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. 

Plan B.

Wrongly, I've always been one of those all-my-eggs-in-one-basket kinda person. I throw every inch of myself into something if it's what I really want, in the same way I won't make the slightest bit of effort if my heart isn't in it. All my choices are based on what I really want, but there's always a little voice in the back of my head whispering something about a Plan B, a second choice, a back-up. 

"Or you could always go into teaching?" I hear one of my relatives say when I tell them for the millionth time (vaguely) that I want to write when they ask about my career prospects and "what are you really going to do with a Literature degree?" My face expression goes blank. I don't even have enough self-restraint to hold the bored, unimpressed grimace back. It's too close to home. My face scrumples as if someone has just spat on the pavement in front of me, as I wonder how I can explain to the people who I love that the only thing I will ever consider doing and happily, is writing. It's unrealistic, ambitious, dreamy, naive, whatever. I've heard it all. It's arty, risky, "a tricky field to get your name known in" it's "not great money" and "not a steady wage" and "you'll never get a mortgage" and "how will you support yourself on that?" SHUT UP.

How I see it is this; I'm not choosing, even unwillingly, to get myself into 30 grand's worth of debt (bearing in mind I'm a normal person from a normal working-class background) and I can't even envisage how much money that actually is.. To then settle for something that doesn't make me happy. Something that makes my blood race and my veins pulse and my brain explode in ecstasy. It's what I want. Simple as. Back up plans maybe aren't for me. 

Happy days: #1

Okay so I've well and truly jumped on the #hashtagging happy days bandwagon and for that, I'm smiley yet also partly sorry for giving into it. It's kind of just too irresistible. I'm going to write happy posts every so often, in a list-like form, of things that make/ are making me, happy. Plus, as people know, I have a tendency to be cynical, negative and terribly pessimistic. Indeed. So, maybe, I think, this may help lift my mood, and focus on positives rather than negatives. Always a good idea, right? So here goes nothing. 

A kind of given, but Alex Turner's voice is just the soundtrack to my life at the minute. I'm unhealthily obsessed with Arctic Monkeys, and AM is, in my view, the best album yet. My favourite song, well, I have too many. I'm too indecisive for that. 

My "reading week" at uni: yes! It's finally here, shh, we're taking advantage of any time off possie. As of Monday coming, I'm off for the week (according to my own schedule anyway) so that means no uni, no stressy mornings and no boring as hell lectures at 9am. Happy days, I've needed time off for ages. Sleep time yes.

My latest read: as some of you may or may not know, Nathan Filer's debut novel The Shock of the Fall won Costa's book prize this year. Immediately, I almost sprinted to Waterstones to get my hands on a copy. As soon as my eyes feasted on the first few pass of this brand spanking new novel, I just knew I was going to love it. I'm about a third of the way through at the moment, and it's really addictive. The crisp pages are just engorged between my fingertips. It's one of the best pieces of writing I've read in ages. Read it. It's making me happy.

My old new-found obsession with My Family. We bought the boxset around Christmas time. If you haven't seen it already, I urge you to google it, or find one of the many sky channels that count on repeats to fund their viewings, because this programme will be lurking around I promise you. Originally a BBC sitcom, My Family follows the lives of the Harper family, their ups and downs, loves and losses, through chaos and celebration, turmoil and despair. I have seen every single episode multiple times, and now we've invested in the boxset (yes..boxsets are the way forward for a quick fix) I just need to watch them over and over again. Also, Miranda, yes, she's wonderful, and the sitcom is just painfully hilarious. Get watching.

Oh, and I can't forget this one. A spin off from the very well known Grey's Anatomy, Private Practise was discovered by me about a year ago, maybe less. I started watching just one or two episodes a week, and now it's five and a half seasons later and things are unwinding like never before. It's already finished, I might add. This programme doesn't run any more. It ended 13 episodes into six seasons, over nearly as many years. I have around 15 hours of it left to watch, ever, and I'm torn between savouring it and completely devouring it in one intense, bizarre, emotional sitting. The latter will probably occur very shortly. 

So, yes. Happy moments. Also, a tiny little shout out to Lukas. I'm not one for soppy exchanges and waaaaay OTT PDA's, but I don't care, this suffices, because, he makes me happy. So there you go. That's really all there is to it. 

Escaping the void.

So, real-life has kind of hit me like a train. Almost two weeks into my second semester of uni, and my head feels sufficiently sore, my hand aches and my eyes look drained, bored, exhausted. As part of a new second year module, the fourty-something of us (I'm guessing) that make up Creative Writers, have been assigned to something our university is calling Writing and Enterprise. As part of this, we are required to focus in on applying for a mock-up job ad at a local writing agency. As soon as I realised this, I knew I had hit a brick walk. Hard. 

While the class is clearly divided in one sense, I sat earlier today, very obviously, stuck. Certain individuals have their futures cleverly, clearly, or even obsessively planned out, and a career in "the arts" let's say (because I've heard it enough lately) isn't for them. They have chosen to go down a more traditional route, maybe safe, maybe vocational, maybe just something they know will pay their bills and enable them to live comfortably on. While I want all of the above, kind of awkwardly, I push the idea of a career in teaching or something like that, aside. While I know quite a few people close to me are pursuing various degrees in teaching, I know from the bottom of my heart, the pit of my stomach and the blood that races through my veins, that teaching is not for me. I never, ever, have considered a path like that. It just isn't what I see myself doing in ten years. Instead, I've opted for something I'm really passionate about, writing. For years, I've loved the feeling of picking up a pen, and letting my thoughts escape freely onto a page, or a word document, or even more recently, a note app on my phone. I want to share my words, and in doing so, I want people to react. I want my name on a book spine, in a newspaper or a magazine. I want to publish something, get something out there, become read as a person. Flaunt my opinions and let my personality leak through every word I write. 

So, back to the brick wall. After being addressed with this assignment, I realised something. Or rather, something hit me with such a violent force that I felt it could knock me straight into next week. I have little/no experience in the field I want to work in. I've never had anything published, I've never made connections with important people or acquired tips from an agency that could point me in the right direction, along with a good word and a thumbs up for encouragement. While on the one hand, I have never been more sure of anything in my life, that if I don't try to follow this, I'll spend a hell of a lot of time miserable, sinking further into regret, so I have nothing at all to lose. Well, pride maybe. University fees I may never pay back. Self-confidence, but that dwindles unknowingly anyway. I feel like I could really come across well, given the chance, even if on paper, I don't look so appealing. I'm really not sure what I should do. Grab any opportunity tightly between my fingertips and hold on for dear life? Keep everything crossed. Run in totally blind. Stay hopeful. Stay positive. Become an optimist. Learn to believe in myself, and most of all, in my writing ability. 

I'm taking a deep breath, and just giving myself some time to think. The assignment must be done regardless of what I'm debating. I don't know how to, or even if I'm good enough, to get my foot in the door of such a competitive field, but I'm sure as hell going to give it my best shot.

Lucky bitch.

It's Thursday, it's January, and the sun is shining. My dad is sat at the table in my peripheral vision, watching Pulp Fiction. I'm only half-listening, although I've never seen it. My phone is buzzing happily every time I receive a message. A smile sits so effortlessly across my face. It's sixteen days into 2014 and there's a feeling I just can't shift. I honestly can't believe how lucky I am. Okay, side note: I'm getting more absorbed into Pulp Fiction every second, so I'll keep this short yet eloquent. I'm surrounded by the best people ever. I can sit here confidently and swear that the people in my life are some of the best I've ever met. The funniest, kindest, most incredible individuals I could ever know. The people who make me tick. Know me inside out, my good traits and bad habits and stand by me when I need them most. There's certain people I'd honestly do anything for. Recently, I've come to know Amy, a girl who, although we've never met face to face, I consider a very good friend. Amy and I got to know each other basically through blogger and twitter, shared writing, creativity, drunk snapchats and vodka memories. We're hopefully arranging to actually meet in person this year. She's amazing, funny and such a talented writer. I fully believe she's going to be some big-shot writer one day with her latest novel bound in expensive leather backing, and hopefully she'll sign my copy personally. Anyway, that aside, Amy is one of not many people I trust with a hell of a lot. She's one of the strongest people I've ever known, she's been through a lot and yet always comes out of the other side, stronger and more determined than ever. A risk taker. She knows that despite writing being shrugged off by many as a less than conventional career prospect, she's doing it anyway. I can honestly say, I know she will get something published, because if you have enough guts, and enough sheer determination as she has, there's no other outcome, and I find that blindingly wonderful. I'm smiling stupidly, as if I've just been told I've hit the jackpot. You'd think I was lying on a bed, surrounded by a mass of £50 notes, money heaven. Pound signs in my eyes. The cha-Ching of winning something incredible. I'm gushing so much, but I don't care. I know how lucky I am. Surrounded by an amazing family, friends and boyfriend. I can't even begin to describe how strange it is writing that. Lukas is probably grinning reading this. Stop it. I won't be smiling unless you bring me tequila.

:) 

Intoxicating.

Well, it's safe to say, I've just had the best New Year, ever. I'm so happy, my face is hurting because I can't physically stop smiling. The kind of happiness that you can't shift, even if you try. I've been wearing my best smile for about 72 hours now, even in the midst of one of the worst hangovers imaginable. The last few days have been a blur, a brilliant, surreal blur. I feel like it sort of all merged into one, happy, messy day. One person in particular is responsible for my Cheshire cat-sized grins, racing pulse and sheer volume of sleep deprivation. Someone who can potentially, (and is already) making me the happiest I've been in a hell of a long time. Someone who knows me better than most, and for some mad reason, doesn't want to run a mile at the prospect of being with me. I honestly can't imagine why, but I'm very happy that he thinks that. I feel a bit brainwashed. It's intoxicating. I feel totally drunk, even though I'm (yes, for the first time in 2014 I can say this and truthfully mean it) stone-cold sober. My face is aching, I literally haven't stopped grinning from ear to ear. I can't think straight, it's impossible to concentrate, I'm checking my phone every five seconds like I'm demented or something. I don't think I've took a breath properly in days. Everything just feels so right. It kind of makes me want to kick myself, I mean, if this is what I've been missing out on all this time, then I seriously must be mad. I have a deadline looming, and I want to abandon it, because there's somewhere I'd much rather be. I'm pretty ecstatic right now. There isn't anything or anyone that can shake this mood, and I'm so relieved. I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I really am happy.

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

The simple truth.

The plain facts stand at this. You're the only person I'd answer my phone to at four in the morning and talk about anything and everything even though you're probably drunk. You make me laugh and think the world of me and things are just so much better when you're around. You have a unique ability to make me grin even at the smallest of things and I can't even explain why. Part of me is shy around you, and yet, you probably know me better than most people, and I love that. It means a hell of a lot that you know me, and don't want to run a mile. Christ, I want to run a mile from myself sometimes. You're someone I don't want to see walk out of my life. If I'm being totally and completely honest, you're one of very few people that I'd hold on tight to. I trust you, I love the way you make me smile, and the prospect of being without you is just grim. I find myself going red every time your name is mentioned, my stomach flutters and my tongue gets tied. I feel about fifteen again sometimes, it's funny. I'm stupidly insecure at times, and it's hard for me not to be, but I'm trying very hard. Secretly, or perhaps not so secretly now, I'm terrified. Terrified of messing up. Being the usual screw-up I always am. Especially when I know you think so much of me, I'm not sure I can live up to it. I mean, I hope I can. I want to. Who knew I'd be back here, and yet further forward than I've ever been. Silly little me is ready to take a risk, because if it pays off, it will be pretty incredible. 

"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. 

Rough diamonds.

Contrary to popular belief, media slurs and silly internet trolls, nobody is perfect. Everyone has flaws, failings and things that make them something other than perfect. It makes us who we are. The little funny things we do that aren't always right, the mistakes, the differences, the traits that are ours and only ours. The way you drink your tea or walk across a room, the amount of times you say "like" or fidget when you're uncomfortable or laugh so heartily. It makes you who you are. The negatives we are told, and even convince ourselves about, are just really quite irrelevant. If you think you can sing, then sing. If you want to dance on a table in a pair of six inch heels, even if it is ill-advised, go ahead. If something makes you happy, you should usually pursue it, regardless of what other people say, think or feel. Just think about it, do the people around you always worry and respect your opinion on every decision they make? It would be impossible and unrealistic to think so. Mistakes are just things you can, eventually shrug off, shut out or sweep under the nearest rug. There is no such thing as the perfect body or the perfect life, it is just what you make it to be. If you wake up every morning frowning, you're not giving yourself time to appreciate the nice things to come. Instead, wake up and smile, look in the mirror and take it all in. You may not be perfect, but you sure as hell are amazing. There are people that do think so.  After all, I'd much rather have a rough diamond than a perfect stone. 

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. 

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 to gain. Maybe if I play my cards right, it'll work out better than ever.