Black Friday.

Well here it is. The day everyone goes mad and throws themselves in a tantrum if someone else gets what you're dashing for, supposedly. I dunno, maybe I'm just thinking of Monica's wedding dress fiasco in Friends, who knows. Poised with my debit card, and an attitude of patience (it's hard, believe me.) I love shopping, and with a few bits and pieces still to buy to finish my Christmas shopping, I'm about to hammer the sales. With a positive mental attitude, and a determined mind, I'm ready for all the crowds, impatience and noise, queues and cashiers who I'm very sympathetic towards. Wish me luck. Happy shopping everyone! :)

It's all okay.

I'm finally, it seems, at peace with who I am. Okay, everyone has their off days, their fat days and their bad days, but basically, I'm proud to say I'm happy with myself and my life. That probably makes me appear incredibly lucky, but I am aware of that already. 

I've got a supportive family, a lovely group of friends and a wonderful boyfriend who all accept me for who I am. I'm never going to be the size six I was for prom at 16. I'm never going to have huge boobs or a teeny tiny waist, nor am I going to be tall (I'm built in petite.) I'll probably never attend the gym, or be fully confident wearing a bikini. I'll always be slightly worried about meeting new people or trying new things. My future in career prospects does scare the shit out of me. Biting my nails doesn't make me a bad person. Neither does having a messy room. So what if I have too many clothes to fit in the wardrobe if it's what makes me happy?! Maybe I can't dance but that's not a vital life skill. I'll never be good with geography, but there are always people to ask for directions. I can't make decisions easily, but like I always tell my boyfriend, that's what he's there for. (Well, one of many reasons) ;) 

Maybe.

With a spring in your step and a smile plastered on your face, you brave the winter air. Maybe it's been a hard week, but it's Friday morning now, it's almost over. Maybe you need it to be over. That's fine. It's been difficult. At times, it's been too much to handle. You've wrung your hands and cried so much your muscles are exhausted. Maybe you've left a partner, lost a friend, a job, or a relative. Maybe you've failed your driving test, or an exam, or maybe you didn't get the job. Maybe you crashed your car, or broke a bone, or didn't get the result you were hoping for. Maybe you spent the week in bed with flu. Maybe you got bad news, or know someone who did. Maybe the baliffs are at the door, or the heating's on the blink, or the bills are too much to pay. Maybe someone's stole your credit card, or your house keys, or your dog. Maybe you left your phone on the kitchen table and missed that vital phone call. Maybe your bus broke down and you missed an opportunity. Maybe you laddered your tights and ran into an ex. Maybe you got lost. Maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everyone has bad days, but they always end. Look at it this way, everyone has good days too. 

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. 

Both feet forward.

At the age of 21, I've come to realise that maybe I'm just one of those people who has to be pushed head-first into something. I hold back. It's my nature. I'm shy and self conscious until I have experience in something, or until I know someone well. My face glows red and my mouth dries up and my tongue ties itself into complicated knots. It's awkward and pathetic and I hope one day I'll grow out of it. 

I'm finally a bit more like the person I've always envisioned. I can buy an outfit and know if I look good in it without someone else's nod of approval. I can read aloud in class without stumbling too much or wanting to curl up into a ball and die. I can actually have a conversation with people I don't know well, and laugh, and joke and feel comfortable. I can make my own choices and look forward into my future and what it may or may not contain, and confidently voice what I hope to achieve without feeling like I need to hold back. 

However, I haven't always been like this. I used to be the shy girl. More than that, I used to be the girl who didn't speak. Until the age of about five or six, I don't recall even answering the register in school. Purely because I just used to hate to draw attention to myself. I hated the idea of thirty pairs of eyes staring at me while I let out a little, muffled "yes miss" to answer. By the time I left primary school, I could hold down basic conversations and friendships, but I didn't really come into myself until much later. 

My first major friend fall-out at 13; I thought my heart was broken. At fifteen when people were really horrible to me about a boy I didn't even know, I folded into myself. Silent. Concealed. Out of the way of conflict. I've always avoided things that scared me. I was nervous completing my GCSE's, but totally terrified when it came to A-levels. So much so, I made myself ill twice. It was then I told myself I had to just let go. I hD to just jump head first into whatever was thrown at me, and hope for the best. (Note: it payed off.) 

I went to uni, I almost have completed my degree, and in some respect I'm glad I pushed myself outside of my comfort zone. I wouldn't be who I am today if I hadn't. I wouldn't have the friends I have today, the experiences, or the relationship. Maybe I needed to be pushed to apply for uni, to pass my driving test, to abseil, to make friends, to gain experiences, to down another tequila, to take risks that would really enrich my life. 

Whether it was a kiss, a payment, an accepted invitation or a confirmed place on UCAS, I wouldn't be who I am without jumping into things, even if I do it with an ounce or two of reluctance. I always get there in the end. 

Stressed: take two.

The first semester of final year is quickly coming to an-all-too-frightening end. I have two more seminars and one more lecture to go, before the Christmas holidays begin. As of December 5th, I'm free for six weeks or so, to panic and ponder next semester's modules and the finality that comes with finishing your degree, a prospect I was never sure I'd ever arrive at. 

I'm proud, worried and anxious. The assignments are mounting up, along with the pressure, and the looming deadlines appear to taunt me. The uncertainty of my life after May 2015 is scaring me stiff. I'm absolutely bricking it. The outside world. I've never been into the proper outside world before. At the age of 21, my feet have been firmly rooted in education since the age of 3. It's all I've ever known, passed from pillar to post, nursery to school to university, from institution to institution, without a care in the world. I've sat countless exams, cried unbelievable amounts of tears, and written a hell of a lot of words in that time, but maybe I'm about to make it. If only I can make it through these next few weeks of deadlines, I'll be able to breathe again properly without a tight chest and a worried, pallid face expression. 

Here's to hoping. Holding on tight, 2014 is coming to an end. Better go out with a bang. 

Mass of negatives.

Lately, I seem to have given up with regards to my degree. I don't know what I'm doing with it, and I'm struggling. The assignments get me stressed and get me down. I cry. I honestly am not ashamed to say it. My writing is dwindling, my skill isn't even really there, and I feel like I'm totally lost. Whatever I started out to do seems to have vanished from my view. My friends are making plans for after this (final) year and I don't know where to start. The passion once in my eyes seems to have fizzled out. I'm passive, apathetic and maybe, just maybe I want to want something simple. 

I sometimes sit and curse the fact I've aimed for something better in life. I look at my family and want to make them proud. But at the same time, I have a lot of respect for them. I see what hard work does, but in turn, what it does to people. I want to make something of myself, for my family, as well as for me. But what? Writing is a stupid aim, I curse myself saying. What can I write? A journalistic article? I don't know enough. I'm too opinionated on things nobody wants to read about. I don't have the concentration or the skill to write a novel, and even then, that's hardly a livelihood to sit on. I need to get my act together and my arse into gear. 

But lately, I have my home ties more than ever. I want to stay close, my family are everything to me, and things at the minute need praying for. My 'career' or whatever that is/may come to be, is on the  back bench. I'm sick of everyone telling me to plunge myself into a career. WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK I'D WANT TO BE A TEACHER?! 

Stressed, bored, apathetic, lost drive. No enthusiasm. Winter blues, we meet again.