Forever the party animal.

                

I don't want to miss a single second of it. A breath, a smile, a grin or grimace. A tear resentfully shed. A punch-up, a drunken night, a brawl, a conversation, an inside joke. I have the ultimate bad habit. I have the Fear Of Missing Out. Symptoms of which include; not being able to say the word "no" forcefully or meaningfully, declining any social arrangements that will cost you money you simply don't have, or turning down an invitation just because you can't bare to miss out on the excitement. 

I hate it. I HATE staying in when all my friends are at the pub drinking vodka. I HATE having to decline invitations to things I really want to go to. I HATE the feeling of regret when everyone you know goes out/makes plans/does something without you, and spends a considerable, somewhat obscene, and not to mention, insensitive amounts of time talking and reminiscing about it. 

This is why I have no self control. I would rather I didn't get invited somewhere than knowing I'd have to decline the invite altogether. I need to work on that. I keep choosing tequila over essays and sambuca over studying. Uh-oh. 

Penning down life.

Radio One is playing in my ear, as I sit cross-legged on my bed, and the smell of food drifts into my bedroom from downstairs. I think it's Biffy Clyro and Bastille doing a cover. Playing I mean, not cooking in my kitchen. My dad's making lasagne. I am suppressing my deep stomach rumbles as I continue to type. I'm on a writing mission, as I explained a few posts ago. I need to beat last year's post record. Also, I somehow believe that writing and publishing snippets of my writing, whether it be random head-space typing on the bus home after a long, rubbish day at uni, or drunk 2am notes made on my phone, a creative piece or just a rant, or a list or something, in the long run, maybe it will make me more organised.
I've got to work on my ECP/CWP: it depends which uni you attend, some call it an Extended Creative Project, while others, including my Uni, know it and refer to it as a Creative Writing Project. Either way, it's a project I write myself, creatively. A story. A plot. A narrative piece of my own brainwork. Whatever, its a creative writing dissertation. As far as some are concerned, its slanderous. I should be writing my own, English Literature dissertation. Well, I stick two fingers up to those people, because this thing is bloody hard work, and I'm trying.

So yes. Back to my point. I told you, I tend to wander, both physically and mentally, from time to time. Maybe it makes for good writing, but at the grand old age of 21, I'm yet to know either way.

I should be using my Thursday evening for something constructive or organised. Instead, lucky me!!! I'm off out for food with my lovely boyfriend. I'm very excited about this, because as everyone knows, I LOVE food, and even more so, I LOVE going OUT for food. (hence the really bad caps.)

Maybe no one even reads this. I'm a bit frantic, and sometimes, I write for an imagined audience. Although, I must say, I hope there's someone in that void. Someone reading my mad rants, drunken outbursts and occasional attempts of real writing. Let me know, whoever you may be. I'll be ever so grateful.

Hectic holidays.

So, it's Friday morning. My mind is working in a stressy overdrive mode. And I'm neglecting any form of writing whatsoever lately. Wrapped up in too much sleep, the rubbish british summer, and my lovely boyfriend, writing has just been pushed back underneath everything. Oh, and to tell the truth, I'm a bit uninspired. I'm stuck with regards to writing. And now, holiday planning is running wild. Me and seven others, my family, are jetting off to menorca on Saturday afternoon, (yes, as in tomorrow afternoon.) Note these things:

1. We aren't packed.

2. We have no holiday money

3. The holiday docs for our details are somewhat vague. 

That's a stressy start. I have a lot to do, and no time at all to do it in. My alarm is set for 7.30am, and I've got a list in my 'Notes' of things I must achieve tomorrow. All of which, I intend to have finished by early afternoon, for then, I have something vital to do. Oh yes, SOPPY ALERT...I'm off to see my boyfriend before we part for a week. Oh, and I'm telling myself I won't get all emotional and cry. (WHO AM I KIDDING?) 

Take a breath, Eleanor, god. Holidays aren't supposed to be THIS stressful. Jeeeeeez. 

Nothing like it.

Curled up in bed together, the rain cascading down the window pane fervently. My head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat and strumming along to the familiar, comforting thud with my forefinger. I smile, and you feel my cheek swell, a tell-tale sign. An eyelash strokes your cheek every once in a while and you laugh, or giggle, as it tickles ever so slightly. The way you smell seems to drift onto me for hours after we've left one another, and for that I'm always thankful. A tear to be shed when we part next. Difficulty, if only temporary. I feel like there will be an aching void in my chest for eight days without catching a glimpse of your cheeky grin and deep eyes. I well up just thinking about it. Clutching hands say goodbye, salty tears like the raindrops, cascading, yet, speedier, gloomier, more heartfelt. I hug your pillows, taking in the scent, they smell of you. Familiar, safe, my happy place. The one I'll leave tomorrow night, and return to next Sunday, with brand-spanking new holiday snaps and a topped-up tan! Slap a smile on, Ellie, you're supposed to be excited.

#homesickalready 

Forgotten raindrops.

 

This is the view from my bedroom window at present. It's raining. It has been for about four hours now. I might add, that in the small world that is Chester-Le-Street, it pretty much rains non-stop. The greying clouds have set in, however, spirits aren't dampened. Its Friday after all, and "we won't melt if it rains" is something my mam always says. I'm uninspired, lazy and apathetic today. Worrisome, stress and out of sorts. I don't feel ill, I just feel, well, not quite myself (or on-point, yes... go on, laugh you lot!) With a family holiday around the corner and Final Year on the horizon, I'm supposed to be all chip and cheerful and optimistic. This isn't me. I feel all empty and bored. I need to set my sights high and my act together. I need a reading list sorted, my iPod updated (which may be one of the most gruelling tasks ever pre-holiday) and a desperate plea for inspiration where my ECP is concerned. This is rubbish writing, basically. Side note: A massive, lovely happy birthday greeting to my favourite girl and wonderful writer, Gracie. Enjoy today. You bloody well deserve this.

So, with Little By Little playing on a loop, the rain falling like teardrops staining my double-glazed portal to the outside world, and the irritable feeling of being unsettled, I sign off. Have a lovely weekend, wherever you are. Monday, my strict healthy eating starts, my early morning awakenings and the feeling of constructive tasks commences. Oh well, good intentions are a start, aren't they?

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. 

All Hallows' Eve.

It's here, finally. Well, in just over an hour anyway. One of the most widely celebrated, yet not-totally-religious festivals in the northern hemisphere. Hallowe'en, as it is originally punctuated, is a festival to, supposedly, celebrate those who are no longer living, as well as those who died in vain; the martyrs of our time. Some people say it has Christian or Pagan roots, although this is open to intepretation. All Hallows' Eve/Halloween/the day of the dead, whatever you call it or have come to know it as, in this day and age, here, in England, in 2013, we have a modern tradition of our own. Usually, children dress up in "spooky" costumes and head to parties to take part in apple bobbing, carving pumpkins and general ghost-hunting pursuits. However, I don't know when this came about, but now, it's kind of fashionable for adults to do it too. Except, the parties with creepy fruit punches and spiders webs are replaced with vodka and other hard liquor. The trick-or-treating aspect replaced by partying in bars and clubs. The funny, cute and softly-scary outfits made for the youngsters take a dramatic turn when you hit the big 1-8 destination of adulthood. Halloween is a whole other kettle of fish (or cauldron of apples) when you reach a certain age. The masks/outfits go from scary to macabre, funny to ironic, cute to slutty, faster than you can say "Trick-or-treat." The cleverer your outfit is, the shorter your skirt is, or the more dead you look, the higher your Halloween credentials are. Everyone who's anyone wants to go out for Halloween, I've found. 

As a rookie to this, I'm a bit unprepared. I've never, as an adult and moreover, as a uni student, been out in town in full-on Halloween fancy dress. I've always wanted to, but for some unexplainable reason, I never have. I've been out in fancy dress before, sure, but not with the same hype surrounding it. So at 20 years old, I'm ready (and very excited) to be doing it tomorrow for Halloween for the very first time since I went to discos and parties when I was about nine or ten. It will certainly be an experience, surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands of uni students all sporting their best Halloween face paints, SCREAM masks and costumes maxed out with wasted, misunderstood irony. This is what I love and yet hate about going to uni locally, in Newcastle. It's party central. Every single night. But, especially on occasions. Tomorrow night, there will be queues everywhere for miles. Hundreds of girls freezing their arses off in too-short tutus and lots of eyeliner, while zombie-clad lads stare on in a mixture of amazement and disbelief. Then again, wouldn't change it for the world. And in good spirits, and fishnet tights, I'm ready to embrace a new tradition! So, best get my pirate outfit at the ready, rip my fishnets and white-out my face. Get ribbons for my buckaneer jacket, sort my garter and make sure the black lippy is always at hand for a touch-up as and when. Just stayin' I've got a feeling tomorrow will be kind of amazing, and also, as it should be, pretty fucking scary. 

Masks, face paints, stockings, leotards, wigs, eye patches, onesies, whatever.. At the ready. ALL HALLOWS EVE IS READY AND WAITING GUYS. Hope you don't scare too easily. 

Kisses. 

-A 

 

(I couldn't resist. If you get this ref. let me know!!!) 

Days like these, lead to, nights like ours.

Life really is what happens while you're busy making other plans. At least that's what I've found recently. I'm currently lying on my bed wrapped up in an oversized hoody, mulling over the last few days and realising how much happened without my noticing. (Let's ignore the fact I spent this weekend wasted.) Even so, there's a lot happened, either in my absence or just things I did not see coming. I'm a worrier by default, so I spend almost every waking hour stressing about something or other. Whether it's being late, forgetting something, uni work, relationships or just something happening at home, I'm a total, complete stress-head. I can't help it, I think I was born that way. (No, that's not an intentional Lady Gaga paraphrase there!) So, I've suddenly, it seems, took a back-seat kind of approach when it comes to stressing about things I have no hold or impact over. If the bus is late, it's late, there's nothing I can do. If I spill boiling hot candle wax down my new outfit (I actually did this last week) there's no point getting pissed about it. If someone acts in a way that you'd rather they didn't, again, you cannot change that. Other people, specifically in this scenario, make their own beds (Laura, Sarah: are you two laughing if you're reading this at that reference there!) in the same way that my words, and my actions are things I have to deal with. No one can stop me from doing something I want to do, and at the same time, I'm unable to control or predict the words and actions of those around me, even if that would be quite a handy skill to have from time to time. My newfound laid back  approach (who laughed? Oh yeah, me) to my surprise, actually was beneficial. It turns out, all the old age sayings like "a watched pot never boils" and the like, are more relevant than I ever realised. Patience, it turns out, is a virtue. Que sera sera and all that jazz. Things unfold the way they are meant to. So stressing about it makes no odds at all. Who knew, after months of stressing over, crying over, drinking over something so silly would turn out to sort itself out, AND for the better. I guess the universe really does have it's funny little way of resolving everything in its own time. 

Bitter timing.

It's barely ten degrees out, I'm wearing two pairs of socks and a stolen hoody that is three sizes too big. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I stare out of my bedroom window wondering when everything changed. The sky is a murky sort-of grey, miserable-looking even. It's, for want of a better word, cold. Summer 2013 seems to be nothing more than a distant memory and its not even mid-September yet! With cans of Diet Coke and sheer, unadulterated desire to fuel my writing. 

Wednesdays are such glum, confusing days. A break that devides the two "first" days of the week from the others that are merely a countdown to the weekend. But today, it's different. It's as if there's someone up there altering the weather, as if its obvious. [Today is September 11th. You all know what significance that has, I won't insult anyone with a lengthy explanation. I'll just say this; thousands of people lost their lives 12 years ago to the day, innocent people who were only doing their jobs. May they rest in peace, and never be forgotten.] The bitterness is still there, the frostiness just around the corner, a tell-tale sign that winter is approaching. 

Usually, I'd have plans for the weekend right now. As of yet, at *checks watch* 

16:21, I have none. Zilch. This must change as a matter of urgency. Just saying. Weekends are meant to be fun-filled, or in my case, alcohol-filled.

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.