Autumn Leaves

I'm sad.

It's end of term and I'm alone.

It has been a really great term.

I'm happy.

Merry Christmas!

On the jukebox: The Boy Least Likely To ~ The First Snowflake

Just Us

I just have you,
as something to do,
And you just need me,
as someone to see.

And that is how we get along,
Not too much, for not too long.

On the jukebox: The Corrs ~ So Young

Fab Lab

"I really enjoy practical work..."

This fictitious phrase has haunted me since I first fabricated it on my UCAS form.

First year labs were awful. Second year labs were half-way to two-thirds alright. Now, third year labs are nearly over. In two and a half weeks, I finish undergraduate labs forever. This thought has only recently hit me in all its reality and hit me like a ton of bricks, it has. I don't want to end labs.

I don't want it to end. And it's an odd feeling, given I expended so much energy on hating labs, it seems a sort of twisted fate that I only start to enjoy them once they have to finish. It's not so much the actual work, but everything else that is included as part of the package.

What I love is the comaradery that comes from labs. An experience that no other type of teaching allows for. I love the interaction with higher powers, which, again, would be mostly unheard of in other subjects or other modules. I love the fact that it's as much a social situation as it is a learning environment and how many people I've been able to talk to, to get along with just for the simple fact of the compounds that we have in common.

While it pierces my heart to know there's going to be no more of that so very soon after I've gotten so used to it, I'm so grateful that I had this opportunity in the first place. Labs are a freaking heart-racing show of entertainment with large splashes of embarassment and frustratingly unco-operative experimenting. Labs are the worst part of the degree.

They are also the best part.

Despite all the guff I spouted on my UCAS, I'm still not really sure why I chose chemistry. It has been one of the jerkiest rollercoasters I've ever ridden but I wouldn't want to swap it for anything. It's more than the academic qualification aquired, being a student of this subject has shaped me in ways that even overly emphatic, pretentious paragraphs can't attempt to describe.

And I'm happy and I'm settled
in the person I've become.

On the jukebox: Frank Turner ~ Photosynthesis <3

Eye Spy

Prolonged eye contact can be an unexpectedly intimate experience.
Look me in the eye and tell me...
Try it and see.



You must look into people as well as at them.

On the jukebox: Snow Patrol ~ Open Your Eyes

Feeling Fireworks

Three years is a long time.
Six weeks is not.
Isn't it?



All sparks will burn out in the end.
Remember, Remember

On the jukebox: All Saints ~ Black Coffee

Satisfied Smile

I am really happy with where I am in life at the moment.
It takes three weeks to break a habit, three more to make a new one.

On the jukebox: High School Musical ~ Breaking Free

Making Aquaintance

Today, I have been to freshers fayre.

"Is Jo your friend? Could you give this to her?"

I know Jo, she's the girl that lives down the hall. Is she my friend? I've only known her five days, can you really call someone a friend after five days? We've had a few conversations, it's nice to have someone to talk to, but I wouldn't really call her a friend as such, more someone I kind of know but don't really connect wit...oh you're still waiting for an answer?

"Uh, yeah, I guess..."

As eloquent as ever, I gave the answer that was expected. Yes, I did know her, as well as I knew any of the other 100 odd people I'd met that week. But I wouldn't say we were friends, just yet.

Freshers week is weird. So weird. The first day, I met Charlie. For the first few days, we were very close; completely comfortable with each other despite the fact that we were virtual strangers. Perhaps, for that reason, we were more noticable than we would have been individually. There were more rumours than I care to recall, chances are paranoia led me to believe everyone was talking. Charlie and I were everything from best friends to siblings to partners, depending on who you spoke to:

"Is he your boyfriend?"
"Oh, I thought he was your brother"
"But you know each other from home, right?"

In reality, Charlie and I are very different people. We lived across the block from each other, but after the first few weeks we barely spoke, as is the case for many fresher week friendships, borne out of expediency and desperation for acceptance in an unfamiliar land. I don't miss Charlie. I miss what we were together; the excitement; the potential; the attention attracted; the initial spark of anticipation; the taste of student life to come.

Don't fall in love with me yet,
We only recently met.

There is no way I would want to go through freshers week again. Sure, it was fun, but it was unbelievably exhausting, overwhelming, tearful and unpredictable. In writing this, I can't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia, a hint of envy, but more than that: a sense of relief.

I'm still standing, better than I ever did.
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid.

On the jukebox: Paolo Nutini ~ Last Request

Instant Gratification

Today, I have been instantly gratified.

Give it to me, I gotta get it, I want it.

Rarely do I need to wait for anything. Almost anything can be checked immediately via the internet, buses come every ten minutues or sooner, food can be eaten straight from the fridge, TV programmes are watched on demand. If a friend doesn't text back within half an hour, suddenly it's all "well, what have I done wrong?"

Just because everything is avaliable so readily, doesn't mean you have to have it instantly. Sometimes, it's good to wait. Good things come to those who wait...

Part of the problem of procrastination is that it's so easy to fill time with nothing in particular- everything is there at your fingertips, there's no reason to deny yourself the option to have it right now.

Now, now, now!

A little more laughter,
A little less worry,
A little more kindness,
A little less hurry.

On the jukebox: The Beach Boys ~ I Get Around

September Start

Today, I have been full of anticipation.

It was obvious that Summer was on its heels at the mere mention of September. The end of August is a sign that the sun should retreat behind its cosy cloud haven and leave Britain with only memories of jolly sunnidays.

However, the end of the summer brings more than the end of sun. The start of school, the return to studentville, of living in the bizarre little world where all is incomprehensible before it occurs, normal as it happens, but odd to reminisce upon. I wouldn't want to miss out on being a student, it has provided me with many experiences that I'll never forget; opportunities I'll never regret.

University, for lots of people, is more about the overall learning experience than the academic one. Never again will we be so carefree in everything we do. There are so many things you can get away with as a student that just wouldn't be acceptable in The Real World. Yes, many students have it relatively easy compared to much of society and while there's been a lot of fun, there's been a lot worse than that, too.

September is a time for a fresh start, the beginning of this month has been unofficial New Year for as long as I recall. The start to a new school semester calls for a rethink of habits, a reassesment of behaviour, and a resolved mindset to follow through into the next academic year. Currently, I am feeling more positive about the beginning of term than I have done for a long time.

I just hope this attitude can last through the rainy days.

On the jukebox: Jack Johnson ~ Do You Remember

Two Weeks

Today, I have two weeks left.

How time can move both fast and slow amazes me.

Two weeks. It will be the end of the summer holidays. Two weeks until I officially commence my third (penultimate?) year of university studentdom. Two weeks left of untimetabled, deadlineless, lab-lacking days.

Two weeks. Two weeks until two birds fly the nest. Two weeks until a distance of a few meters between the family turns into a few hundred miles between us all, spreading wings across the country. Testing bonds, gaining independence, learning life, growing up.

Two weeks. I don't really see how you can call two weeks a relationship. Surely, if it doesn't last longer than two weeks, then it's not really a relationship at all? But the language of partnership confuses me - "seeing each other" "dating each other"? It's hard to pinpoint an exact moment, it's easier to just somehow fall into a routine and then not really be sure when it began.

Surely, two weeks isn't long enough to fall in love?

Two weeks. A little less than 4% of the year. Depending on how you look at it, it could be a long while, it could fly by in a flash. I'm feeling a bit in limbo, as always, torn between two places, two social circles, living out of suitcases and always sitting, waiting, wishing...

I just got myself to blame
Leave everything up to fate
When there's choices I can make
When there's choices I can make
Now my heart needs a polygraph
Always eager to pack my bags
When I really wanna stay
When I really wanna stay

On the jukebox: Bright Eyes ~ Road To Joy

Woeful Weather

Today, I have felt like crying.

Oh, it's not been a bad day. It's just things like going out with friends et cetera and being totally confused about other halves and parts and wholes. It's just stuff like attending a wedding and feeling achingly alone in the midst of The Happiest Day Of Your Life. It's just news like finding out a relative has recently died and not being quite sure what to make of it. It's just plans like going to visit the new house without keys or a bed to call my own but complete with awkward housemates and difficult discussions. It's just feeling like it's probably a good idea not to drink alcohol before a busy weekend, because if there's anything that's guaranteed to make you feel worse than you already do, it's that.

Also, it's raining outside.

On the jukebox: Joseph Arthur ~ A Smile That Explodes

Electronic Exchange

Today, I have sent an e-mail.

In terms of comunication devices, emails often aren't the top of my "used most often" list, despite the fact that I have four currently active email addresses. Well, I say active. The longest-serving is my first email address from my initial venture into the world of internet, which I think was around December 2000? Gosh, how time does fly. My cute_username_897@hotmail.com was used well for the first four or five years of its life, what with the MSN craze, forwarding quizzes to and fro closest friends, corresponding with far-away faces or everyday school mates.

When UCAS came along, sophistication was the key - lil_minx23 or sweetiepie88 weren't going to wash with those admission people, methinks. Alors, a more appropriate fullnamesurname@hotmail.co.uk was created, for official use only. Now it harbours iTunes receipts and HMV offers, plus some recruitment newsletter I signed up for about two years ago for no particular reason. Who knows, maybe one day I'll find a perfect internship I've been looking for or a fantastic price for the album I've always wanted?

The other two addresses are the ones I use most often: the official university contact address and the address you will find as contact on this site. Most others I choose to netchat to has long since moved on to facebook, and so I have little use for the first email address I created all those moons ago. Now I check it every couple of months, and it yields no more than the Windows Live Newsletter, which I receive in two other places, and never read.

So why keep checking?

In a similar way to letters, emails hold a vast amount of memories. In addition, unlike letters, emails hold both the sent and received message - whole conversations, in fact. Trawling over emails from years, or even months, ago is a somewhat weird experience, as now I read it through from a different perspective, see myself from a another angle. It's strange, being able to note the wheres and whys of when we just stopped exchanging mail, or at least slowed down significantly. It's probably not a good idea to persue an activity like this, as it leaves too much room for analysis and contemplation. Anyway, if emails are all you've got to show of a friendship, then can it really be much of a relationship at all?

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Today has taught me: it's probably best not to revisit the past, unless it could somehow help with the future.

On the jukebox: Snow Patrol ~ You Could Be Happy

Great Britain

Today, I have wandered o'er vales and hills.

Red, white and blue,
What does it mean to you?
Surely you're proud
Shout it aloud.
Britons awake!

What I love about coming back from holidays is coming back to England. After a long and winding scenic journey, I collapsed into bed, exhausted, as the birds sang their morning tunes outside my open window. Awoken mid-afternoon to the constant pitter-pattering of rain, it felt good to be in the country that I call home.

I love England.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I enjoy going away for a few days or weeks - to have the opportunity to experience new cultures, to return to favourite places, visit familiar faces in far-off lands. But it's fantastic to come back, appreciate the simple things. Green! Trees! Hills! Valleys! Temperate Temperatures! Dips and blips and twists and turns! I love the variation in landscape, routes, architecture, history. I love the British humour; the British customs; the British manner. I love knowing where I am; where to go; what to do.

Home is where the heart is.

The sense of belonging is what it comes down to. Indeed, I feel more comfortable knowing I am a resident of the country rather than a transient tourist. Even just visiting family or friends across the waves means fitting in better, as it's easier to adopt the association with the community rather than feeling like a faceless alien in a foreign place. Since I've got older, I've noticed it more, as when I was younger it didn't bother me so - but then I never had a say in where I'd go.

Travelling the world doesn't appeal to me all that much, particulary. There's no latent desire locked up inside my soul to see all there is to see. Of course, there are so many amazing destinations, so much I've enjoyed experiencing and still a fair few hotspots on my hitlist. But I'm glad to be settled in the UK for the time being - it's good to be home!

Today has taught me: Almost half of the residents of Toronto were born outside of Canada (...yet many immigrants will consider it their home.)

On the jukebox: Chantal Kreviazuk ~ Leaving On A Jet Plane

Preparation Procrastination

Today, I have researched and emailed and browsed and read and shopped and searched and planned and packed and panicked.

While packing isn't the most awful activity to carry out, it is still one that I do not enjoy. Half the time, I feel I'm living out of suitcases and boxes, these past few months have been no exception. As I struggle to gather together everything for my upcoming trip, I'm searching through untouched boxes from university living, along with bags from other visits, holidays, days out. The main worry is that I won't pack everything I need, and although that's never yet been a severe problem, there's always the potential for things to go wrong.

Perfectionism seeps through, touched by minor OCD-type mentalities. Have I checked it 187 times? Do I have everything? Will it be enough? Is it too much? What if it's too hot? What about when it rains? What will we do?

This part of preparation is the bit I hate. It's not even about leaving things to the last minute, it's all these factors that are beyond my control. I want to feel like I'm making the most of every moment, I want to fit everything in, I want to have an amazing time. Organisation isn't my forté, yet there's still this compulsion to have everything just so, I want to make sure I know all there is to know, planned all I can to make the most of the time, the place, the opportunity. Frantically emailing friends to find out what's best from the people who live there, people who've been there, websites, guide books, anything. I want to do everything, but there's not enough time, I want to experience as much as possible, but how to fit it all in, and when?

There's fireworks on this day
and you've got to visit here,
we'll provide you with a place to stay -
you know, we live quite near.

On Thursday it's a festival,
You've got to do the tour,
Make sure you see the best of it all,
And if you've time, there's more!

Well, I just want to say it twice,
there's that and this and there,
so as long as you can pay the price,
you could go any where!

À bientôt!

Today has taught me: I really should probably unpack as soon as I get back, and I really should probably pack before the day before. But I know that I really probably won't ever manage to do either of those things, and if there's an option, I will always procrastinate.

On the jukebox: 5ive ~ Don't Wanna Let You Go

Instantly Unforgettable

Today, I have used my middle name.

"You are missing out on an awesome night! Everyone wanted to meet you because they think your name is amazing! You should have been here!"

Further to this entry from Claire H. Routh, along with the above comments that I received recently, I feel it is appropriate to talk names. As if I ever need an excuse - names fascinate me: I could talk for hours about psychological interpretations, surnames, first names, full names, nicknames, unusual names, popular names, biblical names, classical names, posh names, foreign names, common names, stereotypical names....and the rest.

Flitter Bee n. A truncated version of two first names. Felicity Beatrix found that her friends couldn't be bothered to say her name when they were younger, so she became Flitty-Bee, and it stuck, now more commonly written as Flitterbee. Synonyms: flix, flickitybix, FB, feebeetree, flixytrix, flitbit, flibby, fleetabix, fleabea, flickitbitch, beeaatch, etc... (I could go on all night...)

...

Wouldn't it be so cool if that were true...? /weird

Over the years, my name has taken on many different forms, some from a natural progression, some a conscious choice. Contrary to many people I know, I like my name in all it's glory - it's a great ice-breaker, allowing for a immediate conversation upon introduction. It means people are more likely to remember me, and makes me more interesting by pure virtue of having an interesting name, albeit somewhat pretentious. Maybe it's a sign of insecurity - a person shouldn't be defined by their name, why do I place such emphasis on it? Yet everyone knows, subconsciously, we do judge, we do make assumptions. Those conclusions may not necessarily affect our assessment of the person once you get to know them, but first impressions always count.

Today has taught me: you can make friends more easily simply due to the fact that you have an unusual (yet pronounceable) name.

On the jukebox: Goo Goo Dolls ~ Iris

Chit Chat

Today, I have spoken on the phone.

You keep on talking trash,
but you never say anything.

The art of conversation. It's probably a good idea to ask questions but not too probing, tell stories but only if they have a point of interest or humour to them. Talk about work and holidays, but not every detail of your day/week. Listen and offer mmms, ahhs, ohs and yeahs as appropriate; there's no need to repeat exactly what has been said to show you've taken it in. Try and relate the people or concepts to the person you're talking to, tailor the conversation to suit their relationship with you.

Above all, make it a two-way thing. Ensure an even distribution by recognising when you are going off the point, talking for too long or remembering that while the other person may know every single thing about what you do on a day-to-day basis, you have little concept of what their work entails.

Two and a half hours of conversation, and it was only in the last ten minutes that we got to what I was doing that weekend, in my life, or anything about me in general and by this point, I was so dying to get rid of the person on the other end of the line that all my responses were fairly short and noncommittal. I would have gladly said more, but there wasn't much of a chance to get a word in edgeways prior to then, and questions were only asked once the other person had run out of things to go on and on and ooooon about...

Texting FTW!

Today has taught me: there's a reason why I don't like to speak to people on the phone, I only need one conversation to confirm this.

On the jukebox: Spandau Ballet ~ True

Course Conflict

Today, I have weighed up pros and cons.

Background: I am on a four year course which will ultimately mean I will attain a MSci Hons degree in two years time, as long as I keep up or improve on the standard I am currently working at. A masters degree will be ever so useful when it comes to applying for jobs, and will be all round more impressive at the end of it, especially if I wish to go into a career related to my degree. However, I'm not sure that I do want to go into a career related to my degree, or that I am up to the motivation required to complete the four year course to an acceptable level. Therein lies the dilemma...

Four Year Course Or Three Year Course?

Reasons to stick on the four year course:

• More experience, better job prospects, improved knowledge, more impressive degree qualification etc etc...
• I am already on the course, it's easier to continue rather than quit and find I regret it.
• Don't have a clue what I would do otherwise - another year at uni buys more time to think this through, or put off the decision making, while opening more options for choice of career.
• Get to stick with the student lifestyle for a little longer - pfft, who needs to grow up? And then I could do a PhD, and be a post-doc researcher and never ever need to get a real job...
• Get to see all the people who have been away for third year, consolidate friendships, continue getting to know people, increase friend base, live away from home a while longer, keep up independance. If I switch to three years, all of this studentdom will be cut short.

• The idea of only having one year left at uni scares the hell out of me.

Reasons to switch to the three year course:

• I'm not sure I'm cut out for the stresses, independence or motivation needed in fourth year, or the constant strive to achieve and I fear I'd feel inadequate in comparison to everyone else and unable to cope.
• Most of the time is spent in the lab, working on your own project, which you are figuring out. Alone. It's worth a quarter of the degree as a whole. Do I really want to risk a year of misery?
• May require further qualifications if I decide to do something else, so what's the point in doing a masters in my current subject?
  
• If I switch to three years, it might give me the push I need to seek what I really want to do with my life. Or it could be another wasted year when I think - hey, I should have just gone through with the masters, it wouldn't have been that bad, right?
• Even having a BSc in the subject is a darn sight more impressive than most degrees on the market - I'd be well set up for most jobs, even if I don't know which to choose yet.

• The idea of spending every day in the lab scares the hell out of me.

So what do you think? More to the point - what do you think I think? Ask questions, give advice, opinions, personal experience, anything that'll make me swing more convincingly one way or another!? There's no specific deadline for this decision, but for my own peace of mind, I'd like to have it sorted in my head before the end of the summer, as planning for the next academic year often starts in the beginning of the current one. So, although there's no guarantee that I'll take anything of what is said to me...please, feel free to give your tuppence worth...!

Vote: Stick or Switch?

On the jukebox: The Monkees ~ Daydream Believer

Feet Fetish

Today, I have painted my toenails.

Now has begun the season of open-toed shoes, it is appropriate that I should colour my toenails to co-ordinate with my outfit. Unfortunately, the haphazard application of suncream has resulted in golden feet, but magnolia legs, which is fine... as long as I have trousers on!

I'm not one to polish the phalanges very often, toenails even less so than fingernails. Feet certainly aren't my favourite part of the body, my toes are kind of stumpy and my feet are too long and too wide - I don't tend to get them out in public very often. But I love the extra dimension that painting your nails adds to the outfit.

As quoted by someone, it makes me look "like a girl". Cheers, that is the look I generally aim for.

Today has taught me: if I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. When applying suncream, be sure not to miss key areas - such as feet, hands and ears. It's not a good look.

On the jukebox: Madonna ~ Holiday

Knowing Me

Today, I have carried out a random act of kindness.

When A Year Of Kindness started out at the beginning of this month, I thought it was a great idea. Mainly because, as with many ideas that I think are great, I had considered doing something similar. I've often wanted a blog with a sole purpose; a specific structure; a reason to blog. The problem with restricting yourself to a particular style of blogging is that it doesn't leave much room for expansion or change and can end up becoming repetative or just plain dull. It does a blog good to be able to shake up the style every once in a while.

The entries are often better if based quite loosely around a general subject or format - for example "A Day In The Life Of A Student" type is fairly straightforward, as all it means is you write about the idiosyncrasies of student life - a snapshot of what it's like to be that age, being on the brink of adulthood can offer some of the most entertaining and perceptive moments of life before reaching the middle-age mundanities of mortgages and marriages. People like to read about things that relate to them, or insights into how other people live. Weblogs that I read have long been a source of inspiration or contemplation - raising ideas that may have discussed before, throwing new light on a subject, or simply a way to pass the time. If you asked me what I write about on my blog? "random stuff an' fings, like yeah...I dunno"

Hell, I go off on a tangent enough in a single blog entry - starting off with one subject and finding myself wandering over onto some unfocussed land of babble, as is so succintly displayed in this very example - I couldn't imagine keeping it based around the same subject for each entry I write. What I'm saying is, as long as you can articulate yourself appropriately, it doesn't matter really what you say, I'll read it anyway...

Today has taught me: Not to publish your blogs before they're finished, just to see what they look like. They will still turn up on RSS feed and make you look like a fool :oP

On the jukebox: Mystery Jets ~ Young Love

Fairly Hairy

Today, I have long hair.

You ask almost any guy "long or short" they say long, at least in my experience. Long hair has its advantages - looks more feminine, easier to style, easier to manipulate to how you want it to look. Maybe it does look better. But it's also a lot of effort - washing, drying, straightening, plaiting - it just generally takes eons longer than with a shorter style. Sure it looks good for show - sexy, girly, beautiful, but is it worth it for you, the owner?

However, to keep hair short and sharp involves regular trips to the hairdresser which in my opinion, is not a favourable option. So I keep it long, until it gets so long that it begins to drag me down, such a heavy head of hair that I sometimes wish I could just chop it all off and start again. I am at this point currently. I desperately need a hair cut. It just seems senseless to me to spend the same amount on cutting my hair as it costs for a flight to Europe.

Long Hair or Short Hair?

On the jukebox: Yomanda ~ You're Free

Birthday Bumps

Today, I have scheduled a blog entry.

Since I know I won't be internet-accessed on the 21st July 2008, I am writing this from beyond the screen, as it were. How odd. Anyway, the point is not to make sure you don't miss me too much, but for the fact that it is a certain blogger's birthday today, I knew her from the Halcyon Days of yore, now she's all grown up and out Into the Blue...

Happy 21st Birthday, Hannah!




Direct your own birthday wishes here.
:oD

On the jukebox: The Genie ~ A Friend Like Me

Turning Three

Today, I have celebrated my third anniversary.

"Hi everyone!
This is my blog. You don't know me, yet, but if you look over the following days (or months) more about me and my life may begin to unfold as you learn about things that annoy me very much. You may laugh at some aspects or you may find it totally dull as it is about people and places you neither know nor care about. Whatever you think, feel free to leave a comment, whether you plan to make regular visits, or you are just passing through cyber space, i'd love to hear from you..."

Three years; four names; two sites and countless entries later, here I am. Three years has seen through a hell of a lot: painful heartache, boundless excitement, simple amusements. Three years is an awfully long time, especially in proportion to the pieces of my life that I actually remember. Three years of an almost daily diary-type publication gives a more comprehensive view of feelings present at particular moments than mere memories can manage to conjure up from scratch. I wonder what I'll think when I look back on it all in three years' time?

To you,
The ones who leave their spark,
Upon my own blog spot,
Even if it's just a small remark,
It really does mean a lot.

I'm happy

On the jukebox: Bright Eyes ~ First Day Of My Life :o)

Read Right

Today, I have used an acronym.

Go check out x..k...cd? xckd?

It's only when I go to use some words out loud that I realise how ridiculous they sound. How silly it is when you try to say them rather than type. I've been reading English for over sixteen years now, and although there are some words in the langugage I struggle to pronounce, they are few and far between. But when typing and reading, it's a different situation, as I do use words that simply are unidentifyable by the convention of pronunciation. These little acronyms have been created to make typing life easier, or more quirky.

If I see xkcd on a page, I know immediately what it means, and similarly with bbtmn. That is, I know what it refers to, but I don't know what the letters stand for, if anything, and since they are devoid of vowels or any sort of phonetic construction, to try to speak these outloud without spelling them is virtually impossible.

Once you get past the reading-out-loud stage of education, it's hard to describe or understand the concept of exactly how people read in their heads. Do you read each word or do you recognise it? It's possible to grasp the meaning of a phrase without having to dissect the sentence word for word. Often, you can't see a word you know and not read it, it's a learnt reaction, which is one of the ideas behind this experiment.

Having seen this programme advertised, along with spending time reading with children under eight, it's interesting to see how people learn to read. Reading and writing are abilities that come so naturally to most adults that it's not easy to imagine how a person could not be literate, or that five million people in the UK have a reading age of less than a 12 year old. It's only going back to primary school and struggling to recall my ah, buh, curly ker phonetics that I can appreciate that although my aye, bee, see comes easily now, learning the alphabet and how to spell had to start somewhere.

"How do you spell tissue?"
"T..i..sh..oo...?"

On the jukebox: Jackson 5 ~ ABC

Picture Perfect

Today, I have used my new camera.

After having spilt water on my trusty digital compact camera a couple of days ago - meaning that it now no longer even switches on - I felt compelled to buy a new one. The fact that a holiday is drawing near meant that this decision was more hastily made than I might have liked, but still, I now have a working compact camera, which is a hell of a lot easier to cart about than a DSLR.

Photography is an art that often has me wondering - is it due to the skill of the operator, the luck of the composition or the quality of the equipment? Some days, some situations, some moments, I think - well, you'd have to be completely incompetent to not take a passable photo given the perfect shot in front of you. Is photography a talent to be marvelled at, or just a chance opportunity? Are there good photographers, or only good photographs? Well, I'm sure if you manage enough of the latter, you can be considered to be the former. But what makes a good photo - the technical specifications, or the specific moment caught? Can photography even be considered an art at all? Surely anyone can take a photo, especially if equipped with decent lights, camera and a suitable scene of action.

Just as anything, it's not black and white - a good photographer would combine expert knowledge with creative insight to work out what works for an amazing picture. Sometimes, I feel like photography is an innate ability more than a learned skill. It's part of the reason why I find it so hard to judge, to understand how to measure a talent in something that seems to have no set rules for success. Sure, I know, you can teach someone how to take better photos, and some places you can't fail to take a decent shot but I think part of the skill of a good photograph is the instinctive sense of what makes a good photo - even if you don't know why it is that it works well. I'm not sure if what I'm trying to put across actually makes sense, but whether you speak as a person who is into photography or not, I'd like to know what you think on the matter...

On the jukebox: Irene Cara ~ What A Feeling

Summer Scenery

Today, I have let go of an old companion.



What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.




No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.



No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.



No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.



No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.



A poor life this is if, full of care,



We have no time to stand and stare.



Farewell Fujifilm Finepix F11. You have served me well.
August 2006 - July 2008
RIP

On the jukebox: One Republic ~ Stop and Stare

Be Happy

Today, I have worried.

I want to write. I really do. I just can't find the sentences that don't begin with I. I know that it's not bad to use my blog to write about me, indeed, I start every entry with an "I have" but you know, there's a limit to how interesting that would be. Once you find out all of mememe there is to see, why would you want to listen anymore?

I worry. Too much. About stupid stuff and the rest. About things I have no control over. I worry about what people think of me, I worry that people don't think of me. I worry about whether I'm making the right decision, if it's really because I'm being sensible and can rise above the instinctive feeling to make a path for a happy time, or because it's too much hassle to choose otherwise or, well, any number of other reasons.

There are almost one million words in the English dictionary. It is predicted that the one millionth word will be created in April 2009 sometime. Meanwhile, the average person uses approximately 14,000 words. Even a linguistically gifted person will use only about 70,000 words. Now, I wonder if these are the same type of words that people are using, how much would our 14,000 words correlate with other people's 14,000? Which words in particular would you say you use often, despite the fact that they might seem unusual to other people? I rarely write anything of a creative nature anymore, therefore I have little need to think to extend my verbiage beyond a purely perfunctory sense. So to try to use more interesting language seems futile.

Well, that's where an unplanned mind splurge takes me. Beyond the rigid confines of structure whilst upholding the pompous tone and pretentious manner. Half the time I'm not sure that I use complex words in the correct context, but chances are the people I converse with wouldn't be certain of the appropriate usage either.

Toodle-pip!

On the jukebox: The Boy Least Likely To ~ Balloon On a Broken String

Blog Boredom

Today, I have felt blogsick.

Faced with the prospect of either a) tidying the room b) eating an entire tub of vanilla ice-cream or c) preparing for tomorrow, I have taken the sensible decision and sat here with a spoon whilst browsing the web - a distraction to ensure that I don't in fact finish the full litre of cornish sweet goodness and instead find a new way to procrastinate.

By chewing over the backlog of my former self? Sounds like a perfect way to similtaneously dwell miserably on the past while taking up enough time to avoid doing anything useful and pass the minutes until I can pretend to pay attention to something else or go to bed.

Seventeen. I started when I was seventeen. To be honest, I don't think it's that much different to now, other than I cater to a different audience, alter my style as I see fit. It's funny how easily people get lost in the click-to-click - there's been so many effective strangers who once knew so much about me, yet shrugged off suddenly or gradually and never seen again. Someone once mentioned to me how this way of life is a substitute - filling a gap for something that's missing in your personal life. It's very true. Once you feel complete otherwise, there's no need to have your woes and views appreciated by the wider wash of passing visitors who neither really know nor care who you are and what you do, but are more just looking for a way to occupy a dull evening.

This is not the end. It's fairly obvious it's not going to go from one-a-day to none-a-month overnight. It's not over, but it's twenty-one-forty and I have some place I'd rather be.

On the jukebox: Regina Spektor ~ The Call

Final Farewell

Today, I have said goodbye for good.

It's raining.

Overwhelmed. It's a habit to focus on the bad points of the moment, it's natural to see the past through rose-tinted glasses. I fear if I go on too long, I'll end up rambling and get emotional and uninteresting. So I'll try and keep it brief. Goodbyes are rubbish. Life is difficult. Results were a huge relief. This week has been great. Next year will be weird. The future is scary. You live and you learn and you keep on living.

Life is about love, last minutes and lost evenings.
The only thing that's left to do is get another round in at the bar.

On the jukebox: The Calling ~ Wherever You Will Go <3

People Person

Today, I have spoken to strangers.

Usually I don't find it too hard to talk to new people, given the circumstance where it's appropriate or necessary, at a party or a barbecue or a situation where you're surrounded by friends of friends or just plain alcohol-fuelled chance encounters, chatting with strangers.

It's fun to meet new people. The thrill of not knowing where it's going, finding out information, piecing together their past, fantasising about the future. You can pretend to be anyone you want, because chances are, it won't need to last too much longer, so it's fine to keep up the act. Sometimes, I feel like I'm only interesting for the first impression. That first spark of excitement. After that, there's no use in waiting around. Perhaps it's a sign of chronic insecurity, perhaps a sign of earnest desperation for acceptance, perhaps I'm punching above my weight or out of my league. Perhaps, it's just not possible to keep up with everyone - if you click enough, you'll find a way to stay in touch?

It's sad, I feel, that I've met so many new people so near to end of term, especially when so many of them are leaving. What we really need, I reckon, is three weeks of welcome-back partying at the beginning of the academic year. When you know enough people to party with, but there's always going to be people you don't know there as well. A chance to get to know people, and have enough time to cultivate the relationships. Now, it feels like I'm only just getting to know some people really well, or at all, and then suddenly it'll be forever without seeing them, because we're not close enough to arrange to see each other when not in the same city.

Strangely enough, it feels like I don't want to leave this place so soon, and yet, on the flip side, I know half the fun of it is knowing it can't last forever. The point is that we're building up to an end. Otherwise, we wouldn't be livin' it up every night. The point is, we won't see each other for at least four months, a year, or never again. It's part of the mixed up this time of year feeling and it's part of the reason I'm sat here now, reflecting and pouring out my soul, feeling like I want to cry my eyes out whilst jumping for joy. Utter Madness.

Sore Throat. Hurt Head. Aching Body. Tired Eyes. Bleeding Heart.

On the jukebox: McFly ~ 5 Colours In Her Hair

Party Time!

Today, I have been to a party.

Far from the wistful childhood party days of jelly, cocktail sausages and fizzy pop, nowadays it's all about the...jelly, barbecued sausages and...fizzy pop. Okay, so maybe it's not all that different nowadays, except for the vodka in the jelly, the beer on the sausages and the wine with the fizzy pop. But in essence, it's very similar - a group of young people gather 'round to sit and chat and play...

It's taken me a while, I'm still not completely all there, but after a couple of years, I think I've hit a spot where I'm comfortable and satisfied with who I am and what I do. This may be a flitting moment of madness, an up on the rollercoaster of life, so don't be surprised if I change tune in two minutes or so.

This week, I've packed more into my social life than the rest of the academic year put together. I've met more new people than I could ever imagine keeping up with. I've had more fun than I thought possible, and what's more, I've finally found a group of friends who I can spend plenty of time with. First year, while there were moments of pure hilarity, was not the most fantastic year of my life. Second year has had it's own share of issues, but looking back, I might be so bold as to say it's been better than first year. Certainly, after exams last year wasn't the best time for me, and while this season has it's own share of heartache, I feel like I'm dealing with things a lot better. I feel more secure in myself, happy and settled with the person I've become.

End of year is a confusing time. It's so up and down and all over the place. It's kind of been a bit of a blur, I want to catch hold of every moment and treasure the time together, but it's all going so fast I'm not quite sure what to make of it. As is probably evident by this jumbled and disjointed entry, it's all a bit twisted and turbulent and will be over too soon. But hey, if you're on the ride, you might as well open your eyes.

It's been a crazy couple of weeks, and there's still more to come!

On the jukebox: Jessica Riddle ~ Even Angels Fall

Fond Farewell

Today, I have said goodbye for now.

Many of my close friends are spending the year away from uni next year. For countless of other students of my era, it's the same situation. Third year is placement year, third year is year abroad. Third year is the penultimate year for many, the final year for most.

Drawing into a close on my second year involves coming to the realisation of how strange it will be next year. Well, strange in the scheme of things, the learning curve at this age is so very steep that there is always bound to be life-altering events continually whilst at uni - people changing, moving, forming of new friendships, breaking off from old boyfriends. So strange is all relative - different is what it will be.

Do you think it is advisable, in this stage of life, to stay in a relationship when you know you will be in different countries for over a year? Then, if you decide it's not the best plan to conduct a trans-continental - or even trans-national - relationship, do you think you should stay together up until the point when you know you'll have to end it, or break it off before, when you know that the end is in sight, but you still could feasibly see each other? Is it weird to set a date to break up? Does it make it harder to string it out when you know it's going to have to end, or should you make the most of your time together, counting down the days...? Oh, I could not tally the amount of times a concept such as this has been a cause for discussion, contemplation and the infamous "it's complicated"

That's part of the problem with relationships at university, at one point or another, it is bound to be long distance for at least some of the time. Of course, that's not necessarily a reason to not get into a relationship, but it makes things a lot harder than when you have the option of being around any time you like. Since sixth form, this idea has been chewed over until it's stale, and yet new circumstances where it applies keep cropping up, and so the conversation never dies.

When it comes down to it, I don't think it's about cheating. Relationships are about being able to spend time and share moments, memories and musings with that person. It's restricting, although it's a comfort factor, to consign yourself to a relationship with someone on the other side of the world. Just because it might be better for you not to be together doesn't mean you want to sleep around, it doesn't mean you want to find someone else, it doesn't mean you have someone else in mind. It's more about freedom. Freedom, to do whatever you decide, whenever you want, go wherever you like, with whoever you wish, and if you kiss somebody, then both of you get practice.

We are young, we run free.

Vote: Break Up or Stay Together?

On the jukebox: Tina Turner ~ I Aint Missing You

Attractive Aspects

Today, I have been attracted to accents.

For those who know my obsession with accents, this will not be news. I hold the belief that a sexy accent can make a person at least 54.8% more attractive in comparison to someone who has a less than desirable way of speaking. It definitely makes a lot of difference in my view. Does it change your perception of people, in terms of attractiveness levels?

It's not the most insightful conversation to speak of 'type' with regards to fancying someone. Normally will come the response "I don't have a type", or it'll be vague generic aspects that will tend to be similar for many people. I find it interesting when people do go for a certain type, or rule people out immediately if they're lacking a particular quality.

Tall or Short? Skinny or Broad? Blonde or Brunette? Fair-skinned or Dark-skinned? Long or Short Hair? Bearded or Clean Shaven?

Sometimes, I'll make strong statements like: I wouldn't want to go out with someone shorter than me, I wouldn't want to go out with someone younger than me. This are generally accepted as undesirable options in a woman seeking a man. Does it really matter that much?

Would you say there are certain physical points that draw you more to a person? Or are you not so vain or shallow? ;o)

On the jukebox: Blondie ~ Denis

Say Yes

Today, I have met up with an old friend.

In the end, it was so worth it. The evening started off slow, I imagined we'd be alright chatting 'cause we have topics to talk about, and so much had happened in each of our lives that it didn't matter that we didn't know each other so well, we could get still get along fine. We conversed smoothly and easily and if that had been it, it wouldn't have been as fun, but it would have been useful all the same and I would have felt good about myself for agreeing to the pestering to meet-up. But what made it so much better was the impromptu entertainment of the evening - unexpected events are always what make the memories.

Saturday nights on the town are so very different from a regular weekday student night. Weekend night life is full of locals and actual "grown-ups" - people who work in the city, people who visit from nearby towns, people who come down for the weekend for some sporting event or a reunion. It's odd - despite being 18+ for quite a while, and so legitimately allowed to stay out into the early hours, it still strikes me as kind of weird that there are so many people out on the streets in the dead of night. And how, it's somehow so much more acceptable to just pick up a conversation with anyone, a situation that wouldn't occur in the same place if it was midday rather than midnight. Everyone's always rushing to be somewhere during the day, in the evenings it's all about letting your hair down, relaxing, embracing the opportunity to meet new people, lend a hand, pretend to be someone else, wish a happy birthday, find out where people are from, what they're doing, where they're going - going with the flow. It's awesome how it's possible to have these totally random moments or meetings, and it doesn't seem awkward or weird at all - anything could happen and it'd just be something to take in your stride, a story to tell, a moment to reminisce - remember when...?

Ignoring the fact that I'm completely confused about some stuff, and never quite sure what I should or shouldn't be doing, it was a good night. It was the first night that I've been out with people who weren't students, though to be honest, the fact that I was four years younger than the youngest person there and the only one still in higher education didn't seem to make much of a difference. All that's changed is that these guys only get to do it once every once in a while, instead of every other night of the week. In fact, in that respect, it's sometimes more risk-taking, more daring, more fun, because they know they're not going to have the chance again for some time, so might as well make the most of it while you can.

All in all, I definitely don't regret going. Saying yes seems to be working well so far!

On the jukebox: Spice Girls ~ Spice Up Your Life

Chocolate Chat

Today, I have declined the offer of chocolate.

I don't like chocolate. Usually, this comes up quite soon in the general getting-to-know-you conversation, and it is invariably followed by the same responses.

"You don't like chocolate?!"
"What, like, any type of chocolate?"
"What do you eat instead of chocolate?"
"Have you always not liked chocolate?"
"I've never met anyone who doesn't like chocolate"
"What don't you like about it...is it the taste?"
"I can't believe you don't like chocolate!"
"I wish I didn't like chocolate..."
"That's so weird"

I don't like chocolate. How is that so hard to understand? From what I've been able to gather over the years, it's the only type of food that gets this incredulous response. Sometimes, a comment about disliking chocolate will lead to a conversation about other foods people dislike, but they'll often be met with murmurings of agreement or at least understanding. Not liking chocolate seems to stand out a lot more, I don't mind that it's seen as kind of odd, but it annoys me when people think I'm just doing it for the sake of it, or that it's just something where I'm like "oh, I don't particulary like it, but I'll eat it" and continue to offer it, or "just have a taste, it's nice!"

I don't like chocolate. I haven't liked chocolate for twenty years. It's not because I'm trying to be healthly. It's not because I'm trying to be quirky or different - I can manage that any number of ways. I don't plan on trying to wean myself onto chocolate anytime soon, there's no point in eating something I don't like for the sake of it, I don't feel like I'm missing out. I'm not a fussy eater, I'm not being rude - I just don't like chocolate! Sorry!

On the jukebox: Shanks & Bigfoot ~ Sweet Like Chocolate

Rave On

Today, I have gone with the flow.

Students are a bizarre breed. Last night, I had a bit of a flashback-from-the-future. It's weird, how you look back at how you were once upon a time, and it just seems so alien to the you that you are now. How can I have ever been like that? Did I really used to drink that much? Was it as carefree and simple as I remember? Was it really all party party party?

However much one is affected by alcohol, it's fair to say that most of the time, people are too involved in what's happening at that moment now, to take a step back and observe the situation. It makes sense - reminscence happens after the event, not during. It all seems to flash past so fast, life flying through 'til all that's left is last minutes and lost evenings. Then, every now and again, I find myself in the throng of it all. Here I am, on the sidelines of studentdom - this is what they talk about university living. Here I am, a part of it. Here I am, belonging to this unnatural way of being. I find myself in situations I could have never imagined even happening to anyone, let alone myself being connected to them. It's so strange.

When I look back on this all in years to come, I suspect that I'll remember it as a sort of not quite real, rose-tinted view of the way students are. It's part of the reason I keep this record, I guess, a kind of virtual pinch to wake myself up to the fact that these things did actually happen, it's not remote stories of someone else's life. I was there, it was real. However crazy, however random, however stupid, however regretful, I did it - it was me.

And I won't sit down,
And I won't shut up
And most of all, I won't grow up

On the jukebox: Wiley ~ Wearing My Rolex

Rock Out

Today, I have deliberated.

Forever in a dilemma, I've already paid £4 to go out with people I don't like to listen to music I don't like, in a bizarre way to try to integrate more.

So do I:
-spend £4 on taxi to and fro?
-spend £# on drinks to drown out the dire dance music and forget my frustrations?
-maybe have some kind of fun at some point, possibly?

Or:
-consider the £4 already paid as sunk costs, and keep taxi and drinks money by not attending at all?
-sleep

So really, I could be saving money by being able to go to bed early, and rest the lumpy head, itchy eyes and tired mind. Or should I spend it to rock the night out as best I can, given the circumstance, and get in the good books of the people I don't care about the opinion of, and who probably won't give a toss about whether I'm there or not?

I think I missed the student social gene somewhere. It's the end of exams, surely I should be spending every night out on the town getting trashed? Or every weekday sitting in coffee shops catching up with old friends and such? All my true friends are far away or on holiday. I had a good night last night, a good lunch out today, can I not just leave it at that and stop feeling so guilty and inadequate?

Vote before this entry disappears on the stroke of the eleventh hour:

Stay In or Go Out?

On the jukebox: Halo Friendlies ~ Me vs. The World

Uncomfortable Encounters

Today, I have spoken to all of my housemates.

Largely only in passing. It's incredibly rare for us to all be in the house together, let alone the same room. It hasn't been a bad year living together, but it hasn't been a particulary fun one. It's come to the point when I actually want to leave the room when one of them enters, just because I'd prefer to be alone rather than spend a minute in their company. I know it's my problem, I don't want to make the effort, I fuel the awkwardness. It's just slightly weird, because we don't really get on with each other as friends, if I didn't live with them, I wouldn't particulary have the desire to meet up with them. We don't have much in common is a cliché, because that's not really the reason we don't get on, we're just different kinds of people.

Households are often considered as units, it's not impossible to socialise outside of them, but it's a lot harder, especially when you don't all have mutual friends. Living with people, it's bound to be that you know them better, probably consider them your better friends or at least the ones you've known the longest. When that's not the case, it can be intimiating trying to infiltrate another household, because at the end of the day, when they all go to bed, or don't want to socialise for a bit, you'll have to make your way home alone. It's hard, showing up to a party by yourself, even if you know quite a few of the people there, even if you'll still be able to talk to people you don't know. Feeling like a bit of an outsider because they were all in halls together last year, or because they spend all their time together now, and so you can't possibly compete with how well you know them and it would take a lot of effort to try to get to the same comfortable companionship level.

Essentially, this means that often, if I want to go out, it would have to be with housemates. Housemates who will, undoubtedly, go out and spend the whole evening looking for someone to pull. If they find someone, they will immediately dump the rest of the party, who will continue to search for their own piece of meat. If they don't get lucky, they will get grumpy and as ever, will not be much fun to be with. Every time, I really have to try to psych myself up to spend time with these people, I count up the number of incidents that make the night worthwhile - the conversation with the Canadian taxi driver, the flattery aspect of having someone pay for a drink, the impromptu compliments (which are really code for I want to sleep with you, but let's ignore that minor detail), the crazy dancing like no-one's watching, the unexpected encounter of an aquaintance, the meeting of random students in the kebab shop, people completely off their face but utterly delightful with it. I have to mentally take a hold of these small moments, so I can try to ignore how my 'friends' acted the whole evening, to try to remind myself of reasons why it might not be so bad to go out with my housemates every once in a while.

As was mentioned on a comment in a previous entry - I don't regret going, but I don't think I'd regret not going, either. More often than not, when the night is over, I'm glad I went through with it, but I'm even more glad that it is over.

I'm not going out tonight.

So why are you sat at home?
You're not designed to be alone
You just got used to saying "no"
So get up and get down and get outside

On the jukebox: Frank Turner ~ Reasons Not To Be An Idiot - bought this today :oD

Passive Participation

Today, I have sat waiting, watching...

What I find particulary weird about this form of communication is how easy it is to be a passive participant. Often, blogs are more personal than simply views on topical subjects, and more guarded than a private diary. After all, it's open to the whole internet, it'd be daft to explain personal exploits in too much detail. Naturally, most people are aware of what they are saying to the world at large, and will censor their writing appropriately. But it's easy to underestimate just how much readers can gather about you from these words alone, and how it's possible to piece together a history from snips and slithers of information scattered about the place without you even realising they know. Of course, the fact that it's open to the whole internet doesn't mean the whole internet will read it. But do you ever wonder who actually does?

It's odd to think how many people could pass by without even leaving a mark. Oh, I know that it's highly unlikely that I have any more readers than the ones I am specifically aware of, but the point is, it's possible. If someone is following your conversations as you sit on the bus, you would know who could hear. If you see someone on the street, meet their gaze and immediately turn away, it would be obvious. Here, no change is seen - you could click, and click off, you could read intently and not respond. You could not read it all, and respond to only one part, and yet the assumption lies that you're always listening, you know, even if you've made no discernable signal that expresses that.

That's part of the problem. In conversation, you can judge, most of the time, whether people are listening or not - whether what you're saying is interesting, whether people have heard it before - by how they respond. You choose who to talk to, you hope that someone will listen, you give a little, you take a little. With this form of interaction, it's so easy to participate only one way or another. You could type type type and never know if people have heard, or think that no-one's really listening. You could read read read and people would never know how much you know because you never say a word. It's a bit strange.

Increasingly, I'm finding this kind of passive participation happening more in other aspects of my life. Before, you might rely on phone calls or messengers to relay vital gossip. Now, with facebook, forums and the like, you can find out intimate details about someone's personal life without ever needing to contact them directly. It's amazing how easily people give information away.

Most conversations are simply monologues delivered in the presence of witnesses.
~Margaret Millar

On the jukebox: The Feeling ~ Strange

Distressed Damsel

Today, I have been asked out.

Often, I find myself in these conflicts of interests regarding social situations. Do I want to go because I want to go? Do I want to go because I feel like I should? Do I want to go because if I don't it's just another wasted opportunity of youth and a step towards an isolated life?

Do I need to stop thinking things over so much? Yes.

Oooohww. I don't want to meet up with someone, but I feel like I should. They're only going to be in the city for the weekend, so I really should. Even though we haven't spoken properly since last time we saw each other, we keep in touch, but email just isn't the same! There's approximately one thing that we have in common - we both studied the same subject at the same university simultaneously, although at separate levels. We've only crossed paths a handful of times since our first encounter, and to be honest, I don't really get why it has been suggested that we meet up after over a year of not seeing each other. It's going to be awkward, isn't it?

"Maybe we could go for a coffee or something?"

I know, it's just a turn of phrase, it doesn't need to be taken literally, it's just a vague way of saying "hey, let's meet up sometime" but this suggestion has been poised to me three times in the past two weeks and my immediate reaction is:

1. I don't drink coffee.
2. I'm not American.
3. You don't actually want to meet up with me, do you?

On the jukebox: David Sneddon ~ Stop Living The Lie

Frickin' Hell

Today, I have sworn.

Shit! Does it make you see someone differently if they swear all the time? Hearing mothers and fathers swearing in front of, or even to, their children makes me cringe. It's even worse when the kids respond in the same manner. I got told that I curse more since having been at uni. I suppose it's symptomatic of the people I spend my time around...

At what point does swearing become acceptable, or somehow seen as necessary? It's sometimes seen as quaint to never swear, or to use less harsh derivatives or substitutes. Some words which would have caused an "ummmm, you said a bad word..." in the playdays of yore are now commonplace in conversation. Seeing or speaking these words all around me, I appear to have become somewhat desensitised to their mention - I barely even flinch if someone mentions what my ten-year-old self was told was "the worst swear word you could use" and despite the fact that it causes some disgust to hear it uttered out loud, I wouldn't necessarily think any less of the person who used it, because it's not always a means to cause offence, it's just become a staple part of the language. Of course, the literary greats felt fit to employ such vocabulary, so hey, why shouldn't we?

On the jukebox: My Chemical Romance ~ Teenagers

Gay Radar

Today, I have been attracted to men.

Until I came to university, I never really thought much about homosexuality vs. heterosexuality. Sure, I knew there were gay people, and naturally, some people I wouldn't be surprised to discover they were attracted to the same sex, there was speculation and experimentation but never widely known or accepted. Now, the boundaries seemed to blur a little bit more, with facebook and starting afresh and growing up into yourself, it's interesting to discover who's what and where now. It is gossip-worthy, always, to find that someone from school has turned out to be that way inclined. Some it's so obvious, some not so much.

To be honest, it doesn't seem to make a lot of difference. Some students will have sex with literally anything. Games like "gay chicken" and simply getting so drunk you don't care what parts they've got down there, just so long as there's something to do? It's often seen as a bit risqué to push the acceptable lines of behaviour, but I'm of the opinion that sexuality isn't so clear cut as people like to believe, and it's come to my observation that challenging the conceptions of pre-defined ideas of acceptablity isn't really all that daring. Gay or straight, ugly or gorgeous, these concepts have little effect, because half the time they're all so sexed-up, confused and yearning for attention and affection that it's all the same. And you can always wake up in the morning and blame it on the drink.

It seems that attraction needn't be so gender-defined. If you fancy someone, the first hint of attraction is not usually because they are one gender or another, but because of the way they look, or how they act. An infectious personality can be attractive no matter what kind of person you're into, and while you may be repulsed by the idea of sleeping with someone of a certain sex, I think it is still possible to cross the line of merely 'fancying' them, in a sense, even if it's only in an admiring and enviable way. What I don't really get though, is how it's alright to cheat if it's with someone you're not officially attracted to, as long as they are the opposite sex of your partner. Well, kissing has come to be seen as not such a serious cheating offence anyway. Hey, if you're drunk and your boyfriend's not around, it's okay to want to satisfy your sexual needs to a limited extent, right? If there's obviously no feelings there, it's just a bit of fun?

The thrill involved with doing something unexpected - kisses needn't be a consequence of attraction, or expression of desire? You hug your friends, you hold hands with your friends, why not kiss your friends, too? And if you're a gayboy, of course, what a perfect excuse for you to lull girls into a false sense of security... Well, if it turns into something more, you can always plead bisexuality and ultimate confusion. And then, if it doesn't, that's because you're gay, innit. In fact, it makes perfect sense for guys to pretend to be gay - get all the girls without the guilt.

I'm not really sure how it got to this point.

On the jukebox: Nightmare Of You ~ In The Bathroom Is Where I Want You

Holding Hands

Today, I have consolidated relationships.

It's weird, how you can know someone for so long, and not know some of the most basic facts about them. The last few days have involved more new knowledge and experience than the last few weeks put together. Learning is a strange concept, information seeps in so readily, that sometimes you're not even aware of how much you now know. Until you look back and realise, if you asked me those questions last week, I wouldn't have had a clue.

Due to exams and revision and intoxicated apres-exam afternoons, not many people have really been up for heavy nights out. Instead, we've spent time in bars, restaurants and pubs, sitting and talking about anything that crops up. About gap years, about sixth form, about siblings, about partners, about parents, about history. Adding an extra dimension to complete the character profiles, discussing beyond the usual utilitarian conversation. Those evenings are far preferable to drunkenly falling about on the sticky club carpet, with friends only attending so they can spot talent on the dancefloor.

Meeting new people, it's easier to chat in an environment where you're not shouting to be heard. Would I be too much of a weirdo to say I prefer talking over kissing as a means of getting to know someone? It's nice to meet safe bets, as well. People who you know aren't trying it on or trying to network, but genuinely do want to speak to you because you're fun and interesting. Pretentious philosophical conversations under the stars and skipping down the street holding hands - in a way that is only acceptable if you're under ten years old, or alternatively, pretending to be under the influence of alcohol - this is what student life is about.

On the jukebox: James ~ Destiny Calling

Split Shift

Today, I have felt shuffled about.

Here. There. Home. Back. Leave. Return. Coming. Going.

The first few weeks of my pseduoholiday are reasonably diary-filled. Summer sees another influx of birthdays, as well as belated birthdays (due to exam constraints), along with the general "we have nothing better to do than drink" mentality that comes with end of term, meaning there's rarely an excuse not go out of an evening. The student life, eh? There's also the other summer celebrations that roll around and the odd one-off events - charity runs, family gatherings, theatre trips, weddings, music festivals, visiting long-distance friends, holidays.

All in all, there's lots to look forward to, so there should be no complaints merely because there's so many opportunties avaliable. The problem is, with so much choice, and the fact that my life is split into two places, it is difficult to decide upon the right course of action. A 21st birthday celebration up here, but a friend in need back there. One of my friend's birthday party clashes with a theatre trip - the tickets for the latter were booked months in advance. It's a cousin's confirmation; there's a wedding I've been asked to work at. The one evening uni friends may be visiting my home town in the summer, and I will be out of town. Being booked tickets for the best musical in the history of the stage, and having to give them up, because I am on holiday. Tough life, eh?!

Along with all the awkward decision-making that every double-booked day involves, there's the inevitable guilt attached. There's the booking public transport appropriately, spending a evening here, squeezing in a sleepover there. Going out 'til 3am, getting the bus five hours later, only to return the next day, and the next week repeat the routine again. Some people could take it in their stride, thrive on the buzz of being a busy social butterfly. It exhausts me, just contemplating it and trying to work around everything, whilst being there for the people who need me, not letting down the people I've already confirmed and somewhere in the midst of it all, finding where I can fit it what I want to do, and not just because I should do it.

On the jukebox: Ocean Colour Scene ~ The Day We Caught The Train