, so missed my morning lecture. I've just been in a total daze. My head isn't working. I'm more dense than usual. Bed is calling. Strangely enough, so is a want for a big spoon. Just sayin'. 

No such thing.

In the lovely, oh-so-famous words of Marilyn Monroe, "imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it is better to be absolutely rediculous than absolutely boring." I kind of live my life by this quote, which is brilliant, but also kind of dangerous. My excuse for everything is "at least I'm not boring." I watch people look upon me with amazement, open-mouthed. Thinking "is she really doing that?" or something like that. The tequila shot you don't think I'll drink and then have four more just to prove a point. Spending all the money I have on a pair of shoes I can't, and never will be able to walk in, but I like them so it's all that matters. The long line of stupid things I end up doing because life really is too short to sit back and watch other people have a good time. Despite this, today I'm attempting to power through a Diesel and sambuca fuelled hangover, and questioning my blindingly-bad judgement, but hey, no one's perfect, and I, am certainly not. If someone doesn't like me for that, then they're as blind as I am after one too many doubles. Stop worrying about what I do and focus on your own life. I'm happy so what does it matter? 

The good things in life: take #4.

The sunny winter days, when you can't leave the house without Uggs and a trusty Parka. Crisp open air that catches your breath and almost pierces your lungs, it's that cold. The preamble to Christmas, seeing children and adults unite as they fight for a spot to see Fenwick's window. The talk of seasonal adverts, festive plans and buying a glittery dress for the NYE celebrations. Switching high heels for cute boots, vodka for southern comfort and normal espresso to Starbucks new Christmas blend for an extra, not-quite-bank-breaking 25p. The dark, snug nights spent in front of the fire with coffee and old films and fluffy socks. Talk of turkey comes creeping out of the woodwork, shops start selling overly expensive chocolate and anyone and everyone is into the 'Is it too early to put the tree up yet?' debate. Tinsel is out in full force and you'll hear BandAid and find yourself humming along to Fairytale of New York accidentally, until the "scumbag" bit you try not to shout even if it is kind of liberating. Tartan is your new friend. Strangers engage you in conversation about snow and how cold it is supposed to get. I love these things. They can't be beaten. 

I'm not broken.

"We need to sort this out" you said, so matter-of-factly, like it was an equation we were trying to tackle. A problem that could be solved if only the answer could be calculated correctly. You were cold, with that blank look in your eyes. Don't say I'm being "dramatic" and "overreacting" when you know how I feel. Those stolen kisses seem so long ago. The smiles we shared, behind closed doors, the private silly little things we said to one another. Don't irrationalise my reactions just to keep your conscience clear. Shouts and screams, spat out words you can't take back. Slurred insults, the ugly truth announced to a less than willing audience. I told you to walk away, and yet there you stood, looking as arrogant as ever. That blank, smug look so effortlessly placed across your face. You stared straight through me, laughed in my face when I told you, and then, I screamed again. "Just walk away" and when you didn't, what did you expect? I've got more pride than that. To walk away meant so much more than just leaving a moment I didn't want or need to experience. It meant something final. Accepting that yet again, I'd made a huge mistake. Even though I spent such a long time defending your actions, as soon as the tables turned, I didn't need any persuasion. In floods of tears, I walked away. You watched me go, as if to humour me. Slamming the door of the taxi, falling into bed and crying until I was numb and shaky. Ignoring all my texts and phone calls. I didn't want to speak to anyone. I didn't want to hear those fake apologies, of even worse, the "I told you so." The torn moment between biting my tongue and blurting out everything I'd kept back for so long, and i did. It all just came flooding out, along with tears so violently down my cheeks, leaving my eyes bloodshot and my make up blotchy. I walked away from the tequila at the bar, the reassurances from friends, anyone who could attempt to console me. Some things need to be done alone, and with a sober head. The second chance I shouldn't have taken, the person I shouldn't have had to defend, the latest in a long line of mistakes. But don't get to thinking you're making me miserable. I'd rather break my neck than give you the satisfaction of crying over you. I'm stronger than I look y'know.

Positive times.

The last few days have been chaotic, baffling, upsetting, among many other things. I've realised that certain people are important and the ones that are will never hurt you or take you for granted. That when it matters, even the people who you thought might fail you are the ones who are more than happy to run to your aid and pick up the pieces. The ones who are there for a sounding board, a hug or just the one paying for the tequila when you need it. We aren't defined by the good times, but by the bad times. How we react when we're under pressure. When we are tested, pushed to our limits. So now, I'm happier. I feel like I'm surrounded by people who make me a better version of myself, and they are people who love me and want me in their lives as much as I want and need them in mine. After losing myself a bit in the midst of screaming and acting all hysterical during a meltdown, I am picking up the pieces. I miserably failed NaNoWriMo. I have probably failed the two uni assignments I've just handed in, and I'm behind on my reading. I've been moody and questioned every decision I've ever made because of one too many bad choices. I'm not sure what I'm doing with my degree or what I want out of life now. Coffee, happy people and repeats of HIGNFY (Have I Got News For You?) are keeping me up to date with what I need to know. Maybe journalism could twist my arm, and take advantage of my over-opinionated little self? Who knows. I'm moving on to better things. No one can make me feel low unless I allow them to, and I shouldn't. I know my worth even if they don't. So I'm sticking two fingers up to anyone who feels the need to attempt to make me unhappy. Good look trying. 

Walk away.

Who knew. I have the strength to walk away, even when everything is weighing me down. Even if I've invested so much, I can't stick around to know I'll get hurt. I've surprised myself. Angry, exhausted, totally emotionally and physically drained, my bed is calling. Maybe we have to experience the bad times so that we appreciate the good times even more. All I know is, I'm done with you. You had your chance, hell, you had more than enough chances, and I don't have the energy to do it any longer. 

Stop crying your heart out.

To say last night was horrific would be an understatement. "Shit" someone muttered. Awful. I'm lost for words. I feel like the biggest mug on the planet. It's so humiliating, being so positive and gushing about someone for them to throw it back in your face, and make you look stupid and naive and totally gullible. Evidently I am all of those things. Just when you think life is going to deal you a good hand at last, a lucky hand, someone comes along and grabs it and snatches it away. Last night was spent in tears, so, yeah, not a great start. I could probably punch a wall I'm so angry today. Seems like my judgement is as bad as people say. Yet I seem to be the only one who can't see it. So even after all of this upset, why am I sitting here trying to smile? Why am I here knowing that I'm not prepared to walk away from something I care about, even though the risk of being hurt is higher than ever. Maybe this is it though. It doesn't get worse. I was brought up to fight for what you wanted, and work at it, and don't give up at the first sign of trouble. Maybe that's overly optimistic in this scenario, I really don't know. I have so much to get through today and you've messed my head up so much I could just scream. I hope you're happy. Better yet, I hope you're fucking miserable. 

Rain on my parade.

I'm smiling. Genuinely. One of those ear-to-ear, painful, grinning kinda smiles. One you can't suppress, no matter how hard you try. One that makes your eyes all squinty and your cheekbones ache. I feel like there's been a massive weight lifted off my shoulders recently. A certain someone is responsible for this. And I can say, proudly, and slightly smugly, that despite what everyone says, I'm a pretty good judge of character. Maybe I should be giving some of those critics two fingers but I wouldn't. They're like that for a reason, which I appreciate to a point. So, certain things do pay off. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. If you want something enough, go and get it. It works. Oh, did I mention I'm happy? Nobody can rain on my parade right now.

Step off.

Who is the person who texts you back at 4am when you're getting drunk and teary-eyed? Who can take stick from everyone else and yet have your back anyway? Who's the one who can make you smile at the drop of a hat? Who will do anything humanly possible to make you happy? The one who isn't afraid to hold your hand in public or to be seen with you. The one, who, despite all the negative critique, is determined to set the record straight. The one who knows your flaws and failings and insecurities and still won't let you walk away. This person, at the minute in my life, is making me rather happy.

I've taken a risk.  A big risk, for many reasons. A possibly, in fact, probably life-changing risk. Some people will say it's "selfish" and "inconsiderate" while others will say I'm "stupid" and "naive" but I don't care, to hell with them. It doesn't affect them as much as it affects me, and for god sakes, it's about time I did something for myself for a change. It's not like taking other people's advice has ever gotten me anywhere in the past. Frankly, quite the opposite. Approval, I honestly couldn't give a fuck about any longer. My life is, obviously mine. Keep your negative thoughts firmly in your mouth because I have enough in my own head thanks. Doubts and worries are all that ever encompass my little self, but I know that there's nothing better than taking a risk and watching it pay off, big-time. I recently told someone that my biggest fear was heights, because, note this: "I'm scared of falling." Yeah. It was like having an epiphany or something. Of course I'm afraid of falling. But that same someone responded with something quite clever, that got me thinking: "but eveything has a risk, if you're afraid of falling you'll never risk anything." And that's when it hit me. Maybe stepping over the cliff edge scares the hell out of me, but if I never do, I'll never know what is over that cliff edge. Life starts at the end of your comfort zone, I'm told. In which case, my life starts now. My nervous, little self, with bitten-down nails, and a cold, shaky exterior, is ready to jump. There is no guaranteed safety net, but then again, if it's worth the risk, it doesn't really matter. I point-blank refuse to live on the sidelines watching someone else experience the life I'm supposed to live. Trust me, step off the edge, there's nothing like it. It's scary as hell and a little unnerving and my stomach wants to crumble my organs right now, but also, it's kind of great. Euphoric. 

Remember remember the 5th of November.

It's that time of year again. The nights are drawing in slowly, you can see your breath in the air and everyone knows someone who can tell you how many days, hours, minutes, seconds and breaths it is until Christmas. It's no secret, I kind of hate this time of year. Minus Christmas, obviously. But the cold, dark nights, the need to wear four layers to leave the house or risk a limb falling off in the northern arctic conditions. So, tonight is the anniversary of the day the infamous Guy Fawkes plotted to blow up the Houses of Parliament in a scheme we know now as The gunpowder plot. He's didnt succeed and somehow we're supposed to celebrate that by setting off tonnes of fireworks eccellerating into the sky and throwing 'guy' dummies onto raging bonfires. Isn't tradition funny? 

Well, today looks miserable through my eyes. Dull rainy day, puddles ruining my beloved Uggs and my already questionable morning hair. I've been up at six and already am commuting to uni for a 9am poetry lecture. Frankly I'd rather stick pins firmly into my eyes than attend. I'm counting down the hours until the clock strikes half 12 and I get to jump back on a bus, and crawl lazily back into the snugness of my bed. Wishful thinking ey? Oh, and someone's paper in front of me tells me today also, for some, is a particularly exciting day. Let's hope there's no one stabbed today in exchange for the last copy of Call of Duty: ghosts, like the last major xbox game release. Madness. Well, I hope you all have a good bonfire night, whatever you happen to be doing; whether it be celebrating it in a traditional way, ignoring it completely, or doing something a bit more to your taste. As of now, 07:56am, I have no plans, but I'm not too fussed about that. Can always take advantage of a neighbour spending about eighty quid on rockets and Catherine wheels from an upstairs window. Hibernation might start soon. Unless someone can give me a really good reason to get out of bed on a morning. 

Happy failings.

I'm currently sitting, very stressy, yet quite happy, at my desk. My overflowing bookshelf, containing some of the literary loves of my life, acts as a welcome distraction to any negative thoughts. My eyes keep getting drawn to certain spines, like John Green's Looking For Alaska, Melvin Burgess' Junk, Kevin Brooks' Candy and the like. There's also, unfortunately, one or two more 'literary' works lurking in the shadowy corners, a little bit less welcome than some of my favourites. Anyway, like I said, I'm getting distracted again. Fireworks are going off almost consistently outside my window, yet another distraction. Things have been somewhat hectic lately. Everything seems to be getting quite on top of me. Imagine a little me, buried under a mountain of essays and assignments, deadlines, and coursebooks. Oh, and in my pre-moment of madness, my commitment to NaNoWriMo. I have to add, it's four days in and I've never met the advised 1,666 words a day deadline yet. Oops. I'm feeling a bit guilty about that. However, I'm determined. Yes, kind of got my act together. After every weekend, constantly drinking, laughing and pursuing an overly-active social life, I've suddenly realised that I should probably do some work right about now. (I just realised that my exam is in 38 days!) Panic stricken little moi can no longer bury her head in the sand, or a quilt, although the latter, is, of course, very very tempting.

So, what's my latest distraction? Well, okay, not what..Who. I've had so many things that have deterred me from doing work lately, mainly, the people in my life. In no way are they bad influences, (cue the laughter, that of course is me!) but I'm just way too happy to spend time with everyone lately. I'm feeling social, you could say. Therefore, despite my back-breaking amount of work creeping up on me, and stressing me out so much I just find myself almost reduced to stress-tears, I'm happy. I might be close to failing assignments, AND NaNoWriMo may go completely out of the window if I'm not careful, (and far more constructive) but it's all for a good-ish cause. I'm getting a grip, but also, I'm finding myself to be happier than ever right now. A huge grin on my face, that fuzzy feeling you can't shift, well, failure may be bitter, but it's looking sweetly bitter from where I'm sitting.

Is that an optimistic viewpoint? Scary. I think someone's drugging me with happy things.

What doesn't kill you.

We all have bad days. Days where we want to just scream, and spend every waking moment just wishing and longing for the time when we can finally crawl lovingly back into bed and hide under the covers, away from the world. Yesterday was one of those days. I wanted to scream into a pillow, throw a tantrum, jump up and down like a raving lunatic, and when all of that failed, I wanted to cry. Not a sly, private few tears, but something messy. Needed. I felt like I was on the edge of a breakdown all day long. I had to bite back tears or bitter words during my 90-min poetry seminar for the good of my degree, and my mental health. I can't even explain it. It was just a day I wasn't ready for, wasn't prepared for, wasn't happy to take part in at all. Reason: I have absolutely no idea. I tried eating healthily, and when that failed, I turned to comfort food. Coffee, and lots of it. Chocolate, no. Didn't work. A calming, steaming shower. No. My family, friends, everyone trying to make me feel better, and to no avail. Unfortunately. Like I knew, the only thing j needed/wanted/craved was my bed. The only time I felt relaxed at all yesterday was when I crawled into my bed and burried myself under a winter-weight duvet. A sigh of relief escaped me. A weight felt like it had been lifted off my shoulders. I was me again. The ticking time bomb of Monday daytime was gone, in seconds. I can't explain it. Sometimes, you just need a break, from life. Those days, are most definitely meant to be spent in bed. 

Today has been better. Actually, today has been relatively good. Sunny, carefree, lucky almost, except one glitch. I'm having (or was having) a fat day. An ugly day. As a girl who has never really been aware of her own "prettiness" or whatever you want to call it, I find it hard to think that anyone could ever look at me and see, I dunno, someone attractive. Even when I have my best dress on, and skyscraper heels and a tonne of make up (although this is when I do feel at my most confident) I don't picture myself in that way. And it's all because of days like this. Bad skin days, hair days, general feeling fat and ugly and bleugh days. Of course they make me question what other people see when they look at me. I don't think I fit the bill or whatever. Funny thing is, there's someone who thinks I do. And then eveything; the doubts, the fat days, the hiding under duvets, well, that all fades away when I hear his name. Having good people in your life makes bad days tolerable and good days wonderful. 

All Hallows' Eve.

It's here, finally. Well, in just over an hour anyway. One of the most widely celebrated, yet not-totally-religious festivals in the northern hemisphere. Hallowe'en, as it is originally punctuated, is a festival to, supposedly, celebrate those who are no longer living, as well as those who died in vain; the martyrs of our time. Some people say it has Christian or Pagan roots, although this is open to intepretation. All Hallows' Eve/Halloween/the day of the dead, whatever you call it or have come to know it as, in this day and age, here, in England, in 2013, we have a modern tradition of our own. Usually, children dress up in "spooky" costumes and head to parties to take part in apple bobbing, carving pumpkins and general ghost-hunting pursuits. However, I don't know when this came about, but now, it's kind of fashionable for adults to do it too. Except, the parties with creepy fruit punches and spiders webs are replaced with vodka and other hard liquor. The trick-or-treating aspect replaced by partying in bars and clubs. The funny, cute and softly-scary outfits made for the youngsters take a dramatic turn when you hit the big 1-8 destination of adulthood. Halloween is a whole other kettle of fish (or cauldron of apples) when you reach a certain age. The masks/outfits go from scary to macabre, funny to ironic, cute to slutty, faster than you can say "Trick-or-treat." The cleverer your outfit is, the shorter your skirt is, or the more dead you look, the higher your Halloween credentials are. Everyone who's anyone wants to go out for Halloween, I've found. 

As a rookie to this, I'm a bit unprepared. I've never, as an adult and moreover, as a uni student, been out in town in full-on Halloween fancy dress. I've always wanted to, but for some unexplainable reason, I never have. I've been out in fancy dress before, sure, but not with the same hype surrounding it. So at 20 years old, I'm ready (and very excited) to be doing it tomorrow for Halloween for the very first time since I went to discos and parties when I was about nine or ten. It will certainly be an experience, surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands of uni students all sporting their best Halloween face paints, SCREAM masks and costumes maxed out with wasted, misunderstood irony. This is what I love and yet hate about going to uni locally, in Newcastle. It's party central. Every single night. But, especially on occasions. Tomorrow night, there will be queues everywhere for miles. Hundreds of girls freezing their arses off in too-short tutus and lots of eyeliner, while zombie-clad lads stare on in a mixture of amazement and disbelief. Then again, wouldn't change it for the world. And in good spirits, and fishnet tights, I'm ready to embrace a new tradition! So, best get my pirate outfit at the ready, rip my fishnets and white-out my face. Get ribbons for my buckaneer jacket, sort my garter and make sure the black lippy is always at hand for a touch-up as and when. Just stayin' I've got a feeling tomorrow will be kind of amazing, and also, as it should be, pretty fucking scary. 

Masks, face paints, stockings, leotards, wigs, eye patches, onesies, whatever.. At the ready. ALL HALLOWS EVE IS READY AND WAITING GUYS. Hope you don't scare too easily. 

Kisses. 

-A 

 

(I couldn't resist. If you get this ref. let me know!!!) 

NaNoWriMo: Challenge accepted.

I've done it. I've signed myself up to NaNoWriMo (or in normal, English-speaking sense National Novel Writing Month.) The task, for those of you who are unfamiliar with it, challenges participants to write 50,000 words over the course of 30-days, in particular, the month of November. Users can write anything they desire; there are no thematic constraints or subjects that appear taboo. You are 'a winner' if you succeed in reaching their 50,000 word goal in the thirty day time frame. It is a challenge aimed at creative individuals, aspiring writers, or people who just want to be able to say "yeah well, I wrote a novel last month." I can't decide which one of these categories I fall into. I must note straight away, I'm a novice. An amateur. I've never even been on the NaNoWriMo website until about 8 minutes ago, so I'm pretty psyched, but also pretty effing scared. It was a bit of an impulsive decision to say the least. I want to be able to have something to show for my degree course skills I'm currently pursuing, as well as test myself to see if I in fact do have the discipline to write a novel in just a month. I've never attempted anything so ambitious as this, and I'm kinda worried I'll a) descent into misery and procrastination and failure b) end up writing drunk into the early hours and make no sense or c) get so stressed I'll end up quitting. I really hope none of these things happen. I'm kind of determined. I don't give up when I put my mind to something, so that's sort of promising I suppose.

I have James Blunt's new album playing via Spotify right now. Maybe I'll get inspired. PS. I don't even have a plot outline, oh my god. I've got 34 hours and 16 minutes to dream up an idea, characters, and prep everything before the clock strikes (00:00 GMT) on November 1st. Ready or not, my novel is coming.

Smiles all round.

I wonder if you know I'm lying in bed grinning from ear-to-ear. Smiling so profusely down at the white glow coming from my phone. It's been a long time since I've smiled like this. That sickly-sweet butterflies feeling. Waking up in the morning and knowing my day will get better as soon as I hear from you. When did I get all soppy? God knows, probably amidst turning into an adult and downing sambuca as if I was putting out a fire. Happy times, happy things, happy little me. 

Against all odds.

I'm smiling. It's almost Monday. I've got too much work to do. I've got an incessant cough that just won't let up. There's a hurricane approaching, and yet, I'm still smiling. Only some people will understand the Phil Collins reference, but that really doesn't matter really. I'm smiling so much my face hurts. It's amazing what happens when you let go. More often than not, the risk is worth taking. More often than you ever think, there's someone pretty amazing waiting to catch you.

Common ground.

So what if you aren't both athletic, musical, arty? Common ground, well, maybe it's more than just something to be seen with the naked eye. You don't have to share the same taste in music, have your priorities (and your clocks) lined up in perfect parallels like Monica and Richard. There's nothing to say that two people can't get along swimmingly, even if they are totally different. Newsflash: no two people are the same. You may share physical similarities, emotional echoes of one another, or even a shared love of Mozart or Fitzgerald, but what does it really matter? Some of the little things are what bring people together, not the big things. The fact you secretly both like the same Disney film, or that you have a mutual understanding of what you really want out of life. The similar love for comedy, or appreciating that you are one anothers' crutch, as and when. People go hand-in-hand, who are, in fact, poles apart in terms of personality. The further you are away from one another with regards to your "self", maybe the more compatible you are? Friendships and relationships aren't always founded on familiar territory, and maybe it doesn't benefit after all. Maybe your polar opposite could be your best friend or the love of your life. Perhaps we are too concerned with our similarities that we forget to celebrate what makes us us, our differences. 

I don't have the words.

I'm feeling really down about my blog lately. I can't explain it. I just feel like I'm wasting my time. I feel like I'm screaming into a void. A dark, lonely vacuum, so someone tell me, what's the point? I don't blog for anyone, it's my baby, no one else's, so why am I feeling like this? A very intense feeling of writer's block can't be shifted and I'm ready to hit my head off a brick wall until the imprint is left on my forehead and I'm in pain. I can write. I write all of the time. I'm doing a bloody writing degree, so why when I've got so much I want and need to do, can I not find the words? I've lost any sense of intellect, inspiration or eloquence I had in the past. I'm just not able to piece together my thoughts lately, and I'm not happy about it. How do I break out of writer's block? I need to. Desperate pleas.

Fight with me, fight for me.

Do I matter to you? 

How many of us have thought, breathed, wrote, text, shouted those words at least once in our lives? Probably all of us. Well, I've actually been thinking about this a lot recently. I've noticed a pattern, at least in my life. I just know, personally, I can't be with someone who isn't willing to fight with me. I'm not talking a stroppy punch thrown here and there, because that's just out of order, I mean, verbally, emotionally. Maybe I sound really insecure, or paranoid, or stupid, but I need someone to fight with. Someone to scream with, spit vicious insults at, and for them to give as good as they get. I need to know that the passion is there. You only stop fighting for someone when you don't care about them any longer. When someone becomes passive to you and your life, that's when you need to worry. When I scream some nasty expletive at you when I'm half-cut and you're trying to be clever, or when I'm feeling upset and you fail to understand me, I need you to stand your ground, in more ways than one. I want you to say things you'll later wish you hadn't said, nasty outbursts that hide true, real feelings. I want the anger and the yelling and everything that shows me what I need to see; I'm worth fighting for. 

Halloween is looming.

Yes. It's that time of year again. I say it every single year, I will do something for Halloween, and this year I AM. *scream, cheer, whatever you like!* I am currently wandering around the house dressed as a pirate. But wait- not just a pirate, but a kind of, I dunno, zombie pirate. Something halloween-y to put a spin on an outfit I actually nabbed from eBay (or was it Amazon?) anyhow.. This year, I'm a zombie pirate. You wouldn't actually believe the responses I got when I asked around "what should I be for Halloween?" Well, 'drunk' was a given, I'll admit that. But 'a slut' I had to laugh..yet again. My dad came in as I pranced (I dunno, not very pirate-y is it?) into the living room in my er.. Attire. He took one look at me and went "aren't you supposed to be scary?" (This was pre-scary make up application btw) and I had to fight every impulse i have to not say the very, very famous line from Mean Girls: 

"In Girl World, Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it."

Safe to say, I did not breathe a word of this to my dad. And note: it won't be slutty. Even if I am wearing fishnet stockings...

So what's everyone doing for Halloween? Are you going out or staying in and partying? What are you dressing up as? I really want to know/see! Tweet me or Instagram me: @eleanorward_

Days like these, lead to, nights like ours.

Life really is what happens while you're busy making other plans. At least that's what I've found recently. I'm currently lying on my bed wrapped up in an oversized hoody, mulling over the last few days and realising how much happened without my noticing. (Let's ignore the fact I spent this weekend wasted.) Even so, there's a lot happened, either in my absence or just things I did not see coming. I'm a worrier by default, so I spend almost every waking hour stressing about something or other. Whether it's being late, forgetting something, uni work, relationships or just something happening at home, I'm a total, complete stress-head. I can't help it, I think I was born that way. (No, that's not an intentional Lady Gaga paraphrase there!) So, I've suddenly, it seems, took a back-seat kind of approach when it comes to stressing about things I have no hold or impact over. If the bus is late, it's late, there's nothing I can do. If I spill boiling hot candle wax down my new outfit (I actually did this last week) there's no point getting pissed about it. If someone acts in a way that you'd rather they didn't, again, you cannot change that. Other people, specifically in this scenario, make their own beds (Laura, Sarah: are you two laughing if you're reading this at that reference there!) in the same way that my words, and my actions are things I have to deal with. No one can stop me from doing something I want to do, and at the same time, I'm unable to control or predict the words and actions of those around me, even if that would be quite a handy skill to have from time to time. My newfound laid back  approach (who laughed? Oh yeah, me) to my surprise, actually was beneficial. It turns out, all the old age sayings like "a watched pot never boils" and the like, are more relevant than I ever realised. Patience, it turns out, is a virtue. Que sera sera and all that jazz. Things unfold the way they are meant to. So stressing about it makes no odds at all. Who knew, after months of stressing over, crying over, drinking over something so silly would turn out to sort itself out, AND for the better. I guess the universe really does have it's funny little way of resolving everything in its own time. 

I can't help it, I'm a worrier.

Even when I deny it, and perhaps, inwardly conceal it, I still worry. Constantly. Sometimes it's just a little niggling in the back of my mind, other times, I'm almost quietly sick to my stomach mulling over a situation I can't control or predict the outcome of. This time, I don't even know. At the minute, I feel like I've got no one to talk to about something I need to speak about. Despite my lovely, wonderful support system of friends and family, I don't have anyone I can or want to talk about this with. Is that strange? I don't know. Does anyone else feel like this? Maybe so. I feel like I'm questioning my own judgement, even though I trust myself when it comes to decisions that will have a big impact on my life. It's complicated. Oh, the cliché. I know. I don't need advice, I need someone to confirm my own feelings, my own impulses, my own wants and needs. I want someone else to tell me I'm doing the right thing. Scratch that, I want everyone around me to back the decision I'm going to make even if they don't agree with it, because my happiness should be more important to them. I think I may be on to something good here, and I won't let anyone spoil it. Worrier or not, I trust my instincts, and the bottom line is, despite all the comments, the looks, the words of warning, I trust you.