Busy.

I'm content and disorganised and excited and numb and ready to celebrate Christmas surrounded by the best people I know. My blog is being understandably neglected, but hey, life just gets too eventful to sit in front of laptop all day. 💁 

Therapeutic ramblings.

Writing is therapeutic. I've just wrote about 300 words in my iPhone's 'Notes' section sounding off about my moany day, when it hits me, maybe I just need to write my thoughts down. Maybe the so-called writer myself needs to just get things out of my head to get a smile settling on my face. I feel a lot happier already. In a matter of minutes. It's relief. It's more than that though. Writing is innate to me. I was dreaming up stories before I was old enough to write them down. I've always wanted to write. Whether it was doodling my name multiple times in my notebook, compulsive list making or even just a document of my feelings, I've always had a notebook with me. Admittedly, I've never wrote a novel or a collection of poetry. At 21, I've not accomplished anything official writing-wise, but I think that's okay. It's the industry. I love picking up a book in Waterstones and smelling the fresh paper and examining the first page of printed ink. I love buying a book on my kindle and watching the money get debited from my account and then waiting while it appears magically on my screen. I love reading book reviews; gushing or scathing, appreciatory or negative. I love the bit where a writer dedicates their work to a specific person, a time or a place, a memory, a quote or something close to their heart. I love the words on a page and how they resonate with something I've felt, or experienced, or even just said aloud. Sometimes there's nothing more therapeutic than writing. 

Intimidated.

I can't help feeling how I feel. You know how it is. For me, if I'm ever nasty or bitchy about someone, it's usually because they pretty much intimidate the hell out of me. I know that's not a nice trait, I'm well aware it's not big or clever, or mature, but it's a defense mechanism in my eyes. There are certain people lately who intimidate me so much, it upsets me. Someone who seems to always have the upper hand. Always on the side lines, in my ear whispering snide comments and always haunting my peripheral vision. I can't help it. Some people just get my back up, make my skin crawl, and make me feel about six inches tall.

I'm having a bad day. I feel under-appreciated, unwanted, alone. I've felt like that quite a bit lately, and there's kind of a reason, but I don't want to moan all over my blog about my problems. No one really wants to read that. I'm a bit suffocated at the minute, even though I think that's the wrong word to use. I feel like I'm surrounded by people I love until I really need someone, and then it's like a tumbleweed in a deserted street. No one is to be seen, heard of, all are absent. No one breathes a word, rings, texts or anything. I'm alone. But that's the problem, because I shouldn't feel like this. I want my family to see that, and yet they, somewhat rightfully so, seem to notice my mood. I keep getting asked am

I okay, because loneliness apparently crawls through your pores or something. I need to sort my life out. Better yet, I need other people to sort theirs out, because I'm sick to death of feeling like I'm everyone's sideline, everyone's second choice, everyone's last resort. I'm no one's consolation prize, (to quote the brilliant When Harry Met Sally) so, it's about time I sorted this out. Once and for all. Time to grab all my favourite people, and tie them together (not in a weird way) because I want everyone back. As close as you like.