Not-so-blue Mondays.

The sun is peeking through the heavy clouds, the misty atmosphere hangs stubbornly over the Tyne, and so-called Blue Monday is in full-swing. Today was my first day back at uni, as of 2014. Admittedly, a sixty-minute lecture may not fully count as a full day back around campus, but still, technicalities aside, today marked the forcible reeataiblishment of routine. Setting my alarm and actually conjuring up enough willpower not to casually ignore it and hit snooze repeatedly. Spoiler: I failed, by 35 minutes, yet somehow managed to arrive on time. 

I superstitiously, or perhaps just coincidentally have my nails painted blue as some kind of ironic, lazy statement of today's so called blue, depression. For me, I have to say, I seem to have conquered any bad vibes surrounding the usual Monday stigma, but that may be due to my slightly dazed self waking up at 8:35 instead of some horrific 6am start usually associated with Monday mornings. However, some things don't change. There's a certain tact in learning to avoid the abundance of charity workers (and The Hair Man) who loiter on Northumberland Street day-in-day-out in the desperate hope for custom and/or donations. There's always, without fail, someone busking, singing The Fray or Damian Rice or something equally as calming. Masses of people rushing past one another heading to work, uni, school, college, or just shopping. Caffeine fuelled commuters as far as the eye can see. The frantic buying of breakfasts and newspapers. 

The ground is crisp, the air is tight, and winter seems to be close on the horizon. A sunny, cold start to the year, and I keep making plans. I'm determined to be organised this year, but how far that goes still remains to be seen.

Let's get seasonal.

Somehow, while I've been blinking, staring vainly into a mirror or tweeting something, Christmas has arrived (well, almost!) Less than four days until everyone goes all super-festive and splashes out on turkey crowns and lots of stuffing, Christmas crackers with bad jokes in and of course, stupid hats. Whether you're a fan of this time of year or you're more negatively known as a total Scrooge, there is something kind of magical about it. 

I love Christmas (even though I hate winter.) The happy smiling faces, the tinsel everywhere and the endless reel of festive music played everywhere you go. It seems I can't even go to the shop without hearing someone attempt a BandAid tribute act sporting tatty, bad-fitting Santa hats. It's lovely though, right? Maybe that's just me. All the silly, stupid, eccentric kind of things are all acceptable at this time of year. Spending an unnatural amount of time in close proximity with family, some of which you will probably only see twice in the coming year. The extortionate shopping sprees leaving hundreds of people in debt to enter the new year, because treating anyone and everyone you know is an absolute must on December 25th. The only time anyone dares to wake me up early and doesn't have to fear the wrath of my sharp tongue. From Jack Frost to The Santa Clause, the festive films just seem to be shown on a loop. Fireworks, food and family. Exchanging gifts, spending time with the most special people in my life and just having some time to really reflect on the year gone by, whether it be good, bad or downright ugly. 

So, I'm currently wrapped up in bed watching QI and Mock The Week repeats and humming along to a Christmas song I can't even place now. A smile is resting ever so slightly on my lips. Four days to go. A matter of hours. The shops are going mad. Everyone is frantic. Wrapping paper, cellotape and batteries have never been in higher demand. There's so many fairy lights donned around some streets that it's only a matter of time until they fuse the national grid or the leccy company shut them off as a sign of bad will. 

I'm making Christmas Eve plans to go out, for the first time ever. The first year I'm celebrating Christmas no longer a teenager. Heidi's first Christmas. The first time I've been really unprepared, and I have to be honest, I'm nowhere near as excited as I should be. Fair enough, I'm the big 2-0 now, but still. It's still a special time of year, and I'm thinking of changing my name to Ebenezer unless I start slapping a smile on my face and feeling the spirit. (And no, that's not alcoholic spirit, to my dismay.) The counting has truly begun, everyone is having the will-it/won't-it snow debate and waiting for 25th with bated breath, butterflies and the occasional beer. 

I'm getting there. There's nothing better than spending three days straight with your family talking and reminiscing and exchanging gifts and drinking and eating your own body weight in gorgeous food. 2013 has had it's ups and downs, highs and lows, and I don't know whether I should be nostalgic or relieved to see the back of it. I lost someone special this year, made a hell of a lot of bad choices, and a few good ones. I've made friends and the occasional enemy. I've had a lot of firsts, and hopefully not any lasts. I love and cherish everyone in my life, and I never want to lose them. So, here's to you all. If you're even half as happy as me come Christmas Day, you'll have a wonderful time I'm sure. Whatever you're doing, whether it's a wild party, or a quiet affair, a family reunion or just a peaceful close-knit Christmas, enjoy it. Appreciate everything, especially this time of year. So pens down people, it's officially on it's way. Turn the music on, the heating up and crack open the alcohol. Now that's an entirely different meaning to a merry Christmas. 

x

The good things in life: take #4.

The sunny winter days, when you can't leave the house without Uggs and a trusty Parka. Crisp open air that catches your breath and almost pierces your lungs, it's that cold. The preamble to Christmas, seeing children and adults unite as they fight for a spot to see Fenwick's window. The talk of seasonal adverts, festive plans and buying a glittery dress for the NYE celebrations. Switching high heels for cute boots, vodka for southern comfort and normal espresso to Starbucks new Christmas blend for an extra, not-quite-bank-breaking 25p. The dark, snug nights spent in front of the fire with coffee and old films and fluffy socks. Talk of turkey comes creeping out of the woodwork, shops start selling overly expensive chocolate and anyone and everyone is into the 'Is it too early to put the tree up yet?' debate. Tinsel is out in full force and you'll hear BandAid and find yourself humming along to Fairytale of New York accidentally, until the "scumbag" bit you try not to shout even if it is kind of liberating. Tartan is your new friend. Strangers engage you in conversation about snow and how cold it is supposed to get. I love these things. They can't be beaten. 

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.

the big 100.

"I ACTUALLY DID IT!"

I say to myself with a grin the size of China sprawled so effortlessly across my face. This, believe it or not, is my 100th blog post. A sign of my hard work, a signal of my determination, proof that, in fact, I can do anything I set my mind to. I'm big on achieving. I don't mean in the literal, 'here's-your-certificate' kind of thing, but the feeling of achieving something. There's nothing else like it. A sense of pride. Accomplishment. Knowing that hard work does pay off, and luck hasn't really got much, if anything, to do with it. It took me many attempts before I actually started up a blog successfully, but when I did it, I finally found that it was everything I wanted it to be, as well as so much more. It's a gateway to other writers, a place to share my inner-most thoughts and feelings without being judged, chastised or shot a hasty glance. It's a place to let off steam, or express my creativity, or just have a little bit of a laugh. To write a memoir, a list or a play. Anything I can think of. Well, it took me just shy of six months, but here it is. The big 100. The centenary of my writing, as it were. The milestone worth celebrating, getting out of my seat and shouting about. The number I never thought I'd get to. Countless hours, many, many late nights, various different ways of writing down my initial thoughts, but the ones that made it here, are truly, the ones that count.

I've been through an awful lot over the last six months, while writing this blog. As you read it from 7th March onwards, you can almost sense it. You can tell if I'm feeling high, or feeling low, or just feeling everything under the sun. My good days, my bad days, and the days I just wanted to forget, bury deep into the corners of my mind and wish with all my might that they never happened, are all documented here. Love, loss and laughter. My darkest times are reflected in some of my most bitter creative pieces, and my happiest times required me to write gushingly over and over and over again until the smile on my face cause my jaw to ache. 

Looking through the last six months in text messages, photographs, tweets, posts and Facebook statuses, I realise how much has happened. I started blogging in March, which saw my cousin Sophie celebrate her 16th birthday and me get some of my first uni results. April saw a lot of loss and heartbreak in my life, and a lot of others I know. It was a hard month. May was busy. It saw me prep, cram and stress before completing my first ever (eek!) uni exams, then celebrate like crazy when my little sister turned the big, legal 1-8. We certainly partied hard, and that's when my crazy weekends truly began. Also, late May bank holiday we added a new addition to our family, a shih-tsu/bichon frise puppy cross, Heidi. June saw happy, sunny days arrive out in full force and more alcohol was flowing than ever. Bad decisions were blamed on vodka and upset, and put down to experience. Two of my cousins celebrated their proms and I began to feel old. July was anticipated for a while, as it signalled something me and my two best friends were eagerly awaiting, a week in Ibiza. A wonderful, hilarious, drunk week was had by all. Note: I discovered absinthe and began a tumultuous love affair with sambuca. Returning from Ibiza saw the flow of alcohol return with more vigour and liveliness than ever before. My friendship group widened, my drinking partners doubled and my drinks trebled. My shopping habits got out of hand. My decisions got worse instead of better, but  all with good intentions. My (love) life [I just laughed at this] well, I best not comment. It's definitely an eyebrow-raiser. So, August has been waved goodbye to, sadly, fondly, and rainy, disgusting September is making its way unwelcomingly into my life (and everyone else's.) One hundred posts, six months, 180-ish days, lots of bad singing, too much binge-drinking, like, 12 birthday celebrations, hundreds of nail varnish applications, too many "fuck"s screamed,  hundreds of shots, 500+ photos, 20-something ASOS orders. Lots of smiles, too many tears but all-in-all, a wonderful half a year. 

Of course, there are things I would change, looking back, but mostly, I'm happy with what the last six months has had to offer. Despite the rain pouring down like there's no tomorrow, I'm smiling. Now to make sure the next six months are as good, if not better, than the last. Only time, and blog post #200 will tell. 

Kisses 

X

September sunshine.

Yes, we're all staring at that big yellow thing in the sky with a mixture of delight and disbelief. It's four days into what is usually known as an autumnal month, and yet, the sun is burning hotter and shining brighter than ever. Much to my amazement and happiness, I admit, as the prospect of winter coming has made me prematurely miserable for weeks. I hate it. The cold, dark, rainy nights, the need for a coat, and gloves, and even sometimes wellies. The freezing mornings that make you want to stay in bed for all eternity. The impractically-chunky-knit jumpers. Leaving the house looking half-normal, and getting to your destination looking like a horror movie extra with an under-achieving make-up artist. The need for copious hot drinks and the longing for soups, and hot dinners. The need for slippers, and dressing gowns and a thick duvet, not a summer-weight one we've all grown so accustomed to as of late. Waking up to a ground covered in white dust, and wishing you were a burrowing animal, just so you had an excuse to hibernate throughout the long, cold, winter months.

Usually, I'm hating on September. A lonely, darkened, moody month. A month of Fresh Starts, except this year, it's not. Well, not for me, anyway. Every year, I've greeted September with a mixture of anticipation and dread. The knowing. The foresight of school days, new beginnings, or even that big one, University. However, this year, that dreaded sense of misery has vanished, to my utmost pleasure. As I am ready to start my second year at Uni, I feel somewhat prepared. I have made my way, reluctantly, through many of the texts on my reading list for Semester 1, I've made plans with friends for birthday celebrations in the coming weeks, and I'm even missing the bustling campus vibe. The city streets, the sea of people carrying overly-huge textbooks like me. The student daze. I'm thriving on it right now. Relaxed, yet stressful. Peaceful, yet loud. I'm happier now, than I have been for a while, every time this time of year comes around. My worries are being thrust under the nearest rug, because, frankly, I'm not ready to give up my summer smile yet, even if the big yellow ball in the sky does a fateful disappearing act on me. This time, I'm ready.

You're never too old for a new start.

Well I've done it. I've finally come reluctantly into the 21st Century, the modern age, the blogging phenomena. I'm actually (yes) blogging from my brand-spanking-new iPhone! It feels weird to be doing it, after all I've kind of come to associate blogging with my lovely little laptop. It's funny to think I'm now able to write on-the-go and post a thought immediately. It's kind of cute anyway in my eyes.

So, summer is drawing sadly to a close, and as every second ticks on, I realise that I'm one reluctant step closer to turning the horrendously big 2-0. However, there are upsides to this. As autumn approaches, so does the new uni semester, meaning that I get to see my three fave girls again, which I'm super excited about. (Hiya girls!) The workload, well, you can practically hear my brain sighing lazily as I even just mull over the idea. But then I guess the good things in life usually (we hope) outweigh the bad. Meaning this; when winter draws bitterly in, we'll appreciate the summer more when it arrives again next year as promised. When it rains, we know the heavy downpours are only temporary and its only a matter of time until it lets up. Sadness makes us realise how happy we usually are, loneliness makes us appreciate company and loss makes us grab love between our fists like an iron vice. 

So come at me winter. I'm ready, with my Hunter wellies and my parka, for anything you can throw at me. I'm ready to kiss goodbye to sunny nights and embrace cosiness and thick duvets for a few cold months. There's no reason for me to be unhappy any longer.

Kisses

x

(I had to add a cheeky little PLL reference in there, I mean OMG!)