Let’s talk!

Well, this is embarrassing.

I feel a bit sheepish, like an apologetic boyfriend shuffling back to his furious girlfriend after an argument. Or like when you call your teacher ‘mum’ and everyone laughs while you go a red and feel like a fool for the next hour.

Hi! It’s been a while hasn’t it. How are you? Almost two years is a long time to leave a blog unattended, isn’t it? I can only apologise and offer pitiful excuses. …I was just so busy! And I needed to wash my hair that day.

I’ve just spent the last hour updating almost everything on this site to reflect changes that have happened in the last two years, including my age. It’s weird to think that I’m not 21 anymore. I sometimes have to really concentrate when people ask me how old I am because I can’t quite come to terms with the fact that I’m moving towards the age where people expect you to get your life together. I feel like my life has got even less together over the last two years. 23 isn’t old by any means, but it means that I’m getting closer to the ages where I thought those big life markers might fall. You know, moving into your own place, dream job, meeting that special person, marriage, kids, the whole shebang.

But here I am, resolutely living back at home to finish my Masters degree, with the same job I’ve had since I was 16 that I still think of as my ‘holiday job’, and emerging from (or still wrapped up in?) a heartbreak.

So here I am, typing words on the screen, hoping that self-medication by writing is the answer. Today was just one of those days: too many swirling thoughts and emotions, so my personal Pensieve has been resurrected. Help me through my almost-quarter life crisis won’t you?

Bare with me, we’ll get into the swing of things again soon!

 

Now playing: Change Your Mind (Stripped) – Jack Vallier

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HOOVERGATE

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mad as a Hatter.”

‘Mad as a Hatter’ was the writing prompt for today and this incident immediately sprung to my mind. It’s something of a legend in our friendship group. Allow me to share it with you. But be warned, Lizzie + rage = swearing, if you’re overly sensitive to that kind of stuff maybe this post isn’t for you!

Now, if you know me even a little, you will know that I’m not an angry person – you can find me in the easy-going, ditheringly cheerful category. The sort that needs supervision in the kitchen when handling knives; on my second ever day at university I sliced my thumb on a tin of beans. Blood everywhere. No beans for Lizzie that day :(

There’s some background to why rage is particularly out of character for me, now to the event.

Last year, I was living in university halls with my brand new and awesome friends aka, my Canterbury family (LOVE YOU GUYS!). Any of you jolly splendid people reading this who have ever lived in halls know that they’re not the most soundproof of places to stay. You have to be pretty tolerant when your neighbours make noise as chances are, a skype session with your family of what seems like a decent volume to you, could be torturously loud for the poor soul living next door. As a student, you are wary of your volume, so you turn down your music slightly, but not too much because your mate next door likes to play guitar at half 11 at night and you CAN HEAR ALL OF IT.

On the night of the incident in question, I was already tired, I had a couple of assignments due soon and so had been working on them all evening, so when it was a reasonable time to call it a night (so after the thought process of ‘is 9:30 too early to go to bed? …maybe. I’lll leave it a bit longer’) sleep came on stealthy wings and transported me to dreamland where I was perfectly happy and comfortable.

And then it happened.

3am rolled around. My flatmates got back from an evening ‘working’ in the library…they keep strange hours, I know. They made noise and a helluva lot of it. They ruthlessly dragged me back to reality with their jeering and it disrupted my snuggles. I was not a happy bunny. Not at all. Bitches don’t interrupt my sleep!

But this was fine, I’d certainly made my fair share of noise late at night after a couple of drinks and they hadn’t flown into a frenzy then.

A couple minutes passed and I thought the drama had subsided and was drifting back to the land of unicorns and Channing Tatums but oh no, this was premature.

A certain house mate of mine by the name of ‘Louis’ had been locked out of his room by our dear friends ‘Joe’ (from a couple of posts back, remember?) and ‘Carl’ and decided that the only thing he could do to remove them from his room was to TURN THE HOOVER ON.

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I know!! I don’t understand! Did he think he could use the suction of the machine to suck them out?! I have no idea! Clearly it was the stupidest idea that anyone has ever had, so needless to say I flew into a rage and exploded from my room like an arrow loosed from a bow and poor Louis was about to feel my wrath.

“What the FUCK are you doing?!?!” I screeched mercilessly in his poor unsuspecting face. “It’s 3 in the morning and you’ve TURNED THE HOOVER ON TO GET THEM OUT OF YOUR ROOM?? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!?!”

Needless to say, Louis shat himself and Joe and Carl emerged from his room looking pretty sheepish. They all mumbled apologies and left me to stalk back into my room in a fit of rage with a cartoon storm cloud above my head.

In the morning, Joe and Carl thought the whole fracas was hilarious and Louis appeared terrified of me for about a week afterwards. But it all turned out for the better and the four of us are thick as thieves now and they do the washing up whenever I ask them to, for fear of a repeat of Hoovergate.

So concludes my tale of anger and hoovers and lack of sleep. It may seem like an irrational thing to rage about, but anyone gets in the way of me and a good night’s sleep without good reason runs the risk of my own personal Hulk coming out and scaring you witless. You have been warned.

Now playing: Shinedown – Devour

An open letter to my best friend

I’ve seen a few of these kinds of posts on several other blogs recently and now I feel that the time is right for me to do one of my own. I know I’ve taken inspiration from the people around me a lot lately, but this has been a particularly difficult patch which has both worsened and been more manageable due to those around me. I hope you get a sense of what it’s like to be a 20 year old from this post and some of the ones that have come before it :)


Yo beastie,

I still remember the day when we decided we were best friends. It was last year and I wanted to change your name in my phone to mark the momentous occasion. I misspelt ‘bestie’ and it turned out as ‘beastie’ and that stuck like cotton wool on Velcro. You ripped into me for that, I remember, but adopted it all the same and over the last year, that’s what you’ve been to me. My beastie. A term that has altered meanings several times and become as complicated as the situation we’ve found ourselves in now.

It’s strange to think that I’ve only known you for a year and a few months, because I feel like I’ve known you for a lot longer. You know things about me that people I’ve known since primary school don’t, heck, even my parents don’t know most of it. You understand me on a different level. You’ve let me be vulnerable around you and have been my closest source of support during some difficult transitional stages in the roller coaster that has been the last year of my life.

Perhaps we shouldn’t have tried to change that.

Maybe it would’ve been better if we’d stayed in the primary manifestation of beasties? Rather than taking things a step further and ending up fucking each other over.

Because that’s what’s happened now, isn’t it? You’ve hurt me pretty badly, I’ve never shed as many tears over someone as I have over the past few months over you.

I’ve hurt you too though. I wasn’t perfect. I tried my hardest because heaven only knows that I’d do anything for you. I think you know that too, don’t you?

We made errors in the beastie mark 2 phase and fucked each other over.

I’m writing this because I can’t sleep. I have so many thoughts swirling around my head and the majority are about you. I want to say these things to you in person but you know me, I start mumbling and can’t manage to choke anything out. I miss you terribly and that’s what I want you to know more than anything. I miss you and I love you.

One of our friends said to me that you can’t invite someone else into your life until you’ve sorted it out for yourself and you’re happy with it. My mum said that same thing to me in the summer, I told you about it, remember? That’s what I need to do right now. This situation has messed me up enough and made me so poorly. Now I want to work me out and call the shots for a change. You’ve got such a beautifully strong personality that you can drown me out when we have chats like this but now it’s my turn and I’m the one being strong. I need you in my life, but as beastie version 1. For now at least. Maybe we can re-evaluate another time, perhaps we could see what happens after I come back from my year in France next year? When we’re both more stable. I’d like that :)

I still need you as my best friend though. Let’s take the Christmas holidays to lick our respective wounds and do stupid shit that people our age do and then in January maybe we could make chilli? Our chilli is the best. Or some more eggs and bacon? I promise I’ll chop the bacon faster this time!

I still think (and always will) that you’re the best guy who’s ever loudly and abrasively stumbled into my life and I hope you’re not too cross I’ve used you for inspiration again. Please don’t call me a penis again!

See you tomorrow hopefully, library at 11ish?

Lusms beastie

Lizzie :)