Well since posting my brief and mediocre foray into the world of creative writing, I decided to trawl through your comments for #inspiration. It seems the consensus is that people just wanna read about what the hell other people do. I guess that's obvious I mean, twitter. So maybe I'm gonna write more n treat it like nbd.
This week marks the anniversary of deadlines and unearthed the timeless question 'when did I get so fucking boring?'. This time last year I was posting about 'being wired' n snogging fellas, so how did I get to a place where 90% of my work is already referenced, printed and wait for it PLACED IN A FILE when 12 months ago I was probably wiping sick off my face with a pair of used pants n making my way to the library to 'make a start'.
I liken summer 2013 to the time Father Jack sobers up and sees how desperately ugly everything and everyone is. Much like him, I also found it pretty fucking jarring. As a result of this I spent 3 long (loong I mean so long, long) months alternating between panicking, watching Jonathan Creek whilst panicking and finally, panic running. That's right, while you were all taking photos of each other on your disposable cameras with your bindis on, I was running laps around Bowburn estate as a treat to spark up my day of staring at a wall. Let me tell you, I had a body like polished oak. My thighs were toned, tanned and tucked under my duvet. I think the fact so far I've already made two very uncool TV references is testament to the time I spent in anxiety quarantine last summer. If there's a next time I'll be sure to watch Twin Peaks.
A contributing factor in my dismal summer was the severe lack of cash. I spent every last stinking student finance penny on 'being young' before being kicked out of halls then served a home cooked meal of reality. In an effort to stop history repeating itself I FINALLY got a job!!! Yes!!!! Weekly pay!!!!
And hours, upon hours of shifts. And hours, upon hours of talking about those shifts. And hours, upon hours of buying clothes for, getting ready for and planning around those shifts.
I like my job, as jobs go I've landed a good one. But way to take an unspontaneous character like myself and lock them in their own sad world. 'Helen where you at?? Come over we're having pizza n cans xx' - Sorry how about tomorrow? When you've already done it? Or what about you pencil me in for a spontaneous nip to the pub after my shift on Friday? Oh, you've gone out out. Of course you have, it's Friday night. The novelty of money is wearing thin, luckily (hopefully) my friends aren't. Wish me luck in striking that balance.
Those of you familiar with LOVE WITH THE STARS will know I had a tricky time romantically last year to say the least. But one of my predictions was correct: I really do like the effeminate ones and hey - one of them finally likes me!! Cue 4 months of nights in eating pizza, days out drinking coffee and classic moments like this piece of cutting edge street style. Am I happy? Yes. Am I lazier? Yes. Do I see my friends less? Yes, but my friends don't makeout with me (anymore). Alas, having a boyfriend is still proving to be great, finally someone who is obliged to kiss me when I've shoved another onion ring in my mouth after claiming I'm going to be sick. Thanks Sa(a)m, u rok.
4. Second Year
Ahh, the familiar sting of regret when you've assured your family you're 'really knuckling down this year' because this time you're actually 'really interested in the course'. What else can you do but kid yourself that you're much more mature than last year when your priority was 'settling in'? For my list of actual priorities see 2 and 3. One thing that has changed for me at university this year is the feeling of genuine guilt, not the guilt you say you feel after missing the only seminar you've done the reading for that week. In second year that faux-guilt is accompanied by the realisation that if you don't start now, you really have nearly wasted 18 grand and probably can't just wing it at the end. That accompanied by the shiny first years who've already made internship plans at Vice for the summer, meanwhile all you've managed to do is blog about getting off with someone who works there. Is that why my neatly filed essays look so ravishing to me right now? Yes. It's literally all I've got.
So if you're ever wondering why I'm so fucking boring now, it's because I'm busy dressing my ineptitude in part-time-job-bought organic shopping and Other Stories basics. See you all in 3 months when I'll be wailing from a bus stop again, waving a can of K cider.