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.