Usually I make some sort of apology at the beginning of my blog, telling you how bad I am for forgetting to write in it. I'm not going to do that this time. Sometimes there are better things to be doing in life that sitting in front of a computer, typing in a blog that, generally speaking, makes me sound like a big of a depresso.
I have a tendency to view my blog as a kind of escape mechanism, so every time I'm a little bit down or, contrarily, over-the-moon about something, I'll write about it. But these types of blogs aren't quite 'me' because they leave out all the inbetween emotions and situations that shape my everyday life. On the whole, I'm a very-at least I like to think-optimistic person, so I would just like to inform you that I am not on the verge of wrist-slitting or becoming a fan of death metal in the near future just because I may sound a bit down occasionally. Chances are that I felt like that for one day, picked myself up again and got over it.
I don't really know where to begin because this poor blog has been neglected for around four months, which is like a third of a year and actually quite a long time when you think about it.
Things haven't changed dramatically if I'm totally honest. I haven't decided to quit University, leave the country, convert to Islam or get a sex change or anything like that...I guess I've just matured a little. Little being the operative word. I'm not saying I'm now suddenly an avid attender of my thursday 9 am lecture on spanish history or that my pure love for studio mondays and loveshack wednesdays has dwindled, but I do think I have learnt a lot about myself.
I've learnt that I really love spending time with people and that I could never live alone when I'm older, but that I also find it quite a liberating feeling to spend time by myself, not in a i'm-a-social-recluse-esque way, but just to sit and think. College, awesome as it is, can have its downfalls. If you feel like being pensive or if you're majorly hormonal and need a good irrational cry, it is quite often the case that you just can't. You try the 'I'll be really silent and pretend I'm not in my room' method for a while or pretend to be vaguely upset about something when the reality is that you just need to breathe. I hope I'm not creating the allusion that I somehow shun public contact ( I'm quite sociable...I promise you), it's just I find it a tad chlaustrophobic to be living in the same vicinity as people who are jumping up and down with hyperness when what I really want to do is to give someone a cuddle or watch tv. Thankfully I'm not constantly on my period so that feeling of 'someone, please give me a hug' is usually temporary.
I've also fallen into the 'drifting away from home friends' trap that I thought was beyond possibility prior to moving away. There are people from home who I can confidenly say I will be friends with for a very long time, if not forever, and then there are that select ambiguous few who are sort of just 'there'. They are my friends and every now and then I'll wonder how they are, but really we make a mutual amount of effort, which is no effort at all as it goes.
I have actually managed to contact a few of the friends who I thought I was never going to see again in my life( except possibly at the belfast high reunion in 20 years), so I'm really looking forward to meeting with them over the easter hols. It'll be like a table-banging english talking and listening session I imagine, we'll have that much to say.
It's so strange to be home. Last term flew in even more than the previous one. In a sense, I love being at home, because it's where I feel most secure, but then again, I always get a little bit bored. It has absolutely nothing to do with the people there incase you're thinking 'bitch.' It's more just that the pace of things is a lot slower and so if you want to meet up with someone, you have to text them a week in advance, wait two days for them to text back, then meet up...but chances are it'll get cancelled anyway.
I prefer it when I'm constantly busy and socialising and, if I sit about all day doing nothing, I think ' well that was a total waste of a day.' I know it may seem marginally irrational to think I have to be filling every second of my time with something productive or interesting, but I often think that there is so much to see and do in the world and I have so far only experienced a tiny fraction of what it has to offer. I mean God didn't really create a huge world so that we would just stay happily enclosed in Broadlands Gardens, Carrickfergus, did he?
Given that I'm not made of money and am, in fact, quite the opposite, I'm unlikely to be jetsetting across Europe anytime soon, but I just hate routine. I hate doing exactly the same thing every day because, to me, it seems a bit pointless. How can you really learn new things if everything you do remains constant? That was kind of a rhetorical question, but I think the answer is 'you can't.' And, for that, I am so glad to have gone away to uni, to finally step outside of my comfort zone and meet people whom I may not have necessarily chosen to be friends with in Northern Ireland, or even have had the opportunity to meet. That's the thing about Northern Ireland: despite its wondrously friendly people, it can become a bit of a bubble...not that Durham exactly screams cosmopolitan, but it allows you to meet such a wide range of people. That, I think, can only be a good thing.
I forgot to mention to you that you are now hearing from a nineteen-year-old Melissa. Nineteen is one of those weird, somewhat boring ages, since you are no longer 'just an adult' and so the excitement of being able to do things legally is long gone and yet you are still, in theory, a teenager so you have to pretend to associate with spotty, 'oh my god my boobs are growing' thirteen-year-olds. To be honest though I'd rather be an immature teenager again than be twenty and having to think 'in five years time, I'm going to have to start wearing anti-wrinkle cream.'
My Birthday was really nice this year, very different from my karaoke limo and posh dinner 18th birthday, but it was just as good in its own little way. Basically everything that could potentially destroy a birthday celebration occured: some of my friends are still at Uni so, for obvious reasons, couldn't be there, Catherine got a weird bug and had to drop out last-minute, and Nikki had a band concert in Dublin. But, Saz and I, being the hardcore alcoholics that we are , though that there was no point in staying in just because it was just the two of us...*cue song*. So, like true students, we bought some cheap, but still relatively classy, booze from M&S, got a chinese( not so classy), sang some songs, acted a bit silly, and had a a really good time before going out to Box where we chav danced under strobe lights just like old times. We also managed to let ourselves get enveloped by the local sleazefest, which consisted of a stick-like giant who was swaying from side to side with each beat of the music, and what looked like a primordial dwarf, who just thrusted whenever he felt like it. He also freakishly positioned himself just behind me so he could grab onto my waist continually and then, when I turned round, he would look at me each time with a look of delusive apology and murmer 'oh sorry.' Meanwhile, I'm thinking 'yes, I'm sure you are, moron. It's so easy to grab onto a girl's waist. I wish my hands were less uncontrollable too.'
Oh and we can't forget raincoat guy who somehow thought it feasible to wear a parka inside a nightclub, stumble around the place looking like he was mentally unhinged and then chew the face off some chavtastic whore. If you want to get a boyfriend, I recommend you come to Northern Ireland. If you want to get a boyfriend who isn't weedy, spotty and unfailingly perverted, then I'd stay well shot of the place.
Thank God for England.
I have a tendency to view my blog as a kind of escape mechanism, so every time I'm a little bit down or, contrarily, over-the-moon about something, I'll write about it. But these types of blogs aren't quite 'me' because they leave out all the inbetween emotions and situations that shape my everyday life. On the whole, I'm a very-at least I like to think-optimistic person, so I would just like to inform you that I am not on the verge of wrist-slitting or becoming a fan of death metal in the near future just because I may sound a bit down occasionally. Chances are that I felt like that for one day, picked myself up again and got over it.
I don't really know where to begin because this poor blog has been neglected for around four months, which is like a third of a year and actually quite a long time when you think about it.
Things haven't changed dramatically if I'm totally honest. I haven't decided to quit University, leave the country, convert to Islam or get a sex change or anything like that...I guess I've just matured a little. Little being the operative word. I'm not saying I'm now suddenly an avid attender of my thursday 9 am lecture on spanish history or that my pure love for studio mondays and loveshack wednesdays has dwindled, but I do think I have learnt a lot about myself.
I've learnt that I really love spending time with people and that I could never live alone when I'm older, but that I also find it quite a liberating feeling to spend time by myself, not in a i'm-a-social-recluse-esque way, but just to sit and think. College, awesome as it is, can have its downfalls. If you feel like being pensive or if you're majorly hormonal and need a good irrational cry, it is quite often the case that you just can't. You try the 'I'll be really silent and pretend I'm not in my room' method for a while or pretend to be vaguely upset about something when the reality is that you just need to breathe. I hope I'm not creating the allusion that I somehow shun public contact ( I'm quite sociable...I promise you), it's just I find it a tad chlaustrophobic to be living in the same vicinity as people who are jumping up and down with hyperness when what I really want to do is to give someone a cuddle or watch tv. Thankfully I'm not constantly on my period so that feeling of 'someone, please give me a hug' is usually temporary.
I've also fallen into the 'drifting away from home friends' trap that I thought was beyond possibility prior to moving away. There are people from home who I can confidenly say I will be friends with for a very long time, if not forever, and then there are that select ambiguous few who are sort of just 'there'. They are my friends and every now and then I'll wonder how they are, but really we make a mutual amount of effort, which is no effort at all as it goes.
I have actually managed to contact a few of the friends who I thought I was never going to see again in my life( except possibly at the belfast high reunion in 20 years), so I'm really looking forward to meeting with them over the easter hols. It'll be like a table-banging english talking and listening session I imagine, we'll have that much to say.
It's so strange to be home. Last term flew in even more than the previous one. In a sense, I love being at home, because it's where I feel most secure, but then again, I always get a little bit bored. It has absolutely nothing to do with the people there incase you're thinking 'bitch.' It's more just that the pace of things is a lot slower and so if you want to meet up with someone, you have to text them a week in advance, wait two days for them to text back, then meet up...but chances are it'll get cancelled anyway.
I prefer it when I'm constantly busy and socialising and, if I sit about all day doing nothing, I think ' well that was a total waste of a day.' I know it may seem marginally irrational to think I have to be filling every second of my time with something productive or interesting, but I often think that there is so much to see and do in the world and I have so far only experienced a tiny fraction of what it has to offer. I mean God didn't really create a huge world so that we would just stay happily enclosed in Broadlands Gardens, Carrickfergus, did he?
Given that I'm not made of money and am, in fact, quite the opposite, I'm unlikely to be jetsetting across Europe anytime soon, but I just hate routine. I hate doing exactly the same thing every day because, to me, it seems a bit pointless. How can you really learn new things if everything you do remains constant? That was kind of a rhetorical question, but I think the answer is 'you can't.' And, for that, I am so glad to have gone away to uni, to finally step outside of my comfort zone and meet people whom I may not have necessarily chosen to be friends with in Northern Ireland, or even have had the opportunity to meet. That's the thing about Northern Ireland: despite its wondrously friendly people, it can become a bit of a bubble...not that Durham exactly screams cosmopolitan, but it allows you to meet such a wide range of people. That, I think, can only be a good thing.
I forgot to mention to you that you are now hearing from a nineteen-year-old Melissa. Nineteen is one of those weird, somewhat boring ages, since you are no longer 'just an adult' and so the excitement of being able to do things legally is long gone and yet you are still, in theory, a teenager so you have to pretend to associate with spotty, 'oh my god my boobs are growing' thirteen-year-olds. To be honest though I'd rather be an immature teenager again than be twenty and having to think 'in five years time, I'm going to have to start wearing anti-wrinkle cream.'
My Birthday was really nice this year, very different from my karaoke limo and posh dinner 18th birthday, but it was just as good in its own little way. Basically everything that could potentially destroy a birthday celebration occured: some of my friends are still at Uni so, for obvious reasons, couldn't be there, Catherine got a weird bug and had to drop out last-minute, and Nikki had a band concert in Dublin. But, Saz and I, being the hardcore alcoholics that we are , though that there was no point in staying in just because it was just the two of us...*cue song*. So, like true students, we bought some cheap, but still relatively classy, booze from M&S, got a chinese( not so classy), sang some songs, acted a bit silly, and had a a really good time before going out to Box where we chav danced under strobe lights just like old times. We also managed to let ourselves get enveloped by the local sleazefest, which consisted of a stick-like giant who was swaying from side to side with each beat of the music, and what looked like a primordial dwarf, who just thrusted whenever he felt like it. He also freakishly positioned himself just behind me so he could grab onto my waist continually and then, when I turned round, he would look at me each time with a look of delusive apology and murmer 'oh sorry.' Meanwhile, I'm thinking 'yes, I'm sure you are, moron. It's so easy to grab onto a girl's waist. I wish my hands were less uncontrollable too.'
Oh and we can't forget raincoat guy who somehow thought it feasible to wear a parka inside a nightclub, stumble around the place looking like he was mentally unhinged and then chew the face off some chavtastic whore. If you want to get a boyfriend, I recommend you come to Northern Ireland. If you want to get a boyfriend who isn't weedy, spotty and unfailingly perverted, then I'd stay well shot of the place.
Thank God for England.
