Let's get seasonal.

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

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

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

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

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

x

Who I really am.

I've been up and down lately, for reasons that I won't list, otherwise i'll be on for pages. Anyway, I got to thinking about what I deserve, as well as who I really am. After talks with friends, I've come to realise a few things, mostly, that I shouldn't ever let someone make me feel small, instead, shrug it off, and don't give someone the satisfaction.

I've changed a lot this year, and I've finally decided who I want to be, as a person. This isn't, unfortunately, a massive, let's-confess-our-true-passions whirl, instead, just a little note to say I'm a better person, in spite of some of the horrible people I've come across lately.

Maybe I am the girl who drinks too much and ends up mouthing off from time to time. The girl who can't walk in her six inch heels but still won't go out without them. The girl who will spend a lot of money on an outfit that will lose any classiness it ever had by 3 am, when I'm drunk and either euphoric, tired or upset, because sometimes you don't need to always plaster a smile on your darkened visage. The girl who drinks industrial strength coffee, loves to write and is passionate about reading. I stay up all night and am no good during early mornings (before my third cuppa!) I bite my nails, and I get obscenely stressed out over stupid things. I hardly ever cry in public, because I don't know how other people would react. I'm a bit of a big spender when it comes to clothes, but I don't think that'll ever change. I've got a group of close friends, but seem to be expanding it, willingly. I'm happily impatient, and a very hard-worker. I hate Mondays and love Made In Chelsea. I never ever stop tweeting. I'm addicted to crime dramas, 90210, Grey's Anatomy and Pretty Little Liars. I touch-text and type, and my parents are always telling me that I'm wasted by just typing nonsense into a vacuum, and my typing skills would actually benefit someone. I can quote Friends, Mean Girls, When Harry Met Sally and  know all the words to Peter Kay's The Tour that Didn't Tour Tour. I go through stages when I just want to be alone and stroppy, I love closing my bedroom door and disappearing for a few hours, or even a day or two. (I swear I don't lock the door for days on end.) I love marmite. I have a short attention span, unless it's something I really am interested in. I have a gawky obsession with The Great Gatsby, and could gladly eat rubbishy foods until I was fifty stone.

I want to make it. Sounds, well, big, doesn't it? MAKE IT. Ambitious, probably. But who cares? I recently thought, why am I not taking Uni seriously? I should have more confidence in myself, as a person, a female, and a Literature and Creative Writing student. After all, why can't I be the one that makes it Big. Why have I got this blasé, half-hearted attitude that my writing isn't up to scratch. For a while after I started my Uni course, people kept saying to me "So, what do you want to do? Be the next J.K. Rowling?" It was as if it was one big joke to some people. I still get that impression. People ask what I study, and when I respond, the divide is infinitely clear. The nice half of the human race, with more than one brain cell to share between them, and a less than narrow mind, replies in an embellished sort of way, intrigued, happy, impressed. I like that. I get a kick out of the fact I do a "proper subject" at University. The other half, well, we've all experienced them, the bored looks, their eyes glaze over. The people that believe we should all go into vocational courses, that leave us with "actual career prospects" and "a steady pay" in our "less than stable" economic climate. I want to jump up and down on the spot, scream in their faces and then thrust a piece of my Best Work into their less than welcoming hands, just to prove I'm not a good-for-nothing, layabout student. Then one day, it just struck me. A eureka moment, as it were. Why can't I be the next J.K. Rowling or Stephen King? Get a piece of my maddest work on the best sellers list, or reviewed in The Times. 

I get screwed over, kicked and brought down, but I'm ready to pick myself up and get a pint of confidence down my neck. (Not just Dutch Courage.) I want to be able to have something to show for my crippling student debts, late nights, early mornings and tonnes of hard work and inspiration. I want to be able to show all of those people who've turned me down, screwed me over or to made me feel about six inches high, that I'm worth a hell of a lot more than they ever gave me credit for. Whether they like it or not, I'm going to be able to say "I told you so!" with the biggest grin sitting on my face.

So, Who am I? 
Hopefully, in ten years, you'll not have to ask.