Caught Up

I hate it when I set out with all good intentions of doing something regularly (some may say religiously, I however try to avoid all references to religion unless I'm showing how weak those religious fools are), and never actually sticking to this resolution, as it were. This blog started out as somewhat of a diary almost, and yet I've not posted anything for 20days now. However, I make no excuses, merely intent on making up for it.

At the moment I find myself caught up amongst emotions; some say I should fight, others scream flight. It seems as though I have willingly led my lamb-like self to the slaughter (just like those Christians) by walking straight into the place I once called home. It is an awful feeling that takes over you when you hear your own mother crying down the phone to you because you do not want to stay at her house at Christmas. It is an even worse feeling when you turn up saying you will stay, and see her face light up with excitement and happiness, and yet not too far below the surface of your optimistic exterior, you know that what you both hope for is a falsity, because a happy family does not exist. To have a happy family, you need a family first.

No Place Like Home...

They say home is where the heart is and, it would be assumed that all students' hearts, especially undergraduates', would be at their parent's houses; the place they grew up, were fed regularly and had all their washing done for them. Mine however, is not there. Nor is it at a relative's or a friend's. My heart is sometimes at my boyfriend's, but I don't long to be there this Christmas, as I know I'll only impose on his family. Not even Lancaster is calling to me all that much. No, my heart is elsewhere. Some distant place, yet unvisited by me, it calls to me like a pack to their brother,wandering lonely in the snow. The lights are shining; as is my heart.

The Trouble With Life Is...

...That it never quite turns out the way you hoped. The best laid plans of mice and men just don't quite come off. I find myself at the point now where I cannot turn one corner without colliding heavily with some aspect of everyday life that I would much rather avoid. Things happen and the worst is said, and yet I still try to keep a level head that rises above all others. At the moment I am trying to fix a broken friendship but it's not working in my favour in that I can't get time to see her. I have work to do that I just don't seem to be able to find time for. I have to find somewhere to stay at Christmas or stay at University for the holidays. There is always something in my way, but one day the barriers will be broken, and I will come through.

What Is Sense?

Having not slept on Monday night, one would expect I'd be out like a light on Tuesday night. Which I was, at 21:30. However, I made the mistake once again of not locking my door, though this time, as my flatmates were being noisy, I had my headphones in and on full blast so I couldn't hear a damn thing. And, being the bastards that they are, someone decided they would come in and leave a post it on my head. Did I wake up? Did I shite. Now, I might have found this funny had I not found a chicken carcass in my bin on Monday afternoon. So, Christmas spirit hanging round me, I wrote my flatmates a happy note:

KEEP OUT OF MY FUCKING ROOM

UNLESS I INVITE YOU IN.

MERRY FUCKING XMAS.

Ode To Sense

What is Heaven but a place,
Imagined by the helpless faith
Cascading through the minds
Of only those of weakest kinds?

Men of England, thou lack comprehension:
Ye believe in most undesirable intentions;
Yearning for honour in the afterlife,
Searching for an escape from desirable strife,
Discarding human instinct and desire,
Throwing man's freedom down into the mire.

Heaven is a realm for Plato’s Forms:
True visions of ships and perfect storms,
The very essence of colour and sound,
No mortal multitudes to be found.
But this men, is not reality for ye,
For truth is in the beauty of the sea,
The love of friend and abhorrence of foe,
Creativity spun from amidst your woe.

What is heaven but a word of demise,
Intended to abolish thoughts so precise
As these that state the harsh cold fact;
The Church so sly has formed a pact
With the incompetent Castlereigh;
Ye shall not return to faith this day.

Creativity

I'm not sure I currently possess the mental capacity to type anything remotely coherent at this moment in time due to two very important factors:

1. I'm still drunk from last night
2. I haven't slept yet

I get the distinct feeling that perhaps neither of these form the basis of a good plan. However, I feel that the two are necessary evils as, without them, my Creative Writing course would not have been celebrated efficiently enough! Not only did I drink myself sober, but as a group we sang All The Small Things on the karaoke at Saints, then moved on to Cuba where we danced the night away! All in the name of Mollie, our lecturer! NA NA NA NAA NA NAA NA NAA NAA NAA!!

Fortune

We all experience ill or good fortune at times in our lives, but when it's a continuous stream of negative happenings, you kind of wonder if someone is taking the piss. The last real stroke of fortune I had was being accepted at university, but it was difficult actually getting there. Both before and after results day, nothing seems to have gone right and, true to form, Mr. Bad Luck came knocking at my door last night at 2am in the form of my flatmate saying the boiler was broken. No hot water. No heating. Flat like an ice box. This kind of situation in the middle of winter, on the 1st of December, does absolutely NOTHING to awaken my long forgotten christmas spirit. Although, I suppose it must be said: c'est la vie, such is life.

Cunning Plan...

Ok, I've come to the reasonable conclusion that every time my lecturer sets us freewrites to do, I don't do them. So, as it looks likely that I'll be on here every day, I intend to do my freewrites on here instead. Good plan, good plan. :D

*~^. .^WolfiE^. .^~*

Random Freewrite

I knew it was over when he whispered regretfully in my ear 'I shouldn't be here'. What a fool am I to think he would wish to be in my arms, in my bed? perhaps next time I should ask, dear sir, if one wishes to be in said vicinity and at which stop on the sexual block one wishes to alite, sir. I'm sure we all have moments in which we wonder what it was that we were thinking at the time, and I must assume his pulling down of my little pink knickers was quite possibly one of them. And yet, it is only upon looking back at such moments in time that we realise the non-sensical approach we often have toward life. And perhaps, if one should stop looking back, one may well live void of regret. If only human nature would suppress memory at key points, such as his finding out the condom, maybe I would stop writing about how he may have felt or be thinking and instead be midway through assessing my own thoughts on the matter and also why I'm using him to avoid approaching them. The Perils of Adolescence are once more in the scaffoldings of my workings.

Fear

I am failing to comprehend just why my mind's irrational behaviour has increased over the years, and even more so since my arrival at university. As a child, my only real fear was spiders, and that was based on my mum's fear of the quick little buggers. Once I hit secondary school, a new fear had presented itself to me; bridges. Gephyrophobia took hold of my life, and why? Because as a child my father had dangled me from bridges by my wrists or ankles. Though quite why my mind decided to wait until secondary school to remind me of just how awful bridges are, I know not. And then, as I hit my teenage years and had my first real boyfriends, I found my urge to reproduce overwhelming. I became very maternal, wanting nothing more from life but to have my own family. But with this came the fear that the thing I wanted most, I may never have. The very thought of not being able to have my own children makes me want to break down. Of course, there's always the option of adopting, but that will never compare to the feeling of having my own child growing inside me, and then holding my child's tiny frame fresh from the womb.

The weird thing is, these fears seem to be reiterating themselves, as if I've forgotten them. My mind has apparently begun this process with spiders. I panic now when I see them. I freeze, I sweat, I feel sick, I cry.

Fear; it's a strange old thing.

Minky

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Introduction

Well, here I am. Casually listening to UB40, waiting for my flatmates to get back. And as I sit here I can't help but wonder what they'll bring back with them. I don't mean gossip, nor do I mean any material object. What I ponder is will they bring back a new aspect of their own character, or some emotion that wasn't there before. I know this isn't clear, but then, when have I ever spoken in anything other than riddles for you to decipher?