My Mumbling Thoughts

They say that a new workspace helps creativity.

Eh, I guess.

I was getting so frustrated sitting in my room trying to write that I eventually got up, packed Bridget up and moved downstairs to the formal livingroom. I'm hoping to get a different energy down here on the couch rather than being propped up in my bed, surrounded by the same crap, looking at the same thing outside of my window, everything in the exact. same. place.

It was driving me insane.

I tried tidying my room, moving things around and attempting to make my room a little more "creative friendly" but it just wasn't happening. I found the strangest things and wondered why on earth did I decide to keep half of the crap that I own. Why do I have to be so damn sentimental and cling onto things that at that particular point in time might have meant the world to me, but now I can't remember as to why I've allowed it to take up space in my closet.

A sea bean. That was probably the weirdest thing I found in my old high school bookbag that was underneath my sombrero. Oh yes. I own a sombrero. Along with those two random items, I've got mountains of old magazines ranging from Cosmo, In Style, Vogue and Elle. Really, have your pick, because I have them all. I found old letters from my dad written to me from every single holiday and birthday since 1989, bank statements, calendars, pictures, CDs and last but not least, buttons. Random buttons that I kept just in case the button that was orginally on one of my jackets or shirts fell off and I needed to replace it. Of course I'd never be able to replace it because how would I remember that it was buried deep under my bed in the shoe box for my entire 7th grade year underneath all of the notes written between Shella and I about who she liked more - Nick no. 1 or Nick no. 2.

In the process of trying to be more feng shui, I came across some very old and dusty binders that held a lot of my writing from back when I was in high school. Man, did I write a lot of crap. It was so terribly bad I understand now why I kept it hidden underneath my bed behind all of the shoe boxes. I was your classic melodramatic, wannabe goth poet that wrote about things that I thought were deep and meaningful, when really other writers had already written about it, but in a much more creative and thought-provoking way. I was just whining about teenage life problems.

Which is cool, I suppose. It's all I knew at the time, therefore that's what I wrote about. I can only write about what I know.

I'm not sure if I was looking for anything in particular. While I was shuffling through it all, it almost seemed like I was waiting for something to pop out at me and lead me to start thinking about life way back in the day.

Nothing did, really. The only thing that I noticed was that my entire life has basically been documented in some sort of way by me since I was about thirteen years old. Maybe a little younger. I've always written about my days either in a journal, or while I was supposed to be writing notes in class, and now I blog about everything up here. It was kind of cool to be able to read over some stuff and be like, "oh yeah, I remember him. God, he was such a dick."

I stacked all of the papers, binders and notebooks up on top of each other and looked at it all. There it was. My entire life on paper. Strange. It was odd to see it all literally stacked in front of me. I certainly liked to chat a lot of shit in my spare time.

Over all of those years though, all of that time I spent alone writing, writing and writing, I didn't really know what I was doing. I only wrote all of the time because I felt I needed to. Nobody ever sat me down and said, "Sam, one of these days you're going to really be glad that you did all of this." No. I did it because I wanted to, because it felt wrong for me not to do it. That was my thing and it has always been my thing.

When these evenings do come around and I decide to randomly pull a page out of my life (no pun intended), I can go back and see everything perfectly. My words are my pictures, so to speak. I can easily go back to when I lived in North Carolina, when I was in high school, my entire world that encompassed me. It's good to see the changes that I've made over the years and be able to see and understand things more clearly now.

Nowadays with my more "adult problems" and my brain usually being occupied by London thoughts around the clock and the future, it's a welcoming reminder about when life was slightly more simple for me. I didn't worry anywhere near as much like I do now. What am I going to do after uni? Where am I going to work? How do I get a career? How do other people get careers? How do they even know if they're in a career? Where am I going to live? What do I want to do? How am I going to get there? Am I really going to support myself? Like, really support myself? On my own? Why is life so hard? Am I going to fail? Blah, blah, blah....

There was a time in my life when my biggest worry was if I did actually speak to Micah McSwaine for any length of time and he asked me any kind of question on any kind of topic, what was going to be my answer?

Those days were nice. And now I wonder how Micah is doing.

Posted by Sam at 04:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

After I had everything that I had brought with me piled inside of my room, I sat on the edge of my questionable looking single bed and I took a second to soak up where I would now be living. It really only did take a second since the room was tiny by my standards. Extremely tiny. And in my opinion, gross.

There was one window that had the greenest of all green curtains. Lime green. And the window was one of those odd windows that you had to pull forward on to open, rather than lift up or swing out, which didn't leave me an option of smoking inside of my room. I knew it was forbidden to smoke inside my room, but I thought if my window permitted me, I'd at least be able to sneak a couple when it was raining. Not so much.

My bed was a tiny little single bed with a single spring mattress. I was afraid of it. Who else had laid on this thing? Who was with them when they laid on it? Gross. Gross, gross, gross. It was pushed in the corner underneath my green window with the bedside table next to it. I had a not-so-matching purple chair that seemed extremely random that sat next to my desk which took up the majority of my wall. My wardrobe was connected to my desk, and those were really the only two things that I liked in my room.

From the wardrobe was the en suite bathroom with the infamous lime green rubber floor. I must also mention that this particular rubber floor did not have a drain for any excess water that would spill out from my shower. Instead it would just sit there and take about three days to completely air dry. I hated the rubber floor and would always hate the rubber floor, right up until I left. My mirror took up the entire wall behind my sink and my shower, and it was oh so very strange in the early days to shower and be able to watch myself while I cleansed head to toe. I would eventually get used to it though and found it quite handy to have a full mirror with me in the shower (I know; dirty).

After I quickly scanned my room, I decided to jump head first into cleaning my new space and setting up everything I had brought with me. Sure, I smelled really badly of airplane and was dead beat exhausted, but I figured once it was done, it was done and I could crash on my germ-free and in fumigated mattress.

It was a much more daunting task than I had previously thought. All of the dusting, the hoovering, scrubbing, wiping, and then taking my febreeze bottle and dousing everything to try and get that old, unused, student smell out of there. Not only that, I was battling these enormous flying mosquitos that were absolutely harmless but creeped me out and sent shudders straight up my back. It did all get finished though and I did feel a lot better knowing that I had made my first tiny steps to living out on my own.

All of the international students had arrived four days before all of the other UK students so we could get a headstart in learning our surroundings and settling in a bit.

I think I needed more than four days.

On my second night, I had my first of many emotional break downs alone in my room while reading the first email that Momma had sent to me.

As I read it, I could hear her voice inside my head, as if she was standing right next to me and reading it aloud. I missed her already. Her words went straight through me and I couldn't help but cry my eyes out with every word that I read. Where was she? How come she wasn't here with me? Who said that parents should stop taking their kids to school? Couldn't it be like pre-school again when they would walk us to our class, meet our teacher, then kneel down on the floor to get to our eye level, put their hands on our shoulders, tell us that everything would be fine and kiss us on the forehead?

I wanted that. I wouldn't be embarrassed that she was with me. It could work. I'd make it work.

But she wasn't there. It was just me...in my room....alone. Completely alone.

Needless to say, it wasn't a good first couple of days. I was lost, literally and figuratively, I didn't know where the hell I was, the bus system was one of the most frightening things I had to force myself to overcome, I didn't have any food other than what the uni was providing for me and these disgusting chocolate chip muffins I bought from my very first Asda trip and basically caving into the pressure of my new life.

I needed to get out. I needed to not be around uni officials. They were so annoying and to a certain point, patronizing. I knew that they wanted to help us and were only doing things to try and help us, but it seemed like the more they tried to help, the more incompetent I felt. It quickly got to the point where I wanted to just shout at them, "you know what? Don't worry about it. I'll figure it out myself, thanks."

I emailed the one person I knew I could talk to and wouldn't talk back to me as if I was walking around with half a brain. I emailed Ash.

We decided to meet up on the same day that the rest of the UK students were moving into halls, outside of Earl's Court station. It was my first mission outside of the uni walls and using public transportation on my own. I was ready for it though. I asked the security guard how to get to Earl's Court without using any buses, since I was still really scared of them. I just wanted to get to the tube station. Once I was on the tube, I'd be fine. I could figure it out from there.

I left two hours early because I was sure I'd get lost. And If by some miracle I didn't get lost, I'd just hang out in some local restaurant near Earl's Court until it was time for us to meet up.

Good thing I did leave early. I don't know how I managed it, but I was lost in Putney for a good long time until I finally made it to the Putney train station. I ended up going in a giant circle and taking one of the most complicated routes getting into Central, I would learn once I got over my fear of buses. I used up the entire two hours and met Ash right on time.

We went to Nando's for lunch and spent the rest of the day walking around the city.

The city. The glorious city. The city that looked familar to me, that I had been dreaming about and obsessing about since I had left. My city.

We got lost in our conversation, lost tracked of time and somewhat lost in the city. I had no idea how we ended up sitting on a step outside of these flats. We were just there, with my aching feet and laughing at this old woman who didn't like the idea of us plopping down on their stairs.

It's crazy how easy you can get along with some people in the world. It's unexplainable and there's really no reason as to why you get along so well, you just do. It's a comfort that I needed and didn't want to let go of. I knew things weren't the same between Ash and I, but a lot of things felt the same and were the same. He still looked the same. He still smelled the same. He still made me laugh the same way that he was so damn good at. I still kinda...sorta...felt the same.

But no! I wasn't going to travel that road again. Even though some things were the same, a lot of things had also changed and I needed to accept and acknowledge that. We were different. Things were different now.

Oh my, how things were different.

Posted by Sam at 02:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Treat others the way you would like to be treated. It is a lesson that every child is usually taught at a very young age. And yet here I am, 21-years-old, just now learning this lesson.

While struggling these past few days to write the second half of my story recapping my past year in London, something hit me in the middle of the night while I was also struggling to go to sleep...

I am a mean person.

Really. I am truly a mean person. I know for a fact I'm not the world's meanest person, but I can be really horrible at certain times. Of course, generally, I would consider myself to be a decent human being. I am nice day-to-day, but there are some times, important times, big times...when I don't think, I temporarily lose my semi-stable mind and turn into a mean person.

And of course, "mean person" is simply an understatement. I can be a downright bitch.

When I think about this past year, this Big, Defining year for Sammi Jo, I have to force myself to think about everything. Everything. Even the things that I don't want to think about that have shadowed me for the past however many months. Things I never told anyone or wrote about up here in any kind of detail or length. Not because I didn't want to. I always wanted to talk about it, because that's how I sort things out in my brain. But of course since I am me, and have to be complicated in every sense, I believed if I just didn't talk about it or aknowledge it, it never happened, therefore making me seem like a decent person once again who never turned into that horrible bitch in the first place.

I am, of course, talking about Ash and the massive fall out we had at the beginning of the term.

At the time when everything was happening, I was so fucked both mentally and physically. I was ill, I was depressed and generally always high or drunk. I never felt inclined to write about it up here either since I didn't think it'd be right splashing our business out on my blog. What happened between us was our business, right?

Right. Us two and all of my flatmates because I liked to bitch about him when there was really nothing wrong to begin with.

But now, with the all of the time that has gone by, with everything that has happened, with all of these thoughts constantly following me, I have to get it out. I need to. I figured that one of the reasons as to why I am unable to carry on with my recap of this past year is because I haven't properly dealt with that entire situation, alone, with myself, inside my brain. I simply let it wash over me and didn't get anything resolved. I'm unsure how I even manage to shove things aside so easily and pretend that they never occur, but I do it and every single time, no matter how much time has passed, it always seems to creep up behind me and then haunt me until I have dealt with it.

I couldn't carry on writing because I didn't know what to say. How do you talk about something you really don't want to talk about in the first place? But I didn't want to ignore it completely. I couldn't. It was such a big thing to happen to not mention it at all, and I didn't want to leave it out anyway. I wanted to include it and finally talk it out like I normally do.

So I am now.

The beginning of uni was so strange. Of course it would be. I was in a new city, completely on my own for the first time ever in my life, alone, scared, confused, worried and most of all, completely unwilling to admit that fact to anyone because I had wanted this dream for so long. It was exactly what I had wanted so I wasn't allowed to be feeling any of those feelings. I had it all completely under control and I was going to make it all work, no matter what.

Enter, Ash.

I remembered his email he had sent to me before I had even left the states. I remembered his words. Something along the lines...

"I know things are weird between us, but don't hesitate to call if you need to see a familar face."

I certainly didn't hesitate. I certainly needed to see a familar face. I certainly could do with someone who knew me, understood me, would comfort me and take care of me. Let me know that things were going to be okay and hold my hand just for a little while until I got the hang of things.

I also certainly thought about what this would mean. What it would do to me. What it would do to him. And most importantly, what it would do to us. We had a lot of history and some unresolved issues. We weren't together anymore and would we be able to make the "just friends" thing work out?

Seeing him again and being back in London wasn't strange at all. I did feel like I was back at home and the immediate comfort I got was a feeling I was so grateful for. Things between us clicked like they always did and it was if no time had ever passed. I remember writing about it on here and how instantly happy I was. I had some restored faith that things would work out and maybe I didn't just make the world's biggest mistake.

We eventually got back together. I thought that's what I wanted. My first year of university was going to be amazing. I was setting up a proper life in London, getting a firm grip on things and best of all, Ash and I were back together and better than ever. We were going to make this work. I would spend time at his on the weekends, he would spend time at mine from time to time, I would always go to my lectures, and punch out these spectacular writing pieces that would land me a world famous writing job and I'd be sorted until the end of time.

But things started happening. Life happened. Selfish Sammi Jo decided to come out and play.

I remember when I first noticed that my feelings had shifted. I felt a change. It was at my surprise birthday party that the girls had thrown for me.

The shift was so sudden and quick that I barely recognized it. I knew something was off and I felt like something was off, but it only stuck with me for a brief moment that I didn't even think about it. Instead I just carried on with the evening as normal.

Now when I look back, it's so obvious and why didn't I do something about it right then and there? Why instead did I let things drag out for weeks, months afterwards? Why couldn't I have just been an adult and tell the truth, rather than shrink up and lash out.

I began properly speaking to my flatmates and hanging out with them. Oh, they were all so new and shiny and I was so excited to be meeting new people and adapting more to the uni life. I naturally sank into it and started swallowing the entire scene in huge gulps I could barely breathe.

My weekend trips into Central became less and less. I stopped calling Ash as much as I used to, and when we did talk to each other, all I would ever talk about is all of the people at uni and how great things were going. I was learning all of these new things and learning about all these new people and I was just so happy, happy, happy about everything.

And changing so rapidly.

And leaving people behind.

And forgetting about people I cared about.

Who cared about me.

Life flew by at warp speed. I can hardly remember when things started to properly fall apart. All I remember are two very distinctive moments.

The first was when I had properly started to embrace the uni nightlife. Lauren and I were always going out, we were both extremely ill but still thought we'd be hardcore and party like rockstars every night. We would go to the bar, get wasted, then go to Bede and get stoned. I stopped going to my lectures and fell into my slump.

I had told Ash that I didn't want to go into Central because I was ill and didn't feel well. It was true. I had planned on staying in that night to try and heal myself. I was in my pajamas getting ready to watch Grey's Anatomy on dvd when Lauren came in my room and convinced me to go out to the bop. There was something going on...some theme....some boy....some drama. I didn't want to be left out so I dragged myself out and had yet another evening tearing up my immune system.

The next day, Ash came by and surprised me with Krispy Kreme doughnuts and shoes.

It's a weird combination, I know, but we had reasons and it was really sweet.

He had gone well out of his way to get the doughnuts, to carry the shoes, to come all the way to uni, to see me, to spend time with me, to try and make me feel better. And I had gone out the previous night getting wasted again.

The second thing is a night that I really would like to erase permenantly from my memory if it were ever possible. A night that I still haven't dealt with myself and still can't bring myself to think about let alone write about. It was like a scene torn straight out of a dramatic film and I was starred as the manic depressive, mental, alcoholic, drug addict girlfriend who refused help in the worst kind of way.

The night when I treated someone, Ash, in a way that I would never want to be treated.

After everything, I just continued on with my days as if nothing had happened. The memories faded and denial had set in. I made up excuses and did a damn good job of rinsing the entire experience down the drain. It had never happened, I was fine, things were fine, they would always be fine. Things are always fine with me.

Towards the end of uni, I started thinking about my first steps that I had taken away from home. There were a lot of good times. So many good times and laughs and great stories. I had made a lot of changes and met some great people. But I also started thinking about the times that weren't so great. And the thinking which hasn't stopped ticking away in some part of my brain every single day. Whatever switch I had flicked to cut all of those horrible memories out had just been flicked on. There was no way of shutting it out any longer.

I know what I did to Ash in the end of our relationship was...well, not great to put it gently. I could go on about how horrible I was and call myself horrible names or put myself down, or do something else that would in some way make it seem like I was punishing myself for everything.

But I'm not going to. What good would that really accomplish? My punishment is the fact that reality has set in and now I have to live with knowing that he hates me. He is filled up to his eyeballs with hate towards me, and that realization is enough for me to crawl under the biggest rock and never move from that spot ever again.

I have learned a lot this past year and have gained some serious perspective about myself. People make mistakes. They make bad decisions (really bad ones) and trip over their own feet. We all can get sidetracked when a life changing occasion happens and our judgement isn't always up to par when there are so many new and different things going on around you every single second of every day, distracting you.

And in the process you can hurt the ones closest to you. The ones who know you inside and out. The ones who don't deserve any of your frustrations or lashes.

I did it anyway, because at the end of the day, I knew I could. I don't like to acknowledge that ugly side of myself, but it's true. I knew I could. It's the same reason why I know I can argue with Momma and Mel and not speak to them for days (or in the current situation with Momma, weeks). I know I can eventually always go back, sort things out, everything will be fine and they will take me back.

The only difference between Momma and Mel, and Ash is that with him, he didn't have to take me back and deal with me. And I don't blame him. I wouldn't take me back.

Nowadays with all of the time that has gone by and all of my thinking, part of me gets the urge to type up an email and apologize and explain and do...something...I want to tell him how sorry I am, how I really hope that things are going well for him and I hope he's found someone who appreciates him for all the things I never appreciated, when I should have. I mean, it's never too late to right?

But every time I find myself in front of the keyboard or mentally composing my mammoth message, I stop myself. I decide to leave him be and not dig things up that should just be left alone. I know I've caused enough grief for him and I wouldn't want to fuck things up again just so I can try and ease my guilty conscious. I should have really thought about that before I traded in a relationship that was too perfect for me to handle, for a bone head East London prick that treated me like shit. Karma's a bitch that way I suppose.

That is what I have to live with. I learned a huge lesson the hardest way possible. I wish it didn't have to be like that, but hey, I like to think that things happen for a reason. Maybe some kind of good did come out of it. I know he's doing really well out there, kicking ass and getting everything that he rightfully deserves. He's the one who's fine. And me? Well, I'm just mean.

Posted by Sam at 07:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

So my lecturer really wasn't lying when he said that you need to write every day in order to exercise your words and keep a fresh mind about things. What a clever man. Too bad while I was actually at uni I never listened to him and therefore delivered nothing but shit stories that I thought of last minute and handed in two minutes before the deadline.

I still haven't had a call back from work so my days have mostly gone as follows:

8am - Wake up and check my facebook.
9am - Get out of bed and make breakfast.
9:30am - Climb back in bed and rest to "let breakfast digest."
11am - Convince myself to get out of bed and have a shower.
12:30pm - Make lunch.
1:30pm - Lay down for my afternoon nap.
3:15 - Wake up, have a quick afternoon snack and wait for Momma and Mel to get home.

And that's about it really. To be fair, in between I usually tidy up the kitchen and maybe my room if I'm feeling productive. Otherwise I don't do fuck all.

It's killing me. I am so bored during the day and I have thoughts about what I could be doing. Like I could be writing. I could be sorting my loan out so I can actually pay my fees for my second year of uni. I could get on Momma's exercise bike that she has downstairs and actually use it so I don't become some nasty schlub over the summer. I could re-organize my room since it could do with a proper clean.

But I don't. I find it too difficult to concentrate and instead I humor myself by watching TV or pissing about on the internet. I mean, I'm so lazy I can't even be bothered to go to the pool that is literally a five minute walk from my house. That's just too much effort.

Luckily I don't think I'm in a funk and my mood is generally positive. I'm just so unbelievably bored during the day. I keep on hoping that my job will hurry up with whatever is holding my paperwork back and I can get back to the office if only so I can have some regular human contact. That would be nice. I never thought I would take that for granted, but I suppose I did at uni. Somebody was always around, and if you ever were caught alone in the flat, you really cherrished those quiet moments. Now I'm at home and it's always quiet. If my music isn't turned on, all I can hear is the light buzz of the fans that are turned on and the beeping of construction trucks off in the distance.

My writing, though. That's one thing that's really bothering me. I didn't think I'd be struggling so much with the second part of my little story, but alas I find myself stuck on the same sentence that has been bothering me for the past two days. I'm sure I'm just overthinking things, but I want it to be good. To sound decent. To be slightly interesting. Before I even went to uni, I didn't have this problem and I thought even though I was writing about every day, mundane things it sounded half decent. Now I actually have a lot to write about that I consider partially interesting and I'm frozen. Perhaps it's the classic case of having too much too say at one time.

And even though I am stuck at the house, alone, with everything being absolutely quiet, I think it's good for me to have to sit by myself and properly think about stuff. I never got this kind of solitude at uni and I could have done with some while I was there. Now I'm back to writing more semi-regularly and whether it's good or bad, I like to think that I'm exercising my words. Hopefully something decent will come out of it.

Posted by Sam at 09:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I try, you know?

I mean, I really try. I'm trying right now as a matter of fact.

I'm trying, as I type this, to not march my 5'2 little frame outside and kick the living fuck out of whoever is blasting their stupid, disgusting, extremely distracting music that has been pounding inside of my room for the past hour.

I mean, honestly, do you really need your shitty music blaring that loud? Is it so moving to you that you feel this desire to share it with the entire world? Why? All I have to ask is why do you feel this need to share your shitty music with me? I didn't ask to hear it. And I certainly don't care to hear it. Not now. Not ever.

I'm also trying to write the second half of my London story, but am unable to concentrate fully since I've got some unknown rapper who likes to rhyme "bling" with "thing" about two hundred times bouncing around in my brain. He won't go away. I'm trying to detail what my room looks like and instead I want to start break dancing and surround myself with bitches and ho's. You know how it is.

I understand that people like to listen to their music loudly. I am one of those people. But it's Saturday. It's late. Take your beatomobile, your untalented rapper and move your ass to the club where it belongs. People who are broke, unemployed and fucking annoyed, like myself, don't appreciate it.

Posted by Sam at 02:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

A week an a half. Well, basically two weeks. Two weeks of me existing in my house. Occasionally I'll go outside for a fag, but otherwise I never leave. I stay inside, all the time, doing absolutely nothing.

Well, that's not true. I do do things. They're just not interesting in the slightest and I only do them to make it seem like I'm being productive when really I'm a lazy git who can't be bothered to be a full human being. It seems like the only thing that I do use is my mind. My imagination. My brain that is working overtime. Not on anything that actually matters and would benefit me in any way shape or form, just random, passing thoughts that cloud my eyesight and send me off into a daze.

Having so much time on my hands with nothing pressing to do during the day, allows me to wander about the townhouse, partially guilt-free and reflect. Lots of reflecting has been going on. And when I'm not reflecting, I'm watching reality TV that distracts me from all of the thinking. All of the reflecting.

My mother and I still aren't speaking. Not only are we not speaking, we haven't even seen each other ever since I've been back. I know, how crazy is that? It's easy, obviously when she's not here. I can prance about, rummage through the kitchen and blast music as if the townhouse was my own place that I paid the mortgage on. But when she's at home, we're both normally holed up in our separate rooms with the doors shut. I won't lie though...I'm scared to leave my room when she's at home because I'm afraid of bumping into her.

It shouldn't be like this.

We have to talk, I know that has to be done. I don't want to, and I'm not sure why. I'm afraid I'll just end up arguing with her and that'll be that. She has every right to throw me out on the street, lock the door and shout a very angry "fuck you" at me and I can't say anything. Being over the age of eighteen does have it's downsides I guess. Part of me is slightly scared since Momma is a very intimidating presence, and the rest of me basically doesn't care. I don't like admiting that either because it makes me sound like a horrible, ungrateful daughter that doesn't give two shits about their own mom, which is absolutely not true. I just don't like acknowledging the fact that I think she's acting like a four-year-old...as am I, but we don't have to get into that.

So I think about that. I wonder how long this will go on. I wonder who will cave first and end up gently knocking on the other person's door to sit down and eventually have That Chat that I'm waiting/expecting to happen.

But when I'm not thinking about that, I think about other things. I reflect on this past year at uni and wonder how I've benefited from it. How I've changed from it. What I did. Who I hurt. Who hurt me. The people I've met and all of the laughs we've shared. The tears. All of the fucking tears. The endless days and nights spent in the flat and all of the time we wasted but didn't seem like a waste because we were all together still having a good time. And where do I go from here?

Coming back home and knowing that I'm going to be here for a good while this time around has been an odd transition for me, especially with the whole weird Momma Situation I've got going on. I like it and I don't at the same time. I've got way too much time on my hands to sit and play with and after a while, my thoughts tend to get carried away and I feel like I may be going mental. The thing that gets me is that I have things I could be doing. I know what I should be doing, but instead I distract myself by making a meal that's far too big for myself, watching bad daytime TV or the one thing that has taken over most of my days; sit on facebook until I've almost gone blind.

Yeah. I'm a facebook whore. And it disgusts me.

I think about writing. I want to start writing more regularly, but I'm even finding that to be too difficult for me. I'm not sure why I'm so lethargic about my days but I really wish it'd go away. Perhaps when my job calls me back. I have called them, by the way, so they do know that I'm back. I'm not just sitting at home willing them to call me.

I know it's my own fault, but I'm already feeling like I'm slowly dying inside my room. I'll get up and get out soon though. I have to, because cabin fever is beginning to set in and I'll eventually kick myself out before too long. If not then I'm sure you'll be reading stories of all of my new imaginary friends who have taken over my brain and talk about all of the pretty butterflies and rainbows that are inside my room.

Posted by Sam at 03:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm back home for the summer.

I guess it's okay. I'm not speaking to Momma and I haven't seen her in the past three days. She saw my labret piercing and freaked out. I don't think the tattoo on my foot made things any better either. She didn't even say hi or how was your flight? Instead, she immediately said to me when I was in ear distance, "you know you're taking that out, don't you?" I just kept my mouth shut. Like I would actually take my new favorite piercing out because Momma told me to.

I haven't really done anything for the past week other than lay in bed, watch bad daytime TV and eat peanut butter. I've already finished two small containers. I don't think it's healthy, but whatever. I'm eating a salad that Helen used to make and I fell in love with.

I did go out last night to the Bungalow where everyone still holds happy hour. It was Jody's farewell happy hour since she got a better paying job working elsewhere. Good for her. It was weird being surrounded by work people again, listening to the same shop talk that I left almost a year ago. It seemed like not much had changed.

Except for me though. I had changed. A lot. And they let me know.

Questions, quesitons, questions....when did I do this? When had I done that? Did it hurt? How was school? Was I glad to be back home? When was I coming back to work? Blah, blah, blah....

I just kind of sat there for a bit slightly bored. I was half-expecting to see Helen walk through the door, and there were times when I wanted to send her a text message, but couldn't. It was weird being back on the outside of uni and trying to re-aquaint myself with things. I didn't like it and while everyone was chatting about their family lives, or work, or drinking stories from way back in the day, I wondered if I was headed to the same place. I didn't want that to be me in twenty years, rambling off drinking stories about when I was in London, living a crazy, mental life.

I know I've changed quite a bit, but I didn't realize it was going to be so...obvious. I even noticed that I think differently and I'm not sure whether it's for the better or worse. But then again, who really cares if it's either or? I've just changed and if anything, have learned so much more by going off to uni. Maybe I didn't learn everything in my lectures, but I did learn loads more about people and life in general. I noticed small things after getting back and am still getting used to some stuff. I had forgotten that we have sales tax over here and rather than paying $1.29 for a diet Pepsi, I had to pay $1.32 to my surprise. I don't smoke as much back home either, mostly just because it's so damn boring to go all the way outside just for a smoke. And it's really hot over here. A lot more hot than uni.

I'm not known out here though. Nobody really knows who I am like they do back at uni. I was known at the Belfry. People knew my name. Our group was legend and we made statements. But here, I was just that girl who went off to London for college. Who came back wearing different clothes, saying different things, looking different. I was just different all together. I didn't mean fuck all here.

The funny thing though is that I really don't care. I don't want to be That Girl here. Not with these people who live in middle-class white suburbia with their double car garages and tupperware parties. That's not me and it's not who I want to be. I want to be That Girl in London and only in London. Back here in VA I can just be the quiet little girl who likes to eat peanut butter and is a mystery to everyone else.

I am desperately missing uni though and everyone. Carlene, Santos and Zoe have gone off to Thailand and then they're off to Greece afterwards. I'm thinking about going to Greece for a couple of weeks if I can scrape the money together. It'd be nice to go and see some uni folks. Helen, Jon and even boy Sam said that they wanted to come here and visit me in VA. Then we'd roll up to New York for a couple days for no other reason except that we want to. Trish is staying in London over the summer and working full time while Fiona is getting a job at Gatwick airport and chilling back at her house. We've all split up to do our own thing over the summer and while some of us will still be together or meeting up, it won't be the same not having the whole group there.

Who knows what'll happen. All I know is that I'm trying to get my old job back so I can start getting a paycheck. I won't be doing much this summer if I don't gather some moolah up for myself. I have to get motivated about my days before I quickly fall into a slump, which I already see occuring. I've been back for almost a week and my suitcases are still sitting at the foot of my bed, unpacked. I should do it, but emptying my suitcases and going through everything that I brought back with me, means that the first year really is over. I'm not just going to be back home for a couple of weeks. It's months this time and my next plane ticket to go back to London isn't scheduled until September 12th when the second half of my uni journey will begin.

We'll see....we'll certainly see how things unfold for us.

Posted by Sam at 04:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)