I actually did it!

Well, I've been busy.

As of 15th July 2015, I became a fully fledged graduate. I now have a BA in English Literature and Creative Writing. I got the 2:1 I was dying for, and although I was my usual stress self, the day went incredibly well. Putting on my gown, I glowed with pride. I somehow managed to bag EIGHT guest tickets for my ceremony, allowing all of my special people to see me graduate, which meant the world to me. My parents, my grandparents, my sister, my auntie, and not forgetting my wonderful boyfriend Lukas, without whom all of this would be just a pipedream. I don't know if any of them cried that day, looking up at me on stage, as I shook the chancellor's hand, smiled into the camera and walked off stage again, this time, WITH A DEGREE! But I felt myself buzz as I sat back in my seat, alongside my friend Laura. We looked at each other, and laughed: 'WE DIDN'T FALL!'

I probably could've cried, I just felt so overwhelmed. Admittedly, I did have a *few* diva moments throughout the day, when my gown irritated me, when my stomach rumbled and my head cried out for coffee. But luckily, I was met with helping hands, 16 to be precise. I can't even put it into words how much it meant to me that all my family got to see me awarded the degree I've been moaning on about for the past three years.

I won't sit here and lie and say those three years were easy. In fact, at times, I could've thrown down my books and packed it all in. I am sitting cross-legged on my bed, drinking coffee and reminiscing, calmly and happily, but that wasn't always the way. I was never very sure about going to Uni in the first place. I was shy. I didn't jump at the chance of making new friends, and being thrown into new situations. I worked my arse off for my A-levels, because basically, everyone at my school was encouraged to go to Uni, if you could get in. So I did. I sort of came around to the idea by the time I was in Year 13, while crippled under resit forms, I just decided I had to grin and bare it.

I got in. I was accepted into Uni and it all unfolded from there. Second week in, I was terrified. Thrown into my first real seminar, made to voice my opinions on novels I hadn't quite managed to finish, never mind form said opinion, but I bluffed my way through. I made friends, I gained confidence, I wrote an essay, I referenced correctly, I met new tutors, I began to adapt. I chose a Creative Writing course as my double honours alongside Literature, as I really loved writing. Little did I know, that would be my strength. I struggled in my lit essays. I didn't get the marks I was expected. The workload got on top of me. When my CW tutor sat us down and said we had 60 minutes to write a poem, I actually had a meltdown. Sorry, I'm rambling.

Basically, what I'm saying is, I may have a degree. I'm surrounded by those congratulating me and telling me how proud they are of me. I feel the pride too, but I also know, I struggled. I didn't sail through Uni with a book in one hand and a pint of lager in the other. The past three years of my life have been eventful to say the least... I went on three holidays, lost my confidence, began writing a blog, read a hell of a lot, drank so much I was physically sick, cried so much my head hurt, lost friends and gained others, established a love/hate relationship with Sambuca, celebrated, grieved, partied, gained a boyfriend, joined the gym, put on weight, grown my hair and got my confidence back. And now it's done. I can take a breather.

I haven't got a clue what I'm going to do with my life. But I have a degree, so I'm not panicking too much.

Catching my breath

Monday has come round, met with a combination of relief and despair. After the last few days, it feels like it's bound to disappoint. Maybe I'm being cynical, but more so, realistic. 

Thursday was our usual evening, spent at the pub quiz, where we usually avert our gaze from those teams who wrongly assume that because we are the youngest competitors, we must cheat our way into the league. To our shock this week, after going for what must be months, we won. Most of the teams clapped and cheered for us, Agatha Quiztee, the winners at last, if only for one week. Some stared resentfully in our direction as we celebrated with raised glasses and big grins. 

Friday began, and it was hell. Waiting frantically for results of my final degree grade was torture. Results were supposed to be released 12pm, on the dot. Little did we know, that meant everyone. Every single individual graduating from Northumbria university in 2015 got their final degree classification posted online on the same day. Later, obviously, this proved that the planning had failed dramatically, as five and a half hours later, I was one of the first to receive my classification, with others left to wait for an email instead that would arrive by 7pm. However, I couldn't complain. Three years of intensely hard work, tears, anger, stress, headaches and laughter, I got a 2.1 classification for English Literature and Creative Writing. All I could've hoped for. I was ecstatic. 

And what a way to end a weekend, than a Saturday spent in York, shopping, eating and drinking cocktails with my boyfriend. I feel like I'm just taking it all in now. With just over two weeks until I graduate, and no real career path in sight. I'm trying to be optimistic, trying to enjoy the lead up, trying to catch my breath and take it all in. 

Once again.

This time last year, I was determined that 2014 would be the best year yet. In good old fashioned, clichéd style, my eyes were full of optimism and motivation. The blood pumping through my veins was buzzing with excitement. The new year countdown would be the best yet. Everyone would be smiling, merry and singing to auld lang syne with tequila slammers at hand. 

This was a world away from how I saw in 2014. In fact, I can't even remember half of it. I spent around two hours in the pub, after spending four getting ready, and countless more in prep and organisation. What started out as a casual, sociable night with friends soon turned into me doing a dissapearing act. I then ended up at a then friend's house, totally off my face on 60% proof white rum (wray & nephew shots will make you hate yourself the very second it passes your lips.) 

I had a numb face and barely any control of my legs, but luckily I had someone to make sure I was okay. Giggly, embarrassingly drunk and a total mess, I end up at my *friend's* house and end up meeting his family, in my drunk stupor. Luckily, everyone was numbed by alcohol which made the event a bit less awkward. More drinks, more laughter, and more celebrations. I woke up beside him with a banging headache, a raging hangover and the biggest smile on my face. 

The friend in question has now been my boyfriend for the last 11 months and I couldn't be happier or luckier. A new start doesn't always come hand in hand with a new year, but maybe instead of the completion of an old one. There's nothing to say you can't change something any day. New starts aren't just for January 1st, even if mine was.

21.

           

On Wednesday, I turn the big 2-1. I'm kind of excited actually. Even if it means I'll be all grown up, and officially an adult by law.

 

At 21, I can drink alcohol and gamble in the US legally now. I can apply to adopt a child. Train to be an airline pilot. Supervise a learner driver by law. If I commit a crime, I will be tried in a court of law as an adult around the world. If I married in America, it would no longer be law to provide my birth certificate or parental consent. I can now buy knives legally, (oh, and an axe if I like.) 

Exciting ey? Some of the celebrations have already occurred this weekend, and there's more still to come, if my immune system doesn't collapse by then. 

Final year.

It's here. The looming summer is over with. So, with sour, miserable faces and wool-clad limbs, we brace the onset of northern autumn and of our final year as degree students. 

It's supposed to be great? Who said that.  Today is my second *technical* day as a third year. (I'm only actually in three days a week, but shh.) Reading lists have been doled out, schedules explained and deadlines highlighted in luminous colours in our diaries and planners. This year matters. This year determines your future. These are the kind of supposedly motivational statements that will be thrown at us from lecturers for the next 20 weeks or so. So, yes I'm majorly stressing out. 

Also, this week, after a really hasty decision, I'm having an impromptu birthday party on Friday to celebrate my turning 21, albeit five days premature. We have food to make, a room to decorate, hair and make up to be done, outfits to be planned, taxis to book, a cake to collect, balloons to blow up, and the rest of the room to pay for. Oh, and fit uni in, and all the work that comes with it, round the troops up and achieve all of this and be at the venue before 7pm on Friday night for the celebrations to start. Excitement is brewing but stress is too. My skin is breaking out, the slight furrow between my eyebrows is becoming more evident by the hour, and I'm feeling drained. All I want is someone to greet me off the bus I'm currently falling asleep on, carry my heavy bags filled with uni books, fetch me a good cup of coffee and run me a lovely hot bath. 

Tomorrow, I have a day off. Thank god for small mercies. 

Blah.

I'm hopeless beyond doubt, stroppy beyond reason and lost without hope. It's Saturday, closing in to 6pm and I'm in bed, hanging, and totally exhausted. The very famous "few drinks" last night went out of control, and my ill advised, and yet, note: ignored, taking of antibiotics with copious amounts of alcohol turned out as well as it possible could have. Messy nights are my life lately, oops. I'm lost behind my uni work and I'm just so uninterested in what I should be inspired by. I feel a bit out of touch, with eveything. I've recently just had a catch up with some good friends and discussed booking a holiday, and yet, I don't know why, but my heart isn't in it. Don't get me wrong, I love them, and holidays are one of my favourite things ever, but at the minute, excitement about sunny times seems so far over the horizon. Winter is thoroughly depressing me. I want to hide under my winter-weight quilt and wait for it all to blow over. Uninspired, uncoordinated, unorganised, unhealthy, under-the-influence. Blah. I don't care. It's Saturday night and I'd rather spend it in bed gorging on greasy food than leave the warm and drown myself in more alcohol, but who are we kidding, we all know I will. Exhaustion has set in and it's not great, admittedly. I'm unhappily yet happily mulling everything over. I want to change but I'm not sure what it is that I want to change, if that's even English speaking. As you can tell, I'm still on a drug-and-alcohol-and-caffeine comedown and it's horrific. I can hear Patricia Hodge's voice echoing "SUCH FUN!" repeatedly as I clumsily get ready and get paraded off to the pub rather than turn boring at a mere twenty and stay in on a Saturday night. Now that, my friends, would be sacrilege. 

2014, we meet at last.

This time 24 hours ago, I was just walking through the front door. Safe to say I definitely wasn't the first foot in. Greeted with mixed expressions of amusement, disappointment and embarrassment, me and my stinking hangover just wanted bed. I well and truly celebrated new year in style. Okay, no. I didn't. I got blind drunk, showed myself up and then had to play down my drunkenness in company. I never slept, didn't get home, and carried on drinking. I made friends, then enemies with crowds of people, took hundreds of spaced-out photos that you can't even make out, and spent too much money on hard liquor. Instead of arriving home yesterday and seeking bed, food and a shower, I made arrangements to go back out. Officially round two. New Year's Day, it's impossible to stay in for. Even my parents were getting ready to go out, while I struggled to eat anything. I powered through, showered, changed and slapped some make up on, in a desperate attempt to disguise the fact I was in that weird limbo between hungover and drunk. 

Today I'm pale and still shaking. The room is spinning, and every time I get up, it feels like I'm moving far too fast. Needless to say, I don't even want to think about any more alcohol for at least another week. Every part of my body hurts. I've greeted 2014 with a horrible hangover and unsure smiles, sambuca and sleep-deprivation. The radio is shouting and acting as some sort of motivational voice, and yet, I'm just lying in bed feeling overly sorry for myself. My feet are sore, I'm severely dehydrated and I can't shift this feeling of queasiness hanging around so unwelcome. I'm happy though. Very happy. Even if I am in so much pain. I think I need a brisk walk in the January sun and shift these blues. Apparently January blues are alcohol-inflicted. Or at least they are in my case. I saw the new year in very messily, and yet, I'm happier than ever. I've not stopped smiling in about two days straight. My liver is crying out for sobriety, my head wants painkillers and my muscles just want to shrivel up and die. Rough times. Curled up with puppy in bed, today is officially a write-off. HAPPY NEW YEAR. 

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'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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

I don't like today much.

It's Saturday, and I've done it again. Spent the night before pouring alcohol down my neck like I was getting paid to, and yet coming home with 25p. Yes. And managed to upset someone I really didn't want to. Arguments, tears and tantrums. Last night's themes. I've got a post-Friday night hangover and such an awful cough I sound like I'm a 40-a-day smoker, and I've never touched a cigarette. I'm feeling so guilty, so bitchy, so...nasty. I don't feel like me today. I feel like someone else. Sitting in my room, blasting party-ish music as some sort of motivational attempt to convince myself, and my liver, that I can actually hack hitting Sunderland tonight for Betty's birthday celebrations. I drink too much. I feel hideous. I don't look much better. This is all stupid and disjointed, because I'm half-hungover, half genuinely ill, although no one in my house seems to fathom the 'genuine' part. I wonder why.
 
I'm drowning out the bad stuff. Or attempting it anyway. Life, I guess, goes on, whether you're happy or unhappy, upset or angry. I guess the bad times make the good times even better. I wish I was an optimist. I wish I was a glass-half-full kind of person, but I'm really not. I don't even get the concept. I love everyone in my life right now. Why is it that the nice people get screwed over and I end up trusting the ones I shouldn't?

My head is well-and-truly battered. I smell like a brewery and I feel like I'm still slurring my words. I've only had like three and a half hours sleep and I don't know how much longer I can last before I drift into a deep, deep sleep mid-sentence. I'm feeling the 'horrible person' vibe today. I don't know what to do with it. Advice is being thrown at me left, right and centre, but I guess I have to, and do make my own decisions. Whether they're good or bad, will remain to be seen. I'm forgetting everything for now. I'm going to slap some make up on, to make myself look less like an extra from a zombie film and more like a human being, albeit a very unwell one. Things get better in time. Apologies wear thin, but they don't lose their sentiment. Well, mine don't anyway. I'm just saying.

I'm going for a Nando's. I need comfort food.
#bingeeaterandbingedrinker

A shot of caffeine and you can conquer the world.

As fancy as you try to say it, no matter whether you use an Italian tongue or an English twang, Black coffee is, and always will be, black coffee. My saviour, my ultimate pleasure, my serious obsession. I'm a coffee junkie. A 19-year-old caffeine junkie. Self-confessed, and proud as punch. I drink a serious amount of it, and rely on it to get me through difficult times, early mornings and later nights. A hangover kick, an early morning wake-up and the greatest refreshment in the world.

The man in my local Starbucks knows my name and exactly what I want as he sees me push open the door. A smile, slightly funny, and a recognised nod, and my thick, black, strong coffee is placed delicately in front of me. It opens me up to a myriad of possibilities. A coffee in tow, and I'm capable of anything. I feel accomplished, prepared, ready to face whatever the day may throw my way; good, bad or down-right horrendous.

This is a particularly suitable post today, after seven cups of industrial strength coffee, I still don't feel prepared to revise like hell for Monday. D-Day is approaching at a somewhat dangerous speed, and I'm not at all ready for what that might mean. I've done countless Literature exams, but I guess at degree level, it matters the most. Don't get me wrong, my course is everything I could want it to be, as well as a whole lot more, with a group of wonderful people, especially a little mention for my favourite girlies- Laura, Sarah and Jenny (who will probably be reading, hey girls!) who are just brilliant and hilarious, and the only kind of people you'd want to spend 9am lectures with and not want to commit a horrific kind of crime. The revision, however, never gets easier. Baracading my bedroom door, hiding my phone and arming myself with a heap of Literature-related quotations to memorize  I think I'm overestimating how much my brain can take in, but I'll try my damnest to pass this bloody exam. It will all be worth it, the late nights, the hard graft and the aching wrists, for the end results, and sooner, the mental celebrations that will occur Monday night, when we can jump up and down, scream and shout and discuss how the hell we managed to get through Year One.

So, for everyone who tolerates my bad moods around exam time, motivates me and believes in everything I can do, I love you all. A very special person always tells me I can achieve anything I set my mind to. Every time I'm about to sit an exam, I receive a text message from my grandma, simply saying:

"you can do it, Duffy Moon!"

It means more than I can ever say.