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