See, this is purely my opinion but I find building up imaginary situations a form of escapism.  And don’t get me wrong, fiction can be beautiful.  But I don’t know if I’d be comfortable writing it myself.  I’d feel as if I was trying to lose myself in somebody else’s life.  Personally, what I’d like to do is put together some kind of reference book.  The only problem is, i’m not a well-known anything – so writing about my knowledge of any field would be futile.  I might even start a new blog, to go alongside this one; so you can keep tabs on my disastrously dull life and see my views on certain issues at the same time.  You lucky person, you.  It’s a bit of a gamble though, there’s the potential my second blog could be even more useless than this one and my blogging record would thus be, quite frankly, painful.

Away from that terrifying thought.  I’m missing the Boyfriend more than usual today, probably due to the beautiful day that I’m spending on FACEBOOK.  I went to Reading yesterday, to see Sir Strumalot (-:  I needed to get L’Artiste a birthday present and ended up spending a ridiculous, un-nameable sum of money on the day.  I bought clothes I didn’t need, a huge chicken burger and chips when there were things half the price, and for some reason, a magnetic pen holder for £5.  I don’t HAVE that sort of money!  My jobseekers hasn’t even started to come through yet, I was horrified when I got home and realised how much the day had cost me.  But never mind.  I’m now the proud owner of a magnetic pen holder.  And on that note, I shall leave this blog and see how I would go about creating a second, hopefully marginally more interesting one.

Before I move on towards more non-sensical rambling, I want to introduce a friend of mine.  A very dear friend, who I don’t believe I’ve mentioned before.  I would describe him as a lovely, all-singing, all-guitar playing – you’ve already heard enough, I can see you rolling your eyes already at the type of guys who generally get a mention on my blog.  As a friendly gesture towards potentially a new reader of my (now not so) anonymous thoughts, I shall give him the alias ‘Sir Strumalot’.  For the record, his music’s beautiful.   Moving onwards.

You’ll be pleasantly surprised (or would be, if you cared)  to learn I’ve know moved from the ‘Employment Support Allowance’ to real, actual, big-girl ‘Jobseekers’.  Which means that my half-assed looking for work has moved up a notch and I actually have to take things seriously.  That said, I’ve secured myself another term at J-Fish and Lexy’s old primary school volunteering in the nursery, I’ve fallen two weeks behind on my jobhunting already due to the Christmas period and a week in Bristol, and hopefully I’m going to be able to shadow a couple of Childrens & Family workers.  Exciting times indeed.  I’ll be note-taking, jotting down, sometimes even meticulously writing about my experiences – just not on here.  Maybe if anything happens and my writing gets published (stuff I properly edit and take loads of time over, and that generally have a running theme or three) I can help someone in my situation.  For now though, I’m happy to just whinge online about my lack of money, lack of job and lack of friends I can actually have physical contact with.  The internet’s fine but y’know, do you ever feel like you’re really good friends with your computer?  I’d rather be friends with people, not photos.  Bleh.

Happy new year by the way!  I hope you had as fulfilling a Christmas period as I did, if not more so, and bring on 2011.  I came home last night after spending New Years in Bristol for a week, with the Boyfriend and his family.  Highlights included falling asleep in a pub waiting for the Boyfriend to finish his shift as the kitchen assistant, making awkward smalltalk with people I didn’t know on New Years’ Eve, and reading the Boyfriend’s mum’s copy of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.  I jest.  The above did take place, but we also had many a movie-watching session, several trips shopping and three meals out.  I saw people who I feel I can safely call ‘our’ friends as opposed to just his, and met some new people.  I even managed to convince both myself and the Boyfriend that I still trust his driving skills.  I’m not exactly one to talk though, I was actively advised against taking my driving test so I’m in no position to judge someone else.  Good times.

I feel as if this is the point where I should mention something like ’2010 did this for me, I would like more of X and less of Y in 2011′.  Truth be told, I don’t even remember what the good and bad points of last year were.  I mean, I know I was unconscious for a lot of August but even of hospital I only really have happy memories.  Hitting a brick wall with my ‘well enough to feel suffocated at home but not well enough to go out and DO something’ was a pretty crap time, that was probably between the early October and early December mark.  But when fairylights and tinsel took over, even that was enough to bring me around and get me excited for what the future had to offer.

…that last sentence was rubbish.  I apologise.  I cannot for the life of me, however, think of a less homosexual way of saying it.  Never mind.  I feel obliged to write something interesting but alas, you’ll have to wait until something interesting actually happens in my life.  To give you an idea of what thrilling activity will take over from writing this blog, I have to return a hammer downstairs and put some paper away.  Win.

Title is in tribute to Sir Strumalot. <3  This song made me cry the first couple of times I heard it.

I generally have a fairly interesting, occasionally verging on dysfunctional relationship with a lot of my family.  However, the chemistry in the core of our family unit – Myself, the Mother, SDad, J-Fish and Lexy – has held me together.  What I was told tonight was beautiful.  For a bit of background, my mum’s front seat rule is ‘last person to get out, sit in the front.  Otherwise, oldest in the front’.  It’s always been that way.  Generally so she doesn’t get lonely in the car driving around.  So every morning Lexy parks himself somewhere in the car and J-Fish takes the front seat.  Today however, he decided to take the front seat and sit with mum.  J-Fish kicked off and the Mother decided to let Lexy sit in the front to give him a break.  J-Fish in protest, climbed into the boot of the car and explained that now mum had no choice but to be a saddo driving a massive car around Croydon on her own once Lexy got out.

Naturally, my mother isn’t somebody you mess with.  so with J-Fish sitting looking out of the back windscreen and the Mother facing a 10-minute drive on her own she tapped into her favourite radio station, Smooth fm (doesn’t the thought of it just serenade you with Luther Vandross…) and waited until Delilah by Tom Jones came on.  Perfectly happily, she wound the windows down, turned the volume up to full and sang tunelessly along at the top of her voice.  Which would have been bad enough if she knew the words in the first place. 

When her son was suitably cringing and lying on the floor in the boot so nobody could see him, she figured there was one more thing she could do before wishing him a very loud “Love you darling, have a good day at school…”.  And that of course, once you have the music and the wordless, tuneless voice to go with it – the bongo-style steering wheel dance.

Beautiful.  I actually love my family sometimes.

Something really stuck in my mind though.  As my train pulled into the station to take me home, I confessed to The Boyfriend I desperately didn’t want to go back.  His response was, in effect, to just think of being his wife and that would make me happy.  It certainly does help, and it’s no secret we’ve been discussing marriage since we first got together – but it’s something I’m seriously praying into – because I refuse to walk into it for the wrong reasons.  I’ll explain.

Marriage, in its purest sense, is beautiful.  It’s the ultimate declaration of love.  And I for one wouldn’t care about any form of massive ceremony if I was with the perfect man for me – which I truly believe I am.  You don’t need several hundred people watching you, God doesn’t care how many people you can cram into the Church or how puffy your dress is.  But look around you.  I think there is a very, very fine line between marrying somebody for love, and marrying somebody for an escape route.  I know people who recently got married, and equally I know people who recently got engaged.  Some of these couples, it’s clearly right for them to be coming together.  Others, you know won’t last.  Call me cynical (go on, I dare you)  but I believe if you’re going to get engaged you should have every intention of marriage as soon as possible.  The planning of a wedding.  Not, as L’Artiste dreamily tried to point out, the ‘promise’ of marriage, in however many years’ time that may be.  We all know the 15-year-olds who swore they’d be together forever, and then broke up when they grew up – or during University – when they went seperate ways, or one of them did and the other stood still.

I’m going to use my parents as an example here – mainly as this is an anonymous blog.  They both had turbulent upbringings.  So they latched on to each other for dear life because they ‘understood’ each other.  It’s all well and good having somebody who ‘understands’ you.  But they, like everybody else, soon enough found themselves in this “my life’s so much worse because-” “no, MY life’s much more tragic” and when it came to it, the pair of them were so self-absorbed that neither could help the other when everything went wrong for them.  So, as the result of their little game, they both become equally bitter in different ways and I grew up to be your typical, messed-up teenager dabbling in underage Rock ‘n’ Roll before, like so many others, becoming consumed by it.  But I’m okay now.  I’ve accepted and moved on, I’ve done all the blah blah speak to this professional, have help from this person.  And I’m still struggling with my demons. 

The difference is, I’m getting there.  And I’m going to be alright.  But I want to warn people.  It’s easy to think you’re in love with somebody who’s had an ‘interesting’ upbringing.  It’s easy to think somebody who’s been put through the same crap as you, will understand you and be able to pull you through your own crap.  But ultimately, it ends in tears.  I’ve seen it, lived with it and then almost fell into the same trap.  But I won’t.  I’ve found somebody incredible who has no idea what it feels like to be me – but he’s willing to listen.  Deal with my mood swings and make me talk.  Work through my medical history so that when we’re married, retired and I have a relapse, he knows what to do.  He’s a guy in a million.  I’m beyond lucky to have him.  I’m terrified that the reason I want to marry him might be just because it’s a way out from my own messed-up existance into a life I’ve always wanted.  But ultimately, we communicate about everything.  We know what makes each other angry and we’re aware of what, as two individuals we’re marrying into.  But I’m excited.  I may have actually gotten something right in my life for a change.  I would urge anybody listening to take a time-out and wait for things to just pan out on their own, because life’s not worth the stress of marrying – or even walking into the relationship at all – for anything less than the right reasons.

I apologise in advance by the way for spelling errors if they appear.  In the weeks since my last post I went to visit family in Thailand which was in part incredible, and in part the most depressing thing I’ve ever done, my 11-year-old, surface-happy cousin on her own with countless maids and servants, and my alcoholic uncle who lost his wife to gambling and then got very close to losing his daughter to sex trade after his ex-wife tried to kidnap her.  I spent a lot of time with her anyway, alternating between taking her to aquariums and theme parks, and then finding my  own passion in a National Park filled with waterfalls, flowers and butterfly conservation.  That was 10 days anyway, and I then took a time-out while my own family returned from a 14-day cruise. 

Now this is where my impeccable timing and beautiful humour sets in.  I’m a 2010 University graduate with a degree in English Language and a passion for communication.  I took a few weeks to chill on finishing University, vowing to hit the job centre as soon as I graduated.  Following a (very) last-minute booking halfway around the world, I stressed myself out no-end with the panic that it might take months for me to get a job.  And then, me being me and, y’know, smart, I got ill.  Like, properly ill.  I was born with a rare form of epilepsy and all sorts of associated complications.  It flared up when I was 11, right before I started secondary school, and after of a month in and out of intensive care, turned up at one of England’s highest-achieving girls’ grammar schools with a National Curriculum Level 2.  I got a flippin’ Level 3 when I was 6 years old!  So anyway, after a few years of being a walking pharmacy, I established a life for myself, got myself a degree after the doctors told my parents I’d never make my GCSEs, and then got back to square one. 

So after a week in general and then neuro-surgical inensive care and a fortnight in, I’m not joking, the nutcase ward, I was about ready to throw myself out of the window completely when my father decided to come 3 times to visit, causing between himself and my mother a couple of the most awquard and embarassing conversations I’ve ever seen two people put themselves through.  My boyfriend though, being just awesome as he is, has seen me at my absolute worst, unconscious and begging for him, then being unable to recognise him.  Then I was conscious but unable to talk or eat solids – and when I did speak, I don’t believe I made any sense at all.  Eventually, I was well enough for him to help me learn to walk again.  For all my optimism, I’m fairly certain everyone who saw me could see I was desperate to get home.  There was a girl in the bed next to me who had epilepsy, autisim and several other nasties to go with it.  The lady opposite me who’d had surgery go wrong twice and had the doctors firstly pierce her heart, then in trying to rectify it severed a crucial artery to the brain.  It also left her blind.  Physically, she improved by the day but literally overnight she stopped explaining to everybody that God would save her and started explaining that she was ready to die.  Naturally, this then prompted a 3am conversation about trust, hope and faith.  The next night, just before I was discharged, the autistic kid next to me went into the biggest epileptic seizure I’ve ever seen.  She was under 24-hour supervision anyway but I guess the nurses must have been on their break or something.  No joke, when I was 16 my grandad died right in front of me, about 8 feet away, and it wasn’t as scary as this girl throwing herself out of bed in her sleep.

HOWEVER.  They finally let me out a couple of days ago, I won’t write the date as it’s not something I ever want to remember.  But I’ve learned a bit about myself, being a very ill but the only sane person on what literally was the nutcase ward.  Being left to your own devices for so long, (apart from going loopy yourself) you’re forced to think about things.  And it’s taken me 21 years to realise what people have been telling me  my whole life.  I can write.  I was born with a passion for reading, and my only outlet for my frustrations is writing them down.  I was told yesterday, not for the first time, that my ability to write, combined with my passion for communicating with people, could potentially take me really far in life.  So this is where I come in.  I’m a screw-up, I’ve had everything under the sun from epilepsy to depression and I’ve spent my life in and out of hospital.  But I can write.  I have a choice.  Either, I can faff around writing some bestseller, make a load of money and be rich.  Or, I can use my gift to my advantage and make somebody’s life that little bit better because of it.  It’s just working out how the hell to start.

“So what happens now?” “Another suitcase, in another hall.”

“So what happens now?” “Take your picture off another wall.”

“Where am I going to?” “You’ll get by, you always have before.”

“Where am I going to? ” “Don’t ask anymore.”

Sure enough, she began to get fairly decent reviews for her single The Climb, which featured on the Hannah Montana movie sountrack (it’s actually a pretty good movie, I was expecting just an extended episode).  A few short months later however, some british talent show winner ruined The Climb and made it his own – or would have done, if he had the imagination.  Instead, it lost out on the Christmas Number One 2009 spot, to the people’s choice – Killing In The Name Of by Rage Against The Machine.  Pretty Ironic really.

Meanwhile, Miley’s quickly following in her dad’s footsteps and producing one or two fairly decent songs, which is where When I Look At You comes in.  Recorded for the soundtrack of the movie The Last Song, I first heard it at about 6pm one evening when I’d spent the entire day working on my dissertation and had achieved about 70 words.  The song and its music video appeared on my Facebook news feed as I was about to log off and I was completely mesmerised.  It’s not everyone’s cup of tea but it’s a song that just speaks to me in every single way.

She’s got such a beautiful voice, which complements the piano intro and the laid-back melody perfectly.  As far as ballads go, this one’s a work of art.  It’s not too heavy but it doesn’t fade into the background.  The lyrics are phenomenal, serious kudos to her for striking gold with this song. 

“You appear/Just like a dream to me/Just like kaleidescope colours”.

“When the waves are flooding the shore/When I can’t find my way home anymore/That’s when I look at you”.

Whether cheesey pop ballads are your thing or not, the least anyone can do is appreciate the song.  Everything about it draws me in, I seldom feel such a strong connection with a song.  Innocent by Our Lady Peace and Brand New Day by Forty Foot Echo are the only two that spring to mind.  It’s something I actively look forward to listening to, and given the right mood, still makes me emotional occasionally when I listen to it. 

“A beautiful melody/When the night’s so long/’Cause there is no guarantee/That this life is easy”.

I love this song.  I love the melody, I love the lyrics, I love Cyrus’ voice.  I love the chilled atmosphere that surrounds the body of the song, I have no idea what instrument they use.  I love the use of piano, it uses one of my favourite chord patterns and has that mid-to-end-of-song (for lack of a better way to describe it) climax that sends shivers up my spine.  I even love the carefully-timed, generic guitar solo that was probably made up on the spot.  Mainly for that reason.  They didn’t have to put a solo in there.  I remember absolutely falling in love with this song within seconds – and it being the highlight of my day.  It reminds me of my boyfriend, and my relationship with life itself.

And you know what, the chances are my wedding song will be by AEROSMITH.

Precious little has happened of late – however, the weekend before last was my Graduation Ball, and Wednesday was the ceremony!  Amazing night.  I borrowed my mother’s nicest, most expensive dress (alongside countless death threats just in case I was planning on spilling anything down it) and headed out with the Boyfriend looking breathtakingly handsome, and our friends.  They’d transformed all of the Student Union into a movie-themed venue with everything from Moulin Rouge to Hollywood.  We had an amazing night, and I had a box of the most incredible noodles I’ve ever eaten.  Omnomnom.  Anyway, we hung out for a bit in Portsmouth after that, and on Wednesday I headed in with Mum and La Abuela for the ceremony.  Heavy black robes in temperatures of near 30 degrees, a hood that kept falling off and the sun in my eyes for every photo.  There were some heartfelt speeches at the ceremony itself though, and the professional photos we paid through the nose for weren’t too shabby.

I’ve not done much since then, apart from count down the days until I go to Bristol.  And Thailand!  How exciting!  My Uncle and cousin are out there at the moment so La Abuela and I are going to visit for 9 days.  Having booked it the other day, however, it didn’t cross La Abuela’s mind to check I’ve had my jabs – she’s always up to date with everything because she travels all over the place.  So yesterday I had a frantic runaround of doctors’ surgeries to try and get my jabs and finally decided I’d have to do it in Bristol.  Spoke to the mother, however, and she reckons it’s best not to get them at all.  As I’m sure you’re aware, to recieve a vaccination you have a small amount of the disease itself injected into you.  They give you it 10 days before you go, so the antibodies can kick in.  If I were to get my vaccinations now, then, for Saturday – I’d already have all the nasty buggy stuff in me when I get there, with no way of protecting myself.  At least without the jabs at all I haven’t made myself even more likely to get ill.

With that at the forefront of my mind, I happily packed today (there’s very little time between coming home from Bristol and leaving for the airport)  and bought a hoody from TKMaxx.  Getting out of the house was paramount for me as the mother had another little incident last night and woke up this morning (in her own bed, thankfully, rather than the hallway or the stairs)  soaked in alcohol and vomit.  The boys were slightly more sympathetic than me and didn’t stray far from the house, so they could check on her consciousness.  I have absolutely no respect for people who binge-drink, so I made myself scarce as soon as J-Fish and Lexy allowed me.  I bought a very nice Animal hoody though (-:  £17 down from £55.  I tried on a dress as well, a gorgeous charcoal-coloured knitted Roxy dress, £17 again, down from £65 this time.  I’ve been after a dress like that for years, and was gutted when it just didn’t fit right.  Exactly the right size, and it looked stunning – just not on me.  But never mind.

I need to get dinner sorted for Lexy and J-Fish before I leave.  The mother’s sleeping off last night (still) and they’re getting grumpy and argumentative with each other so I’m gonna get them some food.  Bleh.

I don’t know why I dislike being home so much.  To say I had a burning, passionate hatred of being shut away with my family is, you’ll agree, a tad extreme.  But for the way I feel when I’m there, it’s not all that far off.  But as soon as I can get enough money, I’m moving away.  I’m outta there quicker than you can wave goodbye.  I can deal with my mum’s daily ‘Why don’t you want to lose weight, I don’t know how your boyfriend can like you’.  I can deal with the ‘Why isn’t the house immaculate’.  I can deal with all those conversations over-expectant mums have with under-achieving kids.  What I struggle with is the fact that I have absolutely nothing to say to any member of my family anymore.  My life generally consists of people they don’t know, music they’re not interested in and Jesus (it’s not even worth bringing it up  in conversation around them).  Their collective life consists of ‘family friends’ who I don’t know, going on ‘family’ trips and days out, which are of no interest to – and don’t include me.  Also, we can’t forget the riveting dinner-time conversation about cricket.  Day in, day out.

I sound like I’m whining.  I know I sound like a stroppy teenager.  But what of it?  This is an anonymous blog, and as you my reader well know being at home gets me down.  Take me out of the house and I’m so in love with everything I see, this week the LiNK team from Knoxville, Tennessee are over at our Church, staying with families and working for Jesus in the community.  I jumped at the chance to help out and am spending the week milling around, meeting new people and doing whatever needs doing – Monday for example, it was gutting our new Minister’s house in order to redecorate, Tuesday it was preparing the decoration for the summer holiday club for 150 5-11 year olds.  Today, they were sightseeing in London and after I had an inpromptu lunch in Wallington with my charming friend Londoner (which was lovely, thankyou very much Londoner!)  I spent the rest of the day at home.

So what of a job, you cry.  Not a sausage.  With a BA.Hons in Journalism and English Language, you’d think SOMEONE would want me for SOMETHING.  I got another rejection today though, from a cinema.  I’m fighting a losing battle.  I’m a wannabe Christian missionary who’s applying for every stupid 9-5 in the city that turns up on graduate recruitment sites, and not getting anywhere.  And on that note, rant over and back to what I was originally blogging about.

Ironically, that’s not on a particularly positive note either.  It was beginning to dawn on me, hanging out with 30-ish 15-18 year olds, that I was getting a bit old to be painting fish and waves with them, and might have been better off on the leadership team watching over and generally caring for them.  I’d have loved to have a couple of them staying with me, I’d be an excellent host!  But firstly, I dunno if the Church would allow them to go to a non-Christian home.  Secondly, my mother wouldn’t be at all happy with more than one of the “God Squad” in her house – and also, we’re already hosting 2 Australian kids on a cricket tour.   But I digress.  I’m growing really fond of the Americans – and I was having so much fun, God definately agreed with me that I was a bit old – and last night at my life group he pushed the realisation right into me.

I was presenting the talk this week; I’d prepared a DVD clip, discussion questions and a bible passage regarding Faith & the Environment – looking mainly at food waste, Fair Trade/Organic foods, and recycling.  My research (and the DVD) showed me that the Hebrew for Earth is Adama – and as Adam was created from the Earth, it’s kinda our duty as Christians to preserve it as much as possible.  It was pretty awesome.  Anyway.  Throughout the talk, sitting drinking elderflower cordial and discussing the future of the Earth with 6 adults, all of whom were at least 12 years older than me, it dawned on me how different this atmosphere was to the orange squash, bubbly teenagers and worship on the grass that I’d left behind that evening.  As I pondered where my calling was, given my age, I realised it was both – I needed to be an adult at some point, but my passion for working alongside teenagers isn’t anywhere near fading either.

It was pretty harrowing though.  In the space of a day, I went from the biggest problem being having a line of blue poster paint on my designer trousers and teenage boys trying to hug me with hands covered in more paint, to an inspirational Christian I’ve looked up to since I was 15 myself, reveal to me in tears that her faith in God was shaken to the core and circumstance has made her question God’s existance at all.  I mean, firstly what can you say in that situation at all?  I was so, so glad of the other people there, one person in particular (For the purpose of this blog I’ll call him Pempson) had the life experience to find the right words to say where all I could do was speculate on God’s plan and relay the few relevent bible verses I knew.

I’ve realised, I feel at home at Church in a way that I never felt at home, well…at home.  I have the equivilent to parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, friends, extended family, crazy grandpa Pempson who lives for hanging out with something-teens on a Sunday afternoon but at the age of 78 goes out on the streets in the middle of the night to care for people who need it most.  The thought of moving longterm to Bristol is, thus, terrifying.  No other Church will compare – house over 30 Americans at the drop of a hat or transform the Church into a makeshift aquarium for young kids to learn about the Gospel for a week.  And yet, I have to get away, living here will kill me sooner or later.  The Boyfriend, not quite grasping the pain I’ve been through the past 21 years (and only having known me working straight for Jesus and loving every second), gets frustrated when I’m in tears on the phone to him over something so small as “I don’t like being here”.  But I don’t know what to do.  I’m so passionate about the Church and everybody in it, everything connected to it.  But I sure as Hell can’t live here much longer.

In my eyes, listening to something just because it’s a ‘classic’ is just as criminal as listening to something just because it’s popular.  Which is why, when I’m criticised for having Fall Out Boy rub shoulders with Thin Lizzy on my iTunes, I’m safe in the knowledge that I listen to what makes me happy, what I connect with on a personal level and occasionally, what I can just mindlessly jump around to.  Innocent, by Our Lady Peace, is an incredible song – in my view.  Because it’s a ‘me’ song.  The video’s amazing as well, not least because it shows my life of a few years ago exactly.  It’s reminiscent of my bedroom complete with caution tape hanging from the ceiling – my school, my friends, the makeshift skateboard park my brothers and I set up in our garden.  But I digress.

  The first verse hits you like a punch in the stomach, explaining how “It all seems so contageous / not to be yourself and faceless / in a song that has no soul”.  We’ve all been there.  I certainly have.  And so have they.  In the space of a few short years I got lost in black clothes and loud music, I grew bitter towards people who were happy, and just when things started to clear up I fell into an abusive relationship with a boy who only cared about his music, whilst battling my unhappy housemate who clung to every outlet he had to make himself feel better (including, unfortunately, slowly and deliberately ruining every chance I had to rebuild my life).  And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. 

“I remember feeling low / I remember losing hope / I remember all the feelings and the day they stopped”.  It’s such an inspirational song.  It’s rare to find a song with lyrics like this.  Nick Hornby mentioned in 31 Songs, “You don’t have to be whoever writes the songs for Celine Dion; you can, if you’re brave, aim for texture, detail, wit and truth”.  Surely, that’s more important in a song than talking about dreams, or heroes.  Or maybe not, you tell me.  This is just my opinion.  One thing the song’s definately done for me though, is remind me that despite anything that went wrong in the past, that’s just how life goes.  You don’t need to be a huge music boff to appreciate a song that makes you feel good.  You don’t need to have the latest speakers with the best quality if you only care about the lyrics, you don’t need to have a complex MP3 player if you only listen to music in the car.  I know music better than most – but even a generic, prettyboy emopunk band like Our Lady Peace can strike a chord, if it gives you what you need when you hear it.

I have no idea what’s made me write about this.  I had a blog pretty much written out ready for me to type up.  A regular, ‘this is what’s going on in my life’ blog.  But never mind.  Now I’ve finished University, I’ve got enough time to write blogs whenever I want.  Within reason, naturally.  But I’m free now, to do pretty much whatever I want.  I could, if I wanted to, get a high-stress, high-pay job that’s going to shoot me straight up the career ladder.  But I couldn’t give a crap about that.  I just want to be happy, and earning lots of money doesn’t really do that.  Whatever does happen now though, I’m totally ready for it. (-:

I’ve had the most incredible year of my life (thanks to hundreds of amazing, compassionate people) after two of the worst.  The past 3 years, I learned to live alongside someone with Cancer – and learned to forgive that same person after they drove me to contemplating suicide.  I’ve had my fair share of waking up next to someone whose name I don’t remember.  But right when I needed Him, God picked me up and set me back on the right track.  In the process, he placed in front of me the man I’m going to marry.  His selflessness and passion for what he believes in inspires me every day.

I think one of the most important lessons though, is that academics really aren’t everything.  It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that ultimately you have to just trust God when things don’t go your way.  As a consistant (very) high achiever, barely scraping a pass in my dissertation wasn’t exactly the triumphant graduation present I was hoping for.  Still, when my Boyfriend was in Bristol and my mother didn’t really want to know me, my friends and housemates were so supportive, and after spending time with the Boyfriend I was able to think much more clearly about where I could go from here. 

On a lighter note, since my last post my cat Miley gave birth to 4 gorgeous kittens, and after some initial complications they all pulled through and are happy and healthy.  The Boyfriend and I settled into a Church in Portsmouth and I spent the latter part of the year getting stuck in with witht he Christian Union doing what I love, serving people in the name of Jesus.  Microbe and I saw the X Factor Live Tour.  AMAAAAZING.  Jamie Afro was awesome.  I also re-ignited my love for strawberry jelly in the last couple of weeks of uni – and can’t remember the last time I wore matching socks.

I will attempt to blog more frequently again.  It should be easier now I have no coursework, etc.  My notes for the blog are reminding me of cake.  Cylon, Pre-drinks and myself made 30 cupcakes and 5 big cakes in preparation for a 4-day celebration of birthdays and end-of-university.  Slice of diabetes with a side of Heart Attack?  Yes please, nom.  As a non-drinker, my stamina for clubbing that weekend didn’t really hold out and I went home early from Liquid the last night, and slept through a huuuuge argument between Savestheday and Sailorette, which resulted in Savestheday walking out of the house altogether and not returning until Sunday – unfortunately, I left Portsmouth on the Saturday.  I should see him in a couple of weeks though. (-:  It’s my birthday soon!  21.  I’m getting proper old.  It’s a bit depressing really. :-/