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.

I'm lost.

All the days seem to have merged into one huge mess and I honestly can't remember the last time I woke up happily, with a smile on my face and a lack of exhaustion sitting on my shoulders. I'm worn down, and to be honest, a little bit lost.

I've finished my degree, celebrated both my sister's and boyfriend's birthdays within a week of each other, ate my own body weight in food and then amidst all that, everything came crashing down. My family received news we were dreading. There were, and have since been, countless tears shed, flowers sent and hugs shared. We all dressed in black and sat in the church and tried to sing hymns without spluttering through them. And then, in expected style, celebrated the life of a man who touched so many lives, and so many people. On almost-empty stomachs, we glugged pints and necked vodkas, bought rounds of gin and then later on, the sambuca started. More tears. Talk of happier times. As is said, United we stand, divided we fall. 

And united we were that day. 

Hand-in-hand, side by side, arm in arm. To hold out a tissue, a drink, or even just a hug. We mourned together, sang together, cried together, smiled, laughed and got drunk together. We reminisced, we held out hope, made promises, made plans, and then, collapsed into a heap of hangovers and reality hit.

This, was now nearly two weeks ago. That in itself seems unbelievable. And since then, I can't even seem to work out anything useful I've achieved. I've broken 3 acrylic nails done, and had one repaired, went to the gym and lost my gym card, collected an assignment from uni and was disappointed with the marks, lazily and half-heartedly browsed the net for jobs, and then, just gave in. 

My head still feels like it could explode any time. I have no grand plan now I'm finished uni, no career in the pipeline, no employers fighting over me. I'm stuck, I'm bored, I'm in denial and mostly, I'm lost. For the first time in my life, I feel like I have no solid friendship group. I haven't got uni, work, school, sixth form or proximity linking up and uniting my friends and I. I'm alone when it comes to being an adult, and honestly, I've never been more terrified.

Kindness goes a long way.

It's 2014. It's the 21st century. The age of iPads and space shuttles and a potential treatment for Ebola. Everything is advancing. It's a good time to be alive. Well, correction, for some people it is. I've been brought up in a safe place, with a home, a strong family and a support system around me. I had a good childhood, a decent education and a healthy upbringing. I was told I could do anything I wanted and be anything I wanted, if I worked hard enough for it. I could achieve anything I put my mind to. I had the opportunity to go to a good school, achieve better than average qualifications and have a wide range of prospects at my disposal. I had a good group of friends. I was never bullied, broken down or left to feel like I had no one to talk to. I never went without. I never had to go through my parents' divorcing. I wasn't a child who had to wonder when the electric meter would cut out, or where my next meal would come from. In summary, I was lucky. 

Most people would read this and think, so what? We weren't a well-off family. We still aren't. My parents work full time at normal jobs to fund their family, and for that I'm eternally grateful. My mam and dad made sure I never went without if possible. I don't live in an area that is considered particularly wealthy, but nor have I ever been on the other spectrum entirely. 

While you're all planning Christmas surrounded by over-indulgent, extravagant presents, copious amounts of food and drink, spare a thought for those who won't wake up on December 25th like that. For those who won't wake up with a roof over their heads on Christmas Day. Those who won't receive a single present, because money isn't there. For those individuals who aren't in safe, cosy homes surrounded by family and friends. The harsh reality is, in an age of development, discovery and a recovery from the recession, there are thousands of people who slip under the radar every day. In 2014, in my opinion, nobody should still be homeless or living in poverty. I guiltily look down at my feet and stare at a pair of well recognised, branded, Australian fur boots that are worth more than some people will have in an entire year to live on. It upsets and angers me no end that this isn't more of a problem to people. I've seen people give someone homeless a wide birth, walk past and not even smile, instead grimace, and this is nothing short of disgusting. I know I'd hate to think if I was in the same position, someone would judge me solely on my appearance, not my character. Nobody is homeless or poor out of choice. This is why I've chosen to donate to charities who support those individuals who may be spending Christmas on the streets, and make sure they get a safe place to stay, and a hot meal surrounded by others during the Christmas period. Charities like Shelter, the Salvation Army and Crisis. Just a small sum of money could make someone's Christmas. A drop in the ocean for some people's finances. I proudly support homeless charities and will be comforted to know that their work over Christmas will help people less fortunate than myself have a chance at a good Christmas. 

If like me, you don't believe homelessness should be a problem in the UK, in 2014, please donate. Whether it's a one-off sum, or a year-round donation, every little bit of money helps. 

Shelter: 

Www.shelter.org.uk

 

Salvation Army: www.salvationarmyappeals.org.uk

Crisis: 

www.crisis.org.uk 

91.

The number of posts I have to write before the end of the year to match last year's blog post total. So technically, let's make it 92 and exceed last year. 

A lot has happened in a year. Too much to even let float around my brain altogether, because it may just make my head explode. It's been a damn good year really, and I'm praying it gets better. It just needs to. It's really important it does. 

Bound and gagged.

Okay, okay. Calm down. It's not that kind of blog post. What kind of shit do you think I write? *blushes* Yeah, okay, I laughed at myself. Apparently that's a sign of madness. May as well be one I applaud and self-confess. So, what's with the title, you may be wondering... Well, it's how I feel right now. I've attempted this blog post four times now. Every time, I was unhappy with the words on the screen. I deleted them with enforced frustration. My words weren't conveying the tone I wanted. It was, it seemed, useless. 

So that's how I felt, bound and gagged. Stuck. As if I couldn't find the appropriate words to explain how I was feeling. I still don't think I can, not really. My head is whirlwinding, sort of. Ups and downs. Good news and bad news. Positives and negatives. My mind is torn between tears and grins, and the poles are further apart than ever. I have my lovely other half to thank for the constant grin sprawled so effortlessly on my face. Lukas, thank you. For being just so amazing. Being with him is like my happy place, as Phoebe says, and he is my person, to quote Cristina in Grey's. The reason for my insane happiness. Now for the other side of the spectrum. Someone I don't physically know, and yet, have come to know, may be going through more than I can ever imagine. She's incredible, and is strong enough to get through whatever life throws at her, I just know it. Gracie, you can do this shit, okay? Whatever you need, there are people around to throw it in your direction with amazing force. Eloquence seems to have left me amidst my subsequent confusion, but it will hopefully be sitting comfortably in my lap soon. Today ends with prayers, happy thoughts and the confidence that things get worse before they get better. 

Firsts, lasts and always.

The rain taps ever so slightly on my window pane, traffic gliding past once in a while. I hear puddles being disturbed, silence being temporarily broken. It's almost April 2014. I know right? Where did the time go? Where did the beginning of the year creep off to? I honestly have no idea. I've become lazier than ever, at home, at uni, just generally I'm in hibernation-mode. I feel like I've not read or wrote anything substantial in months. I probably haven't done enough work for uni, and my energy is just drained by the cold northern weather, the long, sleepless drunken nights and the few boringly jagged days separating the time between vodkas. 

Somehow in the midst of the laziness I've pursued, I've managed to maintain something wonderful. A relationship with someone who is like my best friend. Yes, I'm a soppy bitch as of late, forever gushing about no longer being single, and my friends watch as the sides of my mouth turn ever so slightly upwards everytime I mention I start name-dropping or utter "boyfriend." You'd think I was 12 again, cringe. So the cramming must commence, I suppose. Seems like one thing starts and a hundred things end at once lately. I get caught up in the silly little things and zone out on big decision-making, important assignments and revision timetables. 

This time next week, I will officially no longer be a second year uni student (minus the fact I have an end of year exam to sit in May, but y'know, basically.) This scares the hell out of me. Module deadlines. Word counts looming. The days are being crossed off, counted down, reminisced over. I want to bury my head under my pillows and leave all the important decisions to someone who doesn't drink 62% proof rum on a Wednesday afternoon, or tweet thirty times a minute. Perhaps. Then again, I've made a couple of really good decisions to outweigh the bad. 

First impressions don't count.

It's mad, looking back. Today my sister and I were talking, and those old times kinda talks just drifted in and out of our minds. Remember when we used to be friends with [insert name] and when we used to spend all of our time [there] and, well, you get the picture. 

It's all so chaotic. I have fragments of memories hidden in the shelves of my brain, and yet, certain things that didn't seem to matter at one point, really do now. Like, for example, as everyone says, first impressions count. Well, I can't remember the first time I met most of the important people in my life, because, I suppose, at the time it didn't really seem significant. A first conversation, an impression, a look, an action. Whether the first time you met me was drunk or sober, at 14 or 18, in a pub or a classroom or a bus stop, I probably couldn't tell you what I thought or what I said. If I do, you must be pretty damn special. (Either that, or maybe I was younger and just didn't have the opportunity to get drunk!) 

But there are one or two I do remember. Not vividly, but in fragments, some pieces are sharp and clear, others are blurred around the edges, softer, out of focus. Maybe I remember the first thing you ever said to me, or what I was wearing, or what you were drinking, or the class we were in at the time. A smile, a laugh, a clumsy introduction. A handshake? A kiss? I'm damned if I remember. The significant people in my life are just that because of what they are to me now, what they've become, not who they were when I met them. I guess that's what fascinates me. You never know, when you meet someone, what they're going to end up meaning to you. That's kind of scary, but also kind of brilliant. 

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?

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. 

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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

Wake up.

When are you going to wake up and realise that no matter how hard you try, I'm not going to be her. I'm never going to have her hair or her eyes, or that little twinkle in her voice you like so much. Forget that. Forget her. I'm not going to try and fit her mould. You shouldn't expect me to. If you can't accept that, then I'll walk away now. It's unfair for you to want that and I refuse to live my life in someone else's shadow. 

Young, free and changeable: That is the question.

I'm a strong believer in the theory that people, despite what is said, can, and do, change. The old cliché is that, some people are destined to be the same selfish, back-stabbing, bitchy teens they always were. Young, free and reckless, yeah? Well, not always. People DO grow up, grow out of their "flaws" and realise their mistakes. I recently began exploring this sentiment, as it was relevant to something happening in my life. The question I raised with my closest friends was just that. Do you think people can change? And what was the answer I received? Yes. Of course they can. I would hate to think that there were people judging me on the mistakes I made in the past, as after all, they ARE in the past, not in the present. We all do stupid things we come to regret, and while some are more serious than others, I guess it's possible, no matter how much we like to think its untrue. 

We could all make potentially damaging mistakes in the heat of the moment, and would we really want our heads put on the chopping board for life, because of a Friday night's drunk antics, or a text you sent when you were pissed off, or the punch you threw in year nine over lunch? We all make mistakes and are, inevitably, all subject to prejudices. I truly do (and want to) believe that we can all learn from our mistakes, rather than repeat them over and over and over again. Maybe we shouldn't have to serve life-sentences for petty crimes, maybe we should be more forgiving, and maybe, just maybe, leopards really do change their spots.