My Mumbling Thoughts

I wore my ugly yellow t-shirt that they said all the floor reps had to wear on Sunday at ten o'clock in the morning. Seriously, it was quite possibly one of the ugliest t-shirts ever. We all stood around looking like knobheads (im)patiently waiting for our wee freshers to arrive. Maybe that was one of mine? No, she lived on Bede. Perhaps that girl? Newman. Her? Shaw House.

Lame.

Finally, after standing around for about forty-five minutes, my first wee baby arrived and I didn't think she was mine to begin with. I was so excited to see that she lived on my floor that I squealed a little too excitedly, and I think I may have startled her and her father a bit. Slowly, one by one, they all started to arrive, and slowly, one by one, our flat began to take real shape.

I have a Christian, an atheist, a dancer and a model. I've got a sweet cheerleader, a tomboy and my favorite. Together we make LA0. Our flat is comfortable, homey and easily lived in without any kind of troubles (so far).

Livvi is my darling baby that I've taken on as my favorite. I know, I shouldn't have one (I do love them all the same), but there's something about Livvi that I see in myself and know that she's going to be the next one to carry on my legacy after I've gone. What my legacy is exactly, I'm not entirely sure, but I do have one, people do know me and I'm going to teach her everything that I know personally so that she knows this university inside and out. She will be able to take care of everyone else, grab the reins, take the lead and show everyone out to the other side when things aren't so peachy. I know she can do it.

I've already introduced her to a good portion of my friends, getting her face and name out there. She's (unfortunately) already pulled one of my friends (dirty one-eyed Jack), but has recovered from that without any damage to her shiny new reputation. She likes to go out, but I'll guide her and make sure that she doesn't lose important sight of her studies. She will go to all of her lectures, she will make good grades and she will have a cracking good time if it's the last thing that I do.

They've all molded together nicely and it makes me smile to see them all crowding in the lounge with their laptops and laughing at the pictures from the night before. They're all so excited, they're all buzzing with anticipation and I'm loving this newfound energy that they've given me.

Of course I don't go out every night with them, but I am there if they ever need me for anything. They're always asking about where a certain building is, what's the protocol for signing someone in to stay overnight, and to watch their faces in shock at the stories I've told them about my previous two years here is just so priceless I can't even form the words. It's a strange feeling to have people look up to you, to rely on you for certain things and to need you to be there for them in case they need a helping hand. And I'm more than happy to do anything they need.

They all know they're my babies and that I'm here for them if they ever need me. They know that I want to give them all the greatest first year of their life, and be a floor rep that actually is around unlike my useless floor rep in my first year. I will be there for anything they need, and they know that if anyone messes with them that I'll be there without any hesitation and shank a bitch.

This is the new generation of RoeHo. These are my wee freshers -- Katie, Emma, (fresher) Sam, Hannah, Jess, Fee and Livvi. Here's to a new beginning.

Posted by Sam at 05:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Hey! Look at me! I'm still here! And dying from exhaustion. Moving back to uni? Is LONG. Moving back to uni AND being a floor rep? Is LONGER.

The good news is that I'm pretty much all moved in, and now the only thing left to do is sort my clothes and, oh yeah! Have the wee freshers move in. Funnily enough one of them moved in earlier today, but now she's gone and I'm left alone in the flat once again. But it's okay, because I'm savoring this quiet time, this alone time, this time when I can walk to the kitchen in nothing by my tights and bra and not worry about someone freaking out because OHMIGOD! I'm halfway naked. Blah.

I've had the proper floor rep training (lasted two LONG days), and my, I didn't realize that there was so much to do and think about. Especially fire safety. Wow! I will never again stay in the building if there's a fire alarm. I know that may sound weird, but there are literally about two hundred fire alarms going off every year, and quite frankly, I can't be bothered to go outside, in the cold or rain, just because someone burned their toast AGAIN. But after my floor rep training, you can bet your ass I'm going to be high tailing it outside and counting each of my girl's heads making sure they are safe outside.

And yeah, I said girls. I have EIGHT GIRLS to look after this year. One of them is named Sam (because my name is just so popular around here), AND she's a lesbian, which just makes me feel superior than all of the other flats for some reason.

"Oh, well one of my freshers is a lesbian, so there! My flat is better than yours!"

Okay, so it's not a competition, but kind of, it secretly is. We all want good, fun freshers that don't kill each other or drive us insane. We all want to be a close knit little family that love and take care of each other, and that's the environment I'm going to try and create from day one that starts tomorrow. Tomorrow we'll all be together in unison as I walk them down to the bar for the free barbecue and a landslide of cheap, student drinks. I'm not sure what will happen after that.

Aside from preparing for my wee freshers, I've also been getting myself sorted and prepared for uni in general. I still have to sort my loan (stupid banks!), pick up some things that I left at Helen's house while I lived there and deal with one stupid drama after the other.

First drama? Carlene. She knows I'm upset with her and is trying the whole "can't we sort it now so things aren't awkward?" move. And I'm just sitting there thinking, no, we can't. I can't be bothered to sit and have that discussion with her right now. I don't want to talk about ALL OF THE MILLION REASONS why I no longer consider her to be a friend. I have way too much going on to try and figure out why our friendship is over and she's so dysfunctional.

Second drama? Ash sent me a reply to my email and I've been so busy I haven't had a chance to properly think about it and decide if I'm going to respond or not. The email wasn't mean or harsh or awful; I was scared to read it at first though. It was just very poignant. Very honest. And just.... it was Ash. And with everything that is going on with me now, I haven't had time to digest it all. But I want to.

Third drama? There is a new guy in the picture that is... lovely. At first I wasn't so sure, but now I think I might actually have a crush on him. A tiny one, but there is definitely something there that makes me do that stupid girl giggle. I've been talking to him for a few weeks now and haven't mentioned it here, because that has kind of been a jinx for me in the past (um, Swindon anyone? Aussie boy?), but I think this could be a something. All you get for now is his name: Ed. Oh yes. It's Ed.

Fourth drama? Do you remember Drummer boy? Well, he kind of asked me out on a date. Okay, I'm not sure if it's a real "date" but we're going to go see Death Cab for Cutie in November. We may be in a group, it might just be the two of us, I don't know. I don't have the details. But I haven't seen him since we, um, well hooked up. I haven't really talked to him either now that I think about it. I just really wanted to go see Death Cab. Yes, I'm a horrible person.

Fifth drama? I had a really bad preggo scare right before I left Helen's house. Yeah, it was probably the worst scare I've had...ever. I know I've had a couple of close calls, but this one was bad. So bad that I actually found myself standing in the pregnancy test aisle with Helen trying to control my breathing and my heart from exploding. Luckily, I wasn't preggo and I didn't have to deal with all of that, but fucking hell it was messing with my head big time. And it made me consider some new things, you know, about kids and me actually having one. Not now, obviously, but I don't think I'm as anti-kid as I used to be. I think maybe, if I feel like it, I could have one. Hell, maybe two if I'm feeling ambitious.

Do you see this? Do you see all of this that has been going on since I've been busy and moving back on campus? This is why I try not to leave the house, because stuff happens and it clogs my brain and makes me get all...blah. And I can't update my blog properly with full details in a story-like manner like I prefer. Next week things will chill out a little bit (I hope!) and I can get more of a routine going. I'll have my lectures, I'll get another part-time job and I'll finish out this last year in one piece.

But one step at a time folks. Right now I'm going to go make some dinner in my underwear and listen to my music loud in the kitchen. Why? Because I'm alone and I can.

Posted by Sam at 06:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Quiet. Peace and quiet.

I truly do need a balance of alone time and family time. I can't deal with noise all the time. And the TV. Christ, why does the TV need to be on all. the. fucking. time. Just turn it off man! It'll be okay. Why don't we put on some music? Music is nice. It can be soothing. You can bounce along to it. And it can linger in the background while we do other things that don't require me to sit and stare at the moving pictures on the TV!

I'm moving out of Alex's house today and heading back to RoeHo where I'll finally gather all of my things under one roof once again and get settled in for my third -- and most importantly -- final year.

No more uni after this folks. Remember when I wanted to move over here? Yeah, well I did and now it has come to it's final scene. Fucking hell am I exhausted.

I have had a very busy summer indeed, and yet so much time has been wasted sitting around waiting for things to happen. I'm waiting for uni to start, I'm waiting to hear about a part-time job, I'm waiting for my fucking loan to kick in, I'm waiting, waiting, waiting, always waiting.

And y'all know I don't do well when all there is to do is wait around. I need to be doing something.

I've been sat in a blur for the past week and now I can get back to being active, interacting with humans that don't always want to feed me bacon and steak, and start to regain my footing once again. But while I've been waiting to get a move on, other things have been waiting for me. Carlene is waiting for me to respond to her message about why I haven't spoken to her at all this summer; Mel is waiting on me, Momma is waiting on me, Sarah is waiting on me and perhaps even now Ash is waiting on me.

Oh yeah. I said Ash. He responded to my email that I sent him a couple of weeks ago and now I'm digesting his words, his very poignant words that didn't cut or hurt me, but woke me up and reminded me of some things. It'll be okay though. I'll be okay, and I know that he'll be okay and maybe after some time we can finally lay all of that mess from two years ago to rest and be okay with each other.

I feel like I'm in a holding pattern and that everything is just waiting on something. There's everything waiting for me at uni. I'm waiting on my freshers to arrive, introducing myself and getting to learn about all of them. I'm waiting to set up my room, sort out my work, crack open my notebooks and get back to that novel that has been sitting on my mind. I'm waiting to see old friends that I've been missing all summer and will be waiting to see those that have gone off to other cities. And I'll deal with it all as it comes to me.

Mostly I'm just waiting to get back into the swing of things, get back on a regular routine and not have to live out of a suitcase any longer. Then I won't be waiting anymore. I'll just be back and be better than ever.

Posted by Sam at 01:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Ugh, why is it that the minute things start getting busy, everything else must come to a halt because hey! now I have to deal with all of this new shit that's getting thrown into my face.

Of course it's not all bad, but some things just make life more stressful.

Right now I'm waiting on Alex to give me the go ahead to meet her in Putney so I can go and live with her for the last few weeks of summer vacay. It's going to be fine, I know this, and it's going to be fun, but at the same time it's sad because I'm leaving Helen's house, which means I'm leaving her for a couple of weeks while she goes off to Paris and becomes all french and shit. It's sad, but at the same time it's fine. Very strange and hard to describe.

On top of all of this sad emotional stuff of parting with one of my best friends, I've also been having a few random blasts from the past, with one of my super old high school friends finding me on facebook. A long story there that needs to be told (maybe). Then there was also a not-so-fun pregnancy scare for me (yay!), seeing the Bede boys for the first time proper all summer (yes, including boy Sam and David) all while trying to sort through my finances and make time for more time.

There have been drinks, there have been tears, there has been lots of rain and a slight feeling of the end and the beginning merging into one. I'm not sure, but all I know is that with all of this new shit flying at me at warp speed, things are going to be a bit slow here on My Mumbling Thoughts until I get a little more settled. Then I'll be able to update properly when my feet aren't cold, my head isn't fuzzy and my belly doesn't ache.

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

So I've been writing.

Correction. I've been thinking about writing, how I'm going to write it, planning it out, making lists, sketching it all together and composing bits and pieces in my head.

I've also been reading.

There's one book that I have called Will Write For Shoes which is really good and makes sense, and then there's also one I have to read for one of my lectures that starts in a few short weeks called The Weekend Novelist, which is always getting referred to in all of these other books I've been reading, but it's just so hard for me to properly get into it. Why does it have to be so painful for me?

And I'm still reading good 'ole Virginia Woolf. God. She's just so awesome. Why can't I write like her and tell stories like she does? All of her words make sense when they're pieced together.

And mine?

Well. Let's not talk about that right now.

This past week has been me chilling at Helen's house, because last week was my last week of work since they told me that I was no longer needed. I didn't get fired, but my temporary job just came to an end. It happens. I knew it was going to happen. It wasn't a shock. I decided to take advantage of this free time that I've been given and get a good start on constructing the first chapter of the novel I'm supposed to be working on, because I've been wanting to send some stuff over to my friend, Erik (not VA Erik, but blogger friend Erik).

And what have I written? A page and a half of boring, mindless drivel that serves no purpose in my story. And what are they always telling me in my lectures and these writing "self help" books? They tell me that EVERY WORD MUST SERVE A PURPOSE. And I'm all, "hey, let's write about stupid shit that doesn't belong in the story, but you think should go there because, why not?"

Yeah. None of it makes sense.

I've decided I'm going to scrap it all because it's all a load of wank. Trust me. I would let you read it, but I'm not that mean. I'm not that cruel. I wouldn't want to inflict that kind of pain upon you.

All summer I've been piecing together this story that I've thought of, I've been sculpting it all together and planning, planning, PLANNING. I even have the first two chapters sketched on notepads, have done all of my character checklists, thought about them all and have re-structured things so that they fit better and have scrapped ideas that seemed good, but would be better to be left out in the long run. All that's left to do is to start writing.

Write.

So I started and have decided that since the first page and a half sucks (which it has taken me weeks to write that pathetic page and a half), I'll just get rid of it and start again.

With the page and a half that is, not the story. I'm keeping everything else.

I don't know why I choked. The only reason I can think of is because I just put way too much pressure on myself. Already, I know. When I sit and think about it for any length of time, I get all holy shit, this is the beginning of my first real novel and I panicked. I proper freaked out in my head and lost sight of what I wanted to write about, whose voice I wanted to be speaking throughout the story and forgot that writing is supposed to be fun, not stressful. I wanted everything to be perfect and when I finally took to the keyboard my fingers decided to betray me and write something completely opposite to what I've been thinking about all summer long.

So that page and a half? Is going straight into the little trash bin icon that sits in the bottom right hand corner of my screen.

I may have said good-bye to the past two years that have caused me so much grief, but that doesn't mean that the fear I have inside me hasn't gone away. My fear is that it'll happen again, and I definitely do not want an encore of any of that. I'm excited to get a start at a new year, but I'm so scared that I'll fall susceptible to all of the same things and will end up right where I was only a bigger failure.

So this story, this novel, I've been putting everything into it all summer. I want it to be fresh and funny, but I also want it to be a proper representation of me, my writing skills, what I've learned over the past two years and tell a story that is super close to my heart. I don't want it to be a "chick lit" or a "dramatic story" or anything like that. I want it to be about life and have people relate to it and take something away from it.

I remember when I was in the second grade in Mrs. Bowman's class. We lived in Denver, Colorado at the time and it was when I learned about the tall tale. We were told that we were going to write our own tall tales. We were going to write them on those brown sheets of paper with the blue dotted lines on them that kids use when they first start learning how to write, and that each sheet was going to be connected to each other. Then we were going to take a picture of Paul Bunyan's head and his blue ox, and staple it to the top of our story, and then staple their feet at the very end. The finished products were going to hang in the hallways from the ceiling to the floor and be on display for anyone to read who walked by and cared to read whatever a second grader had to say.

Boy, I got excited. I remember thinking to myself that I was going to write the most and have the longest tall tale ever, and my story was going to make sense and be ten times more awesome than everyone else's. Why? Because I was awesome, that's why.

I took my brown paper with the blue dotted lines home and I worked on it for TWO WHOLE DAYS, which for a second grader is a fucking long time and a big sacrifice. I missed out on Ghostwriter, which was one of my favorite TV shows. But I wrote non-stop while Momma cooked dinner for us, all throughout the day and only stopped to sharpen my pencil.

When Monday arrived and we started piecing our stories together, I saw that many of my classmates wrote about six or seven pages and that was it. I had easily written the most and was so proud that the bottom of my Paul Bunyan's feet needed to be rolled up and paper-clipped together because my story was just THAT long. I remember there was one boy whose story was longer than mine, but it didn't matter in the end and you want to know why?

Because Mrs. Bowman kept my story. She asked me after our stories had been on display in the hallway for two weeks if she could keep mine to show other students in the future what a good tall tale is, and what an impressive writer I was at such a young age. She said she understood if I wanted to keep it for myself, but I told her she could have it. She didn't ask the other boy. I saw him shove his into his plastic backpack later that day.

I may have gotten slightly derailed over this new story of mine, but the second grader that still lives inside of me is dying to get to writing again; properly writing, just like how I did in Mrs. Bowman's class. I want to be able to get so freaking excited about a story that I don't stop for anything except to recharge my laptop battery. The second grader Sammi Jo wasn't afraid of writing anything back then, and she shouldn't be scared now either.

Posted by Sam at 11:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Wow, it has been a while since I've done one of these, but it came just at the right time. I could use a little exercise to get the 'ole writing mechanics going again. Because today? I am struggling bad.

Monica was awesome and tagged me in a meme that I think I've done before, but because I'm shit and have a crappy memory (unlike dear Monica), I can't remember, nor can I be bothered to sift through all of my archives and find out if I have. In any case, here it goes...

The Rules:

1. Link the person who tagged you.
2. Mention the rules on your blog.
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they've been tagged.

Sounds easy enough, except I don't think I really know six other bloggers. Well, I'll tag 'em anyway and see what happens, but if I don't tag you, feel free to take it upon yourself and do the meme. They're really good fun and a nice way to talk about yourself even more on your own blog.

1. I'm double jointed. I don't know if y'all already knew that about me, but yes, I am double jointed from head-to-toe. And yes, it is handy, before you even ask. Along with the double jointedness, however, I also have flat feet, which are gross and I hate them. It's the one part on my body that if I could have them surgically fixed, I would. It prevents me from wearing a lot of my cute high heels comfortably, and as we all know, you just don't fuck with a woman and her shoes.

2. I have a thing about being touched in public. It's not as bad or weird as it sounds, but whenever I'm on the bus, or train, or in a store, or out walking, or anywhere in public, I don't like being touched by strangers. Especially when you're sat somewhere and you can feel their elbow lightly touching your arm as they read their morning newspaper. I just want to turn to them and say, "yo, is it really that hard to stay in your own personal space? Really? I'm not about the touching." It really bothers me.

3. I totally have a thing for Barry Gibb and sometimes wish he would sing How Deep Is Your Love to me before I go to bed. I don't think much else has to be said about that.

4. You remember that magician David Copperfield? Well, when I was really little, I remember watching one of his acts on TV where he made himself fly and could produce snow straight from his fingertips. That night, I had the most vivid dream that he made me fly, and it was so real that when I woke up, I was so sure I had magical powers and could fly whenever I wanted. I couldn't fly. I also couldn't move objects with my mind, but I liked to believe that I could.

5. When I find something that I like, I will become utterly obsessed with it until...well, forever. Things like these pretzels that you could get only from the North Carolina mall with the World's Greatest Lemonade. Every single time we go down to visit now, Mel and I have to go and get one, because I miss and love them so much. Or this bagel bakery that is in Virginia where I used to eat every day for breakfast and lunch when I was still in high school. Or American Eagle. I am forever loyal, and it would take a lot to make me stop loving the things that I'm obsessed with.

6. I will randomly blurt out comments that no one else can relate to or follow, like "hmm....smells like the house in North Carolina", or "yeah, that's funny, because your eye smells".

Now I shall tag ajooja, Elisa, Melissa, Morgan, Miss Grace and last but not least, Trish.

Have at it!

Posted by Sam at 08:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)