Tag Archives: journal

DEAR DIARY: MY NEW ROOMMATE’S A BIT WEIRD.

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Jk, guys. I’ve moved in with Greig.

We only went and bloody did it, didn’t we? I mean it wasn’t exactly a laid out plan, but when a babe of a place with a converted attic, comes on the market, what’s a girl to do?

To be perfectly honest, we went into the viewing with an ‘we probably won’t go for it, but it’s always good to have a look’ kind of attitude… Then I immediately fell in love with the place. Meanwhile, Greig’s face had an expression which can only be described as ‘I could put my sound system in this attic’, painted all over his wee face.

It’s been a ridiculously stressful couple of months, but we’ve finally made it. We’re almost all unpacked, we’ve had all the ‘how many jars of screws do you possibly need’ and the ‘how many pairs of shoes can you own’ domestics there is to have and we moved in a fortnight ago.

Not to mention the most important of all days have just gone by… We had our internet put in. I am officially back living in the twenty-first century.

It’s true what they say, you’ve no idea just how much stuff you actually own until it comes time to pack it. The mammoth task of moving it all and unpacking has been tackled, so you shall soon be bombarded with one too many pretty pictures of said house.

Wish me luck poppets… I live with a boy!

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WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

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The past few months have been an absolute whirlwind of exciting changes, ginger jokes* and falling completely and unexpectedly in love. But the past month or so, I’ve been so concerned with other things that something monumentally important has slipped my priority list when it should have been pride of place at the top.

I’ve been a little unsteady, in myself. My mental health became something I took for granted in recent years. Because speaking as someone who battled with their own brain for years, I thought my days at war were long behind me, however, it turns out that it’s very easy to take your eye off the ball.

I’ve noticed myself falling asleep later at night, waking up later during the day and sleeping more than the average human being should. I truly feel on the brink of a 4-year-old-kid style nap at any given minute throughout the day.

Life in itself has begun to overwhelm me, but nothing in particular to pinpoint a root cause of such anxiety. Because let’s face it, ol’ Brainbox is nothing if not vague and unpredictable. But this particular feeling no longer feels familiar to me and I’m no longer the sassy genius I used to be at dealing with such occurrences.

My biggest mistake so far has been subconsciously avoiding this, shoving the big luminous purple elephant in the room to my peripheral vision and pushing on through, wasting weeks by doing nothing. Never taking the ‘me’ time to do any of the things I love (I don’t know how many times I’ve sat down to write and felt too drained to make words like a big girl), not sleeping on a schedule that means I can spend any great valuable time with my family, letting household chores sit around until the last possible millisecond and then feeling guilty when Greig gets there first. If there’s one thing I need to remind myself, it’s that I can’t run away from my own brain.

As I write this it’s 5 am and I can’t help but gaze at the freakishly tall human peacefully unaware beside me, feeling flooded with all the happy-gooey kinda’ feels he causes. But it’s then I remember my unwashed hair, Toy Story pyjamas (that I’m only wearing half of, because I was too exhausted to find the other 50% of Disney goodness) and I’ll barely be awake long enough to tell him about the happy-gooey feels. And truthfully that’s what’s got me writing this here long-winded post…

We all need to talk about the big purple elephant in the room more often. We need to break down this stigma that still lingers around us all like a big judgey raincloud and become more aware of our own personal warning signs, and not become complacent with being “okay”.

So this is my pact with you angelic lil’ nuggets to start tackling this elephant head on, no more silent wallowing, no more hiding away and certainly no more sleeping away the best years of my life.

It’s time to be OK, puddin’.

*EXTRA INFO: Greig’s very much tarred with a ginger brush.

DEAR DIARY: A MONTH OF BIRTHDAY SHENANIGANS AND BIG LIFE CHANGES

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It’s time to face the cold, heartbreaking, truth. I can no longer sing the lyrical wonder “22” by the musical royalty that is Taylor Swift. I am now officially 23 years old.

A moment of respectful silence wouldn’t go a miss, right now.

But me, oh my, what a month it’s been. So I figured why pop back up with one of my sarcastic list posts about your quarter-life crisis, when I could give you guys a little insight as to where I’ve been and why I’ve been in a perpetual state of “Rachel Greene, I don’t want to be a shoe” crisis for the past thirty days. (Wee Friends reference to keep us going there, folks.)

To kick off, I turned 23. The beginning of the end until Swift writes a catchy little number to go along with it. The occasion was marked with an obligatory week of absolutely milking my birthday to within an inch of its life, of course. Time was spent with my family, with the phrase “you’ve got to, it’s my birthday” being thrown around like a verbal rugby ball. An embarrassingly large order to Dominos was placed only to, of course, blame it on ‘my birthday’. Let’s not forget trying to convince everyone I know and their aunt’s to go to the aquarium with me and most importantly the equally obligatory trip to a nightclub.

I don’t mind telling you if it weren’t for the being with my best friend portion of the evening, I fear I would have lost my temper. The ratio of female to disrespectful male was off the scale. At one point I even had one girl admit mid drunk-bathroom-chat, that she’d grown so desperate to fend off the sexual advances that she’d completely skipped the old classic, “I’m a lesbian”, and straight to “I never made it to the bathroom on time”… Not all heroes wear capes, girls.

Now, as if such birthday excitement wasn’t enough I also woke up on the celebration of my birth with an email saying that lil’ ol’ me had been accepted to study contemporary art.

Eep!

And just when things couldn’t get anymore eep-worthy, my old workplace – and by old, please instead read ‘favourite’ – opened back up and I got offered my little beaut of a job back… Did I mention it’s exactly three minutes from my door?

Double eep!

Not to mention, I’m getting at least eighteen more hours a week than I was at my other job. Too much eeping to be done, here.

So, my little nuggets, expect shopping hauls galore for a while… I seem to think I can make it rain, right now.

DEAR DIARY: WELCOME TO THE MOST AWKWARD MOMENT OF MY LIFE

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Lately, I’ve been feeling just that little bit shit.

Stay with me here, I know this post’s coming across as a bit of a bummer, but trust me, you will get your gloriously awkward ending.

Now, I firmly believe that everyone should have a thinking spot. A place that you can take yourself off to when life just gets a bit too much and give things a good old mull over. So, that’s exactly where I went.

After a while of being tucked up on hidden patch, of what is already a relatively secluded beach – Aside from the odd dog walker, who lets face it, merely adds an element of animal therapy to an already pleasant half hour – scribbling what little wisdom nuggets I have left into my pretty patterned notebook, I quickly realised that this situation was, in fact nearing fatal and I could not resolve it on my own.

So, I called for back up.. My best friend. She has to, by law, put up with my monthly mood swing, right?

And there I sat, contently whining about life and all it entails, while my furry baby snuffled her way around every individual pebble and attempted to take on a flock of six mutant sized seagulls.

It was then I glanced up and noticed a couple making their loved-up way onto the middle of the rocks, a mere thirty foot away from me. – Cue my regaling my best friend with my cynicism surrounding romance and all it contains. – So, I made the conscious decision to gather myself up and leave their little love-bubble untainted by my sad Susan aura of the day.

Did he, or did he not, at this exact moment drop to one knee with a surprise photographer blocking my only exit?

Of course, he did.

There were tears, loving embraces, loved ones bursting out with balloons and a small photoshoot on the rocks to follow.

Stage right? My good self, looking like I had crawled out from under a bridge. I’m talking all kinds of glamorous. (Trackies, spotty face and huge top knot.) All the while wrestling an old beach-found Space Raiders packet from my furbaby’s jaw.

The phrase “pulling an Alice”, which has sadly become a frequent amongst my nearest and dearest ones, now holds a whole new meaning.

… I’ll see myself out. – Much like I eventually did from that beach.

Believe it or not, this blog has a purpose.

Given that life itself is something I generally find most taxing and is certainly not my greatest of skills, one may ask why I’m writing about it – And one would be right to. However, the answer isn’t one of a straightforward nature. Keeping journals, diaries and up to date social media has been a frequent feature in my life since an incredibly young age, and I have a love of writing, so the next logical step was to turn my nostalgia-filled love of the English language and drag it into the 21st century with me. 

Whether this results in four followers who often roll their eyes and wonder why they are still reading, or four hundred, is of no grave importance to me. What is, is having a place to build up memories, favourite books, makeup products, music, general wonderings and somehow have the end result being a documentation of my twenties that I can forever look back upon.. Hopefully with the odd sentimental chuckle, as opposed to recoiling in cringeworthy horror.