My Mumbling Thoughts

I shall temporarily be offline since Bridget, my darling laptop, is currently at the Apple hospital being worked on.

I know! Not only am I completely devestated and worried, but now I'm disconnected from the internet. I didn't realize just how much I use Bridget until she was gone. It's like living without my right arm. She stopped working this Tuesday, and I've been scrambling ever since, running back and forth to Kingston, trying to get her sorted. Last night I left her at the shop, and now I'm just waiting, and waiting, and waiting....which is the worst part.

Hopefully she won't be gone for too long. I'm going to try and see if I can rent a laptop over the weekend from uni, because I can't keep borrowing everyone's here at the flat, nor can I continuously walk up to uni just for the internet. Especially with the amount of times I check facebook. I might as well just grab a camp bed and set up for the whole evening.

The guy at the shop, who was incredibly lovely, said it appears to be my hard drive. Yep. The hard drive. I'm going to lose everything on there, but I'm not too worried, because all of my music is safe on Carrie, my external hard drive. The only thing I'm really pissed about losing is the beginning of my short story, although that was only about 300 words, and I can easily re-write that again.

It's just a pain in my ass to not have her, especially now that life has just gone from 2-50 on the scale of how busy life is. This is only the beginning, and already I'm shattered. It's okay though, because I'll have a bit of a break over the weekend, but this next coming week might actually kill me.

Oh yeah, and did I mention that my date is going to be this Wednesday? Yeah. Things just keep getting better and better.....

Proper updates when I've been re-united with my first child.

Posted by Sam at 09:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Today was one of the nicest days London has had in a while. It wasn't hot. It wasn't cold. It was sunny and perfect.

As the day went on, the sun set and the wind began to pick up a little. Some clouds rolled in over the sky and made it darker in our little flat. And after a little while longer, the wind was so fierce it felt as if the walls might be pushed over into a slant because of the sheer force.

There wasn't any rain though. Just extreme winds. I stood in the doorway at our balcony and felt the wind whip all around me, almost threatening to pick me up and have me ride the wind waves.

It seems like that will be happening to my schedule soon. I was cruising along happily in my wind-free life, only now to start seeing the clouds roll in. The next few weeks are going to very busy for me.

My head has been muddled up for the past couple of hours, while I've been tossing and turning in bed trying to sleep. I probably shouldn't have had that nap in the middle of the day, but I woke up really early, had gone to bed the previous night really late. I thought a quick power nap would do me good. Not so much. It only appears to have messed up my body clock.

Today I went to my lecture at 9am. I stopped off at Brenda's for an egg and bacon sandwich. I went into our student union and picked up a form for elections week. Why you ask? Why because I've decided to run for International Officer for next year. I would like to make a difference in our international affairs seeing as I am an international student myself, and thought what better way to do so than run for a this highly sought after position.

Well, I'm not too sure if it's highly sought after, but to me it is.

I need to get two signatures from each of our colleges (eight in total, so not too hard) by this Friday, and I'm meeting with our current international officer on Wednesday to see what the position is all about, what I can do to change things, how I should campaign, what should I write in my manifesto, blah, blah, blah... My manifesto is due in this Friday by 5pm and at 5:30pm I shall be attending a meeting for all of the people who are running for different offices. It should be interesting. I hope. Or possibly quite terrifying.

Campaign week is all of next week, which means I will be out every. single. night. You have to. You have to mingle with the student body, get your name and face out there (as if mine isn't already) and encourage people to vote for you. It's politics baby, and I'm diving in head first.

On top of all of this, I have about four essays to write, a short story to write, two birthdays to attend to and all while looking for a job because I'm still skint. That's not including all of the books I have to read and boring lectures I must attend.

And yet, here I sit, partially awake and unable to sleep. My alarm will be going off in approximately four and a half hours, and the only wink of sleep I've had is that stupid mini "power nap" I had earlier in the day. I don't mind that I'm busy now, although I just wish it would have come when I didn't have financial worries on top of everything. That stresses me out the most, and wondering how I'm going to pay the rent along with all of the other things whirling around me makes my chest a little bit tighter. I'm trying to think about it, whilst at the same time pretend it's not there and all I've been able to accomplish is lack of sleep and extreme headaches.

I suppose the only real good thing amongst this entire wind storm that I have going on, is that I received a message from Mel today telling me not to worry about New York anymore. Momma has agreed to let me stay in London for my third year since she has finally come to her senses and realized that it would cost a lot more money to move me all the way to New York and have me start all over again. She's going to call me on Saturday so we can chat about it in full and again, talk about my future.

At least it's one thing I can cross off my list. Now if I can manage to survive the rest of the next two weeks, I should be good to go. We shall see.

Posted by Sam at 02:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I woke up at exactly eight o'clock this morning when my alarm started buzzing.

Exactly at eight o'clock. Not 7:58 or 8:03 in the morning. Eight on the dot.

I loafed around the flat for four hours before I actually decided that I should have a shower. I fluffed around for a couple more hours getting ready with no real place to go. I made some food. I chatted shit with Trish for a bit. And finally, finally around half three in the afternoon, I decided to do some work. Perhaps look at some jobs, since I'm unemployed, yet again, and am poor, yet again.

I found a couple of jobs with potential and applied for them. I'm keeping all of my fingers and toes crossed for one in particular, mostly because it's a lazy job that pays pretty decent. I'd only have to work for two hours every day, and I could work from home. Easy as cake, and it's working on Powerpoint, which is something I've been playing with for fun since I was twelve. I recieved an email back from a man named, Roger, who said that they would consider my CV (resume) and get back to me.

We want this job for Sammi Jo. Sammi Jo would ROCK this job. And now Sammi Jo will stop speaking in third person because it's really annoying.

However, before I spent a few hours job searching, I found myself in a place that seems to be comforting to me. It wasn't until about ten minutes of sitting at my window, staring out into nothing in particular, that I realized this was probably another form of a security blanket for me. All last year, I would find myself perched at my window, kneeling on my bed that was pushed up against the wall, and staring out over Digby below me. I would do this for ages, occasionally leaving to check what was new on the internet, or to go into the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea.

I haven't really done it here at the flat, mostly because my view isn't anything special. I have a messy garden below and another set of boring flats to look at across the way. Today, though, I found myself in a familar mood that I used to get in last year, and subsequently found myself in a familar place at my window.

I watched people come and go from the other flats, saw a few people walking down the street, and watched the big, ginger cat that lives in our neighborhood wander around for a bit. And I stared. I blatantly stared, but I wasn't thinking about what I was staring at. I was thinking about why am I in this "blah" mood. It's not the weather; it rains in England. That has always been a known fact. I'm not sad, and I'm not fantastically happy either. I'm not anything really. If I had to put an emotion to it, I would probably just pick bored. I'm so ridiculously bored with everything.

I continued to think about it, and it's all my fault that I'm bored. Yes, I have coursework to do, and yes I need to be actively figuring out how to get money in my hands and fast, but I'm just so bored with everything I can't really be bothered to do anything about it.

The circles went round and round in my brain, and after thinking about how bored I've been recently, I eventually got angry with myself. Why did I let things get like this? Why am I constantly blabbing on about the same shit all the time? Am I not the person who is always saying if you don't like something, then fucking do something about it? Don't just sit around on your ass and wish for things to happen. Get out there and make shit happen. That's the only way it's going to happen. Sure, for some people things may magically fall into their laps, but for those of us that aren't as fortunate, we have to bust our asses to get what we want and deserve.

I mentally shouted at myself, in a manner that Momma would have done so, and kicked myself in the ass for falling down, yet again, and forced myself to stop being so goddamned lethargic, because it's really pissing me off. Then I gave myself a hug and a bowl of ice-cream, because shouting at myself like that sometimes hurts my feelings.

The good thing is that I'm able to recognize that I'm feeling this way and can put a stop to it a lot faster, rather than letting it consume me until things get so bad that I have to have someone else come in and clean everything up for me. It's fine if I stumble every so often. For me, it's kind of expected. Things aren't always so peachy and rose colored for me. I don't sail along on smooth waters. No, I'm in the fucking ocean in the middle of a hurricane without a life jacket all the time.

I'm in London. I'm a 22-year-old single white female that goes to uni and is a writer. I'm a writer goddammit. I write. And I'm confident (well, I can portray confidence pretty well). And I'm qualified. I have skills. I can do things really well. And other things that I'm not great at, we won't worry about because they're no use. I'm ready, I'm willing and I want my life in London to change for me. For the better.

For the better.

Posted by Sam at 07:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

If you're wondering what happened on mine and Swindon's date, then that would make two of us. It hasn't happened yet. I know, right? I'm pretty peeved about it myself. The unfortunate thing is that I've actually sent a message to TJ, the captain of the team, who I would assume would organize the entire event, and never got a response to my message. Again, I know, right? I'm not very impressed.

There are a couple of things that I've thought of doing, but then I don't want to be pegged and forever known as "that girl who asked for her money back." Then I think about it a little more and figured £83 is a lot of money to a poor student like myself. I don't care if I am pegged as the stingy girl who asked for her money back. Why pay for something that I never got?

It's lame.

However, I did have a slight run in moment with our dear Swindon this past Friday at the bop. The theme was Heaven and Hell, and naturally I decided to go as Hell. It was a fairly good evening, up until the point when all of my vodka came crashing down on me and I had to leave early for fear of being ill all over the entire place. But before I was paralytic, I had a short conversation with the boy I thought had already forgotten my face.

I was standing on the left side of the bar in the main dance area, topping up my already intoxicating levels of alcohol flowing inside of my veins, when he came and stood on the left side of me. I looked at him a quick moment, realized who it was, and gave a little smile.

"Heya," he shouted into my ear, in order to overpower the music. "Are you having a good night?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's well good," I shouted back. "How about you?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's good. I'm not drunk enough yet though. And they keep giving me these drinks," he looked down into a plastic cup.

"What is it?" It looked kind of good.

"Here, try some," and he handed me his cup.

I was right. It was good. And fruity.

I handed it back to him, and he said something about how he was going to get back on the dancefloor.

As we turned around though, standing right behind us, watching the entire time, were Zoe, Stacey and Trish, observing us. Stacey was stood waiting and ready with her camera, and if I wasn't drunk, I probably would have been mortified. They were gawking at us like proud parents at prom, and it couldn't have been anymore obvious what was going on. Swindon was lovely though, as usual, and stood and had an awkward picture taken with me.

[Pic removed, because it creeps me out.]

Considering I'm completely off my face at this point, I don't think it's half bad. And I'm loving the fact that I know how to put pictures on here now. Although, if by some odd and random chance, he were to ever find this site and see his picture up here with me, I'm sure he'd call to have a restraining order put on me as soon as possible.

Whatevs. I know my regular readers, and the circle is quite small. I don't go off broadcasting about this site to everyone. Besides, I think it's a lovely picture, and I know y'all are curious. Why aren't we making babies together is all I want to ask?

When/if the date happens though, you know I'll be on here filling you all in on all of the details. Until then.

Posted by Sam at 04:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Because I'm lame, I've just now decided to try and add pictures to my blog. I know. I'm in the process of educating myself on how to do it, and I think I've got it....sort of. I just need to figure out how to make the pictures smaller, 'cos they are quite big. So, if this works out, then the picture below should be one that I took whilst in Amsterdam.

Keep your fingers crossed.

View image

Posted by Sam at 03:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Being hungover hurts. We know this. It's not a new concept that we've discovered. And being hungover all day? Sucks.

Late yesterday afternoon, Trish and I decided to venture out to Putney (which really isn't that far; maybe ten minutes on the bus). I wanted to go to HMV and Sainsbury's to pick up some things, and Trish came along with me. It was a bit late in the day, but I figured, why not? I've been sat at the house doing nothing. I might as well go outside and embrace this nice weather that we've been having recently (even if it is still really cold).

We decided while we were there to stop into this one bar that I've never been to before since they were having a deal on their cocktails: buy one get one free. To two poor, alcoholic uni students, that sounded like a fucking good bargain, so in we went.

While we were sat at the bar, we got to talking about Trish's birthday which is coming up here in a couple of weeks. She was telling me how she doesn't want it to be a big deal, and I mentioned the idea that maybe she should have a pub crawl in Putney. It'd be easy peasy, and she'd get drunk really fast, just like how you should do on your 21st birthday.

"Should we have a mini pub crawl tonight?" Trish asked me with a sly look on her face.

"Oh don't do that. Don't say that when you know I'm an alcoholic and can't resist."

We went to two other pubs, and found ourselves stationed at a pub that I quite like called, the Slug 'n' Lettuce. It was pretty busy in there for a Sunday and the music was decent. We weren't planning on getting trashed, at least not until Trish came back to our table next to the window with two sambuca shots.

"Gross. No. No, no, no, no. The last time I did this I threw up all over Leicester Square," I said to Trish with a look of absolute disgust on my face. God, I could smell it wafting up my nostrils and wanted to heave.

"Oh come on! It'll go quick. Come on. Come on," she egged me on.

We went ahead and downed our shots and I was quickly reminded why I hate sambuca. It took all of my energy to not spit it out on Trish's face.

It was a good evening, and I found myself in a happy, chipper, drunk mood. I wasn't completely out of control like how I can usually get, and it was nice to just be out and having a few drinks with one of my girls.

We were outside having a smoke break, when we started having a conversation with another fellow smoker named, Pete. Pete was sweet. He was cute. He was funny. He also held my attention for more than five minutes, so I was pleased.

Pete came and joined us at our table, and I think we were so excited to actually have a man in our company, and mixed in with the alcohol that we had consumed that was still being released into our bloodstreams, we kind of took things a little overboard.

And by "a little" I mean, we scared the poor boy and sent him running for the hills.

The thing about Trish and I, is that not only are we both Americans, but we consider ourselves to be Super Americans. We are loud, obnoxious and we fucking love it. We can easily create havoc just by ourselves when we're left alone together and sober, so you can just imagine what we're like when we've got a bit of alcohol running through us. We're Super Americans to the max.

Trish and I were constantly talking, talking, talking, and I could see poor little Pete's head looking at each of us, as if he were watching a really intense Wimbledon tennis match. We told him stories that we find fucking hilarious, because mostly they're just inside jokes between us, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed at ourselves. I think he might have got four words in the entire time he was sat with us.

When he found a break in the conversation, he excused himself to go to the toilet and outside to smoke. He took his pint with him. He didn't come back.

He did, however, leave his hat and scarf down on the floor next to my stool, and before Trish and I left at closing time, we decided we'd be funny and take his things home with us. Because we are just SO COOL like that.

We ran out of the pub as if we were being chased by the police, and laughed at the bus stop with the fact that we "got away with it." We did not get away with it. He was already gone.

After that moment, I have no memory of what happened. All I barely remember is that I really needed the toilet, and how it is my greatest fear that I get ridiculously drunk and piss on myself. One, it's embarrassing. Two, it's nasty. And three, I'd forever be known as the girl that pissed on herself.

Apparently, what Trish and I have been told by Carlene, who was sober and trying to go to sleep when we finally made it back to the flat, was that we were yelling at each other, we moved furniture around, we tried making food (but I don't think we succeeded), and I screamed at the top of my lungs from our balcony something along the lines of "hello neighborhood! It's Sam and Trish!" Good times.

This morning, I was hungover. Badly. I was woken up by my phone alarm at eight o'clock in the morning, which was downstairs, so I was forced to get out of bed and shut it off. I was topless for some reason, my jeans were in the kitchen on the floor and my head was pounding like I had a construction crew of fifty inside my skull hammering away. I wanted to die.

The rest of the day has been okay, but I've still got a wee bit of a headache, and I've done nothing except piss about on the internet. I joined BlogRoll and have managed to fuck up my links bar. I don't have my dots. I want my dots. My dots make my blog. And it's my fault that they're gone. So I'll be trying to fix that for the next couple of days since I am technologically challenged. I've also been pissing about with Twitter and now I can update that from my phone, which is oh so important.

And a little random side note for my darling Trish. One day, you will come over to join the dark side with me. I found this and thought of you.

Now I must go and down yet another glass of water, and pray that the rest of this headache goes away. I may learn my lesson sometime in the future, but right now, I'll just nurse my hangovers as they come.

Posted by Sam at 08:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Back in the day....

Things were what? More simple? Less complicated? More fun? More frivolous? More carefree? Less dramatic?

Whatevs. Who cares? Why dwell on the past when you live in the present, the here, the now, the time that affects you now.

Now I'm sitting in bed, typing, covered up and listening to my iPod with the curtains drawn to keep the sunrays out. Not because I don't like the sun and want to live like a vampire, but because I don't think I'm used to all of this sunshine that we've been getting recently. It kind of hurts my head, but I do love it. I love the blue skies, the crisp air, the changing of the seasons.

Although, the changing of the seasons, the songs on my iPod, the decent mood that I've found myself in for the past couple of days, seems to take me back in time. I travel whilst sitting in the flat, not moving, back to Virginia. I'm back in the townhouse, or driving in my car, or watching TV with Mel, or chatting with Momma in the kitchen. I'm doing all of these things, and I can hear their voices, smell the food that we're making and feel the wooden floors beneath my bare feet.

And while I am in a generally good mood, and things aren't so absolutely terrible here in the flat anymore, I'm still a wee bit homesick. Not in an "I'm depressed and feel like going back to be comforted and taken care of" way. Just an "I've been thinking about home a lot recently and remember that it wasn't so terrible" kind of way.

I decided to call home yesterday randomly to talk to Momma and Mel. It was nice. It was good to talk to them about stuff that really isn't major news, but simple Virginia updates. Momma's looking for a new job, Mel still goes to her hockey games, the weather is a bit crap, and they were going to clean the second and third floors later on that day.

"You know how I like to get the chores done before we start a new week," Momma said to me.

"Yeah, Momma. I do know how you like that."

And I got to thinking about it, like how I usually do when I'm sat around here with time on my hands, and realized I don't have to always be sad and depressed to want to go home. I can just miss them to miss them. It's allowed. Just because I moved away, doesn't mean that I can't miss how things were before I left. It's okay to think about my old schedule of waking up, getting ready, going to work, coming home, and clocking out around nine or ten in the evening, only to wake up and do it all over again the next day. And things were more simple, to a certain extent.

Even though I've only been away for about a year and a half now (with trips back every now and then), being out on your own is hard work. I know I say it again, and again, and again, but it's only because it's so goddamned true. Making your own way, making your own decisions, making your own world is fucking hard. And sometimes I wonder, how do other people do it? Is there a certain way to how most people do it that makes it a little easier? Was I completely prepared like I thought I was? Is there something I'm missing or doing wrong? Sometimes I wish I had someone here all the time to tell me, no, that's not right. Now do it this way.

I look at other people that I know, or don't know, and watch them do things. How would they do something if they were in my position? Would it be better than my way? Is everything that I'm doing just plain wrong?

Some people that I know have left uni midway through to go back home. They've left uni. Completely left. And have gone back home. Was it too much for them? Were things just that fucked up that they had to go back with the parentals that keep the fridge full of edible food, and pay all of their bills on time? Did they feel the way that I feel sometimes? Tired, tired, oh so tired of being out on my own all the time.

I think about it a little more, and know that it's just hard right now. Things will get better. They have to get better. I will make them better, because just as I know that Momma likes to do her chores on the weekends before she starts a new week, I also know that she raised me to be better, to be independent, to make good decisions and to not give up.

And I can think about that. There's nothing wrong with going back in time and remembering things like that.

Posted by Sam at 01:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

This would be my second newspaper article that I wrote for my uni that DIDN'T get published. I was a bit sore when I searched for my article in the newest printing and couldn't find it, but whatevs, I'm over it now, and don't want to write for the newspaper anymore, because everyone up there is retarded in one way or another. And I can say that because I know both of the editors, and if you knew who they were as well, you'd fully agree with me.

Anyway, I've decided to post it up here, because I can, and it makes me feel better that it did get published, one way or another. Hope y'all enjoy.

***

The thing about when you go to another country, is that it’s strange to encounter other people from back home. Your ear will catch a word or two and you’ll listen in to confirm their accent. And when you’re sure that they’re from where you’re from (in my case, it’d be the U.S.), it’s almost as if you want to run up to them and shout, “oh my god! Are you from the states too? Whereabouts? What are you doing over here?” blah, blah, blah… It’s like an instant bond is made because you’re both from the same country.

Instead of bombarding the person like a mentalist though, you simply stay where you are and continue on, remembering that yes, you are not the only American that lives in London. Others are allowed into the city as well.

However, there are some times when you can sit down and question someone until you’re blue in the face.

Enter, Sarah Turvey, one of Roehampton’s great lecturers who teaches Early Aspects of American Literature. Born in Ponca City, Oklahoma, she moved to Houston, Texas and then over to Surrey, England when she was only 9-years-old. Her father, who worked for an oil company, moved her, her mother and her five brothers and sisters (one brother was born after they moved), to build an oil refinery in 1963.

As I sat with her in her office, she told me about the culture shock she was hit with, how it was a hard adjustment that sometimes left her feeling like an outsider, but how she now likes being able to play two different cards at her own discretion.

“You have to remember that I moved from Houston, Texas, which was, in 1963 an oil boom town, but it was still in some respects, a place at the edge of the known universe. And I think ‘hick’ would be a not unfair description of it.”

Starting with the school list of things to buy (i.e. art smock, knickers/knicker liners, and a complete set of silver plated cutlery with her name engraved on), she was introduced to an entirely new world, and had to learn all of the new rules and customs.

“None of these words meant anything to me, or if they meant something to me, they meant something quite different.”

Irish nuns taught her at the all girl convent school that she attended, and whenever she did something they didn’t approve of, they would say to her, “Sarah Turvey, I don’t know what you do in America, but over here we cut our bread,” or “we don’t pass the vinaigrette before we pass the salt.”

Aside from the more obvious changes in day-to-day life, there were also the more subtle differences that took her longer to disentangle and understand, like the class structure of England. It’s fair to say that the majority of the girls that she was schooled with were upper-middle class, but she took note of how different certain things could be, such as teatime.

“When I arrived, the first thing you had to do was take your shoes off, and put slippers on. And then I noted with interest that we drank tea with the evening meal, an evening meal that was also called ‘tea’. Now I had been to tea with chums, but we had cucumber sandwiches and sponge cake, and suddenly we were having a meal that was being described as tea, but was actually a meal that I recognized as breakfast.

“What I subsequently came to understand was that this was the difference between the solidly upper-middle class girls, whose tea was eaten at four o’clock with cucumber sandwiches and sponge cake, and the families where tea was the evening meal, at which you drank tea, but ate an evening meal. This was the cultural conventions of the lower middle classes.”

Being born in America though, and essentially raised in England has been, you could say, a slight tug-of-war game for Sarah.

“I moved from an initial sense of being intimidated and bewildered by everything, and wishing desperately that I weren’t an American, that I didn’t stand out as different, and that this was my country, my culture, my nationality…to at some point, […] thinking, ‘actually I like being in some ways outside of this’, and perhaps even being seen to have a kind of critical eye upon it all.”

Living in England now for forty-five years, she feels privileged on many levels to live in the country that taught her what a ‘fish knife’ is, where she went to the prestigious university of Oxford and where she raised her children, but she also considers herself lucky to be American, and to be able to flip flop, so to speak, when she so chooses.

And while it can sometimes be confusing whether she’s “too English” or “too American”, she’s perfectly comfortable to seamlessly flick one switch on and turn the other off. It comes as a handy advantage, like when she traveled to the United States to teach American students at the University of North Carolina.

I think it’s safe to say that Sarah Turvey has lived a very full life that most other people probably never experience. She has the best of both worlds (in my humble opinion), and Roehampton is one lucky university to have a lecturer like her.

Posted by Sam at 08:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Occasionally when I think about it, I find it strange that people I know and co-exist with day-to-day actually read my mumbling thoughts on here. Sometimes I feel like warning them beforehand; "hey, don't get scared. I promise I wasn't going to do anything drastic, like kill myself or anything. I was just a bit depressed. You know how melodramatic I can get sometimes. There's some funny stuff on there as well....somewhere....it might take me a while to find it."

I give them what I call "the rules," which are 1.) don't you dare tell anyone the address without consulting me first (I'll probably say no anyway, so don't bother asking). 2.) Don't talk to me about what I write on my blog (like about the serious shit anyway). It's my venting area, what I do in order to get shit off my chest.

That's it. That's all I ask for. I don't think that's too much or selfish of me.

Other times though, I think it's really cool that people I know semi-regularly read what I write. It's funny when they make certain comments about stuff and I'll laugh with them saying, "See! I told you there was something funny in there."

The thing about sharing my love of blogging with Trish is that she makes me want to do it more. And by "more" I mean it's the first thing I want to do when I wake up. I could skip over facebook for a little while if only I could just update my blog first. I have gone over loads of my old posts remembering how often I used to update (Monday-Friday, without fail), and how there was some actual decent shit in there amongst all of my crap ramblings.

I also realized how much I've changed. How much my writing has changed. If I'm honest, I think my writing was a lot better back in the day, but I think it's because I did it more regularly and didn't slack off with writing minor details, and what I consider funny anecdotes. I like to think I used to have a bit of quip in my writing, a flicker of humor here and there, with some insightful thoughts peppered throughout to make it rich and entertaining. I want to do that again.

And just like Sean told my Life Writing class on the very first day I started uni last September, is that it has to be your life. You must practice writing every day, otherwise you'll never be as good as you could be. Leone, another favorite lecturer of mine, compared it to exercising. It's rare that people can just eat whatever they want and never gain an ounce of fat; you have to work out, eat healthy, and work hard every day, otherwise you're going to blow up like a killer whale, and nobody wants that. I know I don't want to be a killer whale.

For the past two days now (I know, such a long running streak), Trish and I have found ourselves on each of our settees in the lounge on our laptops clicking away as we each update our blogs. It's fun, and what I like to call "friend bonding time" even though we don't really speak to each other. I've never blogged with somebody else before. Perhaps it'll be a more regular thing with us and I'll update every single day like how I used to when I worked on the 3rd floor. Man. Those days seem so long ago. So we'll see how it goes, and see what I manage to type up here from London on a daily basis. I'm really hoping that we keep it up, and even by the end of this month, I'll have loads of shit to look back on.

**

The morning times are still frigid when I walk outside of the flat heading to my lectures, but usually by the time we're freed from our chairs, it has warmed up quite a bit outside and I'm halfway tempted to take my jacket off and sling it over my arm to carry it around. I don't, because I'm sure I'll catch another cold and be put on bed rest for yet another week, since my immune system still isn't up to where I'd like it to be, but it's nice that I have the thought to shed a layer of winter clothing. The weather appears to be in between winter and spring, and quite frankly, I'm looking forward to the day when I can walk out of the flat wearing nothing but a nice dress and flip flops, without my packet of tissues in my purse for when my nose begins to run.

We leave the curtains open in the flat and let the sun roast our kitchen, only to shut them when we park ourselves on the settee, because the reflection from the sun off of our laptops is blinding. We tidy a little bit, we listen to a bit of music, we make food for ourselves and snack whilst we're doing work, and yet even though everyone will be downstairs doing their own thing, something feels off to me. The dynamic in our flat has changed dramatically, and sometimes I feel like it's all my fault.

Even though I say that I like to keep myself out of drama, and it's not my business, and really, could you please not tell me because I have enough shit to worry about, I find myself in the center of some mini fires that I've set myself. I can just see myself with the box of matches, lighting each one and letting it burn out, wondering which one is going to actually catch on a pile of newspapers and set everything ablaze.

There are people in my close inner circle that I've been keeping at arm's length these days, because I either have nothing to say to them, or I've changed my idea of what I originally had thought of them. I don't like what they do or how they do things. And sometimes I feel like I watch them every time they're in my eyesight, just so I can find something small and insignificant that they do that shouldn't annoy me, but does; then I'll pounce on them and start a huge argument over the fact that they don't close the shower curtain after they get out of the shower, when really it's about how much their personality has been irritating me to no end.

I know it's one of the first things that you're taught when you're a little kid, and I've been exercising my right not to speak if you have nothing nice to say. It doesn't really put a strain on me, but I've noticed that there is extreme tension in the flat. Hell, other people who don't even live here feel it when they visit, and I don't like it. I don't like that things have changed between me and some of my friends. I don't like thinking horrible thoughts about people and actually saying, "well fuck them then." It used to not be like that. We used to not irritate each other. We used to live together happily, and I can remember back in first year when I couldn't get through the day without seeing or talking to every single one of them for at least an hour.

Sometimes I think that it's because we spend too much time together and we could do with a break from each other. Then other times I think that we have spent time apart from each other. We've all just changed so rapidly since we've known each other, and those changes have left permanent marks on my mind, and I won't be able to forget about it.

I don't want to have a big fall out with anyone in my close inner circle. I don't want to have a giant argument, and yell and scream, and make comments that hit way below the belt. But I feel like there's a massive thunderstorm in our horizon, brewing and getting ready to pour all of it's angry raindrops down into our flat. And I'm preparing myself for that day if it comes. Mentally, I've been putting on my armor, gathering all of my weapons and sleeping with one eye open. It's a sad thing when you don't trust those around you. It happens though, and it's a part of life, almost like you're weeding out those people who truly love you for you, and those that are purely there for entertainment purposes, and who you know you could live without if you had to.

Posted by Sam at 05:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I have a girl crush. It's nothing new, I've had girl crushes before, but mostly on famous superstars that I'd never get a chance with in a million years.

No, this would be a proper girl crush that I've had on a girl named, Caroline, since last term. She was in my Writing Poetry class that I only went to once and never went back because it was lame and I hated it. However, we have been reunited in my lecture that I have on Tuesdays now in Writing Context.

She sat across from me on the first day, and I was surprised that she remembered who I was.

"Hey. I didn't think I'd see you again. You never went back to Writing Poetry," she said to me during our first break.

"Yeah, I hated that class. It was pointless so I decided to stop going," I explained.

"It was pretty shit," she told me and smiled.

We speak occasionally when we see each other in class now, and part of me wants to hang out with her after class, just to have chats and get to know her better. It wouldn't be the first time I played for the other team, so to speak, and I'm not one for being closed minded. You never know where things might go. If anything, I could just make another really good friend.

Although I can't get over how pretty and nice she is. She kind of reminds me of Kristen Bell, but with black hair and cool, funky glasses. Who wouldn't like that, really? And in my warped and twisted mind, we would make an awesome looking lesbian couple, which is what I strive for every day. (*sarcasm*)

In that same class, there's an American guy who really fucks me off. I don't know what it is about other Americans that roam around London freely, taking up all of my space and air. Trish and I are the only Americans that I approve of living over here, so when we come across another one, it's weird that we automatically get extremely defensive and wonder why they aren't on the first plane back across the pond. It's almost as if we're the same kind of species and when we overhear a familiar accent, our little ears perk up and it's almost as if we want to walk around them, sniff them out and see if we like them or not. Generally, we end up not liking them.

I'm not sure which state he's from, but I'll put any money that it's Montana or some place far away in some fucked up land of Suburbia. He just sits in class with his baseball cap, being loud and sucking up to the lecturer. So. Annoying.

In other random news, I almost regained my hearing while sitting and straining to listen to the annoying American boy's accent. My left ear made a small pop, and all of a sudden everything seemed louder. I was so excited that I wasn't going to be permanently deaf, but that excitement only lasted a few minutes until I was back to being partially deaf. At least I know now that I'm not handicapped and that perhaps one day I'll be able to listen to my iPod on full blast once again and have it actually hurt my brain. Those days were so nice. How I miss them.

**update**

Because I don't feel like starting a brand new post (two in one day: shock!), I've decided to just continue on with my random gurgles from earlier on today.

It seems like I have re-awakened the inner blogger in Trish. We all know Trish here at My Mumbling Thoughts, and we all love her. She just started up another new blog on live journal and I've added her on the side of my links bar. I've also included her in the very secret, very small group of people that I know in "real life" who know the actual address of this blog, so everyone give her a big "hello!" Helen and Zoe are the only other two uni folks that know of my address, so in total that'd be three, for those of you who were keeping count.

I've been trying for ages to have Helen do a guest post on here, but I think she's a wee bit shy. Although I think if I keep on pressing her, one of these days she'll grace all six of my regular readers with her amazing presence.

Zoe also has a blog, but it's all in espanol. She's taking Spanish as part of her degree, and one of her assignments back in the day was to create a blog. Of course I jumped at the chance to help her since I do consider myself an expert of the blogging sort. I'm going to try and get to her to start actively blogging as well, only in English, because while I do fancy myself to be bi-lingual, I know that my Spanish is shit, and really I only know how to ask, "where is the bathroom?" "where are my shoes?" and "what time is it?"

Perhaps if I'm lucky enough, all three of my fabulous friends will one day grace my blog with their presence and be a guest on here. Which also reminds me, if I do have any lurkers out there, or regular readers who just want to hijack my blog for a day, let me know. I'm all about posting other people's words on here, mostly just because it's fun for me.

Posted by Sam at 03:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

This past weekend, Zoe and I quickly packed some must needed items (i.e. toothbrush, clean underwear, iPods, etc...) and headed off to Amsterdam for the weekend. It came at just the right time as well, considering I stirred up a brand new pot of Drama literally right before we left.

We had planned it for a while, even though we didn't tell anybody. We saw a couple of weeks ago that our uni was putting the trip together for a decent price and thought, "why the hell not? Let's get the fuck out of here for a while." Both of us could do with the break away from everything, and boy, was it a break that I greatly needed.

It wasn't a long trip; we left on Thursday evening and returned back to the fast paced life of London on Sunday evening. It gave us two full days to roam the streets of Amsterdam and take it all in. It probably wasn't our brightest idea, but we decided to get drunk before we got on the coach and wanted it to be a full on bender weekend of doing nothing but getting wrecked. I suppose we succeeded with that, but we sure paid for it in the end.

Amsterdam is a beautiful place: the water, the buildings, the clean streets, the whole atmosphere was really surprising to me. It seems a lot more chill and laid back than London. Here everybody is constantly on the go, move, move, move, move! Whereas in Amsterdam, it felt as if everyone was just meandering through the streets, chilling and taking their sweet time. Zoe and I found it to be really annoying at first, but after a while we caught on and found ourselves on many occasions just wandering the streets ourselves, with no exact purpose or direction.

The first day we hit some of the tourist spots and got ourselves acquainted with the area. We arrived around eleven o'clock in the morning and was told that our rooms wouldn't be ready for us until 2pm. We certainly weren't going to wait around until it was time for us check in, so we were skanks and brushed our teeth in the downstairs toilets, put more make-up on our already gross make-up, put on some deodorant and were out the doors to go explore.

We tagged along with this guy we know, Joe, and three other girls that we were sharing our room with. One of the girls, Kim, had already been before and knew the general direction we should be headed in. They decided they wanted to get blazed right away and Zoe and I had no objections. We hopped onto the first tram that crossed our path, and into the town center we went.

You hear things about Amsterdam and figure that it's going to be a crazy, party city, but I forgot that people do actually live there, and work there, and do regular day-to-day things there. Not everyone is sitting on a giant mushroom chair, smoking sheesha and listening to Bob Marley. Although, that would be really cool.

We stopped into a "coffee shop" and smoked a couple of spliffs at lunchtime, then had the world's greatest pizza. If you're a food vender and want to make some serious moolah, I suggest you move your business to the center of Amsterdam. Loads of people smoke and get the munchies, and when you're as blazed as we were, everything tastes so good. It's one food orgasm after the other, and sometimes you're afraid you may not be able to stop eating.

Zoe and I decided to split from our new friends after we ate and do a bit of our own exploring. We found the sex museum, which was brilliant and very educational, found ourselves in the red light district (which was certainly an eye-opener), and eventually bought some shrooms for later in the evening. When we got back to our hostel, it was nearly nine o'clock, and we were well behind our schedule.

Even though we were both absolutely exhausted, we got showered and ready for a night on the town. We ate all of our mushrooms (20 grams each of the Thai shrooms), and headed back into the center. I was feeling a wee bit sicky at first, and was scared that maybe I'd yop all over the sidewalk, and then be classed as that girl that can't hold her drugs, but the feeling soon passed, and for the rest of the night, Zoe and I shroomed all over Amsterdam.

It was quite possibly one of the best nights I've had in a long time. I was determined to find the "happy place" which was this store that we had come across earlier in the day; basically you would just take your shrooms in the store, and then chill in this back area where they had it set up especially for when people were on shrooms. There were clouds on the walls, rainbows, butterflies and all of that nice shit. I wanted to sit in there and let the experience take me over. Instead we just wandered down random streets and found everything absolutely hilarious, even though there were some dodgy things that could have been bad.

One guy came up to us and was swearing, and Zoe just kept saying, "no thanks" to him, and I just walked on by with this ridiculously huge smile plastered on my face. There were times when things would be in slow motion and I wouldn't hear anything, and then all of a sudden I'd be back in "real time." You would think it'd be really disorientating, but really it was just fun.

We decided we needed to figure out a way to get back to our hostel. We asked a bus driver if he went anywhere near a place called, "Zeeburg-something." He said that he did, so we hopped on and had the greatest bus ride ever. Zoe and I were still laughing at everything, and I was so sure that everyone on the bus knew we were on something.

After a while, we thought that we had been on the bus for ages, and why were we driving down by water? Our hostel wasn't anywhere near water. Where were we?

The bus driver shouted that this was our stop, so we hopped off the bus and he drove away. When we looked around, there was nothing. No cars, no people, no anything.

"He dropped us off in the middle of fucking nowhere!" I hollared. And even though it was kind of scary, I couldn't stop laughing.

Zoe and I were running back in forth over all of the streets, trying to read street signs, and looked on the map at the bus stop, which was a terrible idea since everything on the map was in Dutch and moving around.

We were scared, shrooming and lost somewhere in Amsterdam. Great. Just great.

I tried phoning some people that were on our "emergency list" of numbers, but that didn't work. Eventually we found a taxi and tried explaining to him where we live.

"The StayOkay hostel. It's in Zeeburg-something. I can't remember the name. Can you take us there please?"

He agreed and quite literally took us down the street and around the corner. We couldn't have even been in the cab but five minutes. When I looked out, it said StudioK bar. He confirmed with a girl outside that this was the right place, but I just thought that we were having language barrier difficulties, and he couldn't understand us.

It turns out we were in the right place, and StudioK was just around the corner from StayOkay. We walked into the hostel lobby and sat downstairs for well over an hour, laughing so hard that tears were clearly running down our faces. It was so funny. We thought we were in the middle of nowhere, scared shitless, when really we could have walked from the bus stop.

We saw people that we recognized, and it turns out that everyone went to the bar, and we were one of the few people who actually ventured out into the center again for the night. Everything was so funny, and we kept on going over the same conversation again and again.

Me: "So let me get this straight. We're in Amsterdam?"
Zoe: laughing "Yeah."
Me: "And we don't speak the language?"
Zoe" laughing harder "Nope."
Me: "What are we doing in Amsterdam!?"

It was a fucking good time. If I were brave enough, I would have tried to bring some back to the UK with me, but I didn't want to risk being thrown in jail. That would have been bad. And slightly embarrassing.

After we got a decent night's rest, we woke up for our final day in the Dam. We had a nice, hench Dutch breakfast and then headed off to the Anne Frank museum. It was really good, even if a bit depressing. To pick ourselves up though, we just went to another coffee shop and smoked a spliff before we headed off back to the hostel for a nap. The plan was to just rest for a few hours and then head back out to the red light district, but we slept through our alarms and just slept for the entire evening. We were flat out tired.

It was a good time. Sunday morning we left and made it back to London an hour before schedule. I had the best shower of my life when I was back at the flat, and quickly posted all of my pictures and videos on facebook. It was so good and such a nice break. I definitely want to go back again, only this time, I think I'll just spend the entire time on shrooms. Spliffs are nice, but shrooms are totally the way to go in my book.

Posted by Sam at 10:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I took a week off of uni to get healthy and let my body heal. For the most part, it has, but I’m still partially deaf, still have a cough and still am slightly run down. I’m exhausted, get headaches every so often and aside from feeling physically down, emotionally I feel like I may never be completely healed, which gets me down as well.

Life on the inside of the flat has been bleak and quiet for the most part; Trish has gone away for the weekend, Helen is always in and out doing her own thing, and Carlene keeps to herself up in her room with all of her TV series on DVD. I kind of just wander from my bedroom, to the bathroom, down into the kitchen, and loaf on the settee. I didn’t do any work on my mini break off, and now I find myself feeling blah and still not in the mood to get any of it finished.

Blah.

Zoë and I have been together for the most part, which is always nice. I love hanging out with Zoë. We sit and chat shit, drink many cups of tea, and wonder what life would be like if we didn’t have all of the restrictions that we have. We talk about traveling together, living together, getting rich and famous together, going out together…together, together, together…

It leaves me thinking about next year and what it’s going to be like separated from her. She is, as I always say, my partner in crime. Whenever I go out, getting drunk and causing mischief, she’s generally the one always by my side either egging me on, or trying to keep me calm. Then the next day, when we’re recovering in somebody’s flat, we recap the entire evening and try to piece together as much of the broken night back together to try and make some kind of picture out of what happened; why do I have yet another fresh set of bruises on my legs? Who did she pull? Who did we meet that’s new and probably not interesting at all, but seemed interesting at the time when we were in our extreme alcoholic state?

Next year will be different for us though. She’s going away for a year to spend her third year in Peru. It’s what students who are taking a language have to do as part of their degrees. Helen is going away to Paris for a year, since she’s studying French, and Zoë is off to Peru since she’s studying Spanish. And as happy as I am that they’re going to experience this once in a lifetime opportunity, and as exciting and kick ass I know it’s going to be, part of me is really selfish and wants to ask, “what about me?” They’re my top two gals that I need in order to keep myself from going insane. When I’m frustrated and need to vent, I find refuge in Helen’s room where we’ll sit and have chats for hours on end, until we either both feel a lot lighter, or perhaps more worked up than before. And when I’m in need of just going out and getting absolutely shitfaced to the point where I forget what my name is, Zoë is always there, ready and willing to get all gussied up and paint the town red.

Third year is wide open for me. I’m pressing on here thinking and doing things as if I’ll be back for my third and final round, whereas Momma is still convinced that I’ll be attending a university in New York. Meh. We’ll see how that all goes. I’m just trying to make it through the week. My brain is simply not in any condition to think about anything too far off in the distance. My body is definitely not in any condition to do anything too strenuous that’s going to cause me to relapse and spend another agonizing week indoors. I’m just going to try and make it to the next day and see how things go.

Until then, I’ll continue to sit here, with my girls, and soak up every minute as if it’s our last one. A lot of things change in a year’s time. I’m hoping that the time spent away will only make our friendship stronger, rather than us drift apart like how some things happen. I’m going to miss our nights out, our nights in, and our days together. But most of all, I’m just going to miss them.

Posted by Sam at 10:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)