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. 

Insomniac.

This is what the dictionary definition of 'insomniac' is. It's 00:35 right now, early Monday morning in very chilly November, and I've found myself in the same old predicament. I'm wide awake. I'm a self-confessed, rather than medically-diagnosed insomniac, like most. Usually, I'm okay. But every now and then, my sleeping pattern seems to totally obliterate itself and my mind begins to wander like Alice in Wonderland on fast-forward. My eyes are darting from one corner of the room to the other. My sighs are broken up by the constant ticking of a watch somewhere in the deep depths of my darkened room. Every half an hour or so, there's something else. Another noise, sign of life, reminding me that I'm perhaps not the only one up, struggling to sleep, with dialated pupils and heavy bags under my eyes.

Theoretically, I should be fine. There's nothing weighing heavily on my mind, no immediate anxieties or stresses to keep me up, no worries or excitements to prevent me from getting any sleep. That, however, is perhaps the most frustrating part of it, there being no fallible reason at all as to why I'm awake. You should know this, I get very stroppy when it comes to lack of sleep. I'm terrible to experience when I'm hungover or just plain exhausted because I just can't handle feeling tired. The kind of tired that makes your muscles ache and your whole body feel like it's a dead weight and it takes every ounce of strength you have to stifle yawns and keep your eyelids open in unison. See, this also isn't helping. I have a few things I do when I can't sleep. One, mainly, as you can probably tell, is write. I don't always blog, although it's becoming more of a midnight ritual than it used to be. I keep a tatty notebook by my bed so that if I can't sleep, or if I wake up during the nigt and think of something creative, I can immediately document it, before drifting back off to sleep. Apart from writing, I tweet. Maybe that's kind of the same thing, although my tweets aren't anywhere near as well-mannered or eloquent as my blogging is (and even that isn't saying a great deal.) It's no secret, I'm a bit of a twitter-whore. The app on my iPhone basically is never shut. I've tweeted, moaned, shouted, whispered, projected all kinds of 140-character nonsense into the twittersphere over the years, and as the insomnia hits hard, my tweet count seems to rise infinitely. Then there's the more usual stuff; relaxing with a hot drink and a film or, of course, my Friends boxset, my iPod or the latest book I'm reading, any distraction is welcomed with open arms and grabby hand gestures at stupid times in the morning.

Right now, I'm feeling pretty worn out. I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with a cold, and my head seems to be pounding every time I blink and yet, I can't sleep. Everything seems to suffocate me or I end up shivering and even more uncomfortable. My insomnia is putting me in a bad mood on what is always an unwelcome day anyway: Monday. I truly believe in the stigma attached to Mondays, especially the dreaded Monday mornings, full of stress and time limits, letting go (more like watching it get snatched away) of the weekend, and having to once again, abide by normal social constraints. It is no longer acceptable to sit and eat until your heart is content in your onesie while watching reruns of Come Dine With Me. You are now unable to get away with looking slightly bedraggled, and/or drinking your way through the afternoon and well on into the night. So you can see my problem. Approaching 1am and I'm yet to sleep, and I have to face the dreaded Monday schedule with a grimace rather than a smile, dark circles under my eyes, not happy lines, yawns not laughs, and mostly, negativity, not positivity. I shall, of course, try my hardest to break this cycle. Mondays are, obviously best dealt with with lashings of optimism and a big grin, so why not.ets just hope I can sleep before then, because I'm not sure how far my pokerface stretches. 

Pendulum.

(Btw, this post has been posted like 20 hours later than it was written.)

It's nearing midnight and I've already been in bed, trying, somewhat hopelessly to make myself feel better. I'm experiencing such an awful cold. My chest feels like it will cave in at any moment, and my smoker-like cough isn't helping, despite the fact I've never ever touched a cigarette. It's exhausting. I keep temporarily losing my voice and become able to do that husky/whispery/creepy voice like Voldemort. Humorous at times, but the funny side begins to run thin when you're in as much pain as I am. I guess I have myself to blame, partly, and partly my stupidly, newly-weakened immune system, but I guess I can't always go around blaming biology when I mistreat my body as much as I have been. I'm armed with my iPod, 861 songs, god knows how many hours of music at my fingertips and strumming into my ears. Willing to try anything to make myself sleep now. I've had texting marathons, scoured Twitter for hours, watched the Friends two-hour finale and snippets from Peter Kay's Tour That Didn't Tour Tour (which I also can quote word-for-word!) I've doped up on painkillers, cough sweets and caffeine, and they haven't worked either.

So...Why is it partly down to me? What have I been up to to get myself in such a mess? My untimely, hideously rough state...Well. Little old me who vowed (stupidly, naively, hopelessly) to stay in on Friday night for a (miraculous) change, ended up out. Obviously. Anyone who knows me, knows I do not stay in on a Friday night, like, ever. Yes, I can sense your surprise already. Major shock. You best take a sear, we don't want you fainting on me now do we? There's a certain irony around the fact that I'm an English student and yet I don't seem to grasp the meaning of "just a few drinks." I'm a very much all-or-nothing kinda girl. Not just with alcohol, with everything. I'm either hysterically upset and depressed and moody and sad and hateful, or I'm happy and high and smiley and loving and totally giddy. I either am (only occasionally) really careful with my money, or I manage to splurge every penny I have in my purse in ten minutes flat. I'm either quiet or really very loud. I either go bitchy or seriously nice. I went from being a shy girl to an overly-friendly drunk. How? I was introduced to a lovely little thing the Russians named Vodka. Cue my shy self to sometimes disperse completely, and my overly-friendly self to put in a sometimes unwelcome appearance.

I know what you're thinking; "okay, everyone's more confident when they've had a drink" or ten. Yes, that's why they call it dutch courage. Well, I'm certainly a shining example of what the effects of alcohol really are. If you're reading this and judging me, and ready to brand me an alcohol abuser, go ahead. You're wasting your breath, and energy. :) Anyway, yes, I have a tendency to drink too much, but I'm a student, it's part of the deal you sign when you apply with UCAS. (okay, it's an unspoken rule.) Anyhow, I tend to be what the Oxford Dictionary know as a "lightweight." I go from sober to drunk in the blink of an eye. I don't know why, but it's very rare I build up to a "drunk" state. I just somehow happen to arrive there, slightly clumsily, and without very little dignity in sight. I mean, suddenly you find yourself on your own, separated from friends, and it hits you. Everything goes blurry and seems to speed up then slow down and it's as if everything's out of sync or something. A very good, or a very bad feeling, depending on who you are and what your opinion actually is.

So, how does this relate to the post's title? Well, I got to thinking of a metaphor for my latest life events. Yes, it all sounds very geeky and deep and profound. I assure you that it doesn't tally. At first, I played around with the whole train-wreck/car crash image, but those were too miserable, too negative for what I was trying to convey. I mean, at times, yes, I suppose that applies, but my life isn't a constant train-wreck. I'm not always left picking up the pieces, hurt or distraught. And that's when it hit me. Literally. A pendulum. A pendulum, for anyone who actually doesn't know, swings backwards and forwards, according to the earth's gravitational pull. It is a constant. It carries on going. It is continuous, until it draws to a close, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. Surely that's like life, yeah? Also, it's kind of funny in my eyes that the word 'pendulum', derived from the New Latin 'pendulus' to mean 'hanging.' Yes. I'm not totally stupid, I know it means a literal form of hanging, as in, to be suspended from a height or a cord or something, but there's another meaning I'm probably more familiar with. 'Hanging' the slang use, to mean the verb of hungover.  Therefore, in my little, messed-up, slightly mad head, my life is like a pendulum. It rocks backwards and forwards. Sometimes the movements are easy and the action takes no effort at all, and other times, it's hard, difficult. The forces are imbalanced, everything seems a struggle. It's just like Monday mornings in physical action form, ey?

Anyway, that's my thing. That's my theory. I'm a pendulum. We all keep swinging. Swaying. Continuing. Life is just like the movement of a pendulum. The glitches are very evident sometimes, and other times you barely notice the faltering. If you hit something, it hits back. The domino effect. But always, the pendulum continues, despite what happens. Despite what obstacles it encounters. We carry on in life, no matter what troubles and problems we encounter. The bad days are balanced by the good days, the tears are comforted by the smiles and the laughter. And always, we carry on moving. Until, we don't.

Silver linings.

It's a typical Sunday for me, unfolding as they usually do. The skies are looking ominously grey and moody, the rain is only appearing subdued for a short period. Usual tequila-shaped hangovers are strangely not hanging in the air, so it's a bit weird. A sense of regret. A weird feeling of nervousness sits waiting in the pit of my stomach, like a lion about to break out of a cage. It's only ever summer for a few weeks of the year in the North East, and this year seems no different. The big yellow thing in the sky has done a disappearing act yet again, and everyone is waiting longingly and perhaps, urgently, for its immediate return. I feel life my life has been wrapped in so much turmoil since I blogged last, yet can be excused with an over-exaggerated shrug of the shoulders, too many vodkas and bad decisions. Chipped nails, sore feet and moody faces. Anger, upset and someone shouting "how could you?!" Days like this are overrated. I'm only happy because of the typical Sunday practise, of dinner with my family at my Grandma Juney's. This always happens, so it's quite a comforting release usually. Forgetting everything going on in my life, any problems or quarreling go sharply out of the nearest open window, and relaxation and laughter are welcomed in.

I've admitted on more than one occasion that I'm a pessimistic person. This is unbelievably true. With everything going on at the minute, I got to thinking; maybe sometimes, the grey skies and the blurry edges are sometimes all you can see. That a silver lining is just actually a stupid way of looking at a grey cloud, and that no matter how much you hope, the rain will still pour. You can only get screwed over so many times before you start to think that maybe that's just you. Maybe everyone else isn't the fuck-up types, and actually, you're the root of your own problem. Maybe, just maybe, your 'bad day' isn't something you want to shrug off. You want to hide in your room, close the doors, get under the bed covers, and cry until you fall asleep. You want to turn off your phone and turn up the volume on the television, and pig out, and not care what anyone else thinks, because sometimes, you need to put yourself and your own needs first. Not every sky has a sun peeking out of from behind the clouds, not every situation can be dealt with using a positive outlook and a cheshire-cat sized grin, and in my book, not every cloud really does have a silver lining.