Back on the treadmill.

Yesterday, I finally forced myself to go back to the gym, after what must've been a few months off, while I was stressing over the end of uni, deadlines and wandering into the real world. 

Nobody told me thag I would be at a disadvantage if I had a degree. Not one person. Admittedly the job hunt wasn't as pro-active as it should've been to begin with, but now it's in full swing. At the age of almost 22, I am unemployed with a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing. I want to break into that discipline, but living in the north east of England, it seems relatively impossible. I can see people trying to conceal their eyes rolling into the back of their heads as I announce 'I want to write.' Frankly, if I had a £1 for every time someone had said to me, 'so are you just going to teach?' I wouldn't even need a job. Credit goes out to those who see that as a life they want, but I'm not one of those people. I lack the patience, the desire or the determination to teach. My passion lies with writing. Picking up a pen, or in this case, my iPhone, to blog. It's soothing writing down my thoughts, even if I'm editing them all as I do so. 

I've been pretty down about the job hunt, as well as some other things lately, but yesterday I powered through. I set my alarm, got up, had breakfast, put my gym attire on, grabbed my keys, a water bottle and some headphones, and I was off. Although I struggled through the hour I was there, I felt better for forcing myself to get out of bed and exercise. It was a step forward. It was something pro-active, and until then, I don't think I'd considered it so. Whether I used to like to hear it or not, my P.E. teacher used to tell me that, 'exercise relieves all your stress, Eleanor' and yet, despite her prevailing, I hated it. I walked into my physical education lessons, entering via the changing room back doors, and while all the other girls were chatting away, I didn't say much. 

I passionately hated PE. 'I can't do it,' was my favourite excuse. In case you hadn't noticed, I have a strong, stubborn negativity about me at times. Even at the height, I was a 16 year old who was very self conscious, and didn't believe she was sporty whatsoever. I'm still not. I still have that attitude. I will probably never run a marathon. I will never be on a sports team. But I figured out early on, that was because I didn't want to be, rather than any capabilities I did or didn't lack.

My point being, the exercise that once scared me half to death, actually does make me feel better. It's a stress reliever definitely, for me anyway. When discussing this with my boyfriend via text the other day, I just happened to drop in a relevant Legally Blonde quote, and he had no idea what I was saying, having never seen such a brilliant film. I'll leave you with the quote, that is seriously relevant, very daft and almost always puts a smile on people's faces. Even after what can be described as a really shit few weeks, or even months, I know that getting back on the treadmill makes things fade away for a bit. 

'Exercise gives you endorphins, endorphins make you happy, and happy people just don't shoot their husbands, they just DON'T.'

-Elle Woods, Legally Blonde.

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. 

Blind hope.

You're laughing and joking and making plans, for the weekend, and the summer, and the future, and then suddenly life throws another curveball and everyone just stands there, looking at it, like, 'SHIT.' 

I am lying in bed, cocooned in my quilt, and I can't shift the attitude that life just isn't fair. Certain individuals seem to be handed the worst of hands, and it doesn't seem right, or okay, or fair at all. With crossed fingers and toes, tense chests and heavy hearts, we hope things turn out okay. There is no other option, nothing else we can bare to entertain. This is the only outcome we can fathom, so no pressure, SCRATCH THAT, all the pressure in the world is on your shoulders, because after all, even Duffy Moon can do it. 

Breathe a little.

You miss your bus, spill coffee down your new jumper and you're running late. It's monday, so it's standard. The bus driver has a bitter tongue, and so does the lecturer when you arrive 13 minutes after he starts his usual morning speil. Your headache kicks in and you're already writing off the day before it is really in full swing. And why? 

I know among others I am guilty of making mountains out of molehills. I'm dramatic, and would let the little things overshadow a perfectly reasonable day, just because I can. I've never really thought about it, but I should probably bare in mind, someone else's day will be a lot worse. Today, sadly, someone may be told they have cancer. Someone else will lose a family member or loved one. Someone will crash their car, or injure themselves, or end up in a situation that will change their whole life. Or maybe, someone woke up today for the last time. Maybe out of choice. I can sit and be thankful that not only am I happy, but I'm comfortable. Most of us go through depressive episodes, blue feelings or simply really bad times, but if you can, count yourself lucky that you can see a way out of that. Some aren't so lucky, and that makes my mind spiral into a whole world of thoughts I can't even fathom or put down into words. 

So, bare in mind, some people just don't have that luxury. Maybe that bus driver received some bad news yesterday, maybe the lecturer you resent for embarrassing you for your slack attitude is going through a rough patch, or maybe the girl who serves you your coffee with a bitter expression has the weight of the world crushing her shoulders. Some people just aren't as lucky. 

Lashings of happiness.

Eyes that just stop me mid-sentence, and I'm lost in them, a smile creeping over my face until it fills my cheeks. Yes, I grin cheesily, you're mine. You're the one buzzing up my phone at two in the morning and again at two in the afternoon. The one who makes me laugh uncontrollably and irritates me beyond measure. The person who can finish my sentences, wind me up and still make me want to come back for more. The one I see a future with, someday. And that, is something that will always be a reason to smile. 

Hormones, or whatever.

We've all been there. The raging feelings, the hideous pain, the not knowing what bitter comment will come leaping out of your poisonous mouth next, and living in fear that you'll just offend everyone you come into contact with. Today, this is me. All I want is cake. 00:04 and it's cake, the chocolatier the better. Maybe a muffin. Maybe a proper cake. Maybe coffee cake, yum. Maybe just like one of those cakes everyone Instagrams with the malteasers and kitkat combinations that look oh-so-simple and yet really arty and delish? Perhaps. I don't even know. My brain isn't working, my eyes feel sore and strained and I start my FINAL EVER semester of uni on Monday. The end is nigh. Looming scarily. Employment as a graduate is on the horizon. Making me feel like I could vomit at any moment. I don't know what's around the next corner and at this precise moment, curled up in my quilt feeling sorry for my grouchy self, I don't even think I care. 

Some days.

Some days are just shit. There's no other word for it. From the little things not going right to the big things going very wrong. And there's nothing you can do. You're just left floating there hoping that soon you'll find something, or someone to clutch on to. Someone to cry with, someone who will pry a smile out of you even if it's forced and through sobs and gasps for breath. That's what today feels like. I feel like the walls are closing in on me and there's nothing I or anyone else can do to stop it. It will happen whether I react or notice or not. Helpless, is how I feel. From the aches deep in your bones to the exhaustion under your eyes, some days are just too hard. A strong cuppa, a nice tea, and maybe that doesn't even help. Bed. That's what helps. Resetting. Restarting. The only real cure for a bad day is an end. The only consolation anyone can draw from a bad day is it's definitive ending. Tomorrow may be worse, but the possibility is there: tomorrow just may be better than today, and sometimes that's all you need to know.  

Memories stick.

Sat in my room when a song comes on and a tear pricks my eye. It's amazing what can make you react, and you don't even realise it. I always like to think I am in control of my emotions and actions, but really, that's a really bad attempt at a façade. A line of a song, a look, a smile, a Friends quote, an act of kindness, a bitchy comment, a noise, a face, a single word, a smell, a taste, a laugh, a voice. They can all change you. And they all have at one point in your life, regardless of your self-control. Don't sit and shake your head indignantly at me and tell me you aren't always changing, because you change every single day.

The line of a song would be from Sweet Caroline, because you never knew it was his favourite song until it was too late. You never had chance to sing with him and hold his hand and tell him it was yours too.

A look from someone who just sees things in you that you never thought possible will boost your confidence and make your doubts excel at the same time, because its all so new to you.

A face you haven't seen in a while crops up in a busy crowd, and maybe you don't talk now, maybe it's just been too many years to fix things between the pair of you.

The smile on the face of the person who loves you the most, or the person who has never been more proud of you in their entire life, it's priceless. It makes you get your arse into gear, step up, get a grip of your life and act like someone who deserves the acknowledgement.

A Friends quote you share with a certain person, reminding you of a time when you've really never laughed as hard. You'll cherish it, and do anything to maintain it.

The act of kindness you never saw coming and you chastise yourself for it, like it makes you cynical or something, when in fact it makes you human. You learn to see the best in people, rather than the worst.

The bitchy, nasty comment a friend makes to you crushes your insides and shatters the relationship you once had. It will never be the same after that day, and maybe that's the best. Cutting out damaging people is a step forward, not a step back.

A noise that will always make you smile; an applause, a congratulatory nod in your direction to let you know that the hard work, late nights and sacrifices do pay off.

A word that sends your brain into overdrive for so many different reasons, it makes your stomach churn and your head ache and your chest go tight and yet, it's all okay.

A smell that makes your eyes widen and your mouth water and your whole body ache to be somewhere else, with bright lights and good people and amazing wonderful things.

A taste you never forget, its bitter at first until you get used to it, and then you learn to love it. You drink it black now, and it makes even the worst days better.

A laugh that echoes further than you could even imagine. The most contagious thing you've ever come across and you can't actually remember a time when it wasn't in your life. She makes you laugh more than anyone, and she's basically your best friend, not just your sister. Nothing will ever be funnier than a joke shared with her.

A voice you adore. His voice. The way it dances in octaves when he's talking about something that excites him. The way he whispers something wonderful. The huskiness of breathing 'I love you.'

It's mad how things stick in your mind. For good or bad reason, memories stick. Some are hidden, granted, but most come out to play when that song comes on, or your hear someone's name uttered, and maybe that's just it, - your memories may fade but they don't disappear. And usually, I'm thankful they don't.

Both feet forward.

At the age of 21, I've come to realise that maybe I'm just one of those people who has to be pushed head-first into something. I hold back. It's my nature. I'm shy and self conscious until I have experience in something, or until I know someone well. My face glows red and my mouth dries up and my tongue ties itself into complicated knots. It's awkward and pathetic and I hope one day I'll grow out of it. 

I'm finally a bit more like the person I've always envisioned. I can buy an outfit and know if I look good in it without someone else's nod of approval. I can read aloud in class without stumbling too much or wanting to curl up into a ball and die. I can actually have a conversation with people I don't know well, and laugh, and joke and feel comfortable. I can make my own choices and look forward into my future and what it may or may not contain, and confidently voice what I hope to achieve without feeling like I need to hold back. 

However, I haven't always been like this. I used to be the shy girl. More than that, I used to be the girl who didn't speak. Until the age of about five or six, I don't recall even answering the register in school. Purely because I just used to hate to draw attention to myself. I hated the idea of thirty pairs of eyes staring at me while I let out a little, muffled "yes miss" to answer. By the time I left primary school, I could hold down basic conversations and friendships, but I didn't really come into myself until much later. 

My first major friend fall-out at 13; I thought my heart was broken. At fifteen when people were really horrible to me about a boy I didn't even know, I folded into myself. Silent. Concealed. Out of the way of conflict. I've always avoided things that scared me. I was nervous completing my GCSE's, but totally terrified when it came to A-levels. So much so, I made myself ill twice. It was then I told myself I had to just let go. I hD to just jump head first into whatever was thrown at me, and hope for the best. (Note: it payed off.) 

I went to uni, I almost have completed my degree, and in some respect I'm glad I pushed myself outside of my comfort zone. I wouldn't be who I am today if I hadn't. I wouldn't have the friends I have today, the experiences, or the relationship. Maybe I needed to be pushed to apply for uni, to pass my driving test, to abseil, to make friends, to gain experiences, to down another tequila, to take risks that would really enrich my life. 

Whether it was a kiss, a payment, an accepted invitation or a confirmed place on UCAS, I wouldn't be who I am without jumping into things, even if I do it with an ounce or two of reluctance. I always get there in the end. 

Channeling avoidance.

July breezes and inane sneezes. The sun is out already. I'm gallantly attempting a tan. Or a top-up, that is. There's nothing I love more than a good ol' vitamin D binge, hence why summer is my favourite time of year. So, the sun worshipper is optimistically donning an outfit not too suitable for northern summertime, but who cares. Im writing because, well, I'm slacking. It's been a fair few days since I've written anything, and that's not just on my blog. I haven't written so much as a list, or a note, or a reminder in recent days. I'm being lazy. Avoiding the inevitable. Savouring my summer holidays before the dreaded, important final year stress sets in. I don't have a clue what to do with my life. I need help. I need opportunities. I'm scared. I'm excited. I'm ready for a challenge! 

"When are you going to... Write something?"

The infamous cry of my close-knit family echoes through the hallway. I sigh. I bite my nails so they look all stubby and raw. I sit with a downturned expression and doubt my capabilities as an even-just-aspiring writer until my knees feel like they may collapse under the weight of my negativity. I've completed 2/3rds of my degree now, and for what? It's a literature and creative writing degree and I've got nothing really at all to show for my shining ambition to be a writer. 

"What do you want to write?" People keep asking me and watch the vacant expression appear on my plain face. My eyes widen in desperation. My shoulders slump somewhere around my ankles. My mind goes blank, I'm absent from this. It's all so distant in my mind. It is my want, my ambition, my dream, oh so cliché! But it is, what I want to do with my life I suppose. That's what the answer is. I want to write: words. Strings of sentences and phrases and dialogue and action. Tears, tantrums, desires and opinions. I want to write... Something, anything to get my voice heard and my persona out there. Although I've kind of come to the end of the road, inspiration-wise. I'm surrounded by people at uni who have different aspirations, more concrete goals and agendas, and I see promise for them. But then, where's mine? I can't become a writer (however you even do that) without a lot of hard work and sleepless nights, stress and torment, and ultimately, dedication. I am that. But at the same time, I'm kind of lost. I don't feel like anyone really takes me seriously. I need pointing in the right direction. 

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. 

Next stop: Nostalgia Junction.

Imagine this. You wake up tomorrow, and it's all been a dream. A long, complex, crazy, out-of-this-world kinda dream. Your teenage self wakes up a meagre ten years old, with no experience or worry on your little shoulders. You lift your head up from your pillow. Sit up in your bed and rub your eyes violently with your hands. It's July 1st 2003. Do you remember that day? I don't. So, you wake up and it's ten years ago. A decade of your life just wiped out. A clean slate. There's a note addressed to you on your bedside table. At the top of the page, it reads; " Advice for the future, take note." And then there's a list of tips. A long, lengthy list of advice. Brought to you by an anonymous source. The advice fairy? It's a mystery. So. This is your chance. You've been given the opportunity to start your teenage years over again. What do you do? What do you wish you did differently? What does your piece of paper say?

Mine says the following;

• Don't worry about silly fall-outs in Primary School. Enjoy it while it lasts, the easy stuff. The relaxed days. The lack of real work, stress or aggravation. You'll come to love that place, and miss it when you leave it. As for the people, you'll realise that Primary School friendships very rarely last, and that's okay. You'll spend your last day denying that you're upset, but you'll cry when you walk down that staircase and take one last look at the first place you were ever educated. It will make you who you become. 
• Secondary School is tough, not just for you, for everyone. Speak up. Don't sit back and be referred to as "the quiet one" as it'll get you next to nowhere.
• When you like him, why don't you just make it obvious. You're young and you have absolutely nothing to lose. Taking a risk is better than spending the next year and a half upset when he's with someone else.
• When that girl is horrible to you, with her nasty, bitchy slurs, stand up for yourself. Straight away. She'll realise she can't talk to you like that, and grow out of her bitchy phase. Ish.
• Don't take anything too seriously.
• Year 7 will be full of petty arguments and fights. Ignore it.
• At 13, you'll be very naive. Don't trust those girls who say they're your friends. You'll be better off without them.
• Don't let anyone kick you when you're down.
• Don't let certain people see your tears, they'll play on your insecurities.
• Make it clear where your passions lie.
• Don't break your heart over your name being dragged through the mud at fifteen because of a choice you may or may not have made wisely. They're bitches. Facebook will cause a lot of unnecessary trouble, so be careful.
• If you like him and he likes you, there's not a problem. Unless there's someone else involved. If so, stear clear. It's not worth a bitch-fight. This one is vital. Learn from it.
• Don't tiptoe around that girl who pretends to be your friend. She's not vulnerable, she's manipulative. Watch out, she'll ruin your life given half the chance. Confront her, and you'll be satisfied with yourself.
• Enjoy your GCSE years, they're the easiest exams you'll ever sit. They aren't worth the stress, and these years will be some of the best of your life.
• Laugh every chance you get.
• And make sure you pick Media Studies.
• P.S. No matter how much of a good idea you think it is, don't choose a Geography GCSE. Sorry to be harsh, but you're just not very good at Geography. Listen to your teachers, and your parents, and pick History. You're good at History.
• Don't stress about GCSE results. They're good. In fact, they're brilliant. You'll ace them, so stop stressing and enjoy the carefree time you have with the people that matter.
• Those people you took chances on? Never mind. Shrug it off, move on. You can do better.
•  Don't cry over certain individuals who hurt you.
• You don't need anyone in your life that doesn't absolutely need you in theirs.
• Write early. 
• Pick your A-level options wisely. And no, Eleanor, that doesn't mean French.
• Avoid Psychology if you can, you'll break your neck to pass.
• Apply to Uni, even though UCAS looks like the scariest thing ever. It's not as hard as you think.
• Don't give up.
• Work hard, play harder.
• Be daring in your personal statement. Show off your passionate side. They WILL want you.
• Do get your hair cut short, even if you get stick for it. It's who you are, be an individual.
• Get used to the sight of the Wicket Gate. (It will be a pub. Just so you know.)  It will become your second home at 18/19.
• Learn to love Sambuca and Tequila. It'll be beneficial in the long run, and help you avoid so many nights spent on the bathroom floor.
• Openly admit you love your home comforts. Chester may be one of your favourite places on the planet. Never ever forget your roots, you'll be happy for them when you're almost 20.
• The best nights out are nights close to home fuelled by lots of vodka.
• Don't move away for Uni. Everyone knows you love your family too much to leave right now. It's important you're around. 
• Your family believe in you an awful lot, so it's about time you appreciated that.
• Hold on to your friends. The ones who hold on to you are keepers. Betty, she is. You call her Betty now, it's a long story. She's lovely. So is Steph. You'll get to know her better in Sixth Form.
• Take a chance with everyone and anyone. Be risky.
• Drink too much from time to time. It doesn't always end badly.
• Never, ever bottle things up; if you need to cry, then cry.
• You'll be reunited with some of your long, lost family. Be happy about it, it's not their fault things turned out the way they did. Get to know them.
• Write because you want to. Screw what anyone else thinks.
• Don't spend hours/days/weeks worrying about Uni. It'll be great. You'll meet some of your best friends there. Keep tight ahold of those three girls.
• Maintain that blog of yours.
• Read at every chance you get.
• When you meet HIM, walk away.
• Everyone is entitled to a second chance, not a hundredth chance.
• When That Thing happens, don't let him off with his excuse. But rise above the hurt, you're better than that, and you're better than him.
• Those people aren't worth your tears.
• You'll make mistakes, so learn to live with them and move on.
• Know when to keep your mouth shut and when to speak up.
• Don't stress too much about school stuff that it makes you miserable, but work your arse off, it'll pay off.
• Don't acquire a taste for wine or gin. It'll wreck your nights out.
• Do go Abseiling even though it scares the shit out of you.
• Make sure you take part in Freshers week, you'll love it.
• Say "yes."
• Discover ASOS sooner. It's fabulous.
• Black coffee, fish finger sandwiches and the Friends boxset is a winning combination.
• When Harry Met Sally, Sex and The City, Mean Girls and Friends will teach you everything you need to know about love, and life.

And most of all, be happy in your own skin. Learn to be confident. Love YOU. You can't be anyone else, and after all, why would you want to be? You've got it pretty fucking great. <3

Nostalgia is a dirty word.

I've done it again. Got all nostalgic. Caught myself looking through old snaps, and that strange mix of happiness and sadness crept up on me. And that stench drifting in, what was it? Regret. Denial. Horror. A mixture of all three. Those days. Years ago. The happier times. Or at least seemingly so. I seemed to worry less back then, I seemed to smile more, I seemed to be happier, more carefree. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm miserable now, or unhappy with where my life is at at the moment. It's just, every so often, that little bittersweet feeling of nostalgia kicks in, and gets me to reminiscing of simpler times. My "younger and more vulnerable years" as described by Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby, were, to me, strangely some of my most daring and carefree. I guess it has something to do with age. 

At merely 14, the weight on my shoulders was less, light, easy to carry. I had less baggage, less experience of the world, less responsibility. I was naive, and thankful to be. The pressure was practically nonexistent. School was just somewhere to go to socialise with friends, the real work was yet to come. The real life was just around the corner. Experience of the big, bad world would be sooner than we expected. In the blink of an eye, we grew up. We aged overnight. Everything got serious, straight-laced, important. Those mid-term tests became exams, those spats with friends turned to unsettled feuds, those little jobs turned into big responsibilities. So, why now is everything different? As my teenage years are drawing rapidly to a close, (excuse me while I try not to dwell on this) why is it that I'm edgier than ever? 

The older we get, the more baggage we carry, and ultimately, the less willing we are to take risks. Why? Well I think I've figured it out. The older we are, the more we have to lose. At 19, I'm all too aware of what the big, bad world has in store, and sometimes, I'm not willing to take that risk, because there's just too much to stake. Even though I'm only young, there are certain things I'll hold on to tighter than ever, and not let go. It's also harder to say how you feel. Rejection, judgement and a thousand and one other factors come into play when you're in your latter teenage years. Those soul-destroying, stomach-plummeting moments we've experienced before, well, understandably we're reluctant to put ourselves in similar situations just in case the outcome matches up.

So, nostalgia really is a dirty word. It makes you bitter and confused and yet, at the same time, makes me want to get back to those days, those feelings of freedom. Throwing caution to the wind and risking everything you've got for something you want/need. Maybe it's time I did just that. For once, not concentrate on what's at stake, but what I've got go gain. Maybe if I play my cards right, it'll work out better than ever. 

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.