Everyday Is Like Sunday...

For todays title, I have plagiarised Morrisey (just for those of you that don't know). It seemed apt. I am so bored at the moment, that it really does feel as though everyday is Sunday (by far the most boring of all the weekdays). It's really annoying, that now I've actually made a decision about what I want to do, I actually have to adhere to the laws of being a responsible adult, which means ensuring I have money, etc, to do it. I don't know why I put etc in there, as money is the only thing at the moment. I have a genuine disdain for finance, maybe because I don't understand it, and am therefore useless when it comes to dealing with it. I am quite literally, broke. Unless you count the £400 the taxman owes me, but as I don't have that in any form, I'm not. I'm currently working through all my worldly possessions (how have I accumulated so much crap?!?! I'm only 22!!!) and hardly any of it is actually worth anything. And the stuff that is, tends to be the sentimental stuff that I couldn't part with even if I wanted to. 

Apparently, today is the celebration of St. Valentine. It's not a holiday I buy into myself; not because I'm single and bitter about it (I am single, but I am in no way bitter about it). But because there are 365 (366 in a leap year) days in a year, and I don't see why you should wait for one designated day to celebrate loving someone. It's probably because I want love to be spontaneous, and don't like compartmentalisation. If you love someone, tell them at 4am on a Thursday in November. Just because you love them, not because Hallmark only have cards in February. Personally, I like surprises. And there's nothing very surprising about being given a valentine's card on Valentine's day. It might just be me, but then, a lot of things might just be me.

I also have come to the conclusion that I don't get women. They spend most of the time in a boring relationship, then because their boyfriend takes them for dinner on Valentine's, he's the best thing since chocolate cake. Bullshit; if it takes special occasions for your relationship to be worth anything, get the hell out. Then, at the other end of the spectrum, you've got girls whose boyfriends are genuinely awesome any day of the week, but if they forget the anniversary of the first-time-we-went-to-a-roller-disco, and don't buy them that Pandora bracelet that all their friends have, it's over. And this is coming from a self-confessed drama queen... I don't get relationships; maybe that's why I have no desire to have one. In my opinion, co-dependency sucks. And so does money. That's all for tonight folks... thanks for reading!

I'm Turning Into My Mother (There Are Worse Things I Could Be)

My mother is crazy. Genuinely unhinged, in a loveable lunatic kind of way. And as I get older, I'm looking and acting more like her. Most women are petrified of turning into their Mothers, but the way I see it, I wouldn't be who I am without her, and I'm an okay person. So, it figures that she must be an okay person. Today, I bought a box of creme eggs; there were two in it, when one disappeared. As a former (really) fat girl, I assumed I must have eaten it, and had somehow blocked it out, and therefore surrendered the last one to my mother. She allowed me to go along with this disillusion, encouraging it, even, until she cracked and told me she'd had it (after eating the majority of the last one). So, my mother got two creme eggs, and I got a bite of one. We were in hysterics all afternoon. That's why I don't mind turning into my Mum. I love her, and she taught me to laugh. That no matter how crappy things get, you can still find something to laugh about, even if it is just a rather amusing incident with a creme egg.

The other thing that happened today with my Mum also made me realise how lucky I am to have her; my sisters have been threatening to steal my Ann Summer's Saucy schoolgirl outfit; so, when my Mother told me to get dressed, I went and put it on, came downstairs in it, and told her I was not removing it until I thought it was safe. She found it highly amusing, and asked me if I really thought it was a good idea to wear it to walk to Tesco. I love her.

I think the main reason I'm so thankful, is that a year ago my Mum nearly died. She had a clot in one of her arteries, and it brought on a heart-attack like thing, and at the time, I had so much going on at Uni I didn't really understand how serious it all was; she hid it from me, so that I wouldn't worry. That's her all over, more worried about me and the posse doing well, than her own health. When I came back home, and saw what she's been struggling with on a day-to-day basis, it scared the life out of me; she's my best friend. So this is just a note to say how awesome my Mother is (because I know you read this, Susan) and that I am so blooming lucky to have her, it's unreal. So, Mum, I don't mind turning into you, because you're the best person I know.

At the end of the day... (long dramatic pause) I don't know.

All of my friends seem hell-bent on getting their careers on the right track at the moment; I'd probably be the same, if I had any idea where I wanted to be, in terms of that. I'm not entirely sure I want a conventional career though, to be honest, I don't want to be defined by what I do. I just want to figure out, not so much who I am, rather what it is I want. I'm quite certain of who I am; I'm me. I don't need none of that 'finding-yourself' bull, I'm me, I'm here, what more do you need to know? 

For some reason, today I thought of the 'no man is an island' quote, and I understood it properly for the first time. We're all something to someone; friend, lover, sister, brother, parent, teacher, husband, wife, daughter or son, even neighbour. None of us are without our ties, however small they might be. Thinking of that, it makes you wonder how people can die in their homes and not be found 'until [their] bones are clean and the rent overdue', to quote Sarah Kane. It's sad. 

If recent trends are anything to go by, I definitely think that writing is something I need to be more serious about pursuing. I actually started a new play draft yesterday, and have already got about 20 minutes of material drafted, which is rare for me, as life usually distracts me, and it ends up taking several weeks to sort out a scene. But I like this idea, and I can see where it's going. It would be nice to get it down and maybe sent off somewhere before I flee the country. And I've not really got anything else going on right now, apart from trying to make as much cash as is humanly possible, in order to fund my aforementioned country-fleeing. At the end of the day, I have no idea where I might end up, but I quite like the idea of being pleasantly surprised.

Blusher, Wotsits and Bin Liners...

This thing is turning into a sort of diary at the moment... Well, today I started going through EVERYTHING I own (which is depressingly little, but still too much to fit into a 20kg suitcase). I had three piles; throw away, definitely keep, and not sure. Sentimental wotsits (things, not the crisps... I don't tend to grow emotionally attached to cheese flavoured snacks, no matter how moreish they are) went in the definitely keep pile, actual rubbish (bits of paper, bank statements from 1994, the bizarre and vast collection of empty cigarette packets) went straight in the bin, and everything else went into the not sure pile. Literally. I don't wear blusher... yet for some reason, rather than throw away the blusher thing, I put it in the not sure pile, and it was then transfered into the keep pile, as for some reason, I thought that despite my 23 year long blusher drought, I might wear some tomorrow.

This has led me to the interesting conclusion, that I, like most, am far too attached to material posessions. It's a sign of the times, I think; we define who we are by what we own. In reality, I could probably throw away most things, and survive with the bare essentials (some changes of underwear), and my iPod. In my opinion, the iPod (or other MP3 player) is more than a status thing, or a posession, it really is something that defines you as a person. Not because it's expensive, or a fashionable thing to have, but because so much of who we are can be found in our music tastes. The songs that make us cry (Jeff Buckley, Lover, You Should Have Come Over), the songs we HAVE to sing along to (Hotel California, The Eagles), the songs that we HAD to dance to at seventeen (Black Eyed Peas, My Humps) and the songs that just remind us of who we are (everything on it, I think). It's strange, really, we define who we are the most by the things we posess, but the thing that defines me the most is something I don't even own, it's something I borrow from the musicians who choose to share it with me. It's someone else saying 'this is what my life feels like, can you identify with it?', and if you do, you borrow it from time to time, and feel a little more because of it.

This might all be because I am a rather serious music afficionado. I don't know much about Mozart, but give me a Paul Weller album and I'm your friend for life (You Do Something To Me, makes me die a little bit inside, in a good way). I suppose it just made me wonder how others define themselves... and the realisation that I don't need six packets of blusher that I don't wear, to be able to consider myself a fully functioning person, might make tomorrow a more successful 'throw-away-day'.

There Goes The Fear Again... (To Quote the Doves).

A few years ago I had a seizure, and a friend died, and I changed. I never really got back to being the girl I was before, never understood her properly again. I mean, I still like the same songs, and have the same favourite foods, but now, I don’t necessarily like myself very much. I’m selfish, when I wasn’t before, I’m more impulsive than I’ve ever been, I don’t always think things through, and I don’t have any regrets. I don’t believe in them. I’m argumentative and stubborn, and more than anything, I am afraid. Of myself. Of my life. Of letting the next 30 years pass me by in the same way the past 30 days have. Of living a life and feeling nothing. Of allowing apathy to settle in my veins, of waking up, 50 years old and having nothing to show for it. 

I’m scared of the nothingness of life, of how quickly it disappears, and how people can wake up and realise that they wasted it all, working nine to five in a dead end job that they hate, all for minimum wage and a state pension at sixty-five. So when people are asking me if I’m scared of what I’m about to do, I tell them no. I’m not scared of moving, of taking the risk. I’m scared of not doing it. I’m scared to the bones that I’ll chicken out, and next week and the week after and the week after that, and so on, will all be the same week placed on repeat. Because nothing ever changes, nothing ever improves, it just stays the same. And I don’t think I can bear it for much longer. And if I do, I’ll probably end up being one of those women that suddenly break down in Tesco, unsure of how to deal with the choice between tinned and fresh fruit, crying into my bananas in the middle of the tampon aisle. I’ve always been prone to melodrama.

So I’m fed up of simply existing. It gets you nowhere, except a couple of years closer to the grave. I want to start to live, on my terms, in the way I choose, in the place I choose to be.

It's all me, me, me, me, me...

I don't really know why I'm writing a blog...

Well, actually, I sort of do... you see, about a week ago, I decided to leave the UK, and move to Barcelona. It was a decision made on impulse, but it is the only one I've made since graduating that makes any sense. Unlike a lot of people, I haven't just booked a flight out and relied on hopes and prayers and the kindness of friends to get me started, I'm actually being SENSIBLE.

For those of you that know me, I can understand that statement being a difficult one to comprehend, and for those of you that don't, sensible isn't usually my style.

Well, anyway, as part of the sensible plan, I wanted to try and get a job in Barcelona ready for when I moved out there, which apparently is nigh on impossible for an english person who doesn't speak a lot of Spanish. Today I had a telephone interview, for a job in telesales, and I've pretty much got the job. So, Challenge Numero Uno: Complete! Now I just need around £1000, so that I've enough for a deposit... a month's rent... and some cash to actually live for a month. Looks like I'm selling my life on ebay. Or maybe just a kidney...

So, there it is. The BIG MOVE is my reason for starting a blog, and as with most blogs, I think the first post should always be at least a little bit about the blogger. So here's a few of my likes and dislikes:

Likes: The sea. Toast (preferably with butter & jam or butter & nutella if I'm drunk). My dog. Passoa & Lemonade. Barbeques. Rain. The Mighty Boosh. Pop Tarts. My duvet (or any duvet, really). Singing (sometimes in the shower, but most places will suffice). Banana Milkshakes (blatantly the best flavour). Wearing new socks... there's nothing quite like it. Oh, and pickled onion monster munch. I can't forget pickled onion monster munch.

Dislikes: Hangovers. Money (except when I've got it). Bills. Most films with Keira Knightley (except atonement, but that's only because of James McAvoy and the fact that Keira Knightley dies at the end [I can also deal with love actually, as it isn't all about 'shout & pout knightley']). Mills & Boon books; they're tragic. Working for a well known fashion chain (the opposite of previous is...). Monday mornings.