Oh my! I haven't been on here in a while, have I? I can't really be bothered to write a long entry, but I will summarize what has happened in my life since I last posted.
Did lots of revision. Had a slight nervous breakdown and went home. Emailed my tutor, to the effect that everyone in the English department will now probably think I am mentally unstable, talk to me in a soft voice and look at me with big sad eyes when they walk past me in the corridor. Got medication, felt better. Returned to uni.
Did more revision. Because of lack of sunlight/social interaction, started to resemble Gollum, hunched over my desk in a dimly-lit room muttering things about Wordsworth to myself.
Did exams. Floated up to exam hall on cloud of bliss after imbibing a little too much Rescue Remedy/Kalms tablets.
Finished exams. Went on three-person bar crawl but only ended up making it to two bars. Got IDed seven times due to looking about twelve. Went out clubbing, had barbecues, lazed about watching television and generally doing nothing.
Went home because I have to work. I have to commute to London five days a week, which means getting up about 6. Feel busy and important sitting on the train, dressed in my smart clothes, amongst dead-eyed suits staring at newspapers in despair. I don't know how much I'm allowed to say about my work on here, but I'm sure it's safe to say it's actually quite fun and that the free three-course lunch every day makes it more than worth the effort.
Got my exam results in a congratulatory letter from the head of the English department: a first-class honours in every module and 77.5% overall. This was the 'third-highest average of students of my profile in my yeargroup'. Not sure what that means, but I'm quite happy to interpret it as 'third best student in the year' - at least that's what I'm telling people! Anyway... That made it all worth the stress. Hard work pays off, kids.
So currently I have little money and even less time, but I am happy and having fun, and enjoying the amazing weather and carefree summer vibe. I've even been writing a bit. I'm considering beginning to publish my new story on FP, since I'm thirteen chapters in now, and if it turns out the plot doesn't work I will just kill off all of the characters in a spectacularly violent finale and end it all.
It's a bit strange: people keep giving me advice that most people would love to hear, and yet I am incapable of following it.
My mother: "You need to do less revision and have more fun!"
My doctor: "You need to eat for England and put on half a stone!"
I know what you're thinking: "Are you crazy? You've just been given a legitimate reason to slack off and eat like a pig!" So why can't I do it? The answer is that I can't help it. I'm a neurotic freak. I can't have fun with my friends if I think there is work I should be doing, and I have an irrational fear of putting on even a single pound. I suppose I just like to control things.
We often say that our gang at university is a bit like the cast of a sitcom, I think mainly because there have been so many love triangles and dramas amongst us. In this sitcom I would be the 'the neurotic one'. Before I go to sleep I often make a list of things I need to do the next day, to stop myself from worrying about them. These lists often start: "8am: wake up. 8:15am: eat breakfast."
Don't laugh. The great thing about starting your to-do list with "wake up" is that, unless you die in your sleep, you will always manage to complete the first thing on your list. After that you are unstoppable.
Anyway, moving on. Yesterday I was doing some revision for my Seventeenth Century exam, and I stumbled upon a passing reference to a woman in an article I was reading. Although she was only briefly mentioned, this mention leapt off the page at me. She seemed like an incredibly fascinating person, and her life story was both very cool and very, very tragic. It stuck me that she could be the main character in a really good novel. I tried to find out some more about her, but there's barely anything on her. She's an enigma. Sadly, I don't think I'll ever be brave enough to be able to write a historical novel: not only would I find it near impossible to replicate seventeenth-century dress, manners, culture, speech etc. without being laughed at by historians everywhere, I just can't get into the head of an overweight fifty-year-old widow (for that is what she was). So the novel will never be written. But I'm not going to tell you anything more about the woman, just in case I do decide to tackle her story one day. I don't want you to steal my amazing idea, you scoundrel you.
I have completely gone off the idea I had for The Novel. It had absolutely no substance. I'm thinking of sticking to what I know and writing a novel about a university student, set entirely in the university library. At night. Sounds dull, doesn't it? I was thinking of making it kind of supernatural-psychological-magic-realism...y. With lots of sarcasm and humour, since that seems to be my trademark. I don't know though. The trouble is that once you publish a certain kind of novel, you have to be consistent. That's why I couldn't write a historical novel. I might be able to get away with it once... But then I'd have to do it again, and again! I can't keep up the sham of knowing stuff about history for that long! I know jack all about history!
One last thing. In times of darkness and revision, a little comic relief is always helpful. I decided to read through some of my very first novel, which I wrote when I was about thirteen. It's your typical "adventurer gathers together party of mages, warriors and rogues and travels across generic medieval fantasy land to defeat evil overlord" story. My heroine meets a Hot Guy, finds out Hot Guy is actually the son of Evil Overlord, and then defeats them both using the powers of LOVE and FRIENDSHIP, which are harnessed by (I kid you not) holding hands with her friends Captain Planet style. I practically wet myself laughing. Here's an extract so that you can wet yourself laughing too.
The man continued. “We both have power…you and me…think what a team we would make! We could conquer – we could control everything! You and me, and our powers…think…”
I rolled my eyes. “Please, have some self-respect.”
He said nothing, only carried on staring, pleading. I pointed a finger at him, and he flinched as if I had hit him with a physical force. “Take hold of my arm,” I instructed to the girls around me, and felt four hands clamp around my outstretched arm without question. I took a deep breath and grinned as the magic exploded inside of me, and I felt this tingling energy rush from them to me through their hands, where it was building up inside of me, simmering and burning like a star, getting greater and greater, overwhelming. I began to deliver my final speech.
“You are nothing but evil, greedy and power-hungry; this house is far more than your vile family ever deserved for the things you did. Yet instead of accepting this great kindness, you continued in your evil, ungrateful, destructive ways, lying and cheating and deceiving innocent people to help you achieve your selfish goal – but of course, you will not achieve it. I suppose you thought you were very clever, preying on young girls and risking their lives so that they could do your dirty work for you, but unfortunately for you you picked entirely the wrong girl. I would never be on your side, or help you, or even spare your pathetic life; the only thing you deserve is to be destroyed. You will be missed by no one.”
From the passionate terror welling up in his eyes, I could tell that he could feel the intense force of magic building up inside of me as well. He scrambled back up the steps, keeling over his throne, clammy hands gripping onto the wood and he begged with me silently and audibly to save him.
“Please…” he began an a quivering voice, “my son is a Protector, and I am…you can’t…”
It was time. “Goodbye,” I said, and then the power erupted.
With a mighty roar like a thousand raging thunderstorms colliding in the sky the blinding light surged from every inch of every one of us and exploded from my hand, not letting a single corner of the room escape from its burning fury, hitting everything in its path with the force of a gale or a crashing tidal wave, formidable bursts of magic coming again and again, tearing through everything in the room with unbridled wrath. I heard the man’s short but agonizing wail through the ear splitting roar as the magic blew him to millions of pieces, and I felt the power slice into the ceiling of the house and tear apart the rafters with a groan, crashing through into the sky above, even penetrating the very clouds. This destructive power was flooding into me through my feet, and it was as if I was sucking it from every inch of the room and then unleashing it through my hand as a golden onslaught that was a million times more devastating. Though I could not see through the overwhelming light I knew that the house was collapsing around us, and I felt splinters rain down on my head, heard china and glass shattering, walls crumbling, wood bursting into flames – crackling and crashing and splintering and groaning and screaming filled my head, but I knew that there was nothing to be scared of as we continued to blast the evil place, purging it of everything worth destroying.
Ahaha. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Ha.
And if I am now a competent writer (I like to think I am - I hope that's not arrogant) then there's hope for anyone!
It's really amazing, the things you can find to occupy yourself with when you have lots and lots of revision to do. These things include:
Going out to M&S to buy 'revision fuel'. Returning with half the store. Inviting people around to eat all the food you have bought, since it is far too much for one person.
Going out for a 'quick coffee' with a friend. Returning with shimmery hairspray, tanning moisturiser, bathroom cleaning products and 24 felt tip pens in various colours (why?).
Watching an awful movie called 'Ninja Assassin' which involves every Chinese/Japanese stereotype you can possibly think of, all rolled together with some awful scriptwriting and industrial amounts of red poster paint ("blood").
Actually talking to your parents.
Actually doing the washing up.
Bouncing on your bed with your housemates and attempting to take photos of yourself striking poses mid-air.
Baking a GIANT cake that is the exact same size, and decorated exactly the same, as your Romanticism anthology. This included painting on the front cover in food colouring, and took us about 3 and a half hours. Our justification was that it was for a friend's birthday. We didn't even get to eat it though, because when we took it to our friend's party in a local bar, they didn't have any knives to cut it with. "We're not allowed to keep knives behind the bar," the girl told us. "If you want to bring your own in though, that's fine." You what?
Taking up running. Yes, I have become a runner. My first run was a bit of a fail: I went out and returned home an hour later sweaty and exhausted, having pulled every muscle in my body, wearing no shoes and socks covered in blood. No, I didn't get my shoes torn viciously from my feet by a pack of enraged foxes. The shoes cut into my feet, so that I had to take them off and limp home. I also think I swallowed several flies. However, I went out and purchased a pair of disturbingly expensive Nike running shoes, which means that I nowhave to go running to offset the cost.
Designing an elaborate door sign with my name on it, in swirly letters with chalk pastels and gold leaf, then deciding after two hours that it's rubbish and throwing it away.
Fake tanning. It can take a surprising amount of time.
Shoe shopping. Enough said.
This is all I can think of for now. However, I'm sure over the next few days I will discover many new forms of procrastination, so I'll be sure to fill you in.
Might I add that revision is killing me? At least with an essay you have a word count to work towards, and once you've hit it and polished your essay to a good standard you can relax. With revision there is always more you can do. And it's not even interesting, because it's stuff you have learnt already and just forgot. I love Great Expectations but reading it for the third time, Mr Dickens' jokes are starting to get a little tired.
I think my cat has noticed my distress, and this morning tried to console me by bringing me a dead bird and sneezing its feathers all over the dining room. It was not appreciated.
Today is a beautiful spring day. It's crisp and bright; my window is open, and the sunlight is shining through the glass and warming my back. Our neighbours' grandchildren are in their garden, playing and laughing. Sounds of freedom. I am sitting at my desk, working on an essay. As I have been doing almost every day for the past two and a half weeks.
I'm so fed up. All I can think about is essays. I've finished one and started on the second. Yesterday, I decided to skim through the two books I'm writing about and look for useful quotes. I thought it would take a couple of hours, but it took all day and I still didn't finish. At about five o' clock I was still working away, even though my head hurt and my eyes were bleary - I thought I had to be almost finished, but when I looked at the book I was not even halfway through! I got really angry. Then, upstairs, my dad started snoring. I was suddenly infuriated by the fact he got to have a nap while I had been working all day, and it wasn't like I was nearly done because I hadn't even started writing the 5,000 word essay. I was so infuriated that I had this sudden desire to lash out, and so I raked my fingernails down the book I was reading so hard that I left tears in the page... And then I almost snapped my pencil in half and threw it across the room but managed to restrain myself.
I think I've got anger issues!
I'm just so, so fed up and depressed. It's the holidays but I can't enjoy them. I've been arranging to do things with friends, because I need to unwind, but I can't appreciate the things I do because I'm constantly thinking, "I should be doing my essays right now - how am I going to get them all done?" The silly thing is, I know I will get them done. I always do. But I always feel like I need to sacrifice my sanity to do so.
Anyone got any advice? How can I stop being so angry? I don't want to destroy all my books in sudden psychopathic outbursts of rage. In the meantime, it's back to essay number two... I have written about 700 words but as usual they are all absolutely awful! Hm, maybe eating more chocolate will help.
I literally think I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
This afternoon my friend was driving to Asda and I asked to tag along. Asda on a Saturday is a scary, scary place. If you're not from the UK and don't know the stereotype of Asda, this satirizes it pretty well. I felt like I was about to break down in tears in the middle of the aisle because I couldn't find what I wanted and everyone kept bashing into me with their trolleys and there were some really scary people in there, parents literally screaming at their children and a woman talking very loudly about her husband's extra-marital escapades...
It was traumatising. I have never felt so pathetic and middle-class in my life. I felt like people were looking at my basket of asparagus tips and Jordan's Country Crisp and wensleydale with cranberries in absolute digust, thinking, why don't you just go back to Waitrose huh?
Today has been a weird day. One of those days when you feel like you haven't achieved a thing, and might as well go into hibernation.
I woke up, and read a bit. Some guys came to fix our TV aerial. Then, I edited my Andrew Marvell essay again, but then got bored of that. Then... I can't remember what I did. I browsed the internet for a bit, refreshing Facebook over and over again as you do, and cut the music for a tap dance I'm teaching. I decided to read a bit more (Fruit of the Lemon by Andrea Levy if you care). Then I decided I was tired and felt sick (I've eaten nothing but peanut butter and jam sandwiches for several days and am starting to feel like my insides are dying - hello student life) so I went to sleep.
I woke up and it was dark. All my housemates were gone. I was sleepy and confused. I felt lonely and depressed, so ate a block of wensleydale cheese to make myself feel better. It didn't work.
So I watched a random old episode of Life on Mars. And... I am still depressed and lonely and confused. I think I'm going a bit crazy. I haven't been to a lecture since Tuesday... I really need to get out of the house. Tomorrow I think I'll go to the library. I don't know, I guess life doesn't feel that exciting at the moment, and there's nothing that inspires me to write. I'm just limping monotonously through my degree, as usual...
I've been living in my student house for a week and although term doesn't technically start until tomorrow, I have been so busy that I haven't been able to write or update my blog. Now is the first chance I have had to sit down properly.
I'm not doing brilliantly on the resolutions, but not for want of trying. I applied for a job but they never got back to me about interviews, which took place yesterday with a few more this evening. I am not joining the gym because they have put the price up and it's too expensive for me. However, I will be doing a lot of tap dancing this year, which will be good exercise. I haven't been able to write every day but I plan on starting tomorrow.
On the plus side, I enrolled in German classes and have been put in the advanced class! It's two hours a week. I'm a bit concerned because I haven't spoken the language in so long, but the tutor said I would be surprised at how quickly I will pick it up again. I have been eating much healthier - no pizza, pasta or frozen chicken kievs yet! I made an immense toad in the hole yesterday. As for being nicer to people, that is going very well. We had a house party last night which I will tell you about now.
If you've come here from my FictionPress profile, you might have read my story the Healing Properties of Tea. In one of the chapters I describe the 'typical' student house party, in which people dance with kettles on their heads, punch holes in the walls and fall asleep on piles of shoes covered in ketchup. This, I admit, was a bit of an exaggeration for the purpose of humour. Things like that happen sometimes, but when they do it's a big deal, and everyone laughs at the person involved for about a month afterwards. It's not the norm.
Our house party was very busy: my housemate O invited a lot of people (it was her birthday), and it turned out to be a lot more than our little house could actually hold! We tried to herd people down to our creepy cellar, which we decorated with cheap Ikea rugs (now ruined) and fairy lights, but it was too damp and cold and no one liked to stay down there. Instead everyone tried to cram into the living room and kitchen, to the extent that you basically couldn't see the floor/move, and there was a massive queue for the toilet. Most people just chatted, so drunken antics were to a minimum. There was only one horrendously drunk boy who stumbled in uninvited, already pretty much gone, and proceeded to spend most of the night standing in the kitchen with his torso slumped across the kitchen worktop, throwing up in our sink every ten minutes. I honestly have no idea how so much sick can come out of one person. His shirt was covered in stains - it was so humiliating. Why would you let yourself get like that? Even worse, we couldn't find anyone who knew him. At about 2am one of his housemates appeared and dragged him out of the house, at which point everyone cheered. He's not invited back, that's for sure.
Nothing much else happened, but I talked to so many new people, where usually I would have sat in a corner with people I already knew. You find yourself getting into such strange conversations ("Yeah, my friend's cat has cat AIDs, it's not allowed out the house!" and "I dropped my phone down the toilet...PRE-FLUSH!") but it's very entertaining. We invented a new code which enables you to talk about someone at the party without them realising, basically by referring to them as Frank Sinatra the whole time. I have no idea how this came about, but I must have received some strange looks when people overheard me saying, "Guys, Frank Sinatra fancies me but I don't fancy him back, what do I do?" They must have thought I was delusional. Oh my gosh, the aftermath though. We had three friends from home over to stay, and this morning I was the only person who woke up in the correct bed, in my pajamas; everyone else fell asleep fully clothed. There were bottles, cans and popped balloons everywhere, and our kitchen floor was black with dirt. We put on S Club 7 and danced around cleaning, and now our house looks presentable again.
Overall, I've been at uni for a week and it feels like so much longer. Already I've made several new friends, caught up with old ones and grown closer to people I didn't know that well last year. My housemates and I (O, M and A, the only boy) have become like a family. We'll huddle in my double bed watching TV, sit around the table eating fajitas, pop down to the shops or even go ice-skating together. I hope this continues throughout the year, even when people start to get bogged down by lectures and workloads, because it's really helping me to come out of my shell. At school I was basically the Invisible Girl, but uni is really starting to change that. It's an amazing experience.
Well, I have to go, because I'm going to see Fame with my friend from tap. I'll update this blog with something writing-related soon - and hopefully get around to some writing too!
Third-year English Literature student; twenty going on fifty. I love baking, cats, afternoon tea, Classic FM, second-hand bookshops, hats and boots, creative writing, pianos, tap dancing, and anything that could be described as 'quaint'. But most of all, I love books.
