Wemo.
Having practically given up with this, I haven’t posted anything for six months (or so Tumbr tells me, anyway). Re-reading everything, it’s insane to realise the melancholy extent my posts reached. It’s almost shameful. It seems my posts were the cliché “I will complain about anything and everything” type of posts you’d expect from the typical teenage girl.
It’s even more cliché to state that my life has changed significantly since I stopped writing and posting months ago. I may write about specifics, although I may not. I am one of the most irritating and indecisive people you shall ever come across.
No, wait. Sorry. I’m slipping back into my “old ways”. I hope my writing style changes, although I don’t think it wise to be forced. I want to stop using the word “I” so much, for a start. Honestly, how many times has it been used so far?
Anyhow, six months down the line… I wonder if my posts may be a little more cheerful this time round, eh?
I hope so.
Idiot.
For perhaps the first time in a very miserable 10 months, I felt a sense of genuine contentment regarding my academic future yesterday evening. Hand in hand with that, nowadays, academic future automatically coincides with one’s general future. This illusion of contentment skimmed my mind for just under 24 hours, before, in the last hour or so, the sheer reality of my academic situation once again hit and barricaded my deluded and foolishly hopeful thoughts.
I want to go to university. I need to go to university. Yet I cannot, or at least- not when I’m expected. I’d come to terms with the fact all these months ago, however it is those leading few months before AS results which are agony. I hate ambiguity. I hate it so much. Yet at the same time, my results are not ambiguous whatsoever. Fail, to put it as simply as possible. Once such is confirmed, I can try and work out what the next wisest step for me to take is, yet until then…
I’m thoroughly enjoying the start of four A2 courses, in which I have no hope whatsoever in continuing from September. The work, topics and modules themselves are far more appealing, interesting and interactive than AS-Levels.
- B, B, B
- 4 years
- £3,290 per year
- 300 UCAS points
- Two weeks work experience beforehand
- Criminal records checked beforehand
There we go, everything I need.
The money, the extra-curricular activities, the passion.
That’s all sorted.
Work experience can be organised, and I am not a criminal.
Everything is there.
Apart from the grades.
The grades.
This by far is most likely the biggest regret of my life so far. However, there is hope… I still delude my mind to passionately believe that one day I shall go to university…
…but that’s all I’ve ever done.
Are you dizzy yet?
The heat gets to me a lot, or so my feeble excuse goes. As many others, the sun and heat goes right to my head and behind my eyes, causing an excess amount of physical movement or even stress to become sickly and exaggerated. I have the same problem each year. I love the warmth, and I adore the sun- yet the warmth and sun do not appear to return such ‘affection’. Perhaps this is a prime example of the philosophy that too much of absolutely anything has its negative counter-affect.
In fact, this in itself seems rather ironic as (forgetting my routine bottle of water this morning), I ended up consuming around 3 - 4 times the amount of caffeine than the daily ‘norm’. In turn, from 10am until around 2pm, I found myself possessing some ‘artificial high’.
Sounds rather pathetic, taking into account that it was only caffeine and not any hardcore class-A drug, yet to someone whose body is otherwise clear of any intoxication- it felt like my mind was bouncing and my eye-balls were dancing around in all directions. When a friend warned me all-seriously to expect a “huge come-down” after such a vast intake of caffeine, I genuinely thought they were taking the piss. Yet somehow, around 4pm I found myself falling into ridiculous moods, swearing, being a bitch and even shouting at one point.
Why am I bothering to type about this? I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. Although it’s a general thought with no specific reason, today I realised how much of a person I am that I despise. And, as the next human being, the way I treat others when such moods hit me, always comes out worse on those I love most. Whether that’s because the mind subconsciously feels “comfortable” to behave in such a way in front of those we love and are most comfortable around, I honestly I don’t know. I assume that is the case.
However, this “theory” becomes almost contradictory when one realises that it is those whom we love most, that we’re subconsciously less comfortable around. No, wait- that’s the wrong word to use. A better word would be less ’confident’. Especially in reference to meeting another for a specific or important reason, I seem to suddenly and subconciously become a human example of living hell. It’s almost as if I’m far too terrified to show that I care. Terrified of what? I have no idea whatsoever. I seem to be so terrified to show I care (using a general mood as an excuse), that I subconsciously present myself to be and act the complete opposite. An utter bitch, quite honestly.
I suppose I like to kid myself that this is just an ordinary human “trait”, but in spite of whether it is or is not…
It’s stupid, illogical and pathetic…
And I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.
Monotony.
I am bored. Ridiculously bored, something to which I do not confess to very often at all. It’s such a rare feeling, when boredom does hit, it hits ever so slightly hard. Everything seems so monotonous, and the sheer feeling of not having any idea whatsoever what to do with myself provokes a lot of angst. It’s at times like these, that the typical human being lets their thoughts slip into almost every single emotional tangent possible (perhaps more commonly known as paranoia).
The worse thing is, the longer boredom lasts- the greater intensity boredom holds and the less motivation and inspiration one can find. With 39 contacts online, unlimited texts, alongside 90-something phonebook contacts, I feel no motivation or liberation. Even though I’m not physically tired at this exact moment, it seems my mind has given up on any activity whatsoever. In opposition to this, despite not being physically active in the slightest today, it seems my mind has been almost hyperactive…
…I wish the two would decide to co-ordinate sometime.
Ambiguity, annoying.
This could quite possibly be the single most cliché thing, out of a ridiculous vast quantity of things, that I have ever done in my life. In fact, this whole concept is so ambiguous, that I honestly have no idea how long this shall last- that’s if it actually “lasts” at all. Saying that, I guess writing somewhat ‘publicaly’ like this has always been something I’ve wanted to do, and whereas the motivation is always there- the essential burst of confidence is not whatsoever.
In terms of a few notes of caution, mainly to myself, structure is something I have never been so good at. If it’s writing an essay, organising my thoughts, or even just everyday conversation- structure is simply a lost cause for me. Things get mashed and mushed up, jumbled, forgotten and warped by my mind… or perhaps my brain. Well, the two work together, so… I think (for now at least) I’ll leave it at that.
Who knows what I’m actually going to post… even I haven’t thought that far yet.
Only time shall tell.
