It's you again.

Maybe she's old-fashioned,  but she'd say she was traditional. 

I never was one of those little girls who dreamt about being rescued and marrying their sweetheart. Never. Not once. I didn't have a string of on-off romances through my teens, a whirlwind love affair at any point, and yet something in me changed. I can't even recall when I first felt like this, but I can just say that now, at the age of 21, I'm very much a romantic. 

There was a time I'd scoff at my friends receiving cheesy, gushing Valentine's Day cards and teddies  holding heart-shaped cushions. When I'd see a couple kissing in the street and avert my eyes, sighing. I'd come to associate romance with a sickly feeling in the back of my throat, a fakeness to it, a childishness. And then, I met someone. 

I've never ever imagined a future with anyone until I met you. I'd never even entertained a marriage, never mind anything more than that. Overtime, I've become someone my old self wouldn't even recognise, and yet I welcome the changes. I'm a happier person because of you. The romantic side of me has flourished, and not before time. You're the person I now cannot picture my life without. You're part of me, and I'll walk over broken glass before I let you go. 

You've changed me, and I welcome those changes. I'm a happier, healthier person. You've made me proud to be who I really am. The romantic side of me is truly alight. Because, why not?! 

There's nothing better than flowers just because they're pretty and he thought she'd like them. A little surprise is cute and thoughtful, and that beats expense hands down. Sometimes, all she want is for him to wake her up and say "I'm taking you out for breakfast" just for the hell of it. She sees a future with him, as he holds the door open for her, grabs the bill, does the chivalrous thing extremely well when he can. She has a lot of admiration for a man who isn't afraid to compliment his girl and show her off. She's always waiting to be whisked off her feet at a moments notice, even if that's for a coffee and some cake. She'll hold your hand like her life depends upon it, smile at you like you're her entire world, and wake up every morning with you dancing in her thoughts. She already knows she will hold on to you before she ever says it aloud. She will make you work for it. She will test you. She will push you to your limits if she thinks you may be the one for her. She'll tell you what she wants, what she loves and what she hates. She'll tell you what she expects from you, even if she never has to say it out loud. She wants to be wooed, she wants to be spoiled, but most of all, she wants to feel loved. 

The Dissertation nightmare

It has just occurred to me that it's been ages since I posted anything here, and not that I am under the impression that my (ha!) readers are eagerly awaiting the next update in my boring life with bated breath, but still, I like the fact that someone may be reading my chaotic ramblings, and getting something out of them. I've been busy to say the least. I should be busy right now, but I'm nursing a massive tequila fuelled hangover, and am lying on my bed, feeling bloated from a massive Nandos feast, so yep, I am not being the constructive person I need to be. My final uni assignments are due in 7th May. After that, it's game over. I will officially be out of the education system after years of school, sixth form and university. As of July, I will be awarded my DEGREE!!! What! I know, I can't believe it either. Still a few hurdles to go, but the one suggested in the title is settled at least. 

My dissertation. The thing I was dreading the most. 8,000 words of prose. I pride myself in being able to write prose at ease, and yet I underestimated the workload. I took on a massive challenge in my piece's structure, and it's taken me months of drafting, reading, redrafting, moaning, swearing and sending passive-aggressive stressy emails to my tutor, but finally, it's done. I need it binding and handing in to the office, and then that's a weight off my shoulders. With a Shakespeare essay, and an Eastenders portfolio still to tackle though, I can't relax just yet. With the aim to finish my work almost a week early, I am stressy! I'm uninspired, bored and just ready for a break. I have absolutely no career path in mind. I have no future prospects that are practical or in any way probable. I want to write. It is my passion. It runs through my veins and it is the only thing that has ever come naturally to me. To pursue a career in it, would be life changing. I'm a bit lost though, as I am a student and I need the money, as I'll soon have over £30,000 of student debt (HAHAHAHA WHAT.) and I have no idea how much money that is, and I'll never know. But still, I hope I get somewhere after three gruelling years of hard work, stress and tears. I've met some lovely people at uni, had some genuinely brilliant laughs, learned things I wouldn't even imagine, and yet, given my time over, I'm not sure I would make the same choices again. For me, uni, even from living at home, has been hard. I am not a naturally gifted person. I work hard for my marks, I've had three 1st marks in as many years, and I honestly felt like framing them, because I was shocked and proud to get those marks. I've never ever not put work in and fluked something. I'm the kind of person who has to read the novels, revise the plays, recite the poems, turn up with annotated copies of things, make notes in lectures and pay attention to what I'm told. Nothing about these last three years has been easy. There were times I've been ready to chuck the towel in, ups and downs like you'd never believe, and not just in my uni life, but it's been an experience all the same. 

there will be a certain amount of nostalgia when we raise a glass to the last three years, say a fond farewell to our fellow students and step out into the cruel wide world as graduates, as adults with degrees who are supposed to have their shit together. I'll miss it, maybe not for the reasons I should, but God, there will be a teary moment somewhere down the line. I'm leaving what I've always known, because it's time, I guess. It's time to be the person I've become. 

Disappearing.

Somewhere amongst the ridiculous levels of procrastinating and the recovery from

Christmas, it turned March today. In the blink of an eye, I feel like everything about the last two months vanished. Today I can't cope. I'm achey and displaying too many boring cold symptoms, so I majorly can't be arsed with the dreaded uni work. 

It's week seven of my 12 week semester (not to mention it's my LAST EVER semester at uni) and I'm lagging. I've turned from mild effort to blind avoidance when it comes to my deadlines, until I'm a puddle of stressy tears the night before with 0 words written and the submission time looming. After just reading an article from my uni's online newspaper, The Tab, I got thinking. Maybe if I gave up social media, for a short space of time, I'd get a hell of a lot more done instead of spending my time complain-tweeting, posting useless sad emojis on Facebook and Instagramming my 'workload' rather than being active in reducing it. So here's the experiment. 

As of 12pm today, Sunday 1st March, I go AWOL. Abstain from social media, even blogging. Maybe if I just turn my notifications off, and pay more attention to my student workload that appears forever mounting atm, I'll feel better about myself and I won't be as stressed. Here goes. 

(I bet I'll manage about four hours, if that) 

When I realised.

My phone buzzes throughout my seminar as I carefully make plans from beneath the safety of my desk, as to not look rude or ignorant. We're having a seminar on Eastenders, and how to write for a brief. It drags knowing I've got somewhere to be.

By the time four o'clock strikes, I've already slipped my arms into my coat, closed my notebook and have my bag over my shoulder. It's time to go. 

As I brace the miserable northern weather, thoughts of you dance around in my head. I'll be seeing you soon. I zip my coat up around my neck, shivering, and occasionally glance down at my phone gripped firmly in my hand. It's too cold to text you back just yet. I'll just see you soon. 

Walking through the door of the pub, I realise a cheeky grin has found it's way to my face, and my eyes feel bright and happy. There's an excited feeling in my chest and a new found positivity in my step. And then, I catch sight of you sat at a table in front of me. Your arms folded, your shirt rolled up around your elbows. Your collar unbuttoned slightly and your hair all fuzzy from the rain. You don't see me at first, and yet I watch you, as your eyes are focused down at your phone in yours hands. For a second or two I just study you. Your muscular arms that make me feel like i'm in the safest place in the world when they're wrapped around me. Those eyes I just get lost in every time they meet mine. And then I do. You look up at me and grin genuinely like I've always dreamed of. I never thought anyone could look at me like that. As I walk towards the table and pull out the chair opposite you, I can't suppress my grin. 

'Hello you.' 

And our Cheshire Cat sized grins match up. I sat across the table from you today, and I've never been more sure in my life; there was nowhere else in the world I'd rather have been. 

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. 

Shopaholic tendencies

I'm not even ashamed to say it, I'm materialistic. It's not always a negative thing, it's not always shallow and it doesn't always mean someone is a selfish person. I like things. Objects. Something I can run through my fingers or have in my palm, carry on my shoulder or wear on my feet. And what is my downfall? Clothes. 

I spend more than I could ever earn. Usually, it's on ASOS, but that doesn't matter. From brand-spanking new underwear, to this season's new dress, I have to have it. Don't get me wrong, I don't buy to compete, just instead, I like things. This may seem like a really poor defense but I am attempting to justify it. 

There's nothing more satisfying than waiting for a clothes delivery to arrive, with my delivery driver/wannabe friend Russell arrives with my DPD package from ASOS with a big smile on his face and a look in his eyes that is a combination of sheer amusement and intrigue. How can I possibly have this many clothes? He probably thinks to himself. In fact, I think he's said it aloud once or twice, and I've laughed along with him. 

I like dressing up. I'm really boring tbh, evidently I can't even blog properly, and yet I'm now rolling my eyes at myself while I talk about how in love I'll be with my newest order when it arrives at some point tomorrow. The dress that will get vodka spilled down it the first time I wear it when I'm laughing at my friends in Brit on Saturday night. The pair of heels that will burn my feet while I attempt to dance badly in them. The earrings I'll lose in three weeks time because they're too big and heavy to really wear practically. The jeans I buy a size too small as some sort of motivation to exercise and eat healthy, and instead are reserved for thin days, when I somehow can manage to squash into them. The make up I buy and then isn't even preferred to my usual brands. The blouses I really like on arrival and then I end up wearing what I already have, because I don't own anything 'snow-proof' as I keep drowning.

I am better at shopping than I am at anything else, I almost guarantee it. It may not be a talent but it gives me a certain kind of buzz that I'm ashamed to say I love. Similar to writing I guess. Except I get a physical shiny thing out of it. For example, in the past few weeks, I've bought about four new underwear sets, a pair of boots (that I'm actually sending back), a really REALLY tiny pair of skinny jeans I am using as motivation, a sweatshirt that says 'HANGRY' because it is the truest emotion I have ever felt in my life, a Benefit make up set (that is yet to even be dispatched from QVC- oh yes, shopping channels are bad places), a blouse that is so pretty I can't wait to wear, AND THREE MORE ITEMS ARRIVING TOMORROW, that may or may not actually fit/be accepted/take permanent residence in my room. (I'd really like to say wardrobe but it's so full so usually my clothes are wherever they land.) 

If only I could channel my shopping love and my writing love as one. Maybe. Perhaps. I don't even know.

Lashings of happiness.

Eyes that just stop me mid-sentence, and I'm lost in them, a smile creeping over my face until it fills my cheeks. Yes, I grin cheesily, you're mine. You're the one buzzing up my phone at two in the morning and again at two in the afternoon. The one who makes me laugh uncontrollably and irritates me beyond measure. The person who can finish my sentences, wind me up and still make me want to come back for more. The one I see a future with, someday. And that, is something that will always be a reason to smile.