(late) gratitude/(early) stress

I stayed up until four o'clock this morning, working on a short story for class.

...and then, when I woke up properly, I scrapped pretty much every word on the page. Or I altered it, somehow. (And so it turns out, 5000 word short stories really aren't my thing).

Tonight, in the shower, I convinced myself I'd missed a deadline.

...and then I double-checked. I hadn't. (And so it turns out, these early morning stresses really aren't my thing).

I have never stressed this much about work and so I can't figure out if I am totally over this whole university thing or deeply, deeply in love with it. But I think having the opportunity at all is a pretty wonderful thing. (I know it is).

As stressful and as frustrating as the last few weeks' have been, they have also been lovely. There has been a lot to write home about, you know. Like the warmest of snuggles and watching Elf with my sister, and last night, having the nicest conversation with a new, dear friend.

It's these things, these little things, that I'm holding pretty close right now.

my happy place.

This is putting a very, very big smile on my face right now.

That, and a certain boy's forgiveness.

x

lately

I haven't been that in to blogging, lately. I haven't really felt that much into anything at all.

But I thought I'd do a little re-cap. (Like this!)

Lately.

Wednesday afternoons, between 2 and 3pm, have been my constants. I get to place that big, barrow of worry somewhere tangible. And it's a little ropey, really; it's hurting a little more; frustrating patience I didn't believe I had. And sometimes it feels like it will take years--and sometimes it feels like that big, deep breath will clear it. But it's continuing. And throughout the rest of the week, I've been keeping my fingers crossed; hopeful that this might just be the week of progression.

Lately.

Peppermint hot chocolates are my guilty, guilty pleasures.

Lately.

I spend my reading time between Gothic horror novels and picture books. It's a questionable balance, I have to say.

Lately.

I've been listening to the She and Him Christmas album. But hearing anything faintly 'holiday' brings me to tears if I'm in a shop.

Lately.

My fears are developing; mutating; strengthening. And it's a little sad.

Lately.

It's been wintry, here. So I'm thankful for my duvet and my increasing collection of woolly sweaters.

Lately.

I've had a headache and a stomachache and a tiredness that I just can't seem to shake.

Lately.

I've been avoiding yoga and I shouldn't be. I take a vow to commit to it, next week. (Again).

Lately.

Family has been important and rallying. And I'm grateful--so very, very grateful--that my Dad was secure and safe because of it.

Lately.

There is so much on at the cinema that I just want to see. This week I hope to see The Future. (Quite an apt sentence, if ever I saw one).

What have you been up to, lately?

xx

this week

This past week has been difficult. (And to be honest, so, too, have its predecessors). I've been a little floored by anxiety and lethargy and a poor, poor diet. So now I'm a little sick. And a little tired. And facing the huge, huge mountain of the things I need to (essays, emails, yoga)--and the things I want to (baking, crafting, yoga)--do. I suppose that's simply what this time of year entails, right? (Belated) Fresher's flu and a little bit of stress?

But I'm promising myself that if I get those things done--primarily the necessary things--then I'll have a little reward come Monday. And my reward, this time of year, is a look forward to Christmas. And to a little Halloween party with my love.

The funny thing is--the lethargy and the numbness, aside--that I was really looking forward to heading to the library this morning. Forcing my mind into books and working on something--manipulating words and locating meaning. I guess I'm realising just how precious this time is; how these days of student life--of a beautiful, beautiful opportunity to learn and graze--are limited. Sadly so.

I'm hoping that one day soon I can coerce that appreciation into a way of negating the fear. Because it's paralysing, sometimes. And, all too often, it needs that little push of perspective.

In the mean-time this is, for the most part, what my weekend will look like.

And I'll be listening to this--largely as a pre-emptive step towards their Christmas album next week.

And--finally--I'll be crossing my fingers. Just because.

What are you doing, this weekend?

comfort

I don't feel I've posted much other than lists, lately. But it's late on a Tuesday night and things feel a little stressful and a little stretched--and, frankly, why break this little trend of mine right now?

So things that are bringing comfort to me this week are:

dinner out with friends

(because it's nice to giggle at the little things and the snippets we have shared)

kitty cuddles

(because this little girl fell asleep on my lap last week, and I cannot wait to see her soon)

woolly jumpers and thick coats

(because they are making me feel so cosy in these early morning winds)

moleskine notebooks

(because they make organising effortless)

opportunity

(because having so many and so much might be terrifying, but my, I am grateful for it)

friendship in and of itself

(because spying two old men meeting for the first time, in kindness, warms the very fibre of my heart)

and

moments of clarity

(because they might be few and far between--but when they come, they make breath reach deeper into my lungs)

Where are you turning to for reassurance, this week?

rest, apple.

"Your time is limited, so don't waste living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma--which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinion drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become." ~ Steve Jobs.

Whether you are an Apple fan or not, I think words like these are so very, very important.

gratuity marks

I think Mondays are inherently difficult. (Especially this one--this one which was so much about fighting those first-day nerves).

So I'm making a little vow to keep things positive. To dedicate Monday's posts to hopes for the future, say, or gratuity lists.

So, this week I'm thankful for:

breakfast in bed and the boy who brings me it (I don't think he knows just how loving or sexy a gesture this is*)

a £10 tea-bill (it's an afternoon well spent)

animal pattern (because I have my eye on a cat cardigan--and a sister whose niche it is to draw)

movie-dates (mostly with my love)

the feeling of fall creeping in (and it's colour--it's beautiful, beautiful colour)

children's books (because I get to read them all semester)

postcards (because there is just so much to love)

bike-rides (although they hurt and aren't yet mastered, I am proud I can)

and: the blogosphere (because I hate the 'word', but I love the kindness).

Is there anything you'd like to share to beat those Monday blues?

*He makes me the happiest.

on education and staying in it

Things feel a little different, this year. They feel much more poignant and appreciated--in many ways, much more settled and real.

This walk back into school--this metaphorical walk back into school--is important, and it'll take place next week. (We start late, here. So very, very late). It may very well be my last and that, that thought, is frightening. I don't want to leave education. I feel at my best here. I feel grounded and secure and focused. That back-to-school feeling, for me, is energising and invigorating. It makes me produce with a renewed mentality. It makes me soak up and savour detail. (So it is not a bad security at all.)

For a long, long time, I wanted to teach--and no, not just because it was a way to stay in this educational frame. It was all I really practised as a child. Standing in front of my mirror with a white-board marker, I'd write chunks of text on my reflection. My invisible, quiet class would listen--and sometimes, when they wouldn't, I would shout. This want carried on throughout high-school and college (though the physical practise of acting it out, did not) and, until my first few semesters were over, it was there. But then I realised that it was pretty much every student's response when asked what they wanted to do with an English degree. And it was an arbitrary response, at that. It was something they said to fill a gap in conversation and something they would no doubt pursue because they didn't quite know what they wanted to do. And so a faculty of lacklustre teachers begins. How does a generation teach a following generation without passion? (No, really, how does that work?). If I was to become a teacher, I would have passion. I already do in the conversations I propose with friends and family about just what this system needs. (It needs a lot). I want to teach. Some day, but not this day. Right now--this year and next and, probably, next--I do not want to go into that profession. I do not want to become part of a faculty that does not love its act. I don't know how the teachers that do--the teachers that really, really stimulate and inspire--do it. And for that, for every good teacher that there is, I have my admiration.

So for the last couple of months--perhaps a year--I have known this. And I have mulled it over again and again. I have looked at my career options and I have wondered just where this place I am meant to go, goes. The truth is--I don't have the answers. I don't know where, exactly, I am supposed to go next summer. Where, once this undergraduate degree has released me from its grasp, I turn for the next challenge and pursuit. I have my thoughts--my hopes--my wishes. But I cannot say them, out loud, without a nervousness.

But this year--and a year I count from September to the following September, so ingrained in me it is--there are a few things I want to work on. Like getting that degree--and safely. (There is a benchmark of numbers that I aim for: a framework; a border). Like finding a job and earning enough and stumbling across a space of my own--or rather: ours. A space to breathe and flex and stretch in our own way on our own time. Like falling in love with writing, again. Not the idea of it--not the theory or the planning or the thinking of it--but the doing. (That novel is still sitting on my desktop. It has a breath of potential, perhaps, but it needs flesh. A good meal and a good hydration of beauty). Like learning skills, transferable, life skills--but skills I do enjoy. (I want to make dresses--I want to learn how). Like learning a language--and practising it. Like deciding on whether or not an MA is possible, logistically. (And right now: right now the compulsion to do it is wild and fighting and strong).

So September means a little more to me, this year. And I am trying to relish every single one of its little falling leaves--the real ones and, I suppose, the ones of opportunity: the ones of thought.

let's think positive

I've had a headache for three days, now, that I just can't seem to shift. It's interrupted my plans today--my already laid-back, weekend plans--because I couldn't bear the 30 minute train ride over to Arnold's. (Our trains here verge on prehistoric. Sometimes the doors don't even open, mechanically, at the end of the line).

So this afternoon, I took a walk. I freed myself of the cloudy perspective such a headache instils--where the optimism and the hope seems to drain and you struggle, despite yourself, to see clarity--and it was, without a doubt, exactly what I needed. I took Diana along for the little stroll because I haven't used her in a while--sadly--and I don't know why. Even though her counter is broken and she halts a lot as I wind her, she's still as beautiful as ever. Still as inspiring; still making me feel "me". (Is that a really, really pretentious thing to say? Forgive me, if it is).

On the walk, I started thinking about the things I'm thankful for (present headache excluded)--and I thought I'd share.

So today, today I'm grateful and thankful and appreciative of: my new duffle coat (the one that makes me feel like Paddington Bear); love (because it is, hands down, the most inspiring thing); productivity (because it is cleansing and it is satisfying); candles (because they are just what this time of year is about); colour (because autumn is so rich and vibrant with it); snail mail (because it is fun to read and fun to write); and stitching (because it is a great, great distraction).

What are you thankful for, today? Please, please feel free to leave your own list in a comment.

I hope you're having a lovely, lovely weekend.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow. Hopefully, it will be a day spent with some important (to me) people. One very special one in particular.

fall--what it does to me

Every year, I take great, great joy in finding the first horse chestnut, a robust seed I'll likely carry in my pocket for the rest of the winter. Sometimes it even finds itself, coat-willing, until the following annum.

So I could not have been happier, yesterday, when I found it on my walk home: a sure sign that autumn will reveal herself a little sooner, this year.

It's a little ritual I like to set myself, you see. A marker for what are arguably my favourite months of the year--starting with September's early academic days--they'll always be about school, won't they?--and ending a little way into the new year. (Although, it has to be said, I have a soft spot for April--it has a similar crispness to its air and echoes resurgence). These months are when I am most productive; they make me feel my most creative and studious and focussed. They instil, in me, a greater sense of energy. Cold, crisp air may well deplete my immunity, but those long evenings spent inside, fire burning, are pushing of important realisations: of what in the world matters to me. They make me realise the importance of family, and of love, and of the littler passions; the things I don't quite pay enough attention to--the hobbies I have so long wanted to pursue. I suppose what I am saying is that these months--festivities aside--are the months that I most feel like myself: that I most understand, and evaluate, and am appeased.

So, for another year, I'm looking forward to that. I'm looking forward to the familiarity that the same framework allows (the benchmarks of school/Hallow'een/Guy Fawkes/Christmas and New Year). But I'm looking forward, too, to new things--to those "littler passions" I want--and will--pursue. (Including a lot of crafting--I'm very, very excited about that--and about learning to manage time, better).

Does autumn/fall make you feel any different?

...and I'm hoping, soon, to compile a list of my favourite things about this season--fall, for me, brings many--as does winter! Is there anything you'd like to add? Feel free to comment!

(Picture was found via Pinterest--I envision me doing a lot of the same in the near, near future. It's an important year!)

space

I cannot tell you how good it feels to have a tidy bedroom. A space to move and to breathe and to stretch. It has, in fact, been a week of that: a week of stretching. It has been a week of realising its very importance. (And it is so, so important. A week of an almost-to-myself house has showed me that. And so, too, has an empty page).

I like these realisations. Whether they rush or seep in--I don't mind. But I'd like more. I'd like to crane my neck a little further, or lean and bend my torso above a greater incline. I'd like to see more; feel more; understand more. (And mostly, at this time, it's about myself).

With diligence--with real, concentrated effort--I'm trying. But I suppose it's a cycle, isn't it? There's always so much more to know and learn. So many more ways to develop and evolve and alter. And I suppose as soon as we begin to understand, we do alter. And then a whole new method of comprehension has to find itself under way.

*Does anybody have any cures--light, light cures; ones, I'd prefer, without medicine--for a little tightness in the lower back? It's persistent, lately. And unexplainable. And I'd really rather shift it...

summer--or not.

I'm not ashamed to admit that in these last few days, I've had my first real cravings for autumn.

It's been a little cooler here (winter hat weather, I tell you--or so I saw today) and things that I associate with those first, few September days have fallen, slyly, into view. (You know, like early mornings* and enrolment confirmation and grabbing wholesome snacks when I can. These are the things that pinpoint the start of academia--and with them the browning, weighty curl of leaves).

But--I say--with scenes like this, how can I resist that pull?

(Photo credit).

*I got a job! In a café! In an animal sanctuary! And I have a love/hate relationship with it already...But I am ever so grateful for friendly connections.

cambridge

I took a train to Cambridge on Friday.

It isn't all that far from me--so nor is it new.

But even now, when I walk its streets, I like to imagine I live and study there. That those vaulted dorms that overlook the Cam are mine--that I can cross the jaunts of that mathematical bridge into Queen's--that I can peruse its envied library stacks. I like to imagine that I can brush shoulders with the academic elite and be so, so enveloped in culture.

It's silly, really. This pretend. Because I know if I had it, I'd soon find its faults. I'd succumb to its vast oppression or its arrogance--the immediate tensions and the creeping flaws I sense each time I visit.

But that isn't to say I don't get a kick out of it--that it doesn't do anything for me. It does: it truly, truly compounds a will to work harder--to study--to involve myself in an academic or artistic passion. But I soon realise that that passion is the important thing. It is the peak and the crescendo and the most sought-after thing. It is not tied to a building, a street, a desk. It is something you can--and do--take anywhere.

I suppose I like Cambridge for that. It sure has a power to provoke my thought. (And gladly, happily, blissfully so).

a spiralling sort of day

Today started off--and ended--badly.

(It started with a job interview. A job interview which involved me tripping--and falling--ungracefully on the stairs. Did I mention that it was in front of--and between--the other candidates and boss? It was not my finest moment).

But the thing is, today became less and less about those moments and more, much more, about historical lanes, pots of tea and a very, very beautiful friend. (Her name is Holly. And she is the complete package when it comes to beauty--in my eyes, at least).

We study in the same city, Holly and I. And yet we hardly ever see eachother (and no, I'm not quite sure why). So today we had a long catch-up--and we drank all kinds of different tea. (Black Vanilla tastes a lot like cupcakes--a little too much like cupcakes. And that is something I never thought my sweet-tooth would say). We walked along the river, we reminisced about our respective Parisian getaways, and got stuck, right in the eye of a storm.

But most of all? We laughed.

And because of that, I want more days like it--days that can be turned around by so very simple things. (Not so much the embarrassment, though. That can go).

little boxes

I sometimes think I have a problem holding onto things. Lately I am battered by memories of things I just wish I had appreciated at the time. The typewriter my Dad gave me (which I traded in for a Word Processor--I wish I was kidding). The bicycle I never quite rode. The phone I have had for a few years and am now, so desperate, to trade up. I know my memories do not exist in these things. They do not exist in the plastic exteriors or in the little, tiny machines that turn them so seamlessly. Rather, these memories exist in my heart--a heart I will (hopefully) never (need to) trade in. But losing these things--well, it worries me. They act as staples to moments I will never get back.

And that, right there, is a pausing thought.

by the (tackiest) sea

Whilst I will never profess myself to be a good photographer, I am feeling more and more comfortable behind a lens lately (you just might have guessed already).

So I spent a lot of today, a day out with friends, photographing the little things that make seaside towns tick--the sea, the sand, the (clouded over) sun. The smaller details, I suppose, are where I find my interest--a sentiment that is true in front of any lens of life. I like individual words and subtle movements and isolated memories and strands--mere strands--of inspiration. I look at things less in the sum of their parts and more, so much more, at those very (individual) parts. Because in them I find detail and beauty and care--I find the intricacy of lives so often overlooked.

Today, these snapshots were a lot less profound. They were just parts of a day spent in the tackiest English town I ever did know.

But beneath the creases of that dress and the single grains of sand are the signs of a day spent relaxing. And it was rare--rare in so very many ways.

the next step---to the next stage

There's something in the air this week that is causing me, over and over again, to think about mortality. Perhaps it is my immersion in Shakespeare's voluminous texts---or perhaps, the (crossed-fingers) hope of a new job---or perhaps, the declining weeks of this year's academia. I'm not sure what it is---I'm not sure where it places me---but it's there, a pushing thought. I had a realisation, today, about all those hopes---you know, the things we hope one day to achieve and the people we hope one day to meet---either as fresh, new acquaintances or a reunion of souls. And I was thinking that as these things fall into place, as they get crossed off and cheered by a smile, that they're just another step. So what happens when those things start falling into place? When we start achieving what we have wanted to achieve---when we reach a certain stage of contentment---when we see that person we wished one day we would, just so we could reassure them, once, that things are okay? Does it mean the end is nigh---that they are just consolatory and preparatory moments?

It's a tilting question.

But the answer, too, is there. Because in that realisation, there is another, better realisation. There is the reminder that yes, everything is preparatory---for the next thing and for the thing after that---and that yes, everything is intended as an ascension to the field of the content. Because otherwise, why would we try? Why would we want those endeavours if they weren't, ultimately, for that happiness? But the biggest realisation is that those thoughts---those questions of doubt---are the wall that surrounds that happiness? Because they leave us feeling perpetually on edge, balancing a rope of life too lax above the ground. Because thoughts like that---well, thoughts like that don't allow us to be---or to enjoy or to savour. And with them, with them built up so tightly around our minds, we forget to live in the first place.

And I am trying, so hard, to teach myself this. I'm trying, so hard, to let those worries slide, melt and pool around my feet---and to not, absolutely not, carry them as a weight.

But it's a long, sporadic journey. I can tell you that.

monday madness---or is that sadness?

I'm feeling a little out of sorts, today. With worries for the week and for the future weeks and for not quite knowing what to do. But I am taking solace, again, in the little things---in the simple pleasures in this thing called life.

And right now---right this very moment---they are things like...

...seeing children picnic on the pavement (sun-hats and teddy bears galore)...

...bumping into an old (and very beautiful, and very talented) friend two days in a row...

...sunny days in the city---and then by the sea...

...walking in the country---with fields on every side...

...having both a wise head and young, youthful shoulders (or so I'm told)...

...mini movie-marathons...

...good hair-days, when those curls flick under the chin just so...

...surprising vintage purchases...

...and party planning, with all its possibilities...

And, well, right now that's it.

But I am keeping my fingers crossed---so very tightly, so very purposefully---for the next couple of weeks.

I hope you are having a nice start to the week!

the sun sets, the sea laps the shore

Tonight Arnold and I walked along the beach, then watched the sun set---and in that moment, on a slanted rock and in a chilled breeze, I asked over and over again to please, not let this end. And I didn't mean the sun---no, not the way it hid its upper lip of fuchsia and ochre and bronze---I meant everything: the unity, the simplicity and the absolute assurance. Because in lives so often swathed in uncertainty (and I do not mean that melodramatically---we all, after all, are uncertain about something)---tonight was what I needed---what I craved---what I hungered for.* Because tonight, in conversations on living and believing and seeing, there was absolute contentment. But more than that? Conviction---conviction in the choices we had made and the people we were---and are---becoming. And for a second, too, all tangible worry---worry about those dreams I pile up and those hopes I place on us---faded, under the shadow of a fading sun and on the scurf of an ebbing tide.

Tonight was a night to be grateful for---then to remember, over and over again.

(And no, I can't lie. Posting things like this makes me a little uncomfortable---because these things, things made up of such heart, I do not want to jinx. Because no, I never, ever want this---us---to end).

*Laura (one half of Someday Hopes---the blog I so often praise in my I'd Like To, Please posts) is one very wise lady. Please check out her post today---it is insightful and it is inspiring and it, most of all, is honest. We all need a little more of that---a little more of those calls to wake us up. And boy, was my evening---and then that post---just that.

repetition---and so it goes

I've said it before (and I say it a little too often)---but this over-spill from uni is really getting to me. Countless hours a day are spent not doing what I should be---instead dreaming about all the things I will do---all the things I will make and create and write about, all the places I will go and the things I will, hopefully, see. But dreaming about them means dreaming about the exams and the coursework and the preparation left to do. And then dreaming about that means dreaming about the former---a distraction of whimsy and of inspiration and of love. So it's a cycle, a cycle I am stuck in in the endless, summery days. A cycle that broke, last week, when I finally cleaned. (And wow, I spent hours re-living my childhood---pooling over the so-many trinkets I had stuffed away in drawers). But it's back again, drawing me in---worsened by a few nights' nightmares (and I mean of the running kind, you know, the ones when you try, so desperately, to make it away but find yourself stuck time and time again?) and a kind of ache.

But right now---right now as I apply for jobs and then look for more---I am going to try and get back into the mindset. The mindset that got me here, this far.