Lately, I’ve had no answers to anything. From small questions I have about how to fix my computer to bigger ones about problems in my personal life, I’ve had no major brainwaves or light bulb moments.
This way of thinking has made writing blog posts a lot more challenging than usual. I feel like whatever I write is going to turn out to be unhelpful and overly pessimistic. One of the main points of this blog is to help people, so I don’t want to write loads of posts that are like that. At the same time though, I want my posts to tell the truth, so writing anything with advice feels dishonest to me when I’m feeling so rubbish about life right now.
I usually feel like the things I write have to have some sort of moral at the end of them. This is hilarious seeing as I know NOTHING about life, but I guess it’s just my style. At the moment though, I have no morals or helpful things to say. I’m wondering whether I should start writing about things without resolving them at the end. I want to do this without looking like I’m constantly moaning about my life and being really negative, but can I?
That’s all I’ve got for today. Feel free to let me know what you think.
(Sidenote – this turned out a lot more pretentious than I meant it to. Lol.)
My room is a mess. Books are strewn across the desk, pyjamas have taken up permanent residence on my floor, and chocolate wrappers are poking out guiltily from every corner. Crowded cups stand on my shelves, probably whispering about the state of the room and the irresponsible owner who hasn’t cleaned it yet. Exhausted-looking T-shirts lounge on my bed, showing no signs of moving to the laundry basket anytime soon. I look around the room, refusing to see that this wreck of a bedroom is actually me.
The state of my bedroom reflects my state of mind. There’s little doubt about that. My brain becomes suffocated by possessions and struggles to spill out ideas when socks are in the way. My thoughts need a nice clear space to flow through, like water running through a tap. To me, working in a messy room is like trying to work with four screaming children running about. At the end of the day, whatever I’ve made is going to look as messy as I’ve felt.
I need a blank canvas room. That way, I have something clean to splurge my ideas on so their colours don’t get mixed up. As long as my room stays in order while I work, I’ll get plenty done that day. Unfortunately, sometimes this is an unrealistic goal for me to set for my room. It has a tendency to misbehave just before I’m about to start working. Or maybe I have a tendency to not tidy it up…
Either way, I have always worked in this bedroom. I’ve tapped out endless different combinations of words on this very same keyboard in this very same bedroom. Maybe it’s time for a rethink? I suppose I could start writing in places outside of my house. I could start writing in libraries and coffee shops, surrounded by the buzz of other people and the vibrancy of life. Would that be too loud for me? Would it even be possible with the large clunky weight of my laptop and social anxiety?
If you write outside the house, please let me know what it’s like (especially if you have social anxiety). Do you think it’s worth a try? Do you find the world distracting or inspiring? Let me know what you think.
Spring is officially here. Despite the astronomical calendar telling me so, I didn’t quite believe it till I wore a coat, jumper and jeans outside and had my entire body engulfed by a damp bubble of heat. At first I was annoyed by the abrupt arrival of the season. Wasn’t it winter yesterday? Irritably, I began my heavy trudge up my hill, weighed down by the four sticky layers of clothing clinging to my body. Attractive.
Now aware of its presence, I realised I should probably start dressing for spring. When I got home, I threw on a T-shirt and shorts, relieved to shake off my stuffy jumper and feel the cold fabric against my skin. When I ventured outside again the next day, the sun was not a scorching warning on my face, but a whispered promise that life would soon be sweeter. Its rays splintered through the trees and cast patchy shadows on the ground for me to walk through. The long-forgotten buzz of grass being sliced by lawn mowers resonated through the air and reminded me how happy spring made me feel.
This morning, I bounced out of bed and flung open my curtains, expecting a golden sea of light to pour into my bedroom. Instead, I was met with a grumpy grey sky hiding behind a mass of clouds. Disappointed, I went outside to see whether I could salvage any warmth from my surroundings. My walk was okay, but it felt like somebody had turned my peppy life soundtrack off and replaced it with a melancholy guitar solo instead. The flowers were still pretty, but their colours didn’t jump out at me the way they did yesterday.
I didn’t realise how much I’d missed the warm weather until it teased me yesterday. How do I get it back? And when I do catch it, how do I make it stay? Can any of you help me with this? According to the weather forecast, it isn’t coming back any time soon. Would it be quicker to just fly to another country? Please leave me your tips and advice below, I’m desperate. Thank you.
Technically speaking, on the 10th of August 2016 I officially became a ‘grown up.’ Being the slightly dramatic person I am, I remember the moment I entered adulthood very well as I was collapsed face down on my faded yellow carpet, wallowing over the prospect of leaving my childhood behind forever.
Now here’s the thing, as my final moments of youth slipped away and I entered the scary jaws of responsibility and existentialism, I don’t remember being given any instructions on how to proceed. I was handed no certificate of congratulations for reaching this particular milestone and I experienced no epiphany where I thought ‘I know how to adult now.’ This made me start wondering ‘what is an adult anyway?’
Yes, yes, I know technically an adult is a person aged 18 or over. But why exactly does that set number of years make somebody a responsible grown up? I’m sure there are many technical answers people could give me to that question, but I’m more interested in wondering about the following:
Will I feel like a grown up when I stop living at my parents’ house and move out? Will I feel like a grown up when I start paying my own gas and electricity bills?
What about when I go out shopping and buy my own coffee machine – will I feel like an adult then? Or maybe if I purchase some decorative towels for my bathroom some grown up feelings will start to kick in.
When I’m sixty years old and tell teenagers how different things were ‘back in my day,’ will I finally feel like a worldly all-knowing adult then? Or will I just feel old? On my 73rd birthday, at long last will I be mature enough to stop craving chocolate after every meal I eat? I highly doubt it.
Maybe I’ll never feel like a grown up at all. After all, somebody once told me that no adults actually exist on this planet and that everybody is just making up their lives as they go along.
So are we all just big children walking around running companies and buying houses like we own the place? Or, when I hit 40 or 50 or some other ‘proper grown-up age,’ will I suddenly feel a different sense of adulthood to what I feel now? I guess I’ll find out when I’m 83.
You might think you’re pretty cool – you have a great job, lots of friends, and you’re relatively happy with the way your life is going so far. Unfortunately, your ego is about to disintegrate as I tell you about the creature whose standards you can never live up to.
Objectively, Harry Hill (my cat) is cooler than anybody else in the world. Don’t be mistaken, as he’s much more than just your average pet. Not convinced? Here are five excellent reasons why my cat is an inspiration and a blessing to us all:
He never gives up. Harry is somebody who knows exactly what he wants. Whether this be killing a piece of string, eating dry cat food forever, or spending an entire day licking a plastic bag, Harry’s persistence impresses all who meet him. We see his determination reflected as he pulls rubbish bags out of the bin, refuses to eat anything remotely moist, and sabotages my mum’s emails by jumping on the iMac keyboard.
He’s more hygienic than you. How much time have you spent washing yourself today? Probably not as much time as Harry. Even without the fancy toiletries available to most privileged humans, Harry invests more time in cleaning himself than most people do. We should all take a leaf out of his book.
He effortlessly looks amazing. Harry always looks as if he’s spent hours in the bathroom and has just put on a new tuxedo. What most people don’t realise is that Harry simply wakes up wearing a matching suit and tie. That’s right, on top of everything else, Harry just happens to look naturally fabulous too.
He doesn’t care what people think of him. Although Harry knows some people are jealous of him, he never lets his haters bring him down. Admittedly, sometimes my family will laugh when they see him vigorously chasing his tail, falling off a chair, or literally not moving for seven hours straight, but Harry doesn’t care. At the end of the day, he knows he’s living his best life and that he’s spectacular regardless of what anybody else thinks.
He brings joy to everyone he meets. Harry has lived with us for five years now (and what a blessed five years it has been). During that time, apart from a few cat scratches and sabotaged emails, he has never emotionally or physically hurt anybody in our home. He has never said anything spiteful or insensitive or even started a mildly petty argument. Whenever friends and family are lucky enough to see him, they always greet him with a smiling face and a scratch behind the ears (if he hasn’t chosen to run away from them because he simply doesn’t have the time). Usually, guests in our house seem more interested in talking to Harry than to us! We can hardly blame them though.
So there you have it – now you can see why Harry is better than anybody else you know. Do you have a pet that you think is amazing? Tell me about them in the comments because I’d love to know!
So as you probably know, Donald Trump held an hour and a half long press conference a couple of days ago. During the conference, Trump discussed many things ranging from himself to every paper he believes is delivering ‘fake news.’
As I watched him tell everybody he had the largest electoral college victory since Ronald Reagan, a thought dawned upon me: Donald Trump is a very rude, arrogant man (not for that false claim in particular, just in general).
Now I know what you’re thinking – ‘wow, this girl is a genius, she’s figured out that Donald Trump is rude! What a major new discovery that no one has ever thought of before!’ (sarcasm).
Yes, I know everybody already knows that Donald Trump is arrogant. I already knew Donald Trump was arrogant, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. However, whenever I’ve watched the president before, I think I’ve been too distracted by the highly questionable things he’s been saying about immigrants, women, and other marginalised groups to think much about his rudeness.
That night, I saw Donald Trump for what he was underneath all the other terrifying things he was at the surface – not very nice. I wouldn’t really care about his rudeness if his policies didn’t terrify and upset me. Unfortunately though, they do, so his personality still bothers me.
Obviously I know that the rudeness of Donald Trump doesn’t compare to the worrying policies he’s making and the impact he’s having on people’s lives. You’re probably sat there thinking: ‘this girl is ridiculous, she should be talking about the things Trump is doing, not whether he says please and thank you at the dinner table.’ And I’d totally agree with you, but it was just a random thought I had in my head.