Mega notgoingtohaveableakattitude

SO, that pesky 2011 is almost upon us. I do believe I am ahead with uni work, so no need to blart on about that. I feel really priviledged to have the opportunity to do my MA, so no more being ungrateful. Promise. Maybe.

I think my big "NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION" is to be more compassionate. I'm upping my stance on being a vegetarian (much to the horror of all my meat-eating chums I am sure). It is something I have felt increasingly passionate about in past months and I need to start doing more. More I put, nice, big, warm fuzzy feeling you get out, yes?

I'm really rubbish at making resolutions. They are never original. I mean, I'm never going to learn Mandarin Chinese or clean my car on the regs, so what's the point in saying I will? I wish I was better at not lying to myself. Perhaps that will be my half-hearted attempt at a resolution.

I think my other thing I want to do in 2011 (almost typed 2091 then and that's a long way in the future so I suppose I might have learnt Mandarin by then) is SEE MY LOVELY FRIENDS MORE. Big month coming up with graduation and starting a new job AND knuckling down to more work, so I think friends are going to be more important than they have ever been. (They have always been a priority after all). Looking forward to graduation immensely. good and bad faces will surely appear, then hilarity will ensue. Hopefully people will visit me too. GOOD to have balance. Atlthough the hospitality of Stoke will just about stretch to an oatcake and numerous plays of Robbie Williams' greatest hits. "Pride of the Potteries", etc.

Anyway, adieu.

Cold but optimistic.

December is a new month and therefore time to turn the page and write something NEW, something a little more positive perhaps? One can try. I am quite aware my posts are more on the macabre side than a sunny happy one, but who is happy all the time and if they are, it isn't legal.

I am two assignments down and roughly about six more to go. I felt a little uplifted by finally cracking my workload into workable amounts and then getting it done and actually feeling PROUD was a fleeting moment of warmth. However, it's about time I got cracking on my next piece about the Tragic Muse and eighteenth century art (feel free to give me ALL the answers on a lovely little postcard). So much work takes your mind off more dreadful things at this time of year. Christmas is a time of witty anecdotes to hide the less festive cheer you may feel. Fairy lights has masked any of my not-so-festive cheer and I am smiling and being positive even in the face of so much snow. Not going to the library this week has really made me suffer and made me think that if I was not trying in vain to complete a Masters, then I would be really struggling to not DO anything academic. Quite crushing really.

Work experience with old kids starts next week. I am really looking forward to it actually as it will be another step in the right direction really although I might have to read a couple of books so it looks like I know what I'm doing.

Fingers crossed.

You're everything I never needed and nothing that I've always wanted.

Black hat and boots.

Today was a bad day.

I feel like I'm not going to achieve what I wanted. Sometimes the pressure seems like it's going to spew out of me in any way it can. I've never succumbed to pressure before and I feel like I am full of the stuff right now.

Wearing all black only exacerbated the situation. I liked it.

Everything I write has no conviction. I feel like I am in an endless vaccuum and I can't for the life of me get the words out in the right order to get out. I can't even write a plan.

WRITE or RIGHT. Painful choices. Teething and growing into something I hope I can get over. Accomplishment is a distant thing right now.

Coleman, B., Story.

If I don't write a book before I die, what would have been the point in reading so many?

Hearing and listening are not the same.

Hearing news that you don't want to listen to is bad. Listening to news, but not really hearing it, is a sign that you are lying to yourself.

I need to write another letter.

Turning the page

Starting the next bit is exciting, daunting, terrifying, a piece of exploration, opening a little door, just to let in the light. I want to start writing, writing reams of information. The reassuring feeling of pen on paper. The formation of a point. A question. Resolving your own problem.

I want to hit the wall and get over it. Self improvement and achievement. Citing yourself as an intellectual when you know it's bullshit. Coffee and discussion.

Missing the feeling of being an undergrad. Elated to be a postgrad. Still unsure of where to go after. The doors feel like they're closing, but how can they be? It's still the beginning, surely. When you don't know what's on the next page, do you try and second-guess?

Blink.

The look in your eyes makes me crazy.

Trains.

A backwards glance. A forwards smile.
Turn the page. Another look.
Check the time. Almost there.
Another smile. Depart.

Thoughtz.

If I melodramatically burst into tears when I am alone, what does it achieve?

When does life get good again, sans complications? When do things get easy? They don't. When do I stop thinking about every fucking thought over and over until I feel the pressure in my head begin to take over. I don't. When is it time to quit being so idiotic? When is it time to quit? When is the time to stop asking questions? Remove question mark.

I don't want to hear the words of my mistakes, but it cannot be healthy to keep them in. I want to know that I am doing things for a good reason, but no one ever knows that. Where's the magic answer, where where where.

There are epic days ahead.

Don't just stop now and try to give it all up.

So let's do it; do it real good.

Collection point A.

Retrieving my belongings from Derby is an arduous task which I do not want to do at all. Good and bad memories. Most of all, it is "The End", a concept which I am altogether far too comfortable with and tend to just brush off as if it doesn't matter, when really, it's a bit more important than that.
If I am warm, I will cry. Therefore, I am cold. Dignity.

Cork and board.

Creating a new frame for the memories I have thus far is fucking depressing. Why is it that when I set about creating something like this, my shuffled music is always somewhat more morose than usual. It seems to save them all up so that they come out in a bundle of sadness and thought.

I keep everything in the vain hope that one day I will throw it all away and be rid of it. The good and the bad. I never do. I keep it longer. The job at hand gets sadder. Escalation in the highest hopes and format.

The little things remind me of him.

Blogging

If I lived without blogging for this long, why start now?

Why not?