oddities

I'm the kind of person who saw your latest tweet about running late for work, your Instagram post, the single of the week on Radio One, and what Fearne Cotton's three-word review was, the breaking news headlines, the time Eastenders starts, and what that Facebook argument was really about, the films getting the good reviews, and the worse reviews, the price of drinks in my local and how long you actually can wait for a bus before seven show up at once in Chester. I know the stupid, irrelevant things like probably every line ever spoken in Friends and Peter Kay's Tour That Didn't Tour Tour. I know when all the sales are on, and the last possible time you can place an order on ASOS and receive it the next morning. The right coffee to water ratio to make my day obviously constructive. The taxi price I pay every single week I go out. How much weight my bags can hold before my anthologies threaten their stitching. 

I'm a bit odd like that. Relevant things don't seem to have much space reserved in my brain. Random facts take priority. Things that actually won't aid me in life whatsoever usually. It's been said I lack in common sense at times, and honestly, it's very true. My mam's always telling me  ,"Eleanor, for someone so clever, you're very stupid sometimes." Or words to that affect. An over-thinker who doesn't think. It's funny anyway. I'm attempting to start this year as a more together, organised person, and especially, as a student. In my second semester of my second year at uni now, I think it's about time I started taking it seriously, and working hard. That just means I'll play even harder. Oh yes, and I want to learn to play the piano. Random. But we actually do have a piano at home. What can I say, my sister got bored one summer and someone was selling one. 

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.

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.

:) 

From now on.

Seven days into 2014, and I've just sort of realised, where are my resolutions?! As a slightly neurotic, occasionally OCD person, I love to make lists. Shopping lists, to do lists, reminder lists, anything. So this is it. The one list that should count, right? My New Years resolutions. Here goes nothing, (or may be everything.)

1. Be happy. I mean it. Really, genuinely happy. This year has got off to a great start, so here's to hoping to just gets better. This year, I put my happiness first. I do what's good for me. 

2. Work harder. Uni wise. Also, I need a job. I constantly live outside of my means, and I need to get a grip and start living in the real world, even if I don't like it much. Everyone keeps telling me I'm so capable, so maybe it's about time I proved them right. 

3. Take risks. Lots of them. I'm tired of being scared of doing something, because of the chances of failure, messing things up or just not working out how I'd like. The bottom line is, if I'm not willing to take a risk every once in a while, I probably won't get to where I want to be. 

So, there's three. Seems a bit OTT to do many more, and it'll just fall into my obsessive list-making habit anyway if I continue. Today has been tiring, in the best possible sense. Even if I didn't do an awful lot. I'm drained. The festive season is well and truly over. New year is just some nostalgic memory fading on the horizon. The banners have gone, the decorations ripped miserably down as the clocks changed over and the ball dropped. There was no messing about. No hesitation. Once it's over, it's over. We don't dwell on it. There's dibs on who gets to sit on Boxing Day and say "well that's that over for another year" in such a nonchalant way that you'd think we didn't kick up such a fuss in the first place. 

To me, the eight days between Christmas Eve and new year are the only good things about winter. The hustle and bustle of eveything seasonal. The panic-buying, the happy crowds getting all tense and impatient, the food and not forgetting, the eight or so day binge we all have on alcohol. (Okay, most of us.) So it's all over. The presents packed away, no tinsel in sight, back to work, school and uni we go. Real life spells January blues, snow on it's way and the usual post-Christmas fads that usually die out by the second week of the year. I'm tired. Okay, scratch that, I'm absolutely exhausted. Everything is just so. Every smile, every breath, every movement, it all seems..well, right. I keep gushing about how happy I am, but I honestly can't emphasise it enough. (Lukas, you can take credit for this! You got a shoutout, even if you didn't want one, but I'm pretty sure you're grinning right now.) It's a hell of a big deal for me, and I'm still getting used to it. 

Happy nonsense.

Right now, I'm even struggling to write clearly. And no, I'm not drunk. I'm actually stone cold sober, and yet I couldn't make sense right now to save my life. I feel lost. Drugged up to the eyeballs. Totally, irrevocably wrapped up in my own life to even come up for air. Selfish as it may be, I really don't care. I'm stupidly happy. It's ridiculous. I've found someone who has the amazing ability to make me grin uncontrollably. Someone, who I won't name, because sometimes, secrets are nice. I don't know, would he like to be named? If so, I might spill. Then again, it is just a blog. I don't think I've ever met anyone that makes me this happy. Someone I'm so comfortable around. Who knows me, even the stupid things. My ability to quote the entire boxset of Friends, knows how neurotic I can be, my coffee habit and love for sambuca. My quips and traits, flaws and failings, passions and dreams. I have absolutely no clue why he isn't running a mile, but I'm unspeakably grateful that he isn't. I'm grinning from ear to ear, totally, utterly high on life. 

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.

2014, we meet at last.

This time 24 hours ago, I was just walking through the front door. Safe to say I definitely wasn't the first foot in. Greeted with mixed expressions of amusement, disappointment and embarrassment, me and my stinking hangover just wanted bed. I well and truly celebrated new year in style. Okay, no. I didn't. I got blind drunk, showed myself up and then had to play down my drunkenness in company. I never slept, didn't get home, and carried on drinking. I made friends, then enemies with crowds of people, took hundreds of spaced-out photos that you can't even make out, and spent too much money on hard liquor. Instead of arriving home yesterday and seeking bed, food and a shower, I made arrangements to go back out. Officially round two. New Year's Day, it's impossible to stay in for. Even my parents were getting ready to go out, while I struggled to eat anything. I powered through, showered, changed and slapped some make up on, in a desperate attempt to disguise the fact I was in that weird limbo between hungover and drunk. 

Today I'm pale and still shaking. The room is spinning, and every time I get up, it feels like I'm moving far too fast. Needless to say, I don't even want to think about any more alcohol for at least another week. Every part of my body hurts. I've greeted 2014 with a horrible hangover and unsure smiles, sambuca and sleep-deprivation. The radio is shouting and acting as some sort of motivational voice, and yet, I'm just lying in bed feeling overly sorry for myself. My feet are sore, I'm severely dehydrated and I can't shift this feeling of queasiness hanging around so unwelcome. I'm happy though. Very happy. Even if I am in so much pain. I think I need a brisk walk in the January sun and shift these blues. Apparently January blues are alcohol-inflicted. Or at least they are in my case. I saw the new year in very messily, and yet, I'm happier than ever. I've not stopped smiling in about two days straight. My liver is crying out for sobriety, my head wants painkillers and my muscles just want to shrivel up and die. Rough times. Curled up with puppy in bed, today is officially a write-off. HAPPY NEW YEAR.