Things Change

Right, so I am moving.

Not very far, in fact for those that care, you can - from now on - find me here: http://theonlythingiknowanythingabout.blogspot.co.uk/

There are several reasons for this move, and the primary one (which I will argue otherwise, but unfortunately happens to be true) is that whilst this Google account is hooked up to my old email address, my newer, better, considerably more used Google account is hooked up to a new email address. This basically means that because I'm usually logged into YouTube with my new Google account, there's this very mildly annoying issue of logging in and out and in and out on the (now increasingly rare) occasions I actually write a blog post. So reason #1 = sheer, unadulterated laziness.

The second, more intellectual, reason, is that I just feel like I've kind of outgrown this blog. I was fifteen/sixteen and an expert procrastinator (that's probably spelt wrong) when I started this blog, and now - whilst still an expert procrastinator - I'm going to try and channel my procrastination into something that is - at least on some level - productive. Reading back some of the posts on this blog, they're often childish, silly, unedited and spouting opinions that have changed quite significantly since I wrote them. I feel (and hope) I am more mature and less pointlessly angry than many of the posts on this blog make me seem (stop laughing, Roz).

That being the case, my new blog is actually going to have a point to it, however loose that point may be. The original idea was to keep track of all the books I read and films I watched over the course of a year - from my nineteenth birthday to my twentieth, more specifically. Initially I just thought this would be a fun experiment - would I actually keep it up? What would my taste reveal if condensed into one frame? If I log my current opinions, will they have changed in a year's time? Would I actually publicly admit to reading/watching some of the crap I'm guilty of? But then I also realised that it could be beneficial to my future - professional writers are always telling aspiring writers to read as widely and non-judgementally as possible, so why not keep a log of what I do and don't like about other's writing? I've been reading a lot of professional publisher's blogs recently, and the more I read, the more I realise how important it is to have at the very least a rudimentary knowledge of the industry if you wish to be in it. The same applies to film - I certainly watch more films than I read books, my spectrum of knowledge regarding film is a hell of a lot more extensive than it is for books, and - frankly - I go through films like underwear, whereas my rate of reading has (ironically) slowed to a crawl since beginning an English Literature degree.

See, this was meant to be a quickie post, and somehow it's now like 500 words of waffle. This is what I'm trying to avoid. Anyway, the basics are: I'm moving to a different, hopefully more mature blog, which will be starting at the end of June (my nineteenth birthday).

I hope, if you're reading this, that you'll read that :) Thanks xxx

Haters Gonna Hate

Let's skip the part where I come up with lots of excuses as to why I haven't posted anything for yonkers. Okay? Okay.

I think the internet is wonderful. But like, wonderful. Were it not for the internet, I do not know how I would spend slow evenings, let alone how I'd organise a get-together, find out how tall celebrities are, update the world on the boring minutiae of my life or cyber-stalk. However, wherever there is awesomeness, there are people who want to ruin everyone else's fun. There's always a Kraft to the Dairy Milk, a Fox to the Firefly, a...something else to something else (I'm tired). And for the internet, there are haters.

You can find them by scrolling down on any YouTube video, blog, public tweet, tumblr post, etc. And frankly, I would like them all to just bugger off. What do you gain by having a go at a perfect stranger? A tiny rush of bullying one-upmanship. Go you.

It's not something that's really been turned on me (to have haters, you first need to have people who take an interest), but the once or twice it has, it seriously feels like a slap in the face. You don't think it will bother you; why should you care about a randomer who's clearly sat at their computer for so long they have actually a) come across you b) read/watched what you have to say and then c) spent time considering a way to slam it. But on the flipside of that, it hurts because this person obviously cannot have any justifiable reason to dislike you.

In life, I don't like people who are rude for no reason. I don't like customers who scream at the staff in the bank, I don't like train ticket-people who don't take pity on your friend's forgotten railcard, I don't like myself for yelling at a taxi company (even if they were an HOUR late...). Because at the end of the day, it's going to get you nothing except hatred and irritation. So really, why bother?

I feel so angry, looking down the comments of a YouTube video and seeing angry bile that some sad little creep has spewed out, in order to try and upset someone they've never met. It's pathetic, and those people should be ashamed. Because actually, I think it's probably THEIR opinion that no-one cares about.

Time-Waster

Do you ever have those bits of time when you think something like 'Ooh, I'll just check that fact on Wikipedia...' and then one thing leads to another, three hours pass, and you wonder what the hell you're doing with your life? This weekend has been like an extended version of that.

It's not that it hasn't been FUN, it's just been...pointless. Last night, a friend of mine came round for tea, and we ended up spending about seven hours sat in my room doing absolutely sod all. We weren't even talking bollocks about life, politics, religion, romance and all that stuff -- I think our conversation hit it's deepest point when drooling over a YouTube video of some guy that used to teach us biology.

I get so frustrated with myself on days like this - my head's always screaming, "GO OUTSIDE! WRITE! WORK! MAKE SOMETHING OF YOUR LIFE!" and my body's like, "Nah, think I'll just check out BBC iPlayer thanks." I know that if I don't do anything I'll continue to feel lethargic and lazy, but if I don't stop feeling lethargic and lazy then I won't do anything. It's a vicious circle.

How's that for a first world problem?

I'm Crap. I Know.

So...three months. I think that's a Blog Neglection record. If you were a tamigotchi (no, I have no idea how to spell that), you'd long since be worm food. I also don't really know who 'you' are, since I'm sure if anyone WAS reading this blog, they've since assumed I'm dead and moved on with their lives. Let's be honest; I would have.

So, three months in four lines.

Last bit of October: at University. Had fun. Did no work.

November: Still at University. Had more fun. Did less work.

December: Went home. Had Christmas - which was fun. Did a bit of work.

Beginning of January: Had very little fun. Did too much work.

So now I'm back at home, having briefly re-visited Uni for a week of bleeding slowly onto Microsoft Word (otherwise known as writing essays). I'm supposed to be reading my course books for the next semester, but so far all I've done is watch fifteen episodes of ER (sadly, that's not actually an exaggeration), read The Fault in our Stars (which was not a course book - hence it's attraction - but was excellent) and go to the cinema. Social activity has been limited, what with all of my friends being back at their respective Universities, so I do have an - admittedly dodgy - excuse for my couch potatoe-ness.

I have been trying to give my writing a bit of a kick up the ass, but so far have achieved a lot of planning and very, VERY little actual writing. Hence the stream-of-consciousness, trying-too-hard-to-be-funny, entirely unedited blog.

So, that - I think we can all agree - was a groundbreaking comeback. I'm off to watch some ER. Hopefully, I will actually come back this time.

The Future

You know, if I had a penny for every time I've heard the phrase "Enjoy yourself; these are the best years of your life," in the past few weeks, my bank account would be much less upset with me. People seem to think it's an encouraging, thought-provoking thing to say, but I certainly don't think so. What do you mean, that it's downhill from here? That once University is over, the shit hits the fan? That I'll never achieve anything in my life more than a degree? That when (if *gulp*) I'm seventy, looking around at a room full of children and grandchildren, I'll be thinking, "Well, it's not Uni, is it?"

I know that these people are just trying to make me appreciate the fact that, for the first and potentially last time in my life, I'm completely independent with virtually no responsibilities to other people; free to go where I want, do what I like, get up when I feel like it and spend my time enjoying myself. But is that all there is to life? I don't think so.

Because, as much as I'm enjoying myself here - it seriously is fantastic to have complete freedom and control of myself and my own life for the first time - I don't want my 18th-21st years to be the peak of my life. There are SO MANY things I want to do!

I want to spend a semester studying abroad, I want to spend a year travelling all the places I've loved on holiday, I want to get a novel published, I want to write a film script, I want to get married, I want to have kids (er, eventually), I want to get a job I love, I want to actually get through a Charles Dickens novel, I want to see Bon Jovi in concert, I want to meet people I admire. I know that life throws your curveballs and that all of those things either won't happen or won't happen in the way I imagined them, but that's what I want.

You can't predict your future, but you can hope for the best from it. I don't want my future to be limited to the next three years, and I know it won't be - I've got too much to do. Young people are supposed to dream about their future with rose-coloured glasses, and we should be allowed to do so - you never know what the future holds.

I Got Freshered

I just invented a new word.

Freshered (verb): to be exhausted, embarrassed, frustrated and (again) exhausted by the activities of the first week of University. But to still have had a good time.

I got totally and utterly freshered. I have spent the daytime of the past week sleeping, groaning, drinking tea and making caveman-esque conversation with my new freinds. I have spent the nighttime drinking, doing silly things and making even more new friends. I am exhausted down to my very bones. The muscles of my legs will never be the same again (I would cheerfully bet my entire student loan that I have done more walking in the past week than the rest of the summer combined). I have had to face up to some humiliating confessions. I have spent too much money. I cannot remember what vegetables look like. I have finally broken my phone beyond repair.

But it was so worth it.

I'm not going to lie, I don't think I could do it again - at least, not until my liver, feet and hamstrings have recovered (which could be decades). But it has been one of the most exhilerating and exciting weeks of my life.

I got freshered, and I loved it.

University Day #1

I am exhausted.

This is because I spent Wednesday to Friday buying, packing, realising it didn't fit, unpacking, repacking, realising I'd forgotten something, buying, packing, realising it didn't fit, unpacking, repacking....etc. So that was fun. Then, yesterday morning, I was woken up at 7.30am to help pack the car and set off towards the next three years of my life.

For most of the 2 1/2 hour journey, I actually felt pretty calm. Excited, a bit nervous, but basically calm. Once we hit the city centre I started to get Mega Butterflies, and by the time I actually got out of the car I was more or less brickin' it. My parents hovered in the background whilst I got my accommodation keys, picked up my University SmartCard, my Freshers' Wristband and various other bits of admin -- we unloaded the car, and they hovered some more, clearly not knowing whether I wanted them to help or leave.

To be honest I didn't fancy the idea of a long, drawn-out goodbye, so I more or less gave them both quick hugs and kicked them out the door. Then I busied myself with unpacking, lest the panic should set in. There was a point, somewhere between hanging my clothes up and locating my posters, where I felt it starting to rise through my chest. Scared it wouldn't go away, I bullied a couple of my new flatmates out of their rooms and fed them tea and hyper-speed, nervous conversation.

We ended up going to another flat for drinking games and giggles, and then to the Students Union for another drink and a dance, then myself and my favourite flatmate, Lizzi, got home about 1.30am and had a cuppa and a nice conversation. So, despite having had only a few hours sleep and feeling a bit tender (though still planning to go out the next four nights in a row), I think I would call my first day at Uni something of a success :)

UPDATE: I actually wrote this last week, but only today has my laptop allowed me to publish it. Go figure.