My Mumbling Thoughts

Ah, the joys of being back home for the holidays. It's nice to be back with home cooked meals and laying in my bed all day having Gilmore Girls marathons. There's no stress. There are no worries. I'm fine and surprisingly quite happy. I thought I would want to go back to London immediately after stepping foot off the plane, but it's good to be away from it all. I needed the break. It was necessary and vital for my own mental health.

I plan on doing a lot of reading once my books come in that Mel ordered for me online. My American Literature lecturer gave us all a nice reading list for the holiday break, and I have to get started on Huckleberry Finn and Portrait of a Lady. Not only that, I have my new article that I need to start writing for the newspaper. And let's not forget my entire iTunes library that I'm moving over onto my new, fancy external hard drive that Momma was so nice to get me for Christmas. I have projects. There are things that I need to do. Lots of important things. Well, maybe my goal of watching the entire last season of Gilmore Girls in one day was a bit ambitious and maybe not the most important thing on my list, but it's still there nonetheless, and still needs to get finished.

And while I'm doing all of this, I occasionally have lunch with old co-workers and still need to visit friends that I haven't seen in years. I need to make sure that my car is registered so I can drive it around Virginia legally and finish changing over rooms, since Mel kicked me out of my old room weeks ago so she could "have the extra closet space." It's a lot to do in two weeks.

Two very short weeks that I thought were going to be much longer. My break, it seems is just not long enough for me. I want to stay here in my lovely double bed and never leave. London is nice, but right now Virginia is being so kind to me.

A while back, perhaps two months ago, Momma and I had a not-so-great conversation on the phone with each other. I had just been back for a couple of weeks and was so excited to be starting my second year and doing things right this time. I had plans, thoughts, ideas. I was going to all of my lectures, doing all of my work and even started planning for my third year. I wanted to run for the newspaper and try to be one of the editors. I also wanted to run for International Officer and get into the uni politics. I wanted to move back on campus and be a floor rep. I mean, how cool would it be for me to have my very own group of little freshers to take under my wings and show the ropes to? I could be a mentor, a listener and only the coolest floor rep ever! It was good and I thought Momma would like to hear about me being so proactive and not being so....alcoholic.

Momma: "And when would you be doing all of this?"

Me: "Well, next year of course.

Momma: "How are you going to do that? You're going to be in New York for your third year."

And there it was. Me in New York. She was so hung up on this idea of me being in New York my third year. Why? I mean, I know it was originally my idea to go to London for two years and spend my last year in New York, but I changed my mind. I was allowed to change my mind. People change their minds all the time, it's perfectly normal. Why couldn't she just accept that I didn't want to go to New York anymore? I wanted to stay in London.

We had a few words and finally decided to agree to disagree. She sent me an email apologizing for getting so angry and I never responded. We just stopped talking. It wasn't anything major, but I figured it would be easier if we simply didn't talk about it anymore. We would only end up upset with each other and I didn't want that.

After that conversation though, something inside me changed. I was no longer as motivated or excited about things like I was before. All of my future plans suddenly came to an abrupt hault and I thought what was the point continuing with anything if I wasn't even going to be there next year?

So without even really thinking about it, or acknowledging it myself, somewhere in my subconscious, I quit. I stopped going to lectures. I stopped making plans. I just stopped with everything all together. I never left the flat, I barely went to work, I was always crabby and hated everyone and everything. I kept to myself for the most part and didn't feel like dealing with any of it. I was always just this moody cow that shrank into my own moody shell.

The last few weeks of my first term this year were shit. I drank a lot, as I always do when I have a problem that I don't want to deal with. I made a lot of bad decisions....again....and I let things get to their absolute worst until finally I broke down and had a meltdown in front of Helen, telling her everything. Telling her that I was a big, giant failure and that I failed three of my classes. I was probably going to fail my second year of university and god, I really couldn't afford that, both literally and figurartively. I sank so low into my own self-loathing, self-hating slump and had a big pity party for one that just completely took over and ran a muck. I sucked. I was a shit. I also made t-shirts, buttons and had my own fan club that told me so every single day.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

It took a lot for me to drag myself back up and start to sort things. Carlene forced me to do a lot of things that I didn't want to do (i.e. emailing my course convener to sort out my classes and starting work that I ignored down at the bottom of my bed), and thankfully she was there to read the emails first that I was too scared to read and let me know that none of my lecturers hated me, and weren't going to make me cry. I got my ass back on the road to redemption, however late.

Things still aren't fixed, but I do have meetings set up for when I get back. I've got a lot of stuff to catch up on and fix, but I'm not a complete lost cause. Things are still very much fixable. And since I've been back, I'm feeling re-charged and ready to really tackle this second year like I was going to do when I first got there, but sadly fell off my very high horse.

But being back home, and having another chat with Momma about my future (it went really well actually, and seemed like a real adult conversation), I've been thinking about other things. Like, what it would be like if I just gave in and did live in New York my third year. It couldn't suck that bad. And how many other people are trying to decide what great city to live in? I probably sound like some kind of spoiled brat.

"Oh no! I can't decide where to live! New York or London!? Life is just SO HARD."

I've been spending a lot of time weighing the pros and cons of everything. As much as I would love to finish my uni education in London with everyone I already know, and being comfortable in a place that I've already lived for two years...sometimes I think about how nice it would be to start anew, in a place where people don't know who I am. That would be so refreshing.

Especially since I am quite known around Roehampton for my...reputation. I'm not sure if it's a good name that I've made for myself or not, but it is a name. People know who I am. I get looks. I get looks. And sometimes I would like to not have people look at me at all.

I suppose it'll all depend what gets said in the meeting that I go to when I get back. Leone is her name. I hope she's nice when I meet her. I don't want to cry. I've already cried enough over my second fuck up. I don't want to cry anymore. I just want to get it fixed and move on.