Well rested.

I have spent the entire Christmas period being as indulgent as humanly possible. I have been lazy, as well as busy with cooking and wrapping and tidying. I have eaten rich foods every day and though I am pretty sure my body is screaming out for a salad and a fast I will only consider such a thing after New Year’s Day. I have drunk copious amounts and stayed very merry, very warm, sleepy and happy. I have snoozed in front of the telly, with the fire roaring and my family all around me. I have given and received lovely, thoughtful gifts. I feel very full, and rested, and peaceful. 

And I have not written, for a blog post or any other means, for longer than I can remember. I have done that a lot this year. If I were a field, I would be letting myself grow fallow. But now I have itchy feet. I have taught myself that although slowness and time to think and be is invaluable for the soul, I have other things to be getting on with. I want to be busy and creative and excited for as much of my life as possible. I just needed to stop to reaffirm this. I am extremely lucky that I could even consider such a thing. But off we go again!

The little things.

There are much more important things going on in life than worrying about the quality of each cafe you go into, but if life is about enjoyment and pleasure where you can find it then caring about the little things sometimes goes a long way.

I currently work in a cafe. I have worked in two cafes. The experience for each has been quite strikingly different. It means that when I go out for a meal or a drink I accidentally find myself closely observing the service. I think many people in the industry do the same, particularly if their own place of work holds a high standard of service.

This has started to sound nit-picky and snobbish, but here's the thing - in any industry where the producer, worker, creator, or server really cares about every little detail of whatever they are selling the experience for everyone involved is much greater. This is pretty basic, obviously, but this includes the quality of social interaction which in turn improves the mood of a person who will then be able to spread that good mood wherever they go.

How do I say this without sounding wishy-washy?

In my experience at my current workplace, I feel happy and energised with and by people even after a 10 and a half hour shift. The food is of a high standard, the service is of a high standard. I care about the customers and the business I represent because I am a well-looked after employee who is proud of what we sell. Even down to a mark on the crockery, or the placement of cutlery, everything is looked after. This makes it sound like a posh, stuck-up place. It's not. It is completely relaxed. We just all really give a shit about everyone's experience of the place. It is not just a money-making motive, it is caring about a nice place run by nice people making nice experiences for other nice people. Because life should be, wherever you can get it, filled with enjoyment and pleasure. Even when you're at work.

The customers are nice, most of the time (sadly some people refuse to be pleased), and our interaction with each other is energising. I smile all day. I laugh a lot. I make sure people are having a good time. I get things wrong, I get frustrated, I get tired, but for the majority of my working hours I feel happy. And the thing is, it takes nothing at all to make somewhere that good for both its employees and its customers.

I am currently sat in a different cafe and I was served tea in dirty crockery and my food was forgotten about, followed by a weak apology. And it's no big deal, really, but I can't help thinking what a shame it is. Why not just care about the little things and make someone's experience really lovely? It takes nothing.

It takes nothing, but a smile, enjoying something, feeling pleasure, and sharing that enjoyment, smile, pleasure with others- is that not everything?

Twenty-two

I think this year might have been the first year that I have not felt sentimental about my birthday. Previously I have reflected on the year that has passed, and the year that lies ahead. I have written 'birthday resolutions' and made diary entries the night before and the night of, like ringing in the New Year except it is my personal year starting from my own first day on earth.

This year I didn't feel the need for such sentimentality. I spent the day and the weekend before it with people I love doing things that make me happy. That was all there was to it. I didn't feel the looming weight of being another year older, I just turned 22 and that was that.

Perhaps this is a sign of being a 'real adult'. Perhaps it is a sign of learning to stay in the present, learning to enjoy it as it is happening rather than dwelling on it after the event. Perhaps I will return to sentimentality on other 'big birthdays', ages which we mark with significance like 25, 30, 40 and all the decades to follow. I can't imagine those ages yet. Twenty-two is all I know.

Twenty-two. How about that.

Life is happening.

I have a heaviness in my heart and I can't quite put my finger on it. Well, actually I can, it is about the future. I am still hung up on it. I am still unsure of how to deal with such uncertainty. I crave the structure of my life that I had up until this moment.

I feel much more scared than excited. I am scared of what the future has to mean. It has to mean loss, sadness, and grief as much as it means opportunity. When my life changes, as it inevitably will, what changes with it? What do I have to lose? I feel like I am trying to keep myself suspended in the present so as not to have to deal with what comes next. The present is good, but at some point I have to move forward and I am terrified of the consequences.

The consequences are not necessarily bad. My life can fit back into itself with whatever changes occur. The people who love me won't disappear, I won't be catapulted away from them or they from me.

I am also struggling with the concept of what I actually want. The answer is I don't have a clue. I seem to have convinced myself that I need to make a decision right now about everything that will ever happen in my future. I am cushioning myself against things that might not ever happen, because I am afraid of the pain it will cause. I want all the pain in my life to be done with. I am worried that a good life involves no pain, that pain is a waste, and that if I make the wrong decision and I feel pain I will have ruined my twenties, my thirties, etc etc.

Everything I do in my life right now I feel the need to ask some authority figure, i.e. someone who is not me, if it is okay. Are the quiet moments I have and love okay? Is seeking one life over another okay? Is resting okay? Is this fear okay? Am I okay?

I fear regret, pain, grief, loss, change, 'wrong decisions'. But I cannot let this paralyse me. I must move forward. I must let life happen, because life is good and I cannot just let it pass me by.

The unbridled joy of pets.

I haven't written about my cat yet. I have a cat. We have had him for a month now and he has brought each of us unbridled joy every day.

I had forgotten that pets can do that. I haven't had a pet since I was about 16. That pet was a hamster called Hiccup who was, in fact, the sweetest hamster in the world. He also never failed to bring us unbridled joy despite being incredibly small and asleep in his cage for a lot of the day.

The pet before that was Tickles the rabbit who, to this day, I still dream about. Without any exaggeration she was the loveliest, naughtiest, friendliest little rabbit I ever met. Tickles became a member of the family because as a child I was poorly and she was a special gift to keep me company. And, without fail, brought us unbridled joy everyday and I loved her very much. At nearly 22 years of age, 10 years on from her passing, I still miss my little rabbit quite dearly.

Perhaps it is the unconditional love you have for a pet, and that you hope in some way they have for you. Perhaps it is their constant calm, their constant pursuit of play and comfort, their constant ability to be both extremely naughty and cute and annoying. Perhaps it is knowing you are never alone in the house, there is a little companion hiding somewhere. Perhaps it is friendship and trust across species. Perhaps it is the sense of responsibility and dedication involved in looking after a pet. Perhaps it is all of that which is so constantly lovely.

Alby, our kitten, is very loving and very cheeky and very clever and very cute. I did not know I needed him and I'll be the first to admit I resisted getting him and that I had a secret prejudice against cats, but here he is and how endlessly joyous it is.

It's been a while.

Hello. I hadn't realised how long it had been since I had last written. My mind has been whirring in its worst way. Obsessive, unhelpful, pointless thoughts churning round and round and round. There is such a thing as overthinking, and I do it.

I am still in that limbo of life. The past still close enough to mourn its passing, the future still so far away I can't see anything in it. And yet knowing full well that both exist only in my mind, especially the future, I obsess over something entirely without substance.

Sometimes when I feel like this I feel as if I have floated away from earth into some faraway corner of my head. The world seems distant and unreal as thoughts about events that haven't happened cloud over everything. It is quite hard to anchor myself back down, my mind floating up and up and up.

I want someone (myself) to scream "Now is the only thing happening! Now is good! Pay attention to now!" because now is going to disappear and I will regret floating away from it.

This is why I haven't written. Writing plants me in the now, and I have been too cowardly to properly find an anchor. But here I am, I am bored of my mind. My overthinking has tired me.

Back to reality, I hope.

Expanding

I used to write quite brazenly about my political views or the political news of the day. I suppose as a teenager those thoughts don't get filtered and it is a new and exciting thing to be able to form an opinion about something and share it with the world. But now writing about the divisive, bizarre, confusing politics of today seems, as I've said before, exhausting. Hats off to those who have the energy to work it out and put it into words.

Not only is it exhausting but, at the moment, I genuinely don't know what to think. What I thought I knew and understood is changing for me. I am having new conversations where the opinion differs from mine and we have to work out a path to each other's understanding. And in turn, like I have said before, this is making me stop and think and re-evaluate.

To be honest, I am having to admit to myself that I don't know enough to form a solid opinion. I am also learning that some opinions are not, and should never be, solid.

I feel like I might be repeating myself here but it is such an enormous thing to learn and I am so fascinated by it. To notice one's self growing and expanding in adult life is so different, somehow much more unexpected than it was when I was younger.

So I am taking my time. More time to observe, more time to think. It is really quite nice.
                                                                   

Conversations with myself.

I find myself writing much more frequently to this blog than to my diary. I like that way of saying it, "writing to", rather than "writing for" or simply just "writing" because it often feels like a conversation. I guess all writing is. I may not get a reply in return, or know who it is I am writing to, how large or (let's be realistic) how small the number of recipients is, but I know that in some way I am having a conversation.

In some sense my diary is also a kind of conversation, but with myself. I write to my future self and to the imagined self I address every time I start an entry. Maybe I even write to children who don't exist yet who might find the diaries when I am long gone, in a kind of narcissistic, morbid way. But I write much more carelessly because the audience or the recipient of that conversation is far away or even entirely imaginary. And now I am writing more and more infrequently because I don't have much to say or I find it boring, sometimes, to list the goings on in my life. I have noticed that when I am sad or distressed I have a lot to say to myself, but when I am happy I don't feel the need to explain or describe it all. Maybe I have grown out of it. Maybe I don't want to face a writing which is so secretive and honest because I don't want to find something in my subconscious which is unhappy.

I write this blog with honesty as well, but in a much more structured way. I think a lot more about what I am going to say, I want it to be written well, I want it to be understood. It is not an incessant record of heartbreak or frustration or confusion. It is a much more interesting conversation, even if I might really be having it with myself.

I suppose the other reason for writing a diary is to remember things you might otherwise forget. But sometimes I don't want to force myself to remember pain, and sometimes I am having so much fun, or I am so contented, that I don't want to come out of the moment and write for a future self I do not know.

But I will always want to remember the thoughts I had when writing to this blog. Often it is braver, more interesting, more telling, than the private things I can only tell myself. It is much less lonely, I suppose, to write to another reader. And no matter whether they respond directly to me, knowing my words are taken in, knowing I am part of a larger conversation than my own, is an undeniable comfort.

Fluffy and cosy.

I have just bought a new pair of jogging bottoms. They are so cosy and warm it feels like my legs are being hugged. In a good way. And now I am tucked up in my brand new bed, with a candle burning and the sky turning grey and I can't help thinking that I was really, really looking forward to this.

Funny, isn't it? How we (this might be quite specific to Brits) crave the warmth of summer all year round until suddenly August has gone on "a bit too long" and sweaty nights with the windows wide open letting all the creepy crawlies set up homes in your room is to be done with. The sooner autumn can come the better. Let the people snuggle indoors with fluffy blankets, for crying out loud!

Maybe I am speaking only for myself. I always find the transition of summer to autumn quite hard. I wish it to either be one or the other so that my goodbye to the hotter months may not be so sad or prolonged as I think of all the things I did, or didn't, do. Like summer is always a hot fling you grow fond of, always knowing it can never last, and that final transition causes a minor heartbreak. Autumn brings new smells, surroundings, cosiness, different food, fires, actually being able to cuddle in bed rather than lying as far as physically possible from your partner. Autumn is a distraction from the sad end to summer and is so full of life, albeit a life coming to its end, that the darker days don't seem quite so depressing as they might feel in February. And, as we all know, February has absolutely nothing going for it.

So finally, after months of sweating and throwing the duvet off, I am cosy and warm in my bed and it is blissful and great.

Outrageous.

I don't really know how to respond to the news of the week. I am too tired to be outraged. The news that reaches us through the media is nearly always bad but now everything has that little tinge of being completely bizarre. I have no idea what is going on. My Government and Politics AS Level has been of absolutely no use to me. I am starting to admit to myself that some of my political stances were sometimes subconsciously based on the most popular opinion. Not in a necessarily unthinking way; I am inclined to agree with policies that are non-exploitative, support the needy and are not self-serving for a lucky few, but I did find myself getting outraged by things I had absolutely no proof for and often quite little understanding.

And now the Amazonian forest is on fire and our Prime Minister is on some sort of power trip because he's decided he can't be bothered to manage any deal for Brexit. I understand that much. I'm just quite tired of it all. What can I do? The constituency I vote in is a safe seat for a Tory MP who I don't trust and don't like. Not that that matters anyway because no one I know (surprisingly I don't know any Conservative party members) actually voted for this Prime Minister so apparently it really is just a bit of a free for all when it comes to democracy. And by "free for all" I mean it's really brilliant for the very small amount at the very, very top and a bit shit and pointless for the rest of us. I might be being a bit defeatist here but at this point the only option may as well be to sit back and watch it all crash and burn. I have signed the petition to stop the early prorogation of Parliament but that has currently made me feel about as useful and powerful as a dry wet-wipe.

God, maybe I am outraged. Maybe I do understand in as much as you can make sense of what the hell is going on. I need to re-evaluate and refresh how I form political opinions, I need to be careful of the information I read, hear and see every day but I can also give myself a break because apparently no one else has a clue either.

In the future

Imagine being able to live in the present all the time. To be someone who can think of only what is directly in front of them, taking in every surrounding of the current moment. Are there people who can do that? Who don't spend hours worrying over tiny little details of a hypothetical future?

How does one just completely know and see themselves in the present? I am certainly old enough now to know that the future is never how you imagined it, that the future is and always will be entirely made up. And yet I obsess over it.

What if this or that happens? What if I never do this? What if I can't do that?

What a silly thing to worry over the future like that and not notice every great thing happening right now. Maybe one day I'll get over it, in the future...

Clearing out.

I have been clearing out my room to make space for my new life in it. My adult life. Likelihood is I won't be able to afford to move out of my family home for a while and so my parents are kind enough to house me until I can finally flee the nest.

So I had to do this clearing up to allow myself to feel like an adult rather than a teenager surrounded by the forgotten objects of her childhood. Okay, not so forgotten. I am a sucker for sentimental memorabilia. I couldn't bring myself to throw out my extensive Doctor Who collection so it now resides in a box under my bed. But it's funny how we apply meaning to literal 'things', how it's a slight thrill to purge all the useless crap you've collected over the years.

A new beginning means a blank space is needed, somewhere to fill with new memories, a new self. I have not completely wiped the slate clean. Parts of my life are still represented by material objects placed around my room, but it feels pretty good to finally let go of that year 10 science book I felt ridiculous sentimental attachment to a few years ago. Its in the back of my car ready to get recycled at the tip. I guess that makes me feel a bit more grown up...

I am learning.

I am learning to listen to opinions that I do not entirely share. I was bad at it before. I felt so intensely emotional when politics came up in conversation, or online or on the news that I had to switch off. It made me bubble up inside with anger and despair and I didn't have room for it. If someone had a different opinion I didn't want to know. It felt irrational, and I never quite understood it, but I didn't have time to question or challenge it.

Now I do have time, and I am learning not only to listen but to love. I am learning tolerance and acceptance. I am learning the flaws and problems on my own side of the argument. I am learning to question and challenge not just what others think but what I think. I am learning that love is far greater, far more important than what someone casually thinks about the means of achieving equality.

I am learning that my opinions are valid but not static. I am learning that it is okay to feel intensely and okay to need to switch off but that it is never okay to shut down. I am learning that listening and talking and compassion and empathy wherever possible is the way forward and if that cannot be achieved something is going wrong.

I am learning and I am loving and it is good.

Holiday blues.

Coming home from a holiday is always a funny experience. You've spent however long it was suspended from reality in some beautiful place distinct from your own home and then, suddenly, you have to launch back into the swing of things. It's even weirder when the holiday bridges the gap between one chapter of your life to another. In this case I went to Italy still vaguely clinging onto my status as a student and I've come back as someone who is... unemployed.

I feel nostalgic and displaced. This isn't like every summer before where there was something starting in the autumn, so every free day was a precious paradise away from responsibility. This is... well I don't know what it is.

Of course, it is exciting. The world is brimming with possibility and opportunity and the unknown pathways of my life start from here. But before I went on holiday the possibilities and choices were far enough way they still seemed attainable and now, back to reality, it all seems a bit out of reach.

There was also so much going on before. So many big milestones and adventures and challenges. And now what? I'm still trying to process it all. That's why I haven't written for a while. Couldn't get my head around it. I still don't think I have yet. So I guess it will just have to be a summer of working things out.

Mad or brave?

I’ve written a play. Well, it’s the play I wrote last year. The same play. Only, this time, I’m doing it on my own. In less than two weeks. In a London fringe theatre. 

I have never done a one woman show before, not least one that I have written or one which concerns my personal experiences. 

I am so scared. I keep wondering if I I’ve actually lost the plot. Was I sober when I planned this? Was I thinking straight? What if I get on the stage and just burst into tears? Or, worse, I dry up completely? 

With a cast behind you, to interact with, to rely on, they have your back. You dry up and they come in moving you onto the next bit or covering over silence. This time I have nothing. I dry up and I just have to stand there, gaping at some poor audience wishing they were somewhere else.

This is an enormous challenge I have given myself. I wrote this play when I felt very sad and very alone. And now I feel much less sad and much less alone. Frankly, I feel almost like a different person to the girl who wrote that play. I'm even in love with someone! So I am tapping into some of the worst things I have ever felt, revisiting them, and acting it all out. It’s actually a fucking bizarre experience. Actually having to act yourself, but a different self, someone you once were. 

On Thursday I had a rubbish rehearsal. My poor director sat with me for a few hours whilst I went through every line without any feeling, apart from dejection and a sudden dip in confidence. I had the very terrifying thought that maybe I couldn't do it at all. I'd tricked myself and now it was too late to do anything about it. 

But, then again, I have got to trust people's belief in me. No one so far has told me to stop before I embarrass myself. They've said "cool!", "well done!", "how exciting!". Unless everyone I know hates me and would like to see me suffer in a theatre above a pub for a few nights, I think I should trust their judgement. 

Bad rehearsals happen, they just feel more spectacular when you're the only one performing. I may be completely mad, but I have a feeling it will be okay. 

And having said all that, come and see it? http://www.draytonarmstheatre.co.uk/loneliness-and-other-adventures

Whatever happens next.

It has been a week since I finished my final exams and my degree as a whole (a week!). 'Freedom' isn't quite what I thought it was going to be. I have been so tired that my average bedtime has been 10:30 pm on the dot. My emotions keep swinging wildly between relief and excitement and a sudden, overwhelming dread of the unknown that is to come.

What am I supposed to do now?

I feel like I am existing in a liminal space. Floating between two different parts of my life, waiting for graduation to cut the cord between me and the comfort blanket of education.

I feel a bit aimless, or without something to anchor myself to. I haven't got a fancy grad scheme set up for September, just the strong desire to write and create as much as possible. Really, that could mean anything.

I'm not complaining. It is a wonderfully exciting space to be in. But also terrifying. And weird. For now I am just floating, pondering, curious about whatever happens next.

Hello.

Hello. I'm here. 

It has been weird not writing for a while. I mean, also I haven't noticed. I've been crying in libraries and spending hours cramming information in my head. You know the drill. 

I haven't had much to say. Well, I could tell you quite a bit about Greek tragedy but my expertise is limited to a formulaic answer to an hour long essay question. So I won't bore you. 

But I just wanted to say hello. I'm still here. I'll be back soon. 

Hope you're well.

Outside world.

We do not live in isolation. I sometimes worry that I have not interacted with the outside world enough in a day, or a week, or a month.

Times like this, when I am revising and stuffing information into my head, I want to ignore the outside world because it is full of information I cannot handle.

Like, I just got myself into the deep dark hole of a Men's Rights Activist comment section. I came out shaking and potentially having lost some brain cells.

Sometimes I regret venturing into the outside world.

But we do not exist in isolation. We share the same world as people who think denying rape culture is a legitimate political movement.

I can become a better person by learning patience and tranquility in the face of wilful and aggressive ignorance.

Compassion is key, even for those who make you angry. We become ourselves through our interactions with others, good or bad.

But sometimes, I really do regret venturing into the outside world.

Nothing to say.

I feel awful for not having written a post for two weeks. I feel awful for no one but myself. I think the world can keep on turning without my blogposts.

But it feels like breaking a good habit. A good routine. Even now, when I have nothing particularly interesting to say it feels good to put words to a page. To work out something, if anything, to write about.

I am busy, to be fair. I could write about Extinction Rebellion or the beautiful weather or the Notre Dame or the peace I felt yesterday sat by the river Cam in the sunshine. But my mind is reserving its energy for my finals. I must think Greek tragedy, Shakespeare, close reading, and feminist criticism.

And then it's done. I can think for myself again. Exams are a place to think for yourself, but in a very, very narrow way.

I have a huge list of books to read when I have finished. I can read them for myself and for no other reason. For pleasure. And then, I'm sure, I will have more to say.

It will go.

Have you ever felt that inexplicable sadness?

It is not painful, it is not overwhelming. It is just there.

Perhaps it makes you cry. Perhaps it makes you need to be held. Perhaps it makes you want to put the saddest songs you know on and wallow.

There is no rhyme, no reason in this sadness. It is what it is.

Sometimes the world is sad. Sometimes humans are just sad.

It will go tomorrow. Or in an hour. Or just before you go to sleep.

It will go.

Sometimes sadness is just passing through. It is good to sit and notice it. It is only fleeting. Inexplicably so.

Writing to you formally.

One of the things my dissertation supervisor keeps saying to me is that my tone needs to be "more formal". I am always surprised by this comment as I wasn't aware it was anything but.

To some extent I understand why there must be a standard of formality in academic writing, especially when it is being assessed, but unless the tone devolves into a register I would use with my friends in the pub I'm not entirely sure what the problem is.

You see, I don't think I will ever get the balance between my "own unique style" and something which is, in my mind, stiff and "formal". We are asked to be creative, to use our own voice, but only in the most minute sense.

And, from my own experience of being bored to tears in the library by academic writing, a lot of it could do with a better writing style. Say what you want to say, as long as you back it up with the right evidence, but have fun with it. That doesn't mean it can't be serious, it just means the reader can get to the end of a sentence without continuously nodding off.

Here I am, writing more formally than I normally do for a blog post about not wanting to write formally. I am taking a short break from my dissertation. It appears to have got into my head.

Just to say.

I cannot think of anything big or profound to say. I have spent all week trying to sit down and write a post and everything felt wrong or silly or useless. I used to think that everything I posted should be loaded with meaning, loaded with impact or importance, as if that could always be the case. A little naive, perhaps.

But now I always go back to Norah Ephron when I think about writing posts or about blogging in general. She wrote this:

But the other point I want to make is that getting heard outside the world of blogs occasionally requires that you have something to say. And one of the most delicious things about the profoundly parasitical world of blogs is that you don’t have to have anything much to say. Or you just have to have a little tiny thing to say. You just might want to say hello. I’m here. And by the way. On the other hand. Nevertheless. Did you see this? Whatever. A blog is sort of like an exhale. What you hope is that whatever you’re saying is true for about as long as you’re saying it. Even if it’s not much. 

And it is so reassuring to know that I can just tell you all right now this little thing:

I am sat on the comfiest sofa in the house, looking out through the large glass doors at the garden. The light outside is a greyish yellow, and drops of rain patter delicately into puddles on the patio. All the yellows in the garden seem illuminated by this yellowy light as the sun pushes its way more strongly through the clouds. The daffodils, the moss in the grass, a yellow blossom in a tree at the bottom of the garden, the seat of my old swing. And then to contrast, deep and lovely purples in the flower bed nearest to me. And it is all lovely, and I am really calm.

And I just wanted to share that with you.

The planet is dying.

I have this underlying anxiety (and anger) that I repress every time I see a news article about the state of the planet and its failing climate, every time it is warm in February, every time I see an image of a dying polar bear, or an empty Amazon rainforest or really just every single time I think about global warming.

I have to repress it because otherwise it is overwhelming. I once heard that if we were exposed to the direct effects and statistics of global warming every day we wouldn't be able to emotionally handle it. I have no evidence to back that theory up, but I feel enough to know that it is probably close to the truth.

I have to repress the anxiety and the anger because as an individual there is extremely little I can do. I can recycle properly, use less wasteful plastic, try and reduce my consumption of products from corporations which contribute the most to pollution and waste, switch lights off, use the car less. I can do that, but I am tiny. My impact is tiny. How do I know that everyone else is doing it too?

That's the other thing, I am so angry that the blame is put on the ordinary individual, that the responsibility is put to the public. How can I be responsible? I am not old enough to be responsible for this! I wasn't there! I wasn't born!

I want something radical to happen. I want these huge corporations forced into stopping waste and pollution, I want universities and companies to divest from oil companies and invest in research into the alternatives, I want governments to enforce sustainable energy sources and ban damaging behaviour like those bloody individually wrapped food items which are already in plastic packaging before you get to them. I just want something to happen.

But I don't think it will. Will it? Is everyone, and by everyone I mean governments and huge corporations, just going to continue ignoring this?

And so I repress it. The anger and the anxiety. They live humming below the surface now I think for most people, the people who have been told off for using straws as if that is the singular issue at hand. Naughty public! Buying into all of the conveniences we sold you at a disastrous price we were fully aware of but kept the truth hidden anyway, look what you've done!

Who is to blame? Where do I go? What do I do? Who am I supposed to scream "JUST FUCKING DO SOMETHING!" at? Who's even really listening?

Last Moments

I am in my last full term of university. We call it Lent term here and for two years it was a tiresome eight week struggle through bad weather and bad essays. Now, I have only two weeks left of Lent term and I find myself wishing it could stretch out just a little longer.

Time works so strangely in this place that all at once it slows down and speeds up so that eight weeks feels like half a year and nothing at all. I am sure I have done a lot this term but I can barely remember. Last week feels about a month ago, and yet each day has gone by without me really noticing.

I have spent two and a half years in this place wishing time would speed up and now I find myself trying to go back and collect the memories and the moments I wasn't thinking about. Why wasn't I thinking about them? I want time to spread out so I can go back and forward to the present and comprehend everything I did, everything I felt. But it has all been so fast and slow and there is nothing I can do about it.

Now I am having Last Moments and they are all tinged with a happy sadness. Almost nostalgia, but not quite. Currently I am sat in my college's beautiful library with its perpetual smell of dust and old books and I am remembering all the times I wished I could leave and do something else. But now I wonder how many times I have left in this lovely old room, and how much I should be savouring it. I know that in only half a year's time I will be thinking back, the latticed windows and high ceiling and uncomfortable wooden chairs suddenly becoming figments of my imagination. Things that only exist in my memory, and not just a walk down the long corridors from my own bedroom.

Of course, these last moments will go by quicker than any other now that I know the finish line is so near and the next part of my life awaits. But, still, I will cling to them even on the sloggish days, even when it rains, even when I really could just do with nipping home for a bit. Not long, now.

Sleep

I am a really good sleeper. Honestly, I am a champion of naps and lie ins. I can sleep pretty much anywhere if it is in the middle of the day. For some reason I am less good at sleeping at night when you are actually supposed to sleep. If I get into bed at, say, two in the afternoon I am out like a light. If it is eleven at night and I am exhausted I can lie there for hours, my mind whirring like an annoying machine.

Perhaps then I am not so good a sleeper if I sleep at the wrong times. Sleeping in the day does have its drawbacks. Such as, ignoring all the tasks of the day.

But, there is something completely delicious about sleeping in the warmth of the day knowing that everyone else is busying about and you are stealing an hour wrapped up in bed. I like to think that this is one of the ways I am fulfilling my status as a student. Apparently day sleeping is frowned upon in the real world however, so I'll have to enjoy the liberty of napping whilst it lasts.

The wind and the rain.

The wind blows so strong and fast today and it rains intermittently. It rains almost exclusively when I am cycling. The wind is so strong and uncertain, coming from all directions it possibly can, and the rain is so cold and each drop feels like a personal assault. I resent my bike and it being my only means of transport.

I want to get off my bike and kick it and then cry. And then call my mum for no reason other than to express my discontent. Why does expressing my discontent to my mother over the phone feel better than anything else?

It is hard to cycle in strong winds because my legs and the bike are sometimes not as strong and neither of us are sure which direction we are pushing against. You have to push harder and today I do not have the energy.

I’m reading a book for an essay. It’s by Ali Smith, it’s really good. In the opening of the book the narrator describes Saturday nights as a child and I feel nostalgic and sad. I remember Saturday nights being long and full of good tv and nothing needed doing. Now everything needs doing all the time.

Why does no one tell you that adulthood is relentless?

Or maybe they do tell you that, but when everything seems long and nothing needs doing it is hard to listen.

Today I want everything to stop and I want to feel like nothing needs doing. The pleasure of ticking something off a to-do list, however, is almost orgasmic.

Most weather is fun in its own way. But the wind always puts me on edge. It’s like there are strong winds inside of me (don’t laugh, I mean in my heart and my head!) and I cannot rest. I feel this almost every time it is windy. Even the sky is restless.

And yet, nothing will stop today. It will be in motion, everything, all day, in all directions. It is hard to move in all directions. So I will stop and try and stand my ground and wait. I think tomorrow, or the next day, when the wind settles, I will settle too.

Equality does not mean entitlement.

It is interesting what equality means to the individual. I do not think I always consider equality as an individual, but as a part in a whole. The whole is varied, intersectional, complex. I am a tiny part, but my participation is valid, everyone's participation is valid. But where I exist in this whole is different from where others exist.

I have more "equality" than others. Meaning, I am more privileged by the social structures I live in than others who are underprivileged, or oppressed. My equality does not mean existing in the exact same way as the most privileged parts of this whole, it means the space I occupy is respected and equal to the space they occupy. Sometimes that means giving up space for another part, or sharing space. Equality does not mean entitlement.

There is a woman and non-binary hour in the small gym in my college. One hour in an entire week to attend without the presence of men. Not all women and not all non-binary people need this hour. But some do. The hour exists because some (a lot of) women and non-binary have been harassed, assaulted, attacked by men in environments like the gym where their bodies are on display. Their bodies are not on display for anyone, but exercise is hot and exercise means movement. Some women would like to exercise without the possibility of being in the direct line of the male gaze. Some (a lot of) women and non-binary feel, because of the messages society sends, because of sexual threat, because of personal experience, that they are not always physically free. Sometimes the presence of men, regardless of their individual goodness and kindness, does not make a woman feel physically free.

Some men (not a lot, but some) have argued that this is discrimination. No. This is equality. This is making sure everyone has the space, everyone has the time to feel safe and to enjoy exercising in the gym. One hour.

The whole is bigger than the individual. No individual is the same. Some individuals have less privilege than other individuals. It is the responsibility of the individuals who have sway, who have privilege to create space for those who do not share those privileges. Sometimes this means giving up the space that you have, because you do not need that space. Sometimes this means giving up an hour in the gym so that those who do not have the privilege to go at any time and feel safe and comfortable can go as well.

The hour in the gym is real but it is an analogy. It applies else where, everywhere. Equality does not mean entitlement.

Responsible blogs.

I wrote an essay this week about the relationship between freedom and responsibility in writing. I focussed on blogs because at the beginning they did, and to some extent still do, represent a completely free and democratic platform for and practice of writing. But I got stuck when I thought about the responsibility of blogs, what is it?

Is it now the responsibility of bloggers to keep themselves free from commercialisation, from advertisements and dominating corporations? Is there a responsibility to maintain that democracy and that freedom which was so exciting at the beginning (when I was a baby)?

Is there a responsibility to a readership to provide constantly interesting content like a magazine or a tabloid? Is there a responsibility to keep up the niche of the blog, to resist straying from a theme? Is there a responsibility to say something of use?

Or is the responsibility to keep writing no matter what? Sometimes it will be useful and insightful and beautiful, other times it will be nothing. But the writing is still there, the freedom is still there. No one has to read it, that's the beauty of it.

Blogging is golden, really. I believe that. And we are responsible for whatever it is, whatever it means, whatever we are sharing with the world. And responsibility is good, I think.

So boring.

Sometimes life is insufferably boring. Despite the entirely random possibility of my existence, despite my astonishing aliveness, I can still be bored.

Boring bits don't always seem to exist for other people, even though they almost definitely do. No one is bored in films or books because they skip the things that would be boring. You never actually see anyone in a TV drama brushing their teeth for exactly two minutes. I find cleaning my teeth boring and yet, often, once I have finished cleaning my teeth I have nothing else to do. At least brushing my teeth gave me something to do.

I often wonder if the celebrities I like to admire have also sat in a doctor's waiting room for 45 minutes, or if they have accidentally stared at their phone for for an entire hour refreshing the timeline every five minutes for one new tweet. And, despite being bored of this process, have managed to stay in the same position for so long their hair from the shower they never got dressed from has now dried into some greasy, knotty mess.

I wonder if other women spend whole boring hours of their life in compromising positions in the bathroom plucking hairs from places they can't even see. Whole hours. At least it makes the time pass. Sometimes time is so excruciatingly boring I want it to pass quickly.

And yet it is a miracle that I can even experience time passing. It is phenomenal that I have the ability or even the desire to brush my teeth and I dismiss it like it is nothing. Time is passing and it can pass as slowly as treacle dripping from a spoon and I am lucky enough to watch it happen.

It is random and wonderful, even, that I can feel boredom. I can feel everything! I can choose to give myself an activity, no matter how mundane, when I decide that time has become uninteresting.

Life is insufferably boring at times. Life is insufferable, even. But how wonderful is that? How bloody wonderful is that?

Worry.

Worry really grips your heart, doesn't it? Whether it be full-blown panic or the impossible idea that you might finish your dissertation you can be completely paralysed by it.

It takes a lot to overcome worry, to let it slip away, because that means an acceptance of the worst that could happen. But it also gives you the momentum to move forward.

I spend a lot of my life in the grips of worry, if you hadn't noticed. I can worry about everything and anything given half the chance. I can worry about symptoms of horrible diseases I definitely don't have, I can worry about my appearance, I can worry about the mess in my bedroom, I can worry about my family members getting into accidents every time they leave the house, I can worry that I'll die without finding a partner, I can worry that I am not good enough in literally any situation. I can worry, that's for sure.

Essentially I worry about everything that is beyond my control. Natural, I guess, but I often surpass the average person's capacity for worry. Sometimes I think I have actually gained a skill in worrying. I am so good at it.

But there is that moment when the thing I was worrying about happens, or it doesn't, or I eventually come back to reality as I release myself from that paralysing grip around my heart when I think "none of that was worth it, was it?". It is so exhausting to worry, it takes up all of your time. I am so physically tired out by it. Worrying is harmful. No one ever felt better after an afternoon spent worrying they weren't good enough for romantic love (for example).

And then I'll worry about worrying. I shouldn't worry so much! Stop worrying! You mustn't worry!

God, I'm so tired. I really must stop worrying.

Hold out your hand.

My mum keeps telling me to hold out my hand whenever I am scared or worried. I come to her to tell her that something is wrong, or that I am frightened, or that I am not believing in myself. She just says "hold out your hand and keep the thought there. Just hold it out from you and let it be."

I still have not held out my hand. The thoughts I have brought to her are still very much in my head, still making my chest tight, still making my whole body tense up. I am stubborn. I do not want to believe that I can push the thought away. Sometimes I cling onto the thought because it feels so real. If it is not real then all this energy is for nothing. If I do not worry then the thing I am worrying about will actually happen. I can't hold my hand out and let it be!

What I really want is for my mum to make the thoughts go away without me actually having to do anything. I want her to tell me everything will be fine and I want that to be true. I don't want to have to be in control of my thoughts because often it feels like they are happening to me and I can do nothing about it. But I am very much in control of those thoughts. If I were not in control, I would not be actively letting them continue in my head instead of holding out my hand and observing them, then letting them go.

I think that my worrying is a way for me to try and control what does and doesn't happen to me but really it does the opposite. If I was better at letting it all be I would definitely be happier. The constant tightness in my chest, the active listening to negative thoughts does not feel good.

But panicking and worrying are such powerful, overwhelming things. It is so hard to listen when your mum says hold your hand out. How ridiculous, that will never work. It does work though, doesn't it? I really must get better at listening to what she says.