My Mumbling Thoughts

The past couple of weeks have been pretty surreal for me. It's like nothing even happened, yet I'm sitting at home with evidence that yes, it all very much did happen and I had a rockin' good time. I have three bracelets on my right wrist that I still refuse to take off, simply because they are the wrist bands that I needed to have to get me into the Dot to Dot festival that was in Bristol, my final third year summer ball and the epic final bop where a lot of ugly crying went down.

I know it's silly, but I just can't bring myself to cut them off and stow them away in one of the many memory shoe boxes underneath my bed. Not yet.

After Mel and I finally made it back home, I spent the first couple of days cleaning, unpacking, organizing and sorting things out so that I was properly all settled in. It gave me something to do and I thought that unpacking everything and meshing it all together with my other things that have patiently been waiting for me here at home would finally switch something on in my head to make me realize that I'm back for the long haul. This is not simply a summer vacation break for me. I'm here now. I'm back now. And I don't exactly have a plan of where I need/should be going.

That didn't really work and instead I was just pleased that everything wasn't in shambles anymore.

Once all the cleaning and organizing was finished, I parked myself in my room for the next couple of days and caught up on all of the latest Hills episodes. Nothing really says "move on" and is semi-relatable to people in their twenties (with millions of dollars at their disposal) quite like The Hills. I mean, Lauren is moving on, Whitney moved on to New York and Lo....well, Lo is just there to look cute and adorable.

I hate to admit this, because it is kind of embarrassing, but I did get a little teary-eyed at one of the episodes where Audrina and Lauren make up and become friends again. That was touching.

But I didn't have a full on ugly cry like I know I need to do.

Once I caught up on all of The Hills, I went over to Mendy's house that I've hardly seen since I've been away, for some birthday festivities at her new apartment with her husband (as if I have a real married friend now). She had invited loads of friends and family over to celebrate, and as happy as I was to see her and catch up, I wasn't exactly in a very group social mood. It was all a bit too much for me to handle so I decided to leave around 11 o'clock and drive back home listening to Camera Obscura in the dark driving the empty roads.

Her one song, "Country Mile," made me get a little misty-eyed but nothing else. I told myself I couldn't have the ugly cry in the car when I was tired and driving. It simply wasn't safe.

Since then I've pretty much been doing nothing. I've been catching up on a lot of sleep, yet I still wake up around six o'clock in the morning and wonder what I'm going to be doing for the next sixteen hours. I've been reading more, which is nice, and catching up on books that I never read/finished reading while I was at uni. I've gone out to run a few errands for Momma and have eaten out at a few of my favorite places.

But otherwise, not much else.

You would think that now I have the time, I'd be thinking more. I should be thinking more about reality and the future and what I should/could/need to be doing in order to take the next steps towards the next life chapter and all that crap. But I haven't really. I'm in a strange haze where I just wander around aimlessly without any kind of attachment as to what's happening around me. I daydream a lot. I fantasize about my pretend future that I know will never happen, yet I still like to roll around in my sick hallucinations. I have looked at so many pictures on facebook from the last weeks of university so many times I'm surprised Bridget hasn't blown up. And I relive my last memories of a life that I've known and have gotten used to, but now that I've left.

When I was still in London, caught up in the busy social events or sitting out on Digby lawn soaking up the rare English rays, I told myself that I wouldn't let myself feel too much of the sadness because I wanted to enjoy my last weeks to the fullest instead of sitting in a puddle of tears and snot from all of my crying. I wanted my last memories to be happy, with all of us laughing and being completely in the moment knowing that we might never get a chance to be like this ever again. Absolutely carefree without one worry in the world. There was no point in dwelling on what was coming when it was out of our control. So every time I felt tears welling up in my eyes, I immediately thought of something else and shoved it aside.

I love how we didn't really acknowledge fully the situation that was at hand. Whenever somebody left, we just treated it like we would see them in a few weeks time. I gave them all a hug and kiss on the cheek and told them I loved them as they walked out the door. I don't think it felt real to any of us. It still doesn't feel real to me.

I know eventually I'm going to need to accept the fact that I am back in Virginia and I won't be leaving anytime soon. I know in time I'm going to have to mentally leave London, rejoin reality and get back on board here so I can start doing adult things once again. Even though I've come back home, it doesn't feel as natural as it did whenever I was back at Christmas or summer. I feel like I've come back changed and everything here is the same as I left it.

But for the time being I want to sit a little while longer. Like I said, I'm not ready to cut the wrist bands off just yet.

Posted by Sam at 09:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

As of today, I only have twenty-four days left here in London. Until when? Until I don't know. I don't know when I'll be coming back, because I won't be living here anymore. I'll be back in Virginia, rocking out there and trying to set my life back up to be more routine and regular. Whatever that is.

I decided that I wanted to go back home early and skip over the whole graduation mess. What's the point in going when I couldn't really afford it, Momma wouldn't be there and I can't stand all of that hoopla shit. It gets on my nerves. Instead I wanted to rock out hard the last couple of weeks that I was here and end my university life not in a cap and gown, but rather how I started off: in a bar. My bar.

There wasn't really much point in my sticking around then, if I didn't want go to graduation. I suppose I could have hung around and did the odd jobs every so often to keep me afloat, but I didn't want to struggle until the end of July, which is probably what would have happened if I had decided to stay.

So June 10th, 2009. That's the date. That's when I'll be getting on a plane headed for Virginia and that's where I'll be staying, because university is finished. Done. Kaput. Over. No more.

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Now what am I supposed to do?

As if I'm all finished with university. As if I actually did what I said I was going to do nearly five years ago. As if all of this really happened.

It's kind of a big moment for me. I'm a little lost for words. I'm a lot dumbstruck. And I'm not entirely sure what's next for me.

So far the only plan I have is to go back home, get a job and start paying off these scary student loans I've managed to rack up. I kind of already have a job waiting for me. Momma managed to hook me up with another admin position at the new place she's working at. Yeah, back to the admin scene, doing the admin thing. That will just be temporary, though, until I can figure out what I really want to do, and where I really want to be.

Since leaving the Corporate World, I've seen what else I can do in life. I am perfectly capable of making a real life for myself doing what I love: writing. I didn't get this degree for the hell of it. I do plan to use it in the future and see where it eventually takes me. I definitely do not want to be someone's little admin bitch until I die. I'll find something - a magazine, newspaper, publishing house - and I'll apply to work there and be their bitch until I can work my way up to where I want to be. I could continue to work on the novel I started here a couple of months ago (I definitely want to work on that, but it has been put on a big PAUSE until I can sort my brain out and tackle that beast). I could work for an online magazine or be a freelance writer picking up odd jobs wherever I find them.

Whatever I want to do, I can do it. Because if I can manage to get myself over to London for three years, then I can sure as hell do whatever else I want. And nobody will stop me.

But those are thoughts and ideas I've barely even given much thought to because it makes my head feel like it'll explode all over the white walls of my room here at uni. I'll give them all much serious thought after I've gone home, cried for two weeks and allowed myself to wallow in the fact that I left my life here in London and must start again in Virginia. Because that's what it feels like.

All of my friends are here. My stuff is here that I've been accumulating over three years. My buses are here. My favorite foods and restaurants are here. My stores/markets/shops are here. My life is here. My heart is here. I know London and I haven't always seen eye to eye on some things, but I do love it. And I'm going to miss it and everything that it will be holding for me while I'm away. I'm trying to be an adult about the whole situation and realize that I do need to go back home, if only for a little bit so I can sort myself out. I'm a mess in London at the moment and I need a seriously long break out of the city to clear my head, adjust my perspective and get out of this student mindset. But it's hard to be an adult and accept the fact that I won't be here for a while. Instead I revert back to the only way I know how to deal with things and cry like a fool after one too many alcoholic beverages. I know it leads me nowhere in the end, but that temporary numbness sure is nice to help me forget the reality that will be smacking me in the face soon.

I'll deal with the loss after I get back home. I'll sort myself out and then think of a new way to come back over here and live. Because while I know I need a break right now, and even though it's one of the most painful things I've done, I also know I'm not finished with London. And London isn't finished with me yet either. My love/hate relationship with this city has only just begun and one way or another, I'll be back more refreshed and ready to take it all on again.

Posted by Sam at 10:14 AM | Permalink

There are two things in this world that I am religiously obsessed with: music and tanning. Sometimes when it's nice out (actually, especially when it's nice out) I like to listen to my music while I tan. I know. It's crazy!

London is waking up, the sun is shining and where am I?

Stuck inside doing the last bit of my uni work. That's where I am. Or here, typing up this post avoiding uni work.

All of it will be handed in by the end of next Thursday. Then I'll officially have no more work and can spend as much time outside that I want laying in the sun, soaking up the rays and proving everyone wrong who thinks I can't tan underneath the English sun. I've done it before! I'll do it again!

But, ugh....this whole Sitting Inside business when my window is open, the curtain is pulled back and there's a pool of sunshine warming me up, is so damn distracting! Especially when I know I could be outside right now feeling that slight tingle on my skin. That's what I want. That's what I need. It's what I'm craving right now.

Sometimes I'm bad and lay outside anyway making myself think that I'm going to hand write all of my work and then type it up later. Ha! What a load of bollocks. As if I'm really going to be focused when my eyes are closed and I'm on the verge of falling asleep on the lawn. I DON'T THINK SO. Or when I decide to go out for lunch with some of the babies and Helen (like I did yesterday).

I CAN'T STAND THIS TORTURE.

I am a sun-loving, beach babe at heart and all I want to do is walk around in a summer dress, sip on a pint of Pimm's (hello Pimm's o'clock!), fire up the grill and live outside until it's time to come inside and look at everyone's funny tan lines. I don't want to plan chapter three. I don't want to write two essays. I don't want to do a fictional vlog on dating. Someone else do it for me!

In other non-weather related news, I unfortunately didn't get the job at the music college that would have been SO PERFECT for me. Tabitha rang me up yesterday afternoon as I began the digesting process of a massive burger from GBK, and told me that they "went in a different direction" for someone who was "more qualified".

Blah, whatever. I'm sure another job will come rolling around soon and I'll do just as fine at that. I suppose until I do hear from her I can spend my days out on the lawn. You know, after I do my stupid work. And Chris said that I could always go back to working at the shop if I'm really desperate, which I do believe I'm on the verge of.

Oh, what am I even doing on here?! I need to be planning out my work and essays!

Posted by Sam at 07:27 AM | Permalink

Can someone please tell me why those random homeless people (well, I don't know if they're really homeless) that stand on the high street sidewalks selling those obscure magazines that nobody's ever heard of, always have a rottweiler dog tied up next to them?

I was just wondering that while I was out today.

This has been a successful Thursday, which is nice considering I had a lovely Wednesday yesterday. I don't know if y'all already know this or not, but Wednesday is my favorite day of the week. Really. I love Wednesdays. All good things generally happen for me on Wednesdays and yesterday was no exception to the rule.

It was Jon's 21st birthday and I was going to see Helen for the first time since....well....she was last in London for a visit (Christmas?). Our plans were to go into Kingston, eat an amazing jacket potato from Spuds, then drink. What could be more fun than that?

Nothing is more fun than that, I'll tell you now.

For the past three years I've noticed something about the Easter holiday break. It is always around this time that London transforms and becomes even more lush, green and lovely. Now some people may call this time of year "spring" but whatever. I notice the transformation every single time and am amazed every single time when the trees become full once again with leaves and baby birds. Our clocks rotate forward one hour allowing the sun to stick with us for a little longer while we linger down by the river with fresh fruit in our pints of Pimm's in plastic cups.

(Is it just me or does the above sentence have a lot of alliteration?)

Wednesday, my favorite day of the week, was a nice reminder of what I love most about being here. Jon, Trish and myself met Helen in front of Primark at three o'clock and I think overwhelmed her with our enormous presence. I don't think she was expecting such a welcoming in Kingston, but alas! There we all were sharing hugs, poking boobs (as Helen likes to do to greet her friends) and immediately kicking off the banter that our group has. We ate, we made dirty jokes, we laughed and we all caught each other up with the latest gossip that has been happening in our lives. And boy, was there gossip (which I'm obviously not at liberty to discuss since I've been sworn to secrecy. Just know that blood was involved).

After we filled our bellies with the best jacket potatoes in town, we headed straight to the Slug 'n' Lettuce to get cracking on with the drinkin'. You can't celebrate someone's 21st birthday without involving drinks. Helen and I bought our Pimm's while Trish opted for her usual lager and Jon stayed sweet with a mojito. We sat at one of the tables outside in the sunshine and talked about the past, present and future and laughed about what was, what is and what will inevitably be. That was us, four friends having a laugh.

And goddamn did I laugh.

We decided to get a bottle of white wine and rosé as well, and while we were quickly draining those two bottles I received a call from my favorite recruiter, Tabitha. She asked me (as she always does) if I was free to work, which I told her I was, and she then continued to tell me about a position that has become available working at a music college earning £9 an hour (!). I would have an interview on Monday at eleven o'clock in the morning and if I was successful (cross fingers!) then I could start the following week. It is a three month contract and I'd just be doing regular administrative assistance things that I always do.

I spoke to Tabitha briefly, hung up the phone and took another sip of wine. Nothing could really get better.

Except of course stopping into a shoe store drunk, before getting on the bus so that Jon could buy a new pair of trainers. And dancing to the shop music. And singing along.

That was definitely icing on the birthday cake.

It was a brilliant Wednesday and made me a little nostalgic to go back in time, if only for a little while, and relive the happy moments, the funny moments, the time we all spent together in the sunshine. I remembered our skin glowing as the sun would set, laying comfortably out on the lawn with our arms over our faces to shield our eyes from the English rays. We consumed mass amounts of Pimm's, Magners and beer while listening to songs that would shape our memories and remind us later of a time when things weren't dramatic and stressful, but more carefree and loving.

I only realized yesterday (after I sobered up a little bit) that this would be the last time for me to live so carefree. At least for a while. I realized that now I'm on a countdown until my time's up and I head back home. I was a little sad but I know it'll be fine. I'll always have the vivid colors in my mind of the green leaves, the thick grass, the vibrant flowers, the glossy stones. I'll still be able to smell the disposable barbecue grills dying down, the second hand smoke from people's rollies, the thick air in the city and the undefinable smell of Lee House that you only know about if you've ever lived in Lee House. I'll still have the streets I walked down, the places I danced at, the people I cuddled with and all of the million other memories I've created here with me. All of that I'll be taking back. And I know for a fact there aren't enough suitcases in the world to hold all of my London memories.

So here's to many more Wednesdays.

Posted by Sam at 11:07 AM | Permalink

*Before I begin my post gushing over my beautiful children that I love and adore more than anything in the whole world, I must first make an announcement about Elisa's new website that she started called Save the Writers. It's a brilliant idea that she has come up with for all of the freelance writers out there who have been laid off in the economic crisis. Times are hard for everyone, but the publishing industry is one of the businesses that has been hit the hardest. So if you want to pop over, pay her a visit and leave a lovely little comment, I know it'd be greatly appreciated. And who knows, maybe even yours truly might even put her own two cents in eventually. You know, once I'm finished writing all of the other stuff I have piled up on the right side of me.*

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I do believe it was one of my last sessions with Maria that I brought up my wee freshers, my darling children, my kids that aren't from my body but that I claim as my own anyway. For this particular fifty minute session, we would discuss the dynamics of our group, why it was formed the way it was and what I got out of it personally. What did I gain by calling Emma, Livvi, Katie and Gerry my kids? And why did I want this kind of set up from the very beginning?

It was a nice little discovery that I made and it turns out I'm not such a Kid Hater after all. I just don't like kids that I don't know. If I were to ever have children, or if any of my friends were to have children (hey, we're getting up there now when it's almost that time) I'd be head over heels! Just keep those stranger's kids away from me, otherwise I might push them on the ground and blame it on the big dog that's nowhere to be found.

What discovery I made, however, was that I am a Family Girl. I love the dynamics of Home Life, of being a close knit group and forming those kinds of bonds that last for all eternity. I'm not simply one for getting to know a person and then forgetting all about them ten minutes later. What's the point in that? If I'm going to tell you information about me, then prepare to know me for a LONG TIME. We're going to be best friends whether you like it or not. And we're going to bond a lot. We're supposed to share things with each other, have snuggles, cuddles, make dinners together, work together, play together, laugh together, cry together, do everything together.

I love that shit, so feel free to call me out whenever I say that it's lame.

My Home Life has always been Momma and Mel. It has been the three of us for as long as I can remember. No father. No other Outside Man Influence. Nobody else except for us three ladies ruling our own lives.

When I moved over here, I obviously broke the Home Life dynamic of our tripod. At least Momma and Mel had each other, though, because three thousand miles away I was struggling to cope on my own without my other two halves, without my two best friends. Even though we each clearly had our own roles, we were all equals and I missed having Momma and Mel around.

Enter my darling freshers. This was my chance to recreate that Home Life that I had been missing ever since I left. I was going to have my babies and I'd be the momma and we'd all make dinner together every night, and they'd all pile on my bed to have long and in-depth conversations for hours and it'd be just like home.

Obviously I never consciously thought this out (god, talk about creepy), but I did want our flat to feel as homey as possible, like in my first year. I wanted everyone to get along, to be happy and to have the greatest flat on campus, because I know how hard first year can be and feeling like you're coming home to family makes that giant leap a little bit easier.

Livvi and Katie, my blond babies, my little darlings that I cherish and want to squeeze so hard until their little heads pop off are the two that happened to recreate that tripod for me here, just as I have back home. I am the momma, and they are my two children, yet we are all equal. I do everything with them, share everything with them, talk to them for ages and tell them what they need to do if they ever get sick, or need advice on anything. And in return I have gained so much from knowing them both that I'm surprised whenever I learn something new.

The two of them have taught me to be so much more kind. I know it sounds weird, but I've never met two people who are so ridiculously sweet. I didn't think it was possible! And Katie, my little Boobah, is quite possibly the cutest person on the planet. I could never get angry at her. They've also taught me how to be patient, how to have self-discipline and to not let my emotions cloud my judgement and get in the way of what is truly important. They've taught me that random cuddles throughout the day is perfectly normal and in some cases, needed. They are an amazing support system, and I don't know what I would have done if I had never met them.

Then there's Emma and Gerry, who are so independent it baffles my mind. They don't necessarily need or even want me to mother them, but I look after them anyway whether they like it or not. Before Gerry left to go back home (we miss you Ger-Bear!) these two were the fairly odd couple. Emma is a born again Christian that knows everything there is to know about anything (seriously, I dare you to test her), and Gerry is the evil gay that will shank a bitch and call them a fucking retard to their face. Yes, the combination is odd, but the two of them get along like a house on fire and it was a sad day when our little token gay boy decided to peace out after Christmas to go back home.

The two of them have taught me how to stand up on my own two feet, even when I've already been standing for two days straight and want nothing more than to collapse on the ground. They've taught me how to navigate through the vintage shops in Brick Lane, how to bake a cake from scratch, how to be more open-minded to people that I once thought were legal nutters and how to keep going even when all the odds are stacked against me. They are both firm believers in tough love and showing no mercy, so I find that they're an awesome balance after Livvi and Katie.

So yeah, I lucked out when it came to getting freshers this year. My girls and gay are more than I could have ever wished for in freshers, and have taught me valuable lessons throughout my final year that I know I'll keep with me long after I leave this place behind. And who cares if it's not the most ideal way to set up a group? It works for us and we're all happy. They've made me realize so much that I never knew I even wanted and have kept me grounded and stable this whole year. I just hope that I've been able to teach them as much in return as they've taught me.

Posted by Sam at 04:24 PM | Permalink

Everyone can feel the end drawing near in the pit of their stomachs. It makes me sit up a little straighter, it makes my senses a little sharper and I wait on edge for the grand finale. Soon, all of this will be over. Soon, I won't have to worry about what this lecturer said about my essay, or what that lecturer thinks about my ideas for my final project. Soon, I'll go back to the way things were in Virginia and soon my life here in London will only be a story that I'll tell to people who've wondered where I've been for the past three years.

Soon.

But not yet.

At the current moment I'm mustering up enough energy to get me through the next couple of weeks, which I will inevitably be sat at Bridget clicking and clacking away at essays, proposals, chapters and character checklists. Finally I do believe I'm ready to start hacking away at the words that have been on constant repeat inside of my head for the past two months. Hopefully they'll be coherent enough for me to pass my final year and leave me feeling like I at least accomplished something semi-respectable while I've been here frittering time away as if I have nothing else better to do. It's a slow and tedious process, like squeezing jam out of those "simply made easy!" bottles, but I'm sure I'll get there in the end.

These days I'm more at ease with myself yet I don't think that I've fully realized that yep, I'm almost done with university. I try not to look more than three days ahead into the future, because looking any farther would surely make me sink back down into my self-loathing cave to never return. I'm looking forward to being done with all of this university nonsense, however, I'm sort of left standing with a dumb look on my face as to what I'm supposed to do after I'm finished.

I know I want to go home. I so desperately want to go back to Virginia. Whenever folks ask me here about my plans after university, for some reason I always say that I'm looking for internships, work placements (which I am looking and applying) and I wouldn't mind staying here for a while after the Student Life. I don't know why I tell them that, though. It's as if that answer is pre-recorded in my brain and the moment any variations of the question is asked, I spit out that automated response. And I don't really mean it.

Mostly I think it's just because that's what I say for conversational purposes, or maybe I think that's what people want to hear from me. And I don't want to tell them that I'm dying to go back home to my mother and my sister. Why leave the glamorous life of London to go back to the country life in Virginia?

Because deep down, y'all, I am a country girl. And the saying is so true: you can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl.

I left my "simple life" that I thought was boring and dull, to move over three-thousand miles away to a city that I love, yet taught me that I'm not cut out for all of this. My relationship with London has slowly grown to the point where all of the things that I once loved, now really get on my nerves and drive me up the wall. The sirens, the masses of people, the cluttered buildings, the noise, the different "scenes", the traffic, the constant moving, the drinking, the pounding, the smoke, the dramas, the heartache, the struggling, the Everything. I just can't do it anymore. I'm not built to constantly be on the go. I'm not a Modern City Woman. I can only wear high heels for so long before I'm slipping into my flat shoes so I can walk without contorting my body into some kind of weird pretzel figure.

And I think part of me finds it difficult to accept that fact. Maybe I'm not a city girl. Maybe I belong back in the quiet space of the townhouse wearing American Eagle jeans, flip flops and a t-shirt. I'm a simple gal. I enjoy sweet tea at any time of day. Give me a front porch with a rocking chair and stray cats at my feet any day of the week and I am happy.

Oh, but how I so desperately wanted to live out my fantasy as the Modern City Woman. I wanted to wear the high-waisted skirts, the crisp, fitted blouses and black stilettos that would cause a crowd to separate and recognize that I was a force to be reckoned with. That would've been awesome. It would've been hot. It is what I thought I could be here in one of the greatest cities in the world.

There are so many reasons why I fit and mould into The City Life. There are fantastic things about being in a city that I love, appreciate and am enamored by. They are beautiful, historical and a perfect battle ground for people to show what they're really made of in today's society. But the reasons why I fit aren't good enough for me to stay. At least not right now.

I miss the drawl of a deep southern accent. I miss the cowboys. I miss the sticky air, the vast openness, the symphony of crickets and June bugs, the sunsets behind the townhouse, the mountains in the horizon, the dust that my feet kick up, the funny tan lines, the hot rain and the fact that it takes me at least forty minutes to drive to the nearest city (hello DC!).

I miss home.

I am torn and a strange hybrid of City mixed with Country. I can't seem to find the right balance between both lives, or I can't seem to choose which one I'd like to stick with for more than three years. I'm sure after I take a break from the City Life I'll be dying to come back. I am such a fickle creature and wish I could hurry up and make up my mind. All I know is that right now my heart is dying for some fried green tomatoes, a tall glass of cold lemonade and some folk music playing in the background.

Posted by Sam at 02:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Something unusual happened that caused me to disappear for the past two weeks. Something that I'm generally not used to and had to step back, recognize and deal with.

I was in a genuinely good mood.

Scratch that.

I was in a genuinely FANTASTIC mood.

Oh my god, I was over the moon, slap my knee, jump up and kiss my uncle thoroughly happy. And I soaked every last drop of it in as if I were a cactus in the desert during a monsoon thunderstorm. I tell y'all, it has been a while since I was so happy.

Now, I'm still quite happy. My mood hasn't dropped significantly nor has it continued to sky rocket, but it is a nice, stable happiness that makes me swell up like a balloon and float off into the clear blue skies that London has been blessed with for the past week or so.

Perhaps it's the lovely weather that has been stretched over the city. Perhaps it's the fact that I had a big breakthrough in one of my counseling sessions that made me more aware of what has been weighing me down. Or perhaps it's the fact that two of my deadlines have been pushed back giving me enough time to breathe and not stress anywhere near as much as I was stressing beforehand about all of my work.

I would have to say that it's a combination of all three.

Y'all, this is the last "official" week of my university life. After this week, I no longer have any lectures to attend. Yes, I still have work that I need to do and turn in after Easter, but once this week is through, university is kind of over for me. No more lectures. No more in-class assignments. No more homework. No more tutorials (unless we ask for them personally). No more. I'll be done. Finished. Kaput.

And I have never been happier in my life!

I did discover, though, why I was having such a difficult time writing before. While I do have some "mother issues" and some "fear with failure" issues, the main issue was that I was in mourning. I was grieving the loss of my university life that I never had.

Continue reading ""Red squirrel in the morning, red squirrel in the evening, red squirrel in the morning, I'm coming to take you home"" »

Posted by Sam at 07:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Thursdays it seems will probably be heavy emotional days for me. Well, at least for the next five weeks anyway. I went to go for my latest counseling session and even though my new counselor, Maria, isn't as good as Fran was (in my humble opinion), it still did help quite a bit and gave me some new things to think about. Or perhaps, not-so-new things to think about, because we all know that I have "mother issues". I don't think that these "issues" are necessarily bad, but they do tend to hold me back from time to time. Which, I suppose to some people would be bad. I just think that it prolongs what I'm going to do in the end and I tend to think about things a lot longer than most people.

It's not a secret that I've been finding it hard to do my uni work for the past couple of months. I've felt no motivation whatsoever to take up a pen, or rest my fingertips at the keyboard and begin typing away. There's nothing there folks. It's just me staring off into space for three days, then going out somewhere to distract my thoughts from the fact that I have still yet to write anything. I suppose you could call it writer's block, but it's not the fact that I don't know what to write about. Because I know what I have to write. I know how I want to write it. I've done all the necessary reading, made all of the necessary notes and everything is planned out. All that's left for me to do is to actually write it all out.

Write.

Write it all.

After my first session with Maria, I discovered (through all of my incessant talking) that I have this massive fear. This giant, mountainous fear of failing. Not failing myself, because that I could handle and deal with. No, no. Failing my mother.

Momma. I cannot bear failing that woman anymore. All of my life has been one giant failure after the other (at least in my eyes). Even though I know she's proud of me and I know that she loves bragging and gushing to all of her coworkers, there's this tiny part inside of me that never wants to fail her. I only want to make her happy. I only want her to be proud of me. There's nothing more in this world that I want than to please my mother. And in my mind, if I ever were to fail her, especially fail at university, it would be the worst thing in the entire world. There's no such thing as failing in my mind. Failure is not an option. There's only planning every last minute detail, then executing all of the plans perfectly and finally living happily ever after.

My only problem is that I can't execute everything that I've been planning for weeks.

Maria told me that I need to spend some time alone for a while. I need to stop distracting myself and Just Do It. And through the next five sessions (our university says that after six sessions they'll decided whether or not we need further counseling or not) we'll explore the reasons behind why my brain clogs up like a rusted sink and fails me when it comes to important things like my final university projects.

Maria also told me that I need to take notice of when I do distract myself; what do I do? Do I go into the kitchen? Do I surround myself with the babies? Do I listen to music and get lost in my thoughts for hours upon hours?

Yes, yes and yes.

We'll also talk about that in my next Thursday appointment.

After my allotted fifty minutes, I called Trish up and smoked a cigarette.

I know! I know! But y'all would have needed a cigarette afterwards too. I was on the verge of tears (because I'm emotional cry baby) and it's hard to talk about Momma the way I was talking about her behind closed doors. My throat went really dry, I was avoiding all eye contact (the floor is an amazing space) and being as open and honest as possible with somebody who would gladly sit in silence once I stopped talking. Sitting in silence isn't fun. It's uncomfortable.

That cigarette was good. Damn, it was good.

Then for the next two days I decided to get out of the flat and wander around different shops by myself. I went into Kingston on Friday, and on Saturday I popped into Hammersmith. Both days were equally fulfilling and definitely helpful to clearing out my mental space. I just walked around with my iPod, combed through random dresses and thought about everything that I said whilst the sun was blinding me in Maria's office.

I am scared. I am so terrified about these next couple of weeks coming up that I can hardly stand it. I'm scared of failing. I'm scared of doing all of my assignments wrong. I'm scared that I might have to spend an extra semester here making up for not having enough credits to graduate. Most of all I'm scared that if I do fail, I'll have to tell Momma and deal with her wrath. I know how expensive it is to live over here. I know how much money she has put forth for me to live and study over here. I know what she has done and given up for me.

And I know that if I fail, it'll be another disappointment from me.

So there it is.

I now know, though, after talking to myself in Maria's office and thinking to myself on Friday and Saturday that me sitting around and staring at a blank wall waiting for some kind of fairy to come in my room and bop me on my head with their magical Motivation Wand isn't going to happen. I gotta do this. I just need to suck it up, knuckle down and squeeze every last possible word out of my fingertips if it kills me. And at the end of the day, whether I fail or not doesn't matter. Because the next day will arrive just as the previous one did before; the world will still keep turning. Somehow, I'll manage to keep going forward just like I always do.

Posted by Sam at 12:16 PM | Permalink

Wednesday. My favorite day of the week. Hump day. Middle of the week. Halfway there. Almost Friday.

Almost to the end.

For some reason I've been feeling "meh" recently. Not bad. Not good. Not overly anything. Just....blah, I suppose. Blah is probably the best description I can give it, if I bothered trying. I'm just kind of here, with not much to do, inside, looking out my window at the same grey, desolate days.

Wow, desolate. That doesn't sound good. But desolate it is.

I know for a fact that I'm nowhere near as bad as I used to be like last year. I can still get out of bed, brush my teeth and hair and smile for the most part whenever I go into the kitchen and see my babies. I don't mentally beat myself up saying that I'm a lame-ass that never does anything except mope in my room. I still go to my lectures. I'm working on my work (even though I have to grit my teeth and plow through it). Generally my Things Around The Flat stay clean and tidy. My room doesn't look like a homeless shelter. At first glance, it would seem that I'm fine.

But goddamn if I don't feel something in my throat starting to form. A lump that has a familiar feeling, something that I could start choking on if I don't spit it out now. I know the drill. I know what has to be done. I know where it's leading.

A couple of weeks before I left for the Christmas holidays, I wasn't feeling too great. I knew that I was down and that I should see someone, but I just put it off because I thought that everything would be fine once I got back home. Everything is always better when I go back home. And it was. Life was hunky dory.

Then I came back, and not even a week later I had that furious meltdown where I just sobbed and cried until I thought that my face would be permanently swollen and purple. True, the weep-a-thon did relieve some of what I was carrying round inside, but ever since then I've just been wandering around with this unsettling feeling inside of me and I can't seem to shake it.

I spoke to Helen about it (because Helen is always the person I speak to when it comes to...well....anything), and she said that maybe I should consider popping down to pay Fran a visit. Yes, I had been thinking the same thing for a while now, but gah, it's just that first phone call that's always a pisser for me. It seemed to be such a difficult task, because even though I know that speaking to Fran has helped in the past, I thought maybe I could just battle through this on my own without anybody sitting across from me with a notepad and pen asking questions. So I kept putting it off for a couple more weeks while the lump in my throat continued to grow and I found it more difficult to breathe.

About two weeks ago I found myself down at the medical centre for non-counseling related things, but decided since I was down there, I might as well ask about the uni's counseling centre and if it would be okay for me to pop round the corner and see if I could book a quick appointment with Fran. That is when I was told some terrible news that Fran was no longer there! In fact, the bloody counseling centre wasn't even there! They had to change some things and now I needed to start over from the beginning and be referred by our university's doctor.

Ugh. Effort.

But I did it anyway.

Now I'm going in for my first session next Thursday to meet with my new counselor, Maria. For some reason I'm more nervous this time around, because I'm not ridiculously depressed like last year, but I can feel myself on a familiar path. And last year I knew that the main reason why I was so down was because my finances were in a horrible state and I didn't know how to deal with it. Yes, there were some other underlying issues that I didn't even know about, but mostly the reason why I was so torn up was pretty blatant. This time, however, I'm going in because...what? Life is too hard? I can't hack it? Maybe I just like to hear myself talk about how blah my life is?

Part of me kind of knows that I'm just really stressed out about work. Another part of me isn't sure if it's just the work or if there's a hidden iceberg lurking in the back of my subconscious waiting for me to crash into it. Either way, I'm hoping that me going back into my counseling sessions will help shine a light on whatever is nagging at the back of my brain so I'm not just wandering around aimlessly in the dark.

Posted by Sam at 11:54 AM | Permalink

This Sunday I've spent the majority of my time in bed reading the GINORMOUS newspaper I bought yesterday for a pound, or reading one of the four girly books I bought on offer at Waterstones. Yesterday was a beautiful day, one that I haven't seen in London for a while now, and I spent my entire Saturday out in Central with my Ger-Bear who came up for a one night visit. We literally walked all over London and it was so nice out that I didn't even bring a jacket with me. Of course I'm not going to babble on about my day just yet. I'll vlog about it later over yonder, you know, once I've showered and don't look like a greasy cat. I have pictures to include and I just think it's bitchin', because I hardly ever (well, never) take pictures when I go out. And I want to share them with the Internet.

What I do want to talk about is how ass backwards and fucked up my life is. Oh, Universe! You are SO. FUNNY. Only not funny in the slightest. Why? Because that one night stand that I thought I'd never see or hear from ever again turned out to be a little too interested in me for my liking. Yes. The overly eager 19-year-old (!) army surveyor would not. stop. ringing. me. He would also not. stop. texting. me. The texting! Jesus, the texting! All he would do is send me a text, then ring three times, then text again asking if I was ignoring him, and how come I wasn't answering, and again, why don't I answer my phone?

Um, I don't know buddy. Maybe because we only slept with each other ONE TIME, and you being super duper clingy and all kind of suffocating is really off-putting for a chick that has severe mental issues when it comes to men.

It's really ironic, though, isn't it? How I've been going on about how I'd really like to "find someone" and how I'm "ready" and all that nonsense. Then here comes along this 6'2" dude that is ALL ABOUT relationships and whatnot and immediately I'm like, whoa! Hold your horses mister! I'm not ready for all of that. Especially considering the fact that I've only know him for a nanosecond.

Bless him. A couple of weeks ago he sent me a text asking if he could come for a visit and hang out. I was slightly confused because a.) guys don't do that, and b.) what were his ulterior motives? Because guys obviously have ulterior motives all the time, no matter what, according to the Psycho Side of my brain.

So I agreed (even though something inside of me felt really off about it all). I said, sure, yeah, why not. Come back for a visit. We'll have a good time, a good shag and whatevs. Nothing weird about that. Let's just keep it casual, nothing too fancy.

I suppose agreeing to let him come for a visit, though, was also an invitation for him to CALL and TEXT me NON-STOP. I was out at my friend, Ryan's gig, and after I told him that I was out with some friends at a gig, he STILL KEPT CALLING AND TEXTING letting me know that he was bored, watching 300 and "what were we going to do over the weekend?"

Well, not much at this rate. That was my first red flag that something wasn't right. I don't like the phone in general (horrible invention; I really only use it for the time), so to have it constantly going off while I was out and about was really annoying. I don't like to be annoyed. I like for people to get the hint that I'm out doing things with my friends and I don't want to be rude and unsociable by texting back a response that only says, "Lol!" It's retarded.

When it was the end of the week and time for him to arrive, I had barely made an effort, I wasn't wearing any make-up and I couldn't even be bothered to tidy my room. He got to my uni two hours earlier than I was anticipating anyway, and I actually cringed when the phone started ringing. Now I had to entertain another human being for an entire weekend? Seriously? I was not in the mood for that.

He didn't stay the whole weekend though, thank goodness. He only stayed for one night because I was flat-out exhausted from already going out three nights in a row. I think I was running on a total of ten hours of sleep and I didn't want to sit and talk about what he does in the army, or what his friends do in the army, or what his plans were while he was in the army. He just yabbered on and on and I caught myself drifting into my own thoughts while we ate our dinner at Wagamamas. This wasn't right. He was lovely, but we didn't click. We didn't mesh. We didn't gel. It just wasn't there.

After he left, I was really confused. I was also really tired, but mostly confused. What was wrong with me? How come I couldn't get on with this guy who was, yes, a little brash, but still nice enough all the same? He was really nice, and lovely. But he was also just not my type. It would seem that our personalities were not a good mix and I knew it when he told me that he liked Nickelback.

I'd have to disagree with that. I'd also have to disagree that their "latest album really rocks." It does not rock. Nickelback sucks.

So I hoped that he wouldn't ever call me or text me ever again. I also pushed it out of my mind that I was some crazy woman that freaks out every time a guy tells her he's interested in more than "just sex." Sure, Aidan said he wanted to "get to know me" but I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to get to know him. So I marked it down as a strange incident and that I would wait until I found someone that I did click with immediately and who didn't constantly talk about themselves whilst bragging about how awesome and amazing they are at their job.

That is until he sent me a text again, just like clockwork, this past Thursday, asking if I wanted to go out again. His plan this time was to get a hotel in Central. We'd spend the day roaming the city and spend the night "shagging our brains out" (his words, not mine. Ew). His other text was just plain minging, to be quite honest, and I didn't even dignify it with a response.

Then yesterday, he started again with the ringing and the texting and the Bothering Me While I'm Out Having Fun. It was approximately half eleven when I told Trish, "this is crazy. I'm not even DATING HIM."

I decided right then and there to cut off all ties. This couldn't go on. This was driving me INSANE. I felt like it was a complete role reversal, but damn, I don't think even I would have jumped all over a person I was interested in like he did. He was like a terrier with ADD and needed to be put on Ritalin immediately.

Trish wrote out a text for me the first time, but it was too long-winded and I just wanted to say something that he couldn't even respond to. So I asked Ryan and he told me to tell him I was seeing someone else, that it was complicated and that we had a history. I opted for a little white lie, but now that I think about it, I kind of wish I just told him that I didn't want to speak to him anymore. I wish I would have just said, "heya, no, I'm not ignoring you, but I don't think I'm ready for all this. I'll give you a call sometime." Even though I'd never call. Ever. It seems a bit more truthful, and I would want to be treated the same if it were me.

Either way, it's done. I don't think this whole situation has helped me any with opening up to men and learning how to trust, but it has definitely shown me the opposite end of the fence when it comes to commitment. I guess I'll have to reiterate my request to the universe:

Yes, I would like to find someone, and yes, I am ready to be in a relationship. BUT WITH SOMEONE WHO IS SANE AND KNOWS WHEN TO LEAVE ME ALONE.

Thanks.

Posted by Sam at 03:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I slept all day today. ALL. DAY. I woke up because my phone was ringing, listened to a woman yabber on about how my university sucks, went back to bed, woke up sometime around 3p.m., had a shower and after I made some food, I fell back asleep around 6p.m. and woke up around half 8 when I decided that it was probably best for me to finally get out of bed and be semi-social. (Wow, that was a LONG sentence)

I figured since I've been such a lazy shit all day, I should probably update my blog. Because THAT will make me feel less guilty, obviously.

Ugh, it was just such a non day. I hate those days where you feel more compelled to exist in bed and ignore the door whenever someone stops by and knocks. I felt a lot happier laying in my room that is piling up with dirty clothes, extreme dust bunnies and dirty sheets. I hate dirty sheets, and yet today, I stayed wrapped up in them with my face buried in my pillows. I didn't open my curtains. I didn't answer my phone (after it woke me up with bad news at half 9 in the morning). I just stayed in the same fetal position all day listening to the new Franz Ferdinand album* on constant repeat.

That's all I did.

Sometimes you need those days, though, in order to prepare yourself for the hellish days that are about to come hurtling forward for the rest of the week. Like tomorrow for instance, I have to go to the medical centre to see one of the doctors just so I can be referred to our counseling service. It seems like our university counseling centre no longer exists and we have to go to different channels to see someone so we can sob about our unimportant day-to-day problems. Hopefully Fran is still there, because I'm really not in the mood to whinge to someone new.

I'm also going to be having lunch with my friend, Dave, that I haven't properly caught up with in ages, I'll be sending in my yearly chlamydia test sample (always good to get your check ups!) and then meeting up with Trish so that we can get our heads around our Business of Writing project. I also have to go and pay our university finance department a visit AGAIN, because they are awesome retarded. Along with all of that fun stuff, I have laundry to do and I need to clean my room in general because it's disgusting, yet again. It's ridiculous how dirty our rooms seem to accumulate filth. Or maybe it's just me being fussy and seriously OCD. Speaking of that, I can't even think about the state of our refrigerator right now. It upsets me too much.

It's just all of those little things that pile up that slowly seem to grab hold of your ankles and begin to drag you down. And it seems like it's all I can really focus on at the moment, which leaves my writing on the very back burner and it suffers. I suppose if I were to look at the upside (there's an upside?!) I could be proud of the fact that this whole term I've only missed one lecture. For me, the girl that used to never show up, is a pretty damn good improvement. And I do have a much better grasp on what's going on with my course. So yeah, there's a semi upside.

I don't even think there is a point to this post. It's just me saying hey, what's up? I plan on drinking an entire bottle of wine to myself on Saturday and watching nothing but chick flicks in my pajamas. And not thinking about the most unimportant thing that has unfortunately started worming it's way into my brain: boys.

What about you?

* This Franz album is definitely different, but it's nice to have some new tuneage. I think I like it. A lot.

Posted by Sam at 01:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The secrets that we keep we say them in our sleep
And wrestle down our souls if they would speak
I watched you board a train in the London rain
And waved bye-bye as you slipped out of view

Diane
Diane
We'll make it out together
We'll make it out together
We'll make it out
We'll make it out

In your dreams when the smile now comes
You're mumbling words with a lazy tongue
We lie together when we say it's love
Who were you just thinking of, Diane?

Diane
Diane I don't say it but I know you know

The theme returns so deep
And visits us in sleep

To define the you and I as we

So we pass the time and occupy our minds
And close our eyes and hope that we'll be fine

Diane
Diane
We'll make it out together
We'll make it out together
We'll make it out
We'll make it out

And I may leave in time you'll see
I'll come right back for you
And I may leave in time you'll see
I'll come right back for you, for you

Posted by Sam at 10:25 PM | Permalink

Yesterday London looked liked I had never seen it before: covered in about six inches of snow. Uni closed down for the day (today as well!) and as far as I could tell, the city shut down. None of the buses were running, the trains had severe delays and a good majority of the shops were closed. For those twenty-four hours, London was silent except for the squeals of people playing in the snow in the distance.

Our flat decided to stay inside for the whole day and not bother with the giant snowball fight that happened behind our house. I made stew, we drank many cups of tea and stayed bundled underneath three layers of clothing and blankets because our heating isn't working in our building. Bastards.

All day the snow silently fell and Emma and myself decided we'd be brave little ducklings and walk to the other side of Lee House to do our laundry. My room was filthy and so cringing that I couldn't even bear to leave my door shut; I felt a lot better knowing that I was keeping the air circulating in there.

On the second outing of our trip to go and put our washing in the dryers, I bumped into my good friend, Ryan that I've mentioned here before. He was down at uni for a little visit and was looking for a space to rehearse for the gig that he's playing tonight in Brick Lane. He asked me if him and his two fellow band-mates could practice in our kitchen, and I said of course! That would be fine with me. It was only Sara and Jess in there and they weren't doing anything except watching re-run Sex and the City episodes. I handed him my key card and told him to just tell Sara and Jess that I sent them up so the girls didn't worry about the random musicians that were coming in and taking over a corner of the kitchen space.

The guys played their entire set and halfway through I decided to go and get Livvi, because I knew that it'd be a special treat for her. She has had a bit of a crush on Ryan (then again, who doesn't have a crush on Ryan?) and I knew that she'd love to see him play up close and personal. It wasn't long until our kitchen was transformed into a mini music studio with me and the babies all listening in like little groupies.

It was such a cool vibe, though, with us chilling around the table, fresh cups of tea steaming in our hands and the snow, seemingly relentless, falling outside our window. Quite possibly one of the best snow days I've had in a long time.

Today the sun has come out and the snow is slowly but surely beginning to melt away. I'm not a big fan of snow in the first place, so I can only hope that it leaves as quickly as possible. Besides, tonight Ryan is supposed to be playing a gig in Brick Lane, and me and some of the babies want to go and get front row seats. Instead of cups of tea, though, we want to be holding pints of cider or some kind of strong vodka to warm us up from the cold travel.

Posted by Sam at 11:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Alex's 21st birthday and she wanted to go to the bop. Ugh, the bop. Seriously? THE BOP? Really? But what about my streak of not going to the bop all year? I was going to break that now? Well, I suppose it was her birthday, and what the birthday girl wants, the birthday girl gets.

So I was going to go the bop. First things first: I needed to get absolutely wasted before I even got to the front doors, which meant drinking an entire bottle of rosé by myself, a double vodka and orange, plus a random shot and a glass of Strongbow. By the time I made it to the bop, I was already picking out which guys I wanted to pull later in the evening, and Sharon was in full force talking about where she lived in America and putting on the World's Ugliest Southern Accent, because for some reason they love it over here. Strange.

I bought another drink at the bop (a Strongbow maybe?), stashed my coat away some place safe where I could get away not paying the £1 for the cloak room, and then headed straight for the dance floor where I had a couple of dances with my group of "friends" that I've hardly seen all year. We danced and danced up until I saw Jon, ran up to him, jumped up, wrapped my legs around his waist and shouted, "OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU AND HAVE MISSED YOU SO MUCH!" He clearly wasn't anywhere near the wasted point that I was at, but gave me a big kiss and said, "let me get a drink. We'll have a dance later, yeah?"

I slid off of him, and just as I was about to go back, I saw Jess, Hannah and Sara walk in with Guy and some other dude that I had never met before. I gave them all big hugs and kisses and they laughed because they were still relatively sober and I was off my tits.

"Sam! Hey! This is Aidan. He's my friend from Bristol," Hannah told me. I said hi to him but then wandered off to find Jess and Sara. They said they were in the process of getting some MD and I was very much up for that.

I saw one-eyed Jack, and I gave him a hug as well, called him a cunt and said that I missed seeing his greasy face around. I don't know why people put up with me, but just like my ugly southern accent, they seem to like my obnoxious drunkenness and laugh along. Jack and I had a small conversation and somehow I managed to end up in the small bar where I bought yet another pint of Strongbow even though I wasn't finished with my first one. I sat down with the girls and Aidan and decided that he was really fit and I should try and get with him.

Oh, we chatted for ages. He would tell me a fuckload of information that he would have to re-tell me in the morning because I wouldn't remember any of it. We went to the toilets, I saw Adam 1, chatted to Sam's girlfriend's twin sister (awkward), danced some more in the main room and gave boy Sam the finger as he walked by and I danced with Aidan.

Sharon is such a bitch.

We (Aidan and myself) didn't stay for long, because I was wrecked and we decided that we should definitely go back to mine for a cup of tea and sexy times. As we left the gate, I thought to myself how I was really glad that I decided to shave my legs earlier. I didn't plan on bringing anyone home, but I did and it was amazing.

He quickly established himself as my Best One Night Stand Ever. It wasn't just because he could make my toes curl and I didn't fall asleep halfway through (which I've done before), but it was also because he was just so cool and casual about everything. He was such a little chatterbox as well talking, talking, talking about his future plans, his life in the army, his ex-girlfriend (which wasn't weird to talk about), his house in Bristol, how he met Hannah, blah, blah, blah. And because he was an entire foot taller than me, I just curled up in his man nook and fell asleep listening to him quiz me about the events from the entire night.

"I bet you'll wake up tomorrow and be like, 'who is this ugly mug I brought back home.'"

"Don't be silly," I said.

"Me silly? You're the silly one tonight, drinking and doing drugs. I bet you don't even know my name."

"Sure I do....Derek?"

"Wrong. Try again."

"Um, Charlie?"

"It's Aidan. And you're Sam. You're twenty-three, studying creative writing and are from Virginia."

"Wow, I told you all of that?"

"Yep."

"I must have really liked you to tell you the real truth about me. Usually I make people up and pretend to be someone else."

Oh, he was lovely. He even stuck around in the morning time to have a cup of tea, watch a Harry Potter film and have a quickie before he left. He asked me to come out with him for lunch, but I was so tired and hung over that I passed and after he left I rang Livvi to tell her about the hot, sexy times that just left our flat.

Yeah it was good times, but like most things nowadays, I don't expect anything to come about, even if he did say he wanted to come back up with some of his army mates and pay us all a visit. I doubt I'll ever see or hear from him again, which is perfectly fine. The girl I once was might believe that there was a chance, but the woman I am now knows better than to dream up funny little fantasies. Instead I'll just mark him down as another in Sam's History Books and go on with life as normal. Besides, there's another guy that I'm seeing on Friday for a "drink" which Livvi said was a "date".

I really do need to quit. Bad Sharon.

Posted by Sam at 10:19 AM | Permalink

With these rare moments of sun that I steal and mentally scotch tape into my mind, I try and trick myself into believing that it's not shitty January that I'm still living in, but rather it's springtime and if I were to step outside right now, I'd be wearing flip flops, my toes would have a fresh pedicure and I'd be wearing one of the cute airy dresses that I have patiently hanging up in my wardrobe. I open my curtains, open my window and air my stuffy room out. I'm partially tempted to even give my room a big clean, but then I sit down and think, "nah, too much effort." Instead I put on some of my self-tanning lotion and tell myself that it's in preparation for the warmer months that I hope decide to come early.

I've finally gotten over that unfortunate breakdown that I had about a week ago and am now doing much better. I think I was just really overwhelmed with all of the work that I have to do and the stress, my god, THE STRESS was really overpowering. I needed to cry, and if you were sat in my room looking at all of the module readers, notebooks and required books from the library that I have all stacked in my room, you would have cried with me. But I'm okay now. I've written everything out that I need to do, I've put down the days that I plan to work on it, I go to every single lecture so I don't miss anything and I'm taking it one week at a time. It doesn't mean that I'm still not a big stress ball, but I'm not on the verge of crying into someone's ham sandwich that they're having for lunch heaven forbid they ask me something like if I have any plans for the weekend. I can still have a social life. I just need to get my work done first. DUH.

There are our workshops which are quite possibly one of the scariest things I've ever sat through. No wonder I never went for the first two years of uni! But it's okay now, because I got into a good group that tell me their opinions, but don't leave me in a heap on the floor chewing on my hair. They give me some really good ideas and all I want to do is sit and expand on what I've got and just keep going.

Of course one of my group members asked me if I even have enough substantial information to write an entire novel, but his opinion doesn't really count. He's not my target audience. And I DO have enough information. I HAVE THE PAST TWO AND A HALF YEARS OF UNIVERSITY. That's not even including life BEFOREHAND. Trust me. It'll be fine.

Aside from that I'm doing okay. I need to move on from my first chapter that I've already written, though, and get a move on the next two which are being marked in my final grade and really matter. Obviously, the overall thing matters in the end, but as of right now, chapters two and three are a bit more important than the first one. I do get to hand in the re-edited version, though, as well as the next two.

It also helped last week when I was sitting in my Business of Writing lecture, and we spoke to four graduates who left my university a little over two years ago. They've been OUT THERE in the REAL WORLD and are MAKING IT in the WRITING BUSINESS. There was a point in the lecture when I thought I might actually throw up and I could feel my chest tighten with severe anxiety, but my nerves were eventually calmed when one of them said, "it's okay to go slow after you graduate. There's not a real big rush."

And she's right. All of us are so excited, impatient and chomping down hard waiting for anything to bite, that we all need to take a percocet and chill the fuck out. Yes, it's our last year of university, but we're not all going to hit the jackpot in one go and become multi-million dollar writers. As lame as it sounds, we need to live life and work on our craft. Writing is hard, when you do it properly and look at every aspect of the written word, break it down, word and sentence structures, characterization, word placement, etcetera, etcetera . You can't just bash something out and voila! your masterpiece is done. Perhaps maybe one in a million will get that chance. But for the rest of us, writing takes time.

It will be okay. I will be okay. My writing, once I work on it a little more, will be okay. And no matter when my "big break" happens, or whatever form it takes (i.e. being published in an anthology, having a book published, working in the editing/publishing world, being published online) I'll be ready to accept it and handle it all as it comes to me. The only thing I have to do is keep going and don't stop until I'm finally satisfied, because as the graduates also told our eager class, nobody will care if you stop writing; nobody will notice if you stop writing; only you will.

Posted by Sam at 02:50 PM | Permalink

Yeah, leave it to me to have a big ol' weep-a-thon only a week after I returned. I told y'all I would cry didn't I? Didn't I say that?!

Yes, I believe that I did. And you know what? I was right. I was SO RIGHT. I had a surprising Cry Fest last night, and what's scary is that I think there might still be some left inside of me! I feel like I could cry again today, and I hate this! Ugh, I hate to be all female and hormone-y and agitated and irritated and tired and frustrated and annoyed with EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING. I've just been wandering around the flat glaring at all of the babies like, "Yeah, that's fine! Just go out and drink, and party and have fun WITHOUT ME. IT WON'T BE ANYWHERE NEAR AS FUN BECAUSE I'M NOT THERE WITH YOU!!!"

Seriously, what's my issue? It's not their fault that I'm being a crazy nut-job right now.

So I keep myself in my room where I can sulk and feel sorry for myself alone listening to the weird humming noise from an unknown source coming from my bathroom. Unfortunately I do have to leave when I want to eat, and then I just go in the kitchen, moan about my work, be a HUGE Debbie Downer and make everyone feel uncomfortable. How awesome am I? I know. The greatest flat rep EVER.

Oh, but it was good to get some of it out last night when I was talking to Momma and Mel on Skype. I could just moan to them for ages and be a big cry baby about all of the work that I have to do, the fact that I'm unemployed, I have no money, life is hard, I have the flu, it's cold outside, the grass is green, the sky is blue, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. And bless them, they did a damn fine job to try and pick me up off the ground, dust me off and give me a big electronic hug over the Atlantic. It just gets to me, though, and yes, the fact that I have to sleep like Dracula every night hot-boxed under the covers with Vicks just so I can breathe out of both nostrils, does get under my skin.

It's just being back at uni, though, and this ridiculous mountain of work that I have to do by March 31st. I have to hand it ALL IN at 6pm on that day, and quite frankly, it's a bit daunting. Perhaps my three years at university hasn't prepared me well enough for this task, but I'm telling ya folks, I'm scared shitless. And I don't get scared easily when it comes to my work. If anything, I put it off until the last minute, then remember it's due in two days, shovel something together and miraculously manage to get respectable passing grades. THAT is what I'm used to. I'm definitely not used to having THREE PORTFOLIOS, FIVE ESSAYS, TWO COVER LETTERS and TWO CHAPTERS OF MY NOVEL all being done and complete in only a mere 11 WEEKS.

WHAT?!

Not to mention my editing groups, the occasional group project AND a trip into Central neatly piled on top of the rest. I mean, I think anyone might have a cow over that amount of work. And it has to be done well. Really well. Because in my Business of Writing lecture? Part of our portfolio is that we have to send in our own work to REAL AGENTS AND PUBLISHERS. Real people! Like, people with skin who will read our work, judge it harshly, make us (i.e. me) cry and tell us not to quit our day jobs because our writing SUCKS.

I can't handle that y'all. I thought I could, but really....I can't. Someone telling me that my work is bad, I'm a bad writer, I'm washed up, used, rubbish, crap, no good, a wannabe or that I should go back to the kiddy section would cripple me. CRIPPLE ME. I don't know if I could recover from that.

I've been writing since the second grade. Ever since I was little this is all that I've wanted to do. And now, NOW I'm coming to an end of my university life and I can already feel the realness starting to hit me, I can feel the heavy weight being piled on my chest and I'm scared. I am actually frightened to death.

I realize that my work isn't perfect. I do know how to accept constructive criticism. I also know that I will more than likely be rejected by fifty publishers before someone can even be bothered to look at my work. But that doesn't mean that I like it. While part of me does understand what's expected of me, the other half is frozen in fear and all I can picture is me sitting completely naked in a room full of people that are pointing out all of my flaws.

"Look at her stretch marks!"

"Did you see the fat creases?"

"I was too distracted by her blotchy skin.

Well, that blotchy skin isn't the thickest in the world, and I guess I'm still in the process of being comfortable with myself and with my writing. I know our lecturers are always telling us to tell the voice of The Judge to piss off and leave us alone, but sometimes when you're not feeling your greatest (like when you're under the covers huffing Vicks in the middle of the night), that voice overpowers everything else in your head, leaving you in a pile of tears, snot and low self-esteem.

Posted by Sam at 03:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Back in London and I literally picked up right where I left everything. My room is back to being in an organized cluttered state, I had a tutorial to sort out my last term, I've handed in work that I have been working on throughout the break, Tabitha is back on the hunt to get me a job, I'm seeing Helen tomorrow for lunch, all of my children are back under one roof and I've started out the year on a high note sorting things out with Trish.

"So..."

"Yeah..."

*cough*

It was good. Everything seems like it has stood still since I left, except for the fact that I'm well rested, thinking a lot more clearly and am so ready to finish this year. I know that coming to university is usually something that you only experience once, and I am so grateful to have been able to do it in the first place. But my GOD, I am so tired of doing this. I'm ready to go back to work.

It's okay, though, because I'm not as edgy as before and am taking things in strides. I know I've only been back about three days or so, but whatever. I'm me and I have to take EVERYTHING one day at a time. I can actually say that even though I'm still poor and unemployed in London, just like how I left it, I'm happy to be back and seeing everyone again.

We had a slight fire on Saturday as well, which I thought was a pretty exciting way to kick off the term. I was in my room when Emma came banging on my door screeching that the toaster was on fire. Of course when I went to go check on it, it wasn't on fire, but rather smoking quite a bit. I figured that it would eventually die out on its own since she UNPLUGGED THE TOASTER FROM THE WALL.

Nope. Even though it didn't have any power connected to it, the toaster that was possessed and hated our flat still manage to produce some serious flames and melt its plastic self all over our counter top. We have actual scorch marks up on our ceiling and even after we get a new toaster, I'll probably still choose to use the grill in the oven to make my toast. Oh, toast.

Yeah, not much to really say except that I'm feeling pretty good about myself so far. I'm sure that'll wear off soon and two weeks into the term I'll be crying because life just isn't going my way (!), and why doesn't anyone listen to me (!) and I just can't wait to go home (!). I'm such a cry baby. I always have been. Every night before I go to sleep, I read some of my old entries in one of the FIVE journals that I brought back with me. I've always whinged in my journals, and I always apologize as well. Some things will never change.

And because they're just too damn funny (in my opinion anyway), I'm going to share another oldie, but goodie from Sam's Past.

***

This one is older than the last entry I posted. It is back from when I lived in North Dakota and had my first kiss. It should be said that where I was sitting was in this weird race car game that was like a mini car, only without a door. It's nice to see that even back then, eight-year-old Sam still got some action, and I always kept it classy. Go me!

Thursday, August 25th, 1993

Dear Diary,

Today I got my first kiss. It was so funny because we were in the car and Steph & Cory was the door so we just kissed. Steph & Cory kissed to when me & Josh was the door. So then it was the boys turn to kiss us. Corye was nurves and Josh was scard but us girls took it fine.

Love,
Sam

P.S. I love you Josh. (drawn heart)

Posted by Sam at 06:10 PM | Permalink

Over the Christmas holiday I ordered the book, Cringe by Sarah Brown. Reading other people's personal journal entries from back in the day inspired me to rifle through some of my old journals that I've been stowing away in my bedside table. I have since been sitting on the sofa and reading page after page of my melodramatic teenage self. It's HILARIOUS. And so funny that occasionally if I find a real gem (well, they're all really 'gems' now aren't they?), I'll post it up here for a good hearty laugh. Starting with my first week of high school....because where else is a better start?

***

This lovely entry was written a week after my first day at school. I wrote a previous journal entry already talking about Micah McSwaine and how I "fell for him immediately." Yes, so hard that I couldn't even spell his name right. Then I proceed to go on about all of the things that have been keeping me so busy from writing in my journal every day. I was lame. And apparently didn't realize that I, too, would one day end up living in an apartment. All misspelled words and improper use of punctuation has been left in to show how bad of a writer I was. I REALLY loved the comma.

8-28-99 1:22p.m.

Man o man, I haven't written in a very long time. I don't even think I wrote about my first day of school. Okay, I did. I've just been really tired.

A bunch of stuff has happened. First of all, school is okay. I hate gym, and love english. Spanish is okay, and Interior Design is borring. I told you about Micha, right? Yeah. Anyway, not much has happened between him and I. I'm just the "brain" who sits behind him, hoping that he'll turn around, and say, "Hi. I'm Micha. What's your name?" I've dreamed about it constantly but of course in the real world, you have to make your dreams come true. Maybe, who knows; fate just might bring us together and we'll have to do an english project together. That's just too perfect.

Other than my not so love life, I got a room change. Mom took me to J.C.P, and I found the coolest bedset. They came [in the mail] not even after a week, and now I love them. It's sooo cool. All I need, is my desk, and I'll have the perfect bedroom. I don't know why I think this, but I think if I get a desk, my grades will sky rocket. Maybe it's just me.

Things are pretty good at home. I'm still getting used to that Mom has to work [the] 2nd [shift], and I have to be in charge. All I can say, is that it'll help me, and not hurt me. Mel and I get in a lot more arguements, but as usual, we patch them up. I'm very lucky to have a sister like her. Of course, she can't know it. That would be too "Full House" like.

Mom said that I could start calling Isabel twice a week. Wait, twice a month. Yeah. We would just switch off. She would call one week, then I would call the next. That sounds pretty good to me.

You know, when I think about it, I have a great life, and I should be grateful for it. A lot of people don't live like I do. Half of the people on my bus live in apartments. That's sad.

Well, I'm very sorry I haven't written in awhile. I've been very tired. I'll try and do better from now on. Write ya later.

- Samantha

Posted by Sam at 01:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

There's this small duck family that lives out in the pond behind my house. Yeah, I totally have a mini man-made pond behind my house, and it's awesome. Anyway, there's this little duck family; the mallard and his wee wife in her less flattering brown colors. Occasionally, if it's not raining outside and the pond isn't frozen over, I'll see both of them swimming around down there having a grand old time. I'm in love with them and every time I go to the kitchen sink, I find myself peering over the window ledge to see if they're down there.

I'm going to miss seeing them during the day.

Today is the day for me to peace out back over the pond and finish out this last chapter of university, and I'm not sure why I'm finding it more difficult to leave the house this time round, but there ya go. I don't actually take off until a little after nine o'clock tonight, so I have the entire day to fluff about and take my sweet precious time. Part of me wishes my flight was super early in the morning so I could just get on the damn plane and be done with it. Why do I have to wait around for so long? It's annoying.

I remember when I first left. I think I may have blogged about it. I'm sure I did and it's somewhere in my archives. I don't need to go back and read what happened, though, because the memory is still fresh in my mind and I can easily pull it back to the front when I want to. Hell, I remember what I was wearing: my stupid green t-shirt with a picture of a lemon and the words that said, "squeeze me" written on it. I thought it was so funny back then. Now I think that the shirt was made funny and sits on me awkwardly. I never wear it now.

On the day I took off to come to university on my lonesome, I remember not being sad that I was leaving Virginia. Good-bye you boring state that I needed to run away from! I was stepping out into the Unknown, by myself and I wasn't even a little bit sad that I was leaving home. I think part of me might have been slightly shocked by the fact that it was all even happening. And I remember the airport being strangely quiet with the occasional announcement over the loud speaker and some man sitting next to me silently reading his newspaper. Momma didn't cry when I left her behind at the security gate. Mel didn't cry. And my friend at the time, Amy, didn't cry either. We just kind of said good-bye like I'd be back at the weekend.

"See ya later!" I shouted, and then they were gone.

I left with my pink razr phone that I loved and would later drunkenly drop in a puddle when I went into Central with Helen and had one of the greatest nights ever. We stole an umbrella that night. She still has it at her house to this day. It's a damn fine umbrella as well. The phone has since been replaced.

I left with two gigantic suitcases, one shoulder bag with ALL of my toiletries, my book-bag AND my Coach purse that they said was too big and was considered to be a second carry-on piece the first time I left. I remember being so sad and upset that I had to shove everything from my Coach bag into my book-bag and Mel took my Coach bag back home. This time I'm leaving with one suitcase packed to the brim full of gifts for other people, a pecan pie for me to eat alone in my room and my book-bag. I don't need much else.

It's funny how things change.

Now when I go back, I'm a little bit older, I suppose a little bit wiser and yet for some reason I feel like I might cry on the second night that I'm back just like I did when I first arrived three years ago. I'll be sad this time when I walk through the security gates and won't be relieved to be leaving the state that I once thought was so boring. I'm not walking into the Unknown and I am fully aware of what's going on in the city where I took my first steps of independence.

One thing that I'm ever so grateful for, though, is that when I go back this time, I won't be completely alone and by myself. I have amazing people over there that I know and love like family. And while I might be sad now because I'm leaving home, I know I'm going to be just as equally sad, or even more sad, when I have to leave those people and London almost five months from now.

Sometimes, things just aren't fair. But I suppose that's a choice I didn't know that even I made when I was sitting alone in Dulles airport in my green t-shirt with a lemon on it.

Posted by Sam at 09:52 AM | Permalink

So I'm down to the last couple of days until it's time for me to jump back into reality and live out the last couple of months in good 'ol London Town. Oh, London, you silly lover that I've grown to know over these past few years. What will I ever do with you?

I'm ready and rested to go back, but I'm not really sure if I want to go just yet. I love being at home. I love being with Momma and Mel. I definitely love having my car back. The past few days I've done nothing except drive back and forth all over northern VA trying to get in as much time behind the wheel as possible. And with gas prices being a whole lot cheaper from last year, I don't mind driving around aimlessly with no particular destination. It's just me, my tunes and the open road with amazing skies. I have been living the quiet simple life since I've been back and have almost forgotten what it's like being in the city.

I make dinner for Momma a lot these days and have introduced her to jacket potatoes and more importantly, toad in the hole. She liked it, which surprised me since she usually thinks I'm crazy every time I mention anything new that I've eaten since I've moved away. It seems like the new, more grown up and mature Sam fits in well with home life again, and I'm glad. Mel enjoys having her big sis back and we just sit around and argue with each other like the old days and are constantly challenging each other's knowledge on recent pop culture. I thought that the novelty of me being back would have worn off by now, but it looks like I just like being back and can't wait to be graduated already.

I do miss the babies, though, and having everyone close by. I miss Helen watermelon and miss being able to send people random, funny text messages whenever I want. In my perfect world, this townhouse, Momma and Mel would all live on the outskirts of London. That would be everything I need within arm's reach.

This break has been amazing for me. My head is back in a good, healthy place and I'm ready to finish up university so I can come back here, get a job, start paying off these massive loans I've accumulated since year one and get back into a steady groove. A new and improved Sammi Jo will be arriving in London for the final scene. I have a bangin' new hair cut, some bitchin' new glasses and a new attitude in general. I haven't forgotten about the end of 2008, but I'm not so down about it either. January will be spent cleaning up last year's mess and getting on with things. Then I never want to ever think about that horrible year ever again.

Something weird has been going on since I've been back home, which is slightly frightening for me. My ideas and thoughts on family have been changing and I think I may want to find a man, settle down and have a wee little family to call my own some day. I know! Who knew that ME of all people on this entire planet would actually want a family and go through the whole child raising process, but there you have it. This feeling has been inside me for a couple of months now, but I've been ignoring it, because...gah...it was just weird for me to think about. I don't want the home life. I want to be young, cool, hip and fabulous all by myself. That is who I've been for so long now that it was damn scary to find myself actually daydreaming about kids and some imaginary man (with a well-groomed beard, mind you). I don't do this. I don't DAYDREAM imaginary families. How boring? Then again, these days boring doesn't seem so boring anymore. It seems full, happy and what I apparently want.

We all come home at the end of the day. What I come home to in London is a flat full of wonderful ladies that I am privileged to know and call my children. What I come home to here in Virginia is Momma and Mel. When I'm done with my uni life, when I've moved out of the house for good to live on my own, what will I come home to then? It is nice to have my alone, quiet time, but I'm also thinking about the next chapter of my life. Will I always want to come home to no one?

I think before, when I was out and about, living the party life, having endless one night stands and keeping myself emotionally at arm's length with guys, I told myself that I didn't need to get to know them, because what really was the point? We were going to use each other, leave each other and the day would go on. There's no point in talking to someone that I was only going to know for a few hours. Hell, I honestly can't remember all of their names either, but there you go... I told myself I was happy with the way things were and that I didn't need a man to be happy.

TRUE. I don't. I'm perfectly happy the way I am now: single, in my early twenties and eagerly waiting what life holds for me round the corner. But there's still a part of me that isn't completely fulfilled and wouldn't mind living out the family life. Being a mini Samantha Jones protégé was fun, but I never really felt that great about myself in the long run. I'm tired of always not caring about guys. They're not so bad.

I don't know why it was so hard for me to admit that I wouldn't mind having a family to myself. I don't know why it was so scary for me to let myself embrace the thought of being in a proper, grown-up relationship and allow myself to feel all of those new feelings. I guess it's just a new identity for me that I'm not used to. I know what has happened in my past with different relationships and my deadbeat father, but why should I be a cliché with daddy issues who ended up in multiple failed relationships? No thanks. I know what I want now, I'm ready to accept it should it ever happen, and won't be absolutely devastated if it never does either. I'm going with the flow people. Look at me grow.

Of course with this new life realization about myself, I'm going to need help to sort through the mental pieces. So as soon as I get back to university and back into the daily grind there, I'm booking myself an appointment with Fran.. Good 'ol Fran. I haven't seen her in ages and I think it's time for me to pay her a visit. We have some new things to talk about, and this new life development of mine would be one discussion. There's also my "forgiveness issues" I'd like to touch on and blah, blah, blah. Watch me turn into one of those people who say, "well, my therapist says..."

Posted by Sam at 12:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Holy shit, have you guys ever used Clinique's pore minimizer thermal-active skin refiner? Fuck me, this shit is INTENSE. I literally just used it a couple of minutes ago to...well...minimize my pores and all I can say is SHIT. It does the job. I mean, if the "warming sensation" doesn't freak you out, then maybe the slight redness of your face will after you rinse it off and you look like you have mini forest fires happening around some of your pimples. It's SCARY.

But after all of that weirdness, your face - and more importantly - the pores on your face are instantly smaller! Yeah, it's probably classified under "caution: use at your own risk," but I don't really mind. My pores have never looked better!

Okay, that's the end of that little public service announcement. Really, I'm not here to babble on about a beauty product (even though it's freakishly amazing!). I just had to share with y'all, because that stuff is serious.

***

What I am here to babble on about is, um, well, myself. What else! Hello, this is my blog.

Welcome 2009! (well, in roughly 20 hours and 45 minutes). All I'm really going to be doing when that clock strikes midnight is sitting on the floor rocking back 'n' forth with my fingers crossed saying to myself, please, lord, let this year be good. PLEASE. I can't bear for another bad year. 2008 was really bad for the most part and all I'm hoping for is a nice and neat little ending to wrap this chapter up.

I am walking into this with high hopes, though, as I always do. God, when will I wise up and stop hoping for each year to be better than the last one? But no matter what, I always end up thinking to myself, yep, this year is going to be different. I can feel it. Really, I don't feel shit except even more hopeful than the year before. I'm sure I'll get it into my little head one day to stop hoping and just accept that a new year doesn't mean anything really. It's just another day on the calendar and a way for keeping ourselves organized with the dates.

I was having a little browse, though, through some of my old archives (because with me being hopeful, I also get nostalgic) and perused through some of the past new year's that I've shared here on My Mumbling Thoughts. There was one time when I celebrated early and another one that I didn't post, but where I ended up passing out at half ten and waking up on my bathroom floor alone with an empty bottle of vodka in my hand. 'Cos you know, I'm a classy gal like that.

Oh, this shitty holiday.

This year, I'm not going anywhere, I'm not doing anything particularly special or acknowledging it in any way shape or form. Wednesday is Wednesday, just like how it always is, and when I wake up, hey! it's going to be Thursday. Look at that.

I was thinking of going out with Mendy and celebrating with some of her friends, but to be quite honest, I'd much rather sit at home with my fingers crossed and a bottle of wine. I guess that would be considered "acknowledging" this so-called "holiday," but whatever. I never was good with following through anyway.

I did have a laugh looking through some old posts, though. I mean old posts. Old for me, considering my wee blog is only a mere three years old. First of all, I used to ramble! Good lord, I would never shut up! All I did was bitch about this thing in the office, or that thing in the office. Blah, blah, blah, moan, moan, moan. And my writing style wasn't very good either. I was quite boring and who knows how I managed to snag some pretty cool readers (I love y'all!). But I was consistent and wrote pretty much Monday through Friday like a dedicated little bee. I have certainly come far since being an administrative assistant in a power company working for stereotypical archetypes that get turned into sketches for SNL. Now I want to go back to the admin world, but with a little more life experience under my belt and a better understanding of who I am as a person and my voice that I want to project into the world.

Sure, these past two and a half years at university have been a rough ride for me. I know I've blogged about how this sucks, or that sucks, or how goddamned depressed I am one day and how I'm perfectly fine the next. I am a constant, never-ending bouncy ball that hammers through each day completely blind and yet still sees everything in front of me. But it has overall been AMAZING and I wouldn't change one goddamned thing for the whole world. Coming here to university and being surrounded by my uni life has been tremendously helpful (while at the same time being curse since I can NEVER get away from it). I've learned a lot at good 'ol RoeHo about being a writer, myself as a writer and how I want to continue my writing "career" whenever that gets started. My expectations have been put into perspective and while I do think that my degree is a bit of a toss off, it's still challenging and forces writers today to really look at what they're doing and think twice about putting something out there for people to read. So aside from all of my "life issues," being at university has helped me, I think, in more ways than one.

One of my lecturers, Leone Ross, said to a room full of 25 potential and - here's that word again - hopeful writers that about five us will move on to have successful writing careers and get published in some form. The writing industry is more competitive than the music industry and perhaps if we're lucky, one of us might even be the next J.K. Rowling* even though it's highly unlikely. She didn't want to tell us to crush all of our hopes and dreams, but really, c'mon...we're not all going to get published, be successful and live happily ever after. That just doesn't happen in real life.

She did say, though, that there are different alternatives for us all other than aspiring to be the next Big Thing. We can publish short stories in anthologies, work for freelance newspapers and magazines, publish online and still have a successful writing career. It may not always be glitz and glam, but hey, who said we were writing for the big bucks anyway? Those who write solely for money will eventually run out of steam and their lack of passion will end up being their downfall.

I'm excited to see where I'll be in the next three years. If anything, these past three years have been a means to answer some of my very own quesitons I had for myself before I even stepped one foot at university. The girl who once didn't know what she was going to do with her life, now has a better idea and clearer picture of where I want to be in this world and how to get there. I suppose ending each year with a big celebration is fun or necessary for some people. I certainly know what it's like to need closure for some things. But I don't want to stop or pause or put an end to things. I just want to keep going and going until I'm satisfied with where I end up.

* Why is it that J.K. Rowling is always the one person to get compared to whenever being judged on how successful you are? I can't stand it anymore.

Posted by Sam at 04:18 AM | Permalink

6:05a.m. - Wake up, shower.

6:41a.m. - Eat a bowl of Honey Combs, drink a glass of orange juice, make first cup of tea of the day.

7:02a.m. - Begin to see the morning sunrise. Feel happy to be home and see familiar sunshine.

7:08a.m. - Check facebook. Proceed to facebook stalk for the next ten minutes.

7:18a.m. - Put load of laundry in the washing machine.

7:27a.m. - Tidy room.

7:43a.m. - Decide that this is the perfect time of day.

7:44a.m. - Check facebook.

8:00a.m. - Start cruising iTunes for new music. Folk is definitely my new thing to listen to.

8:51a.m. - Go to the toilet and move soaking wet clothes around in the washing machine because it's off balance.

9:07a.m. - Speak to Elisa from Diary of an Unlikely Housewife on the phone.

9:22a.m. - Move clothes around in the washing machine again.

9:25a.m. - Listen to more music.

9:26a.m. - Check facebook.

9:38a.m. - Open up a new Word document and write down my Chapter Plan for Chapter 1 of Sleep Better Alone.

9:45a.m. - Move clothes around in washing machine again.

9:47a.m. - Go downstairs to make second cup of tea and eat chocolate chip biscuits that Livvi and Katie got for Momma and Mel from Marks&Spencer.

10:00a.m. - Move clothes around in washing machine again.

10:07a.m. - Load Foals CD to Carrie (external hard drive).

10:08a.m. - Notice that it's past ten in the morning and wonder if the clocks are wrong.

10:09a.m. - Realize that the clocks are fine and now realize that I've wasted the entire morning doing fuck all.

10:10a.m. - Check facebook.

10:18a.m. - Move clothes around in washing machine again.

10:22a.m. - Try to buy Blind Pilot from iTunes.

10:22a.m. - Fail. No monies.

10:22a.m. - Check facebook.

10:30a.m. - Pick up pen and finally begin writing.

11:12a.m. - Break for food, another cup of tea and update blog.

11:13a.m. - Forgot about the clothes in the washing machine and get up to move them around once again.

Posted by Sam at 11:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

There is something about this house, about being inside of it when I'm both alone and also when Momma and Mel are here; there's something about it that I get lost in. The first few days I was back all I wanted to do was purge my stories from my fingertips, and yet the longer I stay I sink lower into our living room couch and my memories just as easily fade. And a scary feeling washes over me.

I could live right here, on this couch forever and be perfectly fine with that.

I don't want to move. Do you see how frightening this is? I need to get up. I need to move. For fuck's sake, I need to get out of this goddamn house!

I've been away from all of these comforts for one whole year. That's the longest I've been away from any of my comforts my entire life, which might seem kind of sad and pathetic to some people who have been living away from home and doing everything for themselves for years and years now. But for me, it's pretty damn tiring. I've been living my days in London day after day in Roehampton waiting and looking for something in the city, and not being entirely sure what it is I'm waiting on or what I should be looking out for. So now that I'm back at home I'm sinking quickly back into a life that I remember so well and I've been missing for so many months now.

I remember, oh so many fucking years ago now, when I did the so-called "boring" admin job and lived my "boring" life here in Virginia and wished for something so big, so grand, so much more than what I already had. Out There, there were so many other things that I had yet to discover, to see and learn and experience all for myself. While I was stuck doing my boring 9-5 job, out There is where everything else was happening without me.

So I left. It took me a while, but I managed to eventually peace out, pack my shit up and move over 3,000 miles away from everything that I know and considered familiar. Now look at me, three years later and wishing that I could sit on this couch forever and never have to leave the house ever again. What was so wrong with being right here with Momma and Mel? Why could I never appreciate all the things that I had before I left?

It really is one of those cases of "you never know what you have until it's gone." Well, I've been gone, away, far far away and now I'm ready to come back home. I definitely do not regret one bit my decision to leave, because lord knows I had to go out there and figure some things out for myself. I have met some amazing people and will have these friends that I've met along the way for the rest of my life. I know this. And as much as I love London and our extremely dysfunctional love/hate relationship, I know now that I belong close to home with my family.

With my third year starting to round up and having the end so near to me, people are always asking if I plan on staying after I graduate. Before I came back home I always said that I was undecided, and that if something were to pop up before I left then I might consider it. But this trip back home would be a big factor in that decision. If I was just homesick and needed some time to recharge my batteries before I headed back in for the umpteenth round with London, then three weeks would probably be enough for me. But its only been a week and a half and already I want to dig my heels into the ground and slow time down just a little bit longer. Can't I drag this out a little more please? I know I have a little over two weeks left, but that's just not enough for me.

I know my family needs me right now. Mel has been stressed recently with some of her own problems, and I think Momma is just glad to have someone else to have long conversations with, because Mel isn't really the type to sit and have a heart to heart on any day of the week. It's time for me to come back and recover from this three year stint that I've been on.

Only six more months, though. Really, I think I can manage a little bit longer before I have to come back and be American once again. Besides, my southern accent is back in full swing and I didn't realize how much I'd miss that too.

Posted by Sam at 08:40 PM | Permalink

Since I've been living in London for the most part over the past two and a half years, I've decided to compile a small list of things that I've learned while I've been over there. Yeah, I've learned some life lessons, but there are also some things I've learned about being an American in big 'ol London Town. And when I tell people about them over here, the looks on their faces are hilarious. Things like...

- If you were born in England, then you are English. Do not confuse that with Irish, Welsh or heaven forbid, Scottish. Also, all of the UK is British. England is just English.

- How to properly say the word 'twat'. It rhymes with 'matt' not 'watt'.

- That their 'chavs' are kind of like our trailer park trash or wannabe gangsta's.

- That 'toad in the hole' and 'bangers 'n' mash' are names of dinner meals, not cool drinking games.

- Yorkshire pudding is not a dessert.

- It's okay to have about five tea breaks during the day. Hell, maybe even more if you feel like it. (Tetley tea is my favorite)

- Asda is like Wal-Mart, but with the sales tax already included in the price, so there's none of that guessing about the final price.

- Double decker buses are the shit.

- When talking about 'squash' it probably isn't about the vegetable, but rather a tasty drink.

- Brown sauce is the way forward.

- Throughout all of the UK, fries are generally known as 'chips' except in McDonald's where they are still called fries.

- Football only makes sense to me when I'm in London. After I leave the city, I have no care for it.

- Also, once you pick your football team, you better damn well stick with it, through the good and the bad.

- It's not impossible to take your leftover's home if you're out eating, but you might get some odd looks for taking your leftover's home (unless the place has a takeaway option, like Pizza Hut).

- You cannot trick vending machines, CoinStar, bank tellers or sales folks into taking American coins. I've tried it.

- My favorite word that I've adopted into my own vocabulary that everyone here in Virginia hates is 'innit'.

Posted by Sam at 06:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I cannot write in London: FACT.

There is something about being back home that makes it so much easier to write here. Perhaps it's the fact that it's so quiet and I'm back out in the "country" without any distractions whatsoever. Perhaps it's my strange sleeping pattern that wakes me up well before the sun rises, and I stay up well into the evening with a continuous urge to write. I feel like I want to stand up with my laptop at my feet and shake all of the words off of me and into Bridget. It's always there, this feeling, this very familiar feeling that I have been missing so much in London. I just want to take my Writing Feeling, pick it up, stroke it like a cat, kiss it and whisper in its ear how I've missed it so much.

My story, this "novel" that I was supposed to be working on for the past three months at uni, has been at a complete standstill until now. When I locked myself in my room and tried to force the words out of my fingertips, I'd read back every word and part of me would cringe at the computer screen.

"WHY DID I WRITE THAT?!" I'd scream at myself and then punch myself in the face, because only a loser, shit writer would ever write that ridiculous piece of shit.

But here, at home....things are different. I haven't even been back a week, and already my fingers are taking to the keyboard with a vengeance, and want to make up for so much lost time. I don't bother distracting myself with re-reading over what I wrote, distracting myself with the whole editing process. No. I just write and write, endless paragraphs that probably have a million mistakes, but I needed to get the words out of my system otherwise I might explode.

Oh, it's good to be back.

My story, this novel that is required for me to pass my third year at university, is autobiographical. I won't lie. I can only write about what I know, and what I know is that I've just been through a three year personality transformation and I want to talk about it. Yeah, not everything will be exactly the same (because, good lord, I like to think I'm a lot more creative than that), but those who know me, that know everything, will know the specifics of the story.

When I was in London, though, I couldn't write it, because...well...it's set in London. I'm pretty much still living the story, so to speak, and things change, things are always changing, and after I wrote something, I'd have to change it to incorporate something else, something new, something different, and then that would go on to fuck up the rest of the story. I couldn't focus and I was so frustrated at one point that I wanted to scrap the entire thing and write some kind of stupid story about a girl and her dog.

But at home, I'm away from it all. I'm away from the whole mess of things and have such a clearer picture of everything. I can take more of an "outsider's perspective" on things and write about the girl that used to live over there. I can separate the two people and not get stressed about things changing all of a sudden, because I no longer live there. It's so much easier that way.

So I'm going to take advantage of this time away, this exorcism of words and go ballistic, which is something I've been missing for such a long time. If only my time here at home was a little bit longer.

Posted by Sam at 07:07 AM | Permalink

The plane journey was extra long this time. I think it's because I was just so damn impatient about getting here. In my head all I kept thinking was, "oh, come on! I've done this a million times, let's just get this show on the road already!" I was thinking that, and of course, "please don't let me die on this plane ride and drown in the Atlantic or be eaten alive by sharks." Because that, is one of my worst nightmares about flying. And losing my luggage. Yes. Those two would be my worst nightmares.

I made it all in one piece, though, with both gigantic suitcases (one, which was filled entirely with dirty clothes, because our washer and dryer at the house are the two greatest appliances that we own). We arrived a little bit later than we should have, but it was fine. I made it through customs like the haggard student I am, and almost kissed the officer when he said, "welcome home."

Yes, thank you! I AM HOME.

It's the second full day that I'm back, and I think my body and brain are still trying to catch up with everything around me. I know I'm home. I see I'm home. But it is actually exhausting for me to believe I'm home, if that makes sense. My head hurts when I look around and see all of the changes. To be fair, things haven't changed that much, but it's enough for me to have to sit and process it all. They've moved lots of furniture around. They've gotten rid of old things and replaced them with new, fancier, more high-tech things. I don't know how to work the new TV remotes, but I try not to fuss with the TV too much anyway, because it's all too much for my brain to take in. I can watch Mtv again?! Holy shit, THE TODAY SHOW?!

Yeah, I had to turn it off.

It appears that we've accumulated a lot more stuff as well. Our house is too cluttered and I don't know how or why we've got all of these extra bits and bobs that we don't really need, but it's irritating me to sit in it all. Mel has obviously gone shopping to fill up her time when she's off on Wednesdays, and Momma is too busy to run down to the local Salvation Army to drop off the mountain of boxes and bags that are collecting in random corners of the house. It needs to go. All of it.

Everywhere I look there's something I see that I want to change, that I want to clean or organize and tidy up, because...well, why not? It doesn't really feel like mine anymore, but rather it's Momma and Mel's stuff that they've gotten without me here. I figure if I do something with it, like clean it, or move it or something, then it can be mine too.

Aside from the house being different from the past year, it's good to be home. I have forgotten a lot about being back, and some little habits of mine I've discovered never change despite that I've been away. One thing that's still taking some time to get used to, though, is the silence. It's so quiet here and I've found that I always need something on in the background just so it doesn't feel like I'm in some kind of self-contained quarantine building. The silence is deafening and actually hurts the top of my head. I sometimes think that I might explode it's so quiet. Where are the people? Where's the sound of traffic outside? Airplanes? Birds? ANYTHING?

I'm going to have to take things one day at a time. Now that I'm here I feel like I should be doing something every minute, because I'm on a countdown. I haven't actually relaxed yet, or chilled out or took some time to just sit and be, because I'm always up and looking around to find something to do. I'll just chill out, though, take a second and slowly work my way through the house, re-acquainting myself with each part one day at a time. I don't have to do everything in one go. I can't wait to see what else I find or discover while I'm sifting through it all.

Posted by Sam at 10:44 AM | Permalink

When I walk around outside these days, I'm no longer part of my body; I'm not myself. I am simply just a means of transportation to get from one place to another. The rubber on the bottom of my faux Vans are the wheels, and through the soles of my shoes I can feel the cold from the sidewalk seep through my socks and begin to freeze my feet. My hands are the cup holders that transfer my cup of tea from one fingerless glove to the other. My glasses are the windshield that occasionally fog up whenever I exhale. My iPod, the radio. And my legs, constantly moving, walking, going without stopping until finally I reach the front doors of the clinic and I can step inside and begin the semi-painful process of thawing out like a human block of ice.

I cannot wait until it's time for me to go home. The closer I get to the 16th of December, the more excited I get and become all jumpy like a terrier on speed. Even though I have a full schedule from now until that plane leaves the ground, all I want to do is lay in bed and sleep until I have to leave for the airport. But, my suitcases will not pack themselves. My dishes will not wash themselves. Money (as I definitely know these days) will not magically appear in my bank account. I do have to do things before I can spend three blissful weeks back home in the comfort of Virginia and Momma's cooking.

Uni is cold and dead to me. London is cold and dead to me. I definitely have the winter time blues and am so impatient to go into hibernation mode. I cannot wait until I can flop down onto my full bed with the pillow-top mattress, catch up on my American TV shows and just relax back at home. I hear the Christmas songs, I see the Christmas adverts and eat the chocolate out of my Barbie advent calendar, but it won't officially be Christmas for me until I watch A Charlie Brown Christmas with Momma, or listen to Mel try and guess what all of the gifts are under the tree. The closer I get to actually being at home, the more vivid my memories become as well. For some reason I can remember our wooden floors, and what it's like to shower in a proper tub, rather than a basin down on the floor.

2008 has been dreadful. This entire year, overall, has been one big pile of shit. True, there have been some good times, and I'm nowhere as depressed as I have been round this time of year, but I'm hoping for 2009 to kick this year's ass. Never in my life have I gone through so many different emotional upheavals and have had so many different arguments, fights and fall-outs. Third year of uni is almost finished, and all I can say is, thank fuck. I'm exhausted! Do you know what it's like being constantly poor? Or having people let you down time and time again? Or always feeling like you work and work but never get anywhere? 2008 was just that for me.

I thought that getting a job would make me feel instantly better, and while it has given me something to do during the day other than sit around and feel sorry for myself, I'm not entirely happy. No matter how hard I try to budget and save and keep an eye on my finances, things are always coming up that require me to shell out more cash for one reason or another. My time has been slashed in half, I'm always tired and spending most of my time traveling to places that I don't want to go to. I can't seem to really catch up with myself and it's exhausting.

Not only that, the dynamics of university life are completely different for me this year. Everything is different. Zoe's not here, Helen's not here, Alex is always busy with something and our entire little "group" has disintegrated. When I sit back and think about everything that has happened over the past couple of years, I can't help but think that a good reason why our group is no longer together, is because of me. I seem to be at the center of all of the major fall-outs, and because of me things are awkward whenever I go out to a uni event and see someone that I don't necessarily get on with anymore. The weird vibe is constantly there and while I sit alone with my drink, I look around at all of the other groups that have survived these past years at The Roe, and wonder how they managed to stick together. Am I that difficult? Am I that unreasonable? Am I the reason that LB400/18 Ramsdean are no longer close knit?

I was talking to Livvi about it the other night, and about how reflective I've been recently about certain things. I was proper beating myself up, because while I don't accept all of the blame for why I no longer speak to certain people, I do feel partly responsible for the weirdness that lingers whenever a group of us will go out. I can't seem to forgive and forget. I am incapable of sitting people down and telling them how I feel in a calm manner and instead completely write them off as being dick-heads that I no longer want to deal with. Entire relationships I will turn my back on in one swift instance and just like that, I'm one friend down. We are no more. They no longer exist.

I do have my reasons, though, and they aren't stupid little reasons like, "oh, she didn't return a shirt of mine that I let her borrow." They are true, deep reasons that are usually bothering me and fester for long periods of time until I lose my shit over something completely unrelated, i.e. a text message or pie dishes (you don't want to know). And just like that, I'm done.

Momma hasn't spoken to her own mother in over ten years. She hasn't spoken to one of her sisters in over twenty years. She also hasn't spoken to our father, one of her best friends and another sister. Once you piss Momma off, that's it. You don't get anymore chances. She always tells me that I shouldn't have to put up with people that give you a legitimate reason to be fucked off with them. It's true, people do squabble and have fights, but in the end, why should I have to deal with people that have screwed me over?

Her answer? I don't. Don't deal with them. It's not worth it to waste your time on someone who doesn't care or won't bother to try and make things right.

But then I got to thinking, whenever I've done something in the past that hasn't been an amazing shining moment, I want people to be able to forgive me for the wrong that I've done. I can think of two instances with Helen in particular where I didn't deserve the World's Greatest Friend Award, but still asked for forgiveness. And she did. And we're fine now. All has been forgotten and I do believe that our friendship is better for it.

It's a bit hypocritical of me to want people to forgive me whenever I've done something wrong, but I can't forgive them whenever they've made a mistake. Like I said not even a couple of months ago, nobody is perfect. Don't we all deserve a second chance? At least once?

I want to be able to forgive. I want to be able to trust and be completely honest and talk calmly to people about my irritations with them. But it's hard for me. Thinking about it actually makes me want to cry. I don't want to hang out with people that have hurt me, but at the same time, I don't want to completely shut others out as well.

I know that things will never be like they once were. I have got to stop trying to re-live my first year. I need to leap out of the past and spring far into my future. I'm behind. All of this time that I spend clinging onto things that have been bothering me so long ago, has been wasting precious time, yet I can't seem to shake. It has only just been recently that I've been able to forgive myself for what I did to Ash at the beginning of my first year, and finally lay that to rest. When will I be able to get over the other things? Santos? Carlene? And now Trish? Why can't I just let it go? Even if things are never the same like how they once were, surely I can at least be able to go out and have a civil conversation?

That is quite possibly one of the scariest thoughts for me.

Once I step on that plane, 2008 is over for me. I know I don't ever set resolutions, (because I generally can never stick to them), but I want 2009 to be a year of forgiveness. I want to be able to get past this clog that has been holding me back. And I want the last few months I spend in London to be filled with happiness like the other groups in the bar; not awkward tension that leaves me sitting bitter and alone in a bar that I once used to call my own.

Posted by Sam at 09:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Where did I go? What is going on? What the fuck has been happening?

Lots people. Lots of things are happening. It's amazing how I'm always surprised when life takes a complete turn from being absolutely bored and doing nothing, to being ridiculously busy and staying constantly on the move. That's how it always is, though, and how it will always be, I'm afraid. It's ironic, because now I no longer have time to sit and do nothing. There's no more time to play with in my hands. I am a busy person once again and fucking hell, that does wonders for me and my moods.

I got a new job, one that's legitimate and requires me to sign a timecard every Friday. They took my bank details, I will be getting paychecks and no longer have a reason to sit and cry because I'm poor. Not anymore folks! I am back in the admin world where I'm comfortable and can snuggle happily against my manila folders, post-it notes and staplers. I work in a psychology clinic with a woman named, Bridget, who is a lovely old lady that keeps the office running smoothly. I'm her second in line and am quickly learning how their office works and applying my mad skills from back in my old Admin Days. It's like riding a bike or slipping on a pair of jeans that you forgot you had in the back of your wardrobe. It just fits.

It doesn't hurt that I'm getting paid a nice amount as well, and the hours are very reasonable along with my uni timetable. I'm very pleased with it all and it keeps me happy, busy and surprisingly energetic. I come home and do washing up, tidy the kitchen, tidy my room, organize my diary and stay pretty chripy for the most part.

I've been going out, I've been kissing boys (and then some, to my horror) and even took some time yesterday to go to church.

Church.

Me. In a house of God. Frightening.

BUT, it was a lovely experience and hallelujah! I've discovered this untapped resource of hot, beautiful and yes, very religious men.

Aside from the good looking boys that resemble Jesus, it was really cool and nothing to what I had originally expected. Church has always been a scary place for me and in my head I've just had all of these negative thoughts about it. Yesterday though, my eyes were introduced to a completely different setting and lo and behold, I really had a good time. First of all, it was held in a warehouse-type thing, not a standard church and there wasn't one cross with Jesus nailed to it anywhere in sight. People brought their own bibles, they weren't out everywhere on the tables, and there was live music! Granted, all of the songs were about Jesus, worshipping him, their lord and savior, but it was a good vibe. At first I thought it was weird how people were really getting into the music, but then I thought hey man, it's just like whenever I go to one of my music gigs and proper feel the lyrics. I've cried at concerts before! It made sense.

Speaking of music concerts, I've also gone to see Death Cab for Cutie with Livvi and one of her friends from back home. It was my second time seeing them live and it was an amazing gig. There was one really tall, annoying, drunk man standing behind us that I would have loved to gag with an old sock because he would Not. Stop. Talking. throughout the entire show. The gig itself, though, was amazing, beautiful and we were right at the front, just like how I believe all live music should be experienced. And it only made me want to procreate with Ben Gibbard even more. Oh, if I could be left alone with him, the things we would get up to...

The days are quickly dwindling to my departure and there's so much I have to do. It looks like my days of sitting alone in my room are gone (thank goodness). Now when I'm left in my room, I am always working on one thing or the other. No more "too much thinking". No more "feeling bad for myself". No more crying over spilled milk. Only work, getting things done and planning for the days ahead. I hope I can keep up with it all.

Posted by Sam at 01:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

If I could have it my way, I'd split myself into two halves and part of me would always be in London, and the other half would always be at home with Momma and Mel. When I'm here amongst all of the foreign accents and living out the rainy days, part of me always longs to be back home in Virginia; and when I'm back home where life moves slower and I have all of my American luxuries, part of me aches to be back here in London.

It seems like I have blurred the lines between here and home these days, and drift in out of both worlds whenever I get a quiet moment to myself. Sometimes I can hear Momma yelling at me to come and clean the kitchen while I lay upstairs in my bed watching TV under the covers with Mel next to me knitting something, for someone that never really takes any shape. For a couple of minutes I'm back home and when I snap out of it and see that I'm really just sitting in my room staring out of my bedroom window onto the Digby lawn, I get a small sinking feeling and wish to not be here anymore. I am tired. With each passing day I'm getting increasingly tired of this, this uni scene, this uni life, this goddamned uni bubble.

Fuck it all to hell, is what I usually think to myself and want to just lock my room and never let anyone else in. Go away! Please go the fuck away!

Uni life can't be like this for other people. I know it's not, because they don't have the same worries that I do, the same stresses that I've been dealing with ever since my first year. International students have it much harder and I can't believe that Trish and I are one of the few brave ones that have stuck it out for this long. No wonder a good majority of other international students only stay for a semester. What were we thinking?! Live in London? FOR THREE FUCKING YEARS?! ARE WE CRAZY?!

Yes. Yes we are. And the prices we have to pay will constantly be following us until our deaths. Why? Because going to university overseas for the full three years is motherfucking expensive.

Of course I knew this when I signed up for it, but my eyes were temporarily blinded by personal happiness and dreaming about all of the new experiences that I was going to have and living in one of the greatest cities in the world, and nobody - NOBODY - was going to take that from me.

Now I'm nearing the end, and while I don't regret a single thing (this is an experience that nobody can take away), I'm dragging my feet, I'm slowing down big time, I'm ready to fall over, collapse and pray that someone can carry me the rest of the way. There are other prices that I've paid without dollar or pound signs in front of numbers, and it appears that you will run out of energy at some point and everything will catch up to you in the end.

I need a pick-me-up quickly. I need a jolt, a fire lit under my ass, a kick up the backside and a good talkin' to. I can feel myself starting to slide into that dark place that lurks in the back of my mind, that place that's so alluring and tempting to visit whenever London doesn't see any sun for a few days and all I hear is each individual rain drop fall down from the grey skies.

Just sit inside, don't shower for three days and feel sorry for yourself. Do it! It's fun. You know how it's done; you've done it so many times before. Now go!

I don't know what it is. It's probably not just one thing. It's probably a culmination of many small things that have all banded together to make one, big Sammi Sad Ball and now it sits in the middle of my chest. I just don't feel like I've caught a break yet to be honest. I got a job, but it's a load of crap and seems to be slightly illegal, so Trish and I are quitting on Thursday. Nothing else is really happening because I don't have any money to do anything, and my debts are increasing right before my eyes. I miss my friends. God, do I miss my friends. I know I have the babies and Trish here with me, but there's still a part of me that wishes so much for Helen and Zoe to be here. I'm sad about our group falling apart, and even more sad because if I wanted to, I could put it back together with one conversation between me and Carlene. But I won't, because I'm stubborn and have too much pride to go and say, "hey, let's forget about it." And I'm frustrated. I'm getting more and more frustrated just waiting around for something to happen. Anything! I want something BIG, HUGE, MONUMENTAL to happen. I want a good job, I want to meet someone, I want to land on something fantastic that no longer leaves me feeling like I'm in this huge holding pattern, barely making ends meet. I want to go out, go crazy, swing my hair all over my face and forget that any of this is real. I don't want to sit in my room and dream about being at home anymore.

So I'm going home.

It has been nearly a year and a half since I've properly been back. I know I went back for Christmas, but I was only there for two weeks and I barely remember the break. I've been gone for ages. I feel like I've forgotten me. I used to be someone that knew what she wanted every single day when I woke up. Now when I wake up I just wish for the day to already be over. And while Thomas Wolfe has been quoted many times stating that "you can't go home again," clearly he never lived in London with non-existent funds that would forever and always leave him wondering why he was even here in the first place.

I'm looking forward to December 16th. All I have to do is make it to that day and I'll leave London once again to re-charge my batteries. I'll be back home for a whole month and I will drive my car, visit Mendy, eat at my favorite food joints, get new glasses, get a doctor's check-up and remember what I want every day when I wake up. I'll forget about this whole mess here for a little while and come back to be the girl with a little more fight in her who won't fall susceptible to the dangers of negative thinking.

Posted by Sam at 12:20 PM | Permalink

It is this time of year that is my favorite. What is it about putting multiple layers on to keep oneself warm from the outside, putting flannel sheets on one's bed and drinking multiple mugs of hot cocoa that isn't attractive? 'Tis the season to be merry? More like 'tis the season to snuggle under the covers! I'm not one for romance (all of that emotional chow chow makes me want to be sick), but there is something ridiculously magical about this time of year walking around hand-in-hand with someone, but with gloves on.

I don't have "someone". It has been a while since little Sammi Jo has had "someone" to call her own. Or to just call. All of my "someone's" I kick out of bed the next morning and hope to never see or hear from them again. My god! And the characters I have gotten with! Trish in particular loves to tell the babies of my past one-night stands. Her favorites are usually "ass man," "air con guy," or "Trilby boi". They are quite the crowd pleasers. And I usually lay on the settee with my face covered to hide the fact that my entire head has caught on fire from sheer embarrassment.

Ever since Ash, and the train wreck that was boy Sam, I've kept myself far away from any guy that may have "potential". What is that anyway? Boys are stupid. I live by that motto. Just stay emotionally detached and you never have to worry about getting hurt, about crying over some stupid man that wasn't worth your time anyway. Just use them for one thing (like they use us for; not that it should be "us" or "them"), quickly dispose of them, and voila! You get what you want, they get what they want and we both walk away with relatively clean hands (haha gross). It's a nice set up.

But then the chilly wind begins to blow, the leaves float down the ground and crunch underneath my shoes, and for two seconds I'll get this pang in my chest and part of the words begin to form in my brain...

Hmm....it sure would be nice if...

No! Stop that right there! You don't wish that! You never have. You remember where that leads you? Down to the trail of tears motherfucker. And you don't want to be that sad, sappy bitch ever again.

I haven't been actively "looking" but I haven't been actively not looking either. I kind of just roll with the punches these days. I know all of that relationship nonsense will all grab a hold of me when I'm not looking. That's how it always happens. I'm of the mind now that I'll have to be tricked into a relationship because I'm so terrified of being locked down. It will be when I least expect it. It will be when I least want one. And hopefully I won't be a coward that runs for the hills. I mean, I have some serious emotional/relationship issues these days that I should probably work through with a counselor. I'm constantly going back 'n' forth between "wanting to be in a relationship" and "wouldn't touch one with a ten foot pole". I need to stop bouncing all over the place and just pick something dammit. But I'm a fickle gal. What can I say?

One guy that had "potential" that I briefly mentioned on here, Ed, is no more. He was a hopeful, then not hopeful, then hopeful again (!), and then flopped without any chance of getting back up. It was a pretty sad attempt, now that I think about it, but ah well. Shit happens.

I'm going to take this magical time of the year, and enjoy it with my babies, my best friends and not get caught up in the fuzzy love atmosphere that gets generated by all of the couples rubbing up on each other. We have so many laughs together and to be honest, I'd much rather share it with the dozen or so people that I love, rather than to give all of my time and attention to only one.

Posted by Sam at 11:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The trees have changed color as they do at this time of year. Standard. The leaves all look like dry, crumpled claws scattered all over the ground and scrape along the sidewalks. I love it. It's getting to the point now where the wind bites my face and I have to put extra moisturizer on after I've washed my face because of the dry skin. Welcome to autumn in London.

It's true that every time the seasons change I get all nostalgic for home. I suppose it also could be because I didn't go home over the summer, and now there is the potential that I won't be going for Christmas either. Again, it's not because Momma and I have had some terrible fall out, but rather that money is tight, the economy isn't in the greatest conditions and because I was unable to get my loan, the money is coming straight out of our family's pocket rather from my checks.

I guess it could be a good thing to spend my last Christmas in London for a while. After this year, who knows when I'll be back. Obviously I will come back. I have friends here that I'll want to see and visit. But I mean to live. I might not live here for a while after my third year of uni.

So far things with me have been okay. I've been going to my lectures (I really don't have an excuse not to go considering I only have two each week AND I'm only a five minute walk away), and Trish and I have gotten our jobs working together as estate agent assistants. Money has been non-existent, but I'm not as stressed out about it, because Momma and I actually have more communication about my lack of funds and she has been helping me out big time. It'll be a lot better once I start earning an income and can properly support myself throughout my final year. The babies are all doing so well too, and our wee flat is my new home away from home. There haven't been any major dilemmas that couldn't be easily mended, and we're each just going out, doing our thing and having a good time.

Life has not been dramatic. It has not been stressful. It has been coasting almost, and it's kind of freaking me out.

I think I've mistaken my no-stress as "boring". Is my life boring now? Is it because I'm not so completely caught up in third year drama that I've become "blah"? Or is this how other "normal" people live without stress and constantly worrying about everything around them? What is going on? I'm not used to this! True, I stay in more, but that's because I'm saving money and it's getting increasingly colder, but it's not like I'm a hermit. I've gone out a few times in the past week and I've just had a generally good time. No one has cried. Nobody has had their feelings hurt. Things are just....fine.

I shouldn't complain though, and take this time to do things I need to do. I still haven't been reading or writing enough. I'm just not feeling it like I did in the old flat when we lived on the estate. And with this new job that Trish and I will be starting on Monday, my free time is going to be cut in half. I will be one busy motherfucker, and am going to enjoy my last week of time off.

Things aren't fantastic, but they aren't a pile of shit either. It's a weird feeling to have for me since I'm always used to one extreme or another. I guess I'll just see how long it lasts and see where all of these new developments take me.

Posted by Sam at 08:08 PM | Permalink

The thing about babies is that they grow up and no longer need you for those easy beginner steps that you're more than happy to show them over and over until your eyes begin to bleed. The thing about babies that aren't babies in the first place, but full grown adults who are only in their first year of university but you like to call them your babies anyway, is that they quickly gain their feet on the university grounds and piss off to leave you the lone parent in the flat wondering "hmm....now what?"

Yes, my babies. My wee freshers. My darling angels that needed me for so much in the first few weeks of university are now able to work things out for themselves, on their own, without me.

"It's okay, Sam. I know where the building is."

"Really? Are you sure? Do you want me to walk there with you? DON'T FORGET YOUR HAT! IT'S COLD OUTSIDE!"

I don't think I could have been put with a better group of girls. Yeah, there are growing pains, but that's how it is when you're learning about different people and wading through all of the Life Shit to get past to the other side where all of the goodness and fun is. My babies dance, cuddle, hug, laugh, cook, work, sing, shop and spend time together. We are literally one big happy family and I can easily walk into the kitchen and want to spring up off my feet into the air and give whoever is in there a big morning hug and squeal "I MISSED YOU WHILE I WAS SLEEPING!" We have even adopted a few freshers to call our own (I *heart* you Gerry), and Trish is always round ours hanging out and gathering the babies round in a big circle for Story Time.

It has been a fantastically wonderful time.

But.

Oh yeah. The BUT.

Just because things are so amazing doesn't mean that my problems have magically disappeared. I'm still in need of a job. I'm still at university and need to be making a sufficient amount of time to actually WORK and WRITE and READ for my course. These things haven't just kindly walked away because I'm having so much fun with all of these new people.

After the party from Hell and I gained some serious perspective and worked out my priorities, I've been doing better with keeping myself at home. It's a bit boring, but I let the babies go out and have their fun, and while I have that alone time, I read, or I work on finding myself a job. Occasionally I'll chill out with Trish and we'll eat chocolate while laughing at funny Dane Cook skits, but I do get things done. If I'm gonna be the Momma of the flat, then I need to sacrifice some fun things just like my Momma did while we were growing up. It's not MY first year, but THEIR first year. They should be the ones going out and getting wrecked, and I should be in waiting for them with a hair tie and a tall glass of water.

Of course that doesn't mean that they want me to stay inside on my lonesome all the time. They do invite me out and I have to kindly decline saying no to their offers to buying me one drink. Babies should not have to be buying Momma drinks. They have been amazing though, and know of my "situation". Livvi in particularly has been a nice listening ear and Gerry is so ridiculously connected with people in London.

"I know people, Sam. Trust me, we'll find you a job."

I don't know what that's supposed to mean exactly, but I'll just take his word for it.

It has been good so far for me though. I try to keep things quiet about how stressed out I am about some things, but they can pick up on my Different Mood Vibes already. Livvi already knows and will give me these looks like YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ME, SAM. I CAN TELL YOU'RE DEEP IN THOUGHT. Yes, you caught me Livvi. And while I'm sitting alone in my room applying for jobs online, Livvi, Katie and Fee will come into my room with a cup of tea and give me cuddles because they could tell that I wasn't feeling like my usual self.

Posted by Sam at 11:06 AM | Permalink

Assignment for my lecture Writing for the Internet, which is a load of wank. Maximum words? 300.

I suppose the real question would be what hasn't my mother told me? She is the one person who has taught me everything that I know, and everything that I thought I learned by myself, I know she has taught me first and I just pretend that I learned it all on my lonesome. She was the one who told me that if you wash your dishes up as you cook, then it won't seem like so much to do when it's time to clean the kitchen. I'm not sure why that piece of advice sticks out the most in my mind.

Never trust a man with your heart, always have hospital corners when you make your bed and the three things to never talk about with other people are politics, religion and money; people are too set in their ways to change their minds about any of it. Don't be ashamed to use coupons ("if it's free, then it's for me!"), depend on nobody in life but yourself and always make sure you have at least $20 on you at all times because you never know when you'll need cash.

These snippets of advice from her life lessons that she has learned over the years stick with me. There’s nothing that I don’t know to this day that she hasn’t already said to me at least once, no matter how big or small. The only thing that mother has never told me is how to live without her, and that’s one thing I hope to never learn.

Posted by Sam at 01:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

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

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

Helen knows that every day when I get home from work, I have to take up at least fifteen minutes of her life while I update her on all of the mundane facts of my day; the lady on the train that fell asleep on me, or another Office Story that I have from sitting at my desk for eight hours. She turns off the TV, sits up a little straighter and gives me her full, undivided attention while I ramble on about nothingness.

That's just me, and she knows it.

She is my best friend (one of a small handful I have and keep close in my heart). We have had a couple of rough patches, but nothing that we haven't worked through and came out on the other side brighter and closer. It's something that I believe all best friends have to go through, because no relationship is perfect all the time. We get annoyed with each other, fall into a funk, a mood and can get easily irritated because the other one is just blinking at the other. Why does she do that!? God!

But for the majority of the time, we are best friends. I consider her a sister.

Helen is beautiful. When I say that, I mean it in the purest way. She is beautiful both on the outside and the inside, and to me, that is extremely hard to find in a person. She's ridiculously smart and there are so many qualities that she has I wish I could have in myself; one of them being that she's financially independent to the max. Helen keeps her finances very private, never discussing them with anyone, and I wonder if I should take a page out of her book. She has never had to borrow money from anyone, and keeps tight lips about the number that flashes on the cash machine.

Aside from the fact that she knows how to manage her money, though, she is damn near perfect. She's what I like to call "classic beauty". She has blond hair and the bluest sparkling eyes that she dresses up with glittering eyeshadow and a slick layer of mascara. She chooses all of her clothes carefully and everything in her wardrobe fits her like a glove. She has her own personal style, and knows how to work it. She is a true London Girl, being born and raised here and knows the city inside and out.

On top of all that, she's ridiculously sweet and will do anything to help you within reason. You can't not like her. It's virtually impossible, and she's so personable. I see her when she chats to people and she just has a way about her that makes you want to be her best friend. She's my little princess and I can't wait to see what the future holds for her; she deserves everything in the world.

My darling little Helen, though, does have her own fair share of woes. It pains me to see her when she's unhappy (damn you boys that can't see a good thing when she's right in front of you!) and there's nothing more I would like to do than just to make all of her problems disappear. I know how she is, how she can be and how she beats herself up over things that she shouldn't be worrying about. I wish I could make her see all of the wonderful things that I see in her, that everyone sees in her, but that she occasionally can't see from time to time.

She's moving to Paris on the 9th of September. Since she studies French and Classics, she's required to do one of her uni years abroad in the country whose language she is learning, therefore taking four years of uni rather than the traditional three. She'll be in another graduating class than all of us. She'll be gone for our third and final years. She'll be missing out on the London uni scene. But she'll be gaining so much more in return. She is embarking on a new journey, getting a clean slate and is starting over in a brand new country. (Sound familiar?) As much as I'm going to miss my wee Care Bear being so close, I'm equally excited for her and can't wait to hear about all of the French Things she's going to be doing. I wonder if their university life will be the same as our university life? Probably. It's just all in French.

And it's not like I'm never going to see her again. I've already told her that our first reading week that we have, I'm hopping on the first Euro Star train and coming to visit her so we can be Parisian together and terrorize the locals. They'll hate us, but we're going to love it. I want to get the full experience of eating lots of bread, smoking inside cafes and getting looked down upon by all of the french folks that despise us Americans. It'll be great.

I haven't thought about her leaving that much. I'm not sure if she has really thought about it in depth. I know she had a day or so after she returned from Poland, but we don't talk about when she's not going to be here. I don't think I'd be able to handle it. What will I do without her? Who am I going to have long, hench chats about boys with? Whose shoulder am I going to cry on? Whose room will I go into and lay on the bed and have chats with while she's getting ready for work or a night out? Who am I going to eat peanut butter and nutella with at 11:30 at night? What am I going to do? What is she going to do?

She has been with me through so much over the past two years. I remember when we were practically inseparable from each other, and living virtually parallel lives. She was the one who I always cried out for whenever I was drunk and being extremely emotional. She was the one who listened to me well late into the evening and took care of me when I couldn't take care of myself. She was always the one I would think to call first or want to talk to first whenever something BIG would happen to me throughout my days. She was my first best friend here in London, and for that, I will always be grateful that I know her.

If I know my Helen, I know she's going to be fine, more than fine even. She's so strong (a lot stronger than she thinks), and she will flourish with all of those frenchies like a fish taking to water. And when I come to visit her, we will have changed a little bit more, but not that much. She will always be the small English girl that I wanted to become best friends with when I first moved over here. And we will always be amazed by how similar, yet extremely different we are at the same time. I will miss spending time sitting quietly with her in the morning whilst we eat breakfast, and have it not be awkward. There aren't that many people in the world that I can do that with, and with Helen, I just know. I find myself saying quite a few times to her, "don't act like I don't know you and how you are."

Ah, yes. And we will always be lesbians together. One day, it's going to happen. I know it's already written in the stars.

Posted by Sam at 04:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

This past weekend I went to the Notting Hill Carnival with Helen, Louisa, Trish and Lorna (although Trish and Lorna didn't join the festivities until Monday). It was...brilliant, to say the least. And that's all I'll say, because what happens at the Carnival, stays at the carnival. Capiche? Capiche.

Swiftly moving on...

I'm currently typing this here post up at work, even though I'm not sitting in my Super Awesome Desk that allowed me free range on the net without any paranoia. I guess I'm living on the edge today, but mostly I just wanted to write a little update, because LORD, I have no time. Well, I do have time, but the majority of it has been spent traveling from ZONE 6 TO ZONE 2.

Three hours, my friends. Three hours every. single. day. I am either on one of the THREE trains that I have to take to get from Helen's house to work, or I'm walking. Lots of walking. All the time. I walk.

I must mention these birds that I see every morning after I leave Helen's house to go to the first train station, though. Apparently (from what Alex has told me), a couple of years ago, some exotic birds escaped from the zoo and are now flying all over the place in random parts of London. I think that a wild bunch have made their new home in Helen's neighborhood, because I see a large handful of these parrot-looking birds that are a vibrant green color and make the most annoying noise in the early morning. It felt like I was in some kind of Disney movie with all of them swarming above my head.

Right.

I don't really mind the journey itself. Yes, it's long and I have to wake up at 5 o'clock in the morning in order to catch my train at 7:26a.m. on the dot. I'm just not used to it, I suppose. It was so easy when we lived in the flat, because I jumped on one bus and stayed there for a maximum of thirty minutes (even with traffic) until it was time for me to hop off and walk the three minutes to the flat door. Easy peasy. I certainly took it for granted.

With the longer journey, though, and the fact that I'm on the overground and the underground, I get to see a variety of more people all heading into Central to go and do more important other things where they are required to wear fancy suits and shiny shoes. No more chavs/chav mothers/chav children for me to block out.

I go into work looking like I'm headed out for a day at the beach, regardless if it's sunny outside or not (which, recently it hasn't been so bright). I feel like I should make more of an effort now when I go out to be with the "fancy travelers". It's partly because now I'm living out of my suitcases while I stay at Helen's house, and digging through the never ending abyss that is holding all of my "office clothes" is just far too much effort for me to muster after I've woken up and fallen out of bed. I just can't be bothered.

I have also traded in my morning music whilst getting ready, and now instead listen to the morning news on the TV in the downstairs office while I fuss with my hair dryer and try to keep quiet from waking everyone up. It's different, but I feel more like I'm being kept up to date on my current events, which is a lot better than me listening to The Subways latest album for the hundreth time. Or maybe not, depending on who you're talking to I guess.

With all of this extra traveling time, though, I feel like I'm going to burn through all of my books in no time, leaving me with nothing to read, and "old" music that I've already listened to on repeat until my ears started bleeding. So I'm asking: y'all have any recommendations for me to keep me occupied? Music? Books? Funny magazine articles? It can be recent or old; so long as I've never heard of it, it'll be new to me. I just hate those annoying little newspapers that those guys are always handing out in front of the train station; they piss me off and I feel like I'm reading the same thing that everyone else is reading (hardy har har)...I like to be different.

And if you don't hear from me in a week or so, send out the search party. I probably got lost on one of the trains.

Posted by Sam at 03:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I just finished cleaning my temporary room that I'll be living in for the next few weeks. Well, I say "clean" when really it was more like re-organizing things so they don't look so disheveled and like I'm living in a pile of my own dirty clothes. And I hoovered. Very important.

I'm back at Helen's house until it's time for her to kick me out and move to Paris for her year abroad. Away from me. In a new country. Living. Speaking a different language. Lucky bitch. I wish I could!

But one thing at a time. My Helen watermelon/chinchilla/Care Bear/English muffin, was kind enough to let me crash at her place after we moved out of Shitville. I've been to her house before and had a really nice time away relaxing and remembering what it was like to live in a proper house, with proper things that don't break when you sneeze too hard. I've washed my first load of laundry in her amazing washing machine and separate dryer. I must point out the fact that the dryer is indeed a separate machine that isn't combined with the washing machine, therefore allowing our clothes to be properly washed and dried. I pulled out my damp clothes after the washing machine had done it's run and inhaled deeply.

"This," I happily thought to myself, "are how clothes should be washed." And oh my god (!) they weren't covered in lint! That's when I sat on the floor in her small laundry room and silently weeped to myself because I was so happy.

They have a dishwasher that they use every day. Every. Single. Day. We had a dishwasher in the flat, but we never used it because a.) it used up too much electric and water, and b.) when we went through the Bug Phase, we discovered that they liked to hang out in there, which gave me the shivers. Disgusting. I refuse to put my dirty dishes in something that will make them seem dirtier than when they originally went in.

Not only that, I can't seem to get over the fact that they have Name Brand items. They don't have Asda's own, or Tescos own, or Sainsbury's own. Fuck that. They spring for the good shit that's more expensive and works properly.

Oh, and can I just mention the CABLE TV? You don't understand how much I've been missing out on because I haven't properly watched TV for nearly a year. A WHOLE YEAR. I haven't watched any of my favorite TV shows (that weren't already on dvd), the news, music videos and crappy commercials. These things I have been denied for so long, and while I thought I wasn't missing much, in truth, it was just because I had forgotten how handy having a TV can be. You can easily get lost in the nothingness of The Tube, forget all worries and go completely numb in bad daytime talk-shows. I love it. I fucking love it.

Yesterday, Helen walked me to the train station where I'll start my very long morning commute to get to work. She lives...far. Out there. In Zone 6. It is such a small town, the lady for London's Transport had no idea what I was talking about when I rang up to ask about prices for my travelcard.

"It's near Kingston," I told her, which is the nearest 'big town'.

"Oh! Kingston. Wow. That's hardly London."

True, Helen's hometown is quite far, but I love it. She tells me not to get excited when we walk into "the village," but I can't help myself. While I do love the perks of a big city, I am truly a small town girl at heart. We wander inside a small shop, and the store owner knows some of his customers by name, and what they already want to buy.

One really old lady, Barbara, comes in every day and buys two chocolates. He knows this. And it makes me smile inside.

We walk around her neighborhood and she points out certain houses where her school friends live, or used to live, and tells me little stories about the people who lived inside the big houses with well-groomed English gardens, or of the time she got drunk at their house party. It's nice to walk around and hear Helen's stories about her childhood. I feel privileged that she's even telling me, because Helen is generally a very private person. She likes keeping her different lives (i.e. "uni life" and "home life") separate, unlike me who will spill my entire life story all over your lap if you'll let me.

As we were walking back to her house, there were two young boys, I'd say maybe about twelve or thirteen-years-old, standing at one of the very few bus stops. They appeared to be nice young boys with moppy hair and gave us a little smile as we walked past. But as we walked on a little farther, we heard one of them holler out to us in a fake girlie voice, "alright sister!" Helen and I just laughed a little and she said, "god, I love living in this town."

It is so nice. I know why Helen used to come back every so often in our first year of uni, because it's so ridiculously relaxing. And of course, it is her home where most people feel most comfortable. The first night here, I slept hard as a rock and had never felt so refreshed. I remember thinking that it has been a damn long time since I've slept that well. Of course when I woke up the next morning, I was slightly confused about where I was and thought it was Christmas, since I had the same feeling I usually get when I go back home to Virginia.

It's not Virginia, but it is a home. Every home, I've discovered, appears to be the same for people: it's where we can lounge around, watch TV, eat loads of yummy food, hang out in our old room, remember old times and indulge ourselves on all of the goodness we normally don't have back in our Every Day Life. It's hard to think that our childhood home used to be our Every Day Life. Instead now going back home is only a place where we go to recover, to relax, to remember. It is a mini break, almost a holiday and a place where we can truly be ourselves and forget that there ever were hard times.

Posted by Sam at 05:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I look around and there’s so much shit everywhere. Just shit. Everywhere. Part of me really wants to just throw it all away or leave it behind and let the next poor group of people who have to live here after us deal with it. Maybe they could use twenty tins of Asda’s own peas? Or decorative lights? Or all of my dishes? I don’t care for any of it now. I don’t want any of it anymore. It’s all just shit. More shit, piled on top of more shit, on top of more shit.

Shit.

Packing things in suitcases, boxes and bags always makes me feel like it’s The End of something, as if one door is closing, yet a window is wide open with the wind starting to blow through. When you move, you’re usually leaving something behind, or someone behind or some place behind. Generally you say goodbyes, make sure everything’s packed tightly in the car and double check that you’re not leaving any lights on, and that all of the windows are locked. You usually walk around the empty rooms, listen to your footsteps echo and bounce off of the walls, and think, “yes, this is the end of me living in one place; now I’m moving on to bigger and better things.”

I am saying goodbye, as I always do when I leave a place that I’ve lived at for any length of time. It’s just another step in the “leaving process” that helps me feel like I’m done, it’s done. I can leave in peace and know that there’s nothing left for me there. I’m saying goodbye to the disgusting walls, to the unknown smell that always lingered around, the filthy floors and the pain in the ass washing machine. But I’m also saying goodbye to all of the depressing days and nights I spent in my tiny room, and goodbye to all of the horrible, dramatic events that took place. I’m saying goodbye to all of the stress, the worries, the pain, the heartache, the laziness, the mistakes, the obsessions and the god only knows how many headaches caused by all of the negativity. I don’t want to carry any of that with me into my future. To be honest, it’s so much heavier than all of my clothes in my gigantic suitcases combined.

The only things I’ll be taking with me are my beloved items that have been quietly sitting around the flat waiting to be moved to a happier place. If it can’t fit in any of my bags, it gets tossed. I obviously don’t need it, nor do I want to make space for it. And I’ll also be taking the small memories that I have been keeping in a safe place that I hide inside of me. All of the hours that Trish and I spent downstairs watching TV programs on Bridget. Or whenever all of us would be getting ready for a night out, with four different songs blasting out of our rooms and vibrating the walls, drinking beforehand and dancing in our high heels on the wooden floors. Or just sitting with Helen quietly in the lounge in the morning times and not saying anything to each other, and it not being awkward.

Yeah, I’ve grown up quite a bit, and I’ve learned my fair share this past year, but it was tough. For the most part I did my best to keep myself happy and not let the girls know just how much I stressed about things, but there were a few times when I would cry silently to myself in my room, because the pain was all consuming, and even though I wasn’t alone, I felt so secluded. I didn’t want them to worry, but I also didn’t want to always be complaining and crying on their shoulders. I know they would have said that it was okay and that they didn’t mind, but really, I know that there is only so much down time that one person can take, and I didn’t want to be the one handing it all out in large chunks every other day.

However, even though this was a pathetic second year, I have come out on the other side a better person, and dare I say, a stronger person. I have gained even more perspective about living with people and understanding myself. The greatest lesson learned? Nobody, and I mean absolutely nobody, is perfect. Why? Because everyone makes mistakes, whether it’s forgetting about paying a certain bill, or making false judgements and not being open and honest about things straight away.

It’s true, you always hear people say it, and you know they’re right, but for the words to actually strike you in the face and for you to believe it, to understand it, to take in the words and have them mean so much more, is something completely different. Forgiveness is divine, and letting go of things - be it physical or emotional - is necessary in order for one to move on with life. It’s a hard, and very bitter pill to swallow sometimes, and I’m still learning every day how to move past certain things, but I’m sure it’ll get easier with time. Forgiving the little things is the easy part; it’s the bigger ones that take a lot longer to process and accept.

I can’t wait to shut the door one last time to this hellhole, and lock inside all of my past that’s not coming with me. Everything that I’ve been holding onto for the past two years can kiss my ass goodbye, because I don’t live here anymore.

Posted by Sam at 07:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I have decided that the next man I want to be with must be insanely tall and have a well-groomed beard.

This morning. I decided that this morning on the bus.

I do realize that about 87% of the people on this great big planet are a lot taller than me, but I want a man who is like, really tall. Like, people will wonder how we have sex because he's so tall and I'm so short.

I'm not sure why I've all of a sudden taken an interest in beards, but there ya go.

Recently, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I know most of it has to do with the insane amount of alone time I had in the flat last week, but all of those thoughts that have been following me like baby ducklings all tied to a string since I first arrived here, decided to grow into mean, scary, evil birds that took that string they were tethered to, tie it around my neck and choke me. It wasn't fun, people, I'll tell you that now. It was, well, crazy. Insane. I would not do well in a torture camp. In fact, it would be really easy to torture me just by leaving me alone for a long period of time, because by the last day I'll be ready and willing to tell you all of my deepest darkest secrets without a second thought.

I'm sure that I could have done something to alleviate the thoughts that were plaguing me, but I decided to sit and savor each of them, to roll around in them all and let them soak through all of my pores into my blood stream. I was drenched in The Past, and it finally got to the point where I really was going to do something crazy if I didn't figure out a way to just let it all go.

Fucking hell, Samantha Leigh, let it go.

But I couldn't. I just sat there and let my imagination run amok, and it got really morbid to where I started thinking about the "well, what if he died? Or I died?" scenarios. Would I really want to die knowing that I never did anything? Would I want to be That Girl that just had yet another mental weekend? How much more was I willing to take? I had wasted a day and a half allowing myself to sit and soak in my guilt. I was disgusting.

Hence the email to Ash. It took me nearly three hours to write an email that was long, but not long enough or short enough. Nearly three hours where I scrutinized every comma, every word, and made sure that things that needed to be capitalized were capitalized, or that I hadn't forgotten a word in my nervous haste. Nearly three hours of me analyzing what This would mean, or what That would mean. Was I even getting my message across, or was I just rambling on like some fucked up ex-girlfriend that had gone all psycho? Probably both.

Then I thought maybe I was just doing this because I'm all alone and fucked up. Maybe I should do something, like call someone and have a two hour conversation? Maybe that would make it go away? Maybe I would remember that I'm not crazy, but just having a Crazy Moment?

But that would only be a distraction, and every single time I was alone I would be back exactly where I started with nothing accomplished. So I sent it. And then I cried like a motherfucker. But goddamn, it was one of those really good cries that I haven't had in a very long time. Healthy.

Learn from the past, instead of longing for it.

That wasn't the only thing I thought about, though, while I was sitting and squirming over The Past. I also thought about The Future, and what I want to do. I mean, what do I really want to do? My third and final year is fast approaching, and I should start constructing a plan for life post uni. I've always had the very vague thought of staying here in the UK after I graduate, all based purely on If's -- If I get a job here. If someone hires me. If I can find a place to stay. -- There's nothing solid about it. But then I thought, maybe I should move?

And that thought sparked a New Plan. A new, more definite and solid plan.

London is my lover. I fucking love this city so much it pains me. However, it can be rather difficult at times. If I could, I would put my relationship status on facebook as "it's complicated with London". Sometimes we fight and I cry, or I'll scream back in anger and the city will finally ease up on me and then we'll make up (always my favorite part). There are so many wonderful things about living here, I can't even bring myself to make a list, because it's never ending. Even the things I don't like, I secretly love, because hey, that's just London for you.

But -- yes, the 'but' -- I'm starting to get that all too familiar feeling I usually get after being somewhere for two or three years. That's what happens when you're a military brat and are so used to uprooting your entire life. It's time for me to get a move on, scrap everything I know and try again elsewhere.

Which is why I've decided if all the If's don't work out for me, I'm going to try my luck in New York and see what happens.

I was supposed to go last summer with Helz and Jon, but had to cancel because of work (blah!). And I've fought with Momma about spending my third year of uni there. But now I feel a lot more ready about going after uni. It just made so much sense when I thought about it. Why visit when you can live there? I am definitely a city gal, and moving to New York has so many pros: I would be really close to home, which is what I like the most about New York being located where it's located. As much as I love London with all of the beautiful accents and being able to travel easily to so many different countries, New York is only a mere three hours away from home. I could still have my own, separate life in the Big City, and Momma and Mel could be easily reached if I needed to go back, or just wanted to go back for a weekend. Besides, London has trained me well, and I'm sure I would work it out just fine in New York, just like how I did here.

I've thought about it, and I can picture myself there. I want to get a job in a publishing house, or work for a magazine company, or be some low-end newbie at a newspaper office. I'll look for a small, over-priced apartment (they don't call 'em 'flats' over there), where I'll hopefully not get broken into or have to dodge bullets, and eat amazing chinese food every night. It's going to be scary (because New York is so scary to me), but it's going to be brilliant, and I'll make it work and fit, just like how London is to me now.

Of course I'm not leaving just yet. It is still just a thought, a plan, an idea. Something could change a year from now, and I'll have to start all over again with a completely different route. But right now, that plan sounds the most promising, and the best one I've had. And I still have one more year in London before it's time for me to put any kind of final ending on anything. So for right now, I'll just curl up in London's arms and enjoy the time we have together.

Posted by Sam at 11:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Helen is back from Poland with her pretty, pretty vodka, I've started back at work this week, and life once again feels like it's moving at a normal pace. Sadly, because I'm lazy and took a week and a half of time off work, I'm not able to keep up with the whole "moving" and "living" parts that get in the way of my "sitting" time (or more importantly, my "napping" time).

Ah yes, work. I was slightly nervous about going back and showing my disgraceful mug round the office after my poor attempt of dropping off a simple note. Like, what was that about really? I received a text message from Helima when I was on the bus that simply said, "ARE YOU READY?"

Um, not so much, I thought to myself, sitting there and imagining what it would be like for me to walk through those doors again that I so happily let close behind me the week before.

It turns out we aren't working for the same office, but rather in a different building with a whole slew of new people to look at and play the yes/no game with (all of them, once again, are 'no', aside from this one potential guy who smells strongly of alcohol every morning, in case you were wondering). The good news is that this job requires slightly more brain power than what I was working on before. The bad news is that my computer is facing everyone and their grandmother, therefore leaving me absolutely no time whatsoever to piss about on the internet on the company's dime. Do you think that's why more offices are incorporating the "farm" or "pod" layout these days? So people have less privacy, therefore making them much more paranoid about who's peering over their shoulders?

On top of that, I've been feeling slightly under the weather. My health is so poor it's appalling; so I bought some vegetables and will be preparing a colorful and delicious salad (The Helen Salad) later on this evening. I left work early today (I know, on my second day back) so I could come home, change into my pajamas, and sit on the settees like I've been doing for the past week and a half!

It was better this time round, though, because Helen and Jon were here to keep me company, and I laughed because they were making jokes, rather than me just laughing out loud to myself because I'm crazy.

I'm glad there are people around once again, though, because this past weekend was pretty heavy for me. I guess those last two days were just the breaking point, and I couldn't handle my own company any longer. It was so quiet in the flat, leaving me with my thoughts, my crazy and insane thoughts. I couldn't bake anymore cookies, I couldn't listen to anymore music, I couldn't watch anymore TV on dvd, I couldn't read anymore books, I couldn't clean anything else in the flat, because I had already done it THREE HUNDRED TIMES.

So I sat in bed, and blankly stared outside my window where I watched the weather switch from rainy and windy, back to sunny and breezy every fifteen minutes. I would get up to open my window, only to have to get up again to shut it when the rain would start spraying everywhere.

And my thoughts, while I was stuck in that circle routine for nearly two hours, consumed me. They engulfed me. They swirled around and swallowed me whole. And finally I thought, "if I don't do something about this soon, I'm going to kill myself."

So I emailed Ash.

Obviously.

And then I cried.

Obviously.

And then I sang and danced to Rilo Kiley.

And then nothing.

Posted by Sam at 06:46 PM | Permalink

I remember when I was really young -- perhaps eight or so -- and Mel had done something to royally tick me off. I can't remember exactly what it was now, but it was bad enough for me to convince her that she wasn't part of our family. She wasn't blood related and that Momma wasn't her birth mother, but rather her adoptive aunt that took pity on one of her friends and decided to raise her "as her own". I even went so far as to pull out a family photo album and point out who her "real mom" was, who just so happened to be one of Momma's friends from a few years back.

"See," I said, pointing to Momma's friend, Doreen, who had blond hair and was English. "That's your real mom. Who knows where she is now, but she just dumped you here because she didn't want you."

Yes, I was cruel older sister.

Mel cried, obviously, and ran upstairs to Momma asking if she really was part of our family. Momma had to assure her that yes, of course she was part of our family and that no, Doreen was not her birth mother. If that was the case then Momma wanted to know why she had to suffer through the hell that is Childbirth.

I would grow up and there would always be a small part of me that hated myself for ever telling Mel that she wasn't part of our family. Mel is, in so many ways, what holds our small family together. If it wasn't for her, I'm not sure where Momma and I would be these days.

In reality, she is my younger sister, the baby, the last wee youngin'; but her role is more like the middle sister. Momma and I bicker at each other, and she's unfortunately the referee that is stuck in between the both of us, listening to each of us bitch and moan about the other, and in the end Mel just throws up her arms and screams, "WHY DON'T Y'ALL JUST SORT IT OUT YOURSELVES. YOU'RE ACTING LIKE TWO-YEAR-OLDS!"

And Momma and I will just sit with our arms crossed not looking at each other, hating the fact that she's right, and she's the youngest.

But my sister, my best friend, my Pookie, she is the greatest friend that I've had my entire life. Our relationship isn't a complicated one. We don't ever need to explain anything to each other, because we just know, this is how it is. This is how we are. I know that Mel isn't a sappy sentimental person, and we rarely tell each other "I love you". That's just not what we do. It's not because we don't love each other, but it's because we don't have to tell each other as a reminder; we know that the love is always there, constantly surrounding us. There's no need to point it out and make it out to be some Big Deal.

I've given in to the fact that my younger sister is also smarter than me. Mel knows everything about Everything. She's a whiz at Jeopardy and knows plenty of useless information that no human being should ever know; but it's there, in her brain, just waiting to score 400 points. She also knows everything there is to know about Designer Name Brands, high fashion couture, and can spot knock-off purses from a mile away. It's a gift really.

She also has a sixth sense about men that we date and will tell you whether or not he's the right guy, simply by you talking about him. I don't know how she does it, but she knows every single time; and not just with the guys that I'm interested in or Momma goes out with, but my friends as well. We'll disagree with her and tell her that she's wrong, but later on down the line (whether it's two years or two months), we learn that she was right the whole time. It's scary, but I've learned to trust her word and never argue when it comes to Mel's Boy Approval.

I could go on for days, weeks even, about how cool and understated my little sister is (who's not so little standing tall at 5'8"), but she's one of those people that you have to meet to understand. When people first meet her, they tend to either not like her or think she's really shy. She won't speak much, but that's only because she's quietly watching you, observing you, judging you and deciding whether or not you're worth her time. You may even forget that she's in the room, but that doesn't mean that she's not listening. And you'll know when she has made up her mind about you, because when you least expect it, she'll pipe up with one sentence, one sentence that is so dead on, so poignant and funny, that you'll be laughing for five whole minutes while trying to hold your bladder together. That's just her.

Nobody else will ever come close to figuring us out, not even Momma. We have millions of inside jokes, and can quote a lyric from a song, or recite a certain part from one of our favorite movies and just Get It. She will only do her Chander dance for me. And trust me, that is something special that I wish she would share with the world. She recommends TV shows that I'll like, sends me music, and she'll know what I'm talking about when I say, "it's all happening." We will fight, argue and hate each other, but five minutes later everything will be fine and we'll go back to laughing because, good lord, she farted again and it was a silent killer. We have conversations with each other while one of us is in the shower, and she'll scare the living shit out of me when I wake up to find her face five inches away from me, staring. And when I ask her what she's doing, she'll say simply, "just waiting for you to wake up so we can watch TV."

She'll be turning twenty-one this year, officially making her an adult that can legally purchase alcohol (even though she's not much of a drinker, unlike her big sis). She still works at Target and could open up her own store and run it smoothly if she wanted to. She's just now starting to get over her fear and has begun her driving lessons, and is going back to school this fall back home at our local community college. She's doing things at her own pace, and is in no hurry to step out on her own in this big, intimidating world. And I don't blame her. It can be a harsh place to live in sometimes.

She's not so little anymore, though. She has been growing into her own person for a while now, making decisions and learning just like me how we're going to do this whole Life thing. I consider us extremely lucky in that we don't have to do it entirely alone. I'll always be there for her, just like when I got suspended in high school for three days for threatening to run over a girl with my car who was bad-mouthing Mel around the school. And Mel will always be there for me, making sure that I get care packages from back home stock full of TV shows on dvd and my favorite magazines (where she has already filled out the crossword puzzles - Thanks Pookie).

boop

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And that would be the tattoo I got for Mel. You know Garfield and his bear Pookie? Well, that's what reminds me of Mel. For as long as I can remember, she has always been Pookie. So I got the tattoo just for her.

Posted by Sam at 02:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

So y'all remember that awesome idea where fellow bloggers interview each other and all of that good stuff? Well, Elisa is her name, and she sent me her set of questions to interview me, which I happily answered. She posted the interview on her blog, so rather than me post here today, I'm telling (yes, telling) y'all to run on over there and read it!

Posted by Sam at 01:26 PM | Permalink

Yes, this one goes out to all of my fellow little ladies out there that live their lives day-to-day and are vertically challenged. We are those small ladies that you can barely see in the crowds and are easily shoved aside while all of the tall giants stroll right past us and jump on the bus before us leaving us to stand. We are not invisible, though! We may be little, but we have big voices! And we're damn proud to stand up (as tall as our tippy toes will allow us) and say, "hey! Down here!"

I won't lie -- I like that I'm short. I like being small, petite, tiny, miniscule and teensy weensy. Being small comes with perks and I fully take advantage of my short stature.

Of course, there are some disadvantages that come with being shorter than the average 5'7". It's difficult to find trousers that fit properly (they either fit in the waist and are too short in length, or they're long enough but too big in the waist), and I do envy those leggy women that can wear all of those long, flowing, summer dresses without looking like a small child that's playing dress up in her mother's clothes. Some things simply weren't made for us little women. However, we can get away with wearing shorter shorts and extra mini skirts without looking like we're "showing off too much skin" which is always nice when you want to go out skimpy but not look like a £2 hooker.

Nowadays, though, you can find clothes that are made specially for us that weren't blessed with legs up to our necks. There are many different stores that have designated "petite" sections for the women that aren't built like your typical model who has plenty of leg to spare. It's not so much of a chore now, nor do you have to spend time and money altering hemlines just so your skirts fit nicely on your waist. It is one less thing for us to not have to worry about in our wee little minds.

Aside from clothes shopping, though, there are other daily battles that we must face. We're constantly weaving in and out around people, trying to reach things on high shelves in stores and look like minature pack horses when we have a big day of shopping. There you'll see us with all of our grocery bags dragging low to the ground, or us hunched over at a 90-degree angle because of massive bag that we have propped up on our backs. Whoever said that short people have it so much easier has never had to carry a full load of groceries from Asda on the bus, alone, without any assistance from anyone or anything. Let me tell you, it's hard. My hands are only small. I can only carry so much at a time!

We are also discriminated against at water parks, theme parks and local fairs. That giant rollercoaster that looks so intimidating but thrilling at the same time? We're not allowed because we're "too short". It's so unfortunate.

But here are the things about being smaller than average I do like:

- Always having plenty of leg room. You'll never see me struggling folding up my legs in economy on an airplane or squeezing them close on the tube or bus. I can sit comfortably for the duration of my trip while everyone else has to figure out where they can put their ankles without having to twist it in an odd shape.

- Strangers will generally help you when you are visibly struggling with bags or a stroller. Unlike the doyley lady, I don't expect people to help me just because I can't seem to handle all of my shopping bags; then again, I never turn down a kind stranger when they offer a helping hand. I just hope that one of those "kind strangers" doesn't turn into a theif who runs off with all of my things.

- I'll never have to worry about a guy being too short. Some taller women have a thing about the guy they're dating being shorter than they are. Me? I don't have that problem. I suppose a guy could be too tall, but I doubt it. I've been with some tall fellas and we've managed to work it out every time.

- On a similar note, some guys prefer shorter women. They don't like all of that extra leg getting in the way, but would rather have us pint-sized chicks.

- On a couple of occasions, I can still buy things (mainly cute pajamas) from the Juniors department and clothes there are cheaper.

- These days, short girls rock.

So yes, there are good and bad things that go hand-in-hand with being short, but I suppose that goes for anything really. We may not be able to glide along like the glamazons and have to trot alongside to keep up, but nonetheless, we have some fine points that the tall people simply don't have. There seems to be some kind of novelty for us women that never have to duck under anything. We are cute, special and many people feel the need to take care of us, protect us, or handle us with care because of our small size.

But the next person who feels the need to pet me on the head like a minature chiuaua, I will bite your hand off without any hesitation.

Posted by Sam at 03:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Because Miss Grace (aka Jennifer) is awesome, she speedily sent me her answers to my standard interview questions. And considering how below par my creativity is recently (hence, the not-so-creative questions), her answers are superb. I give her a thousand gold stars and a pat on the back!

This interview thing is fun. I may sign myself up to do it again.

**

1.) Why did you start a blog?

I think my blog evolved out of my attempt to escape from mass emailings. After college, my friends were all in these far flung places, and I got really tired of writing 15 versions of the same email letting everyone know what was going on. Because of that, I started a blog on MySpace to keep friends abreast of what I was doing (this was when MySpace was shiny and new, and you could legitimately participate without being grouped amongst 14-year-old girls and child molesters). I moved over to this blog because I wanted a better format, and I had started to read blogs where I didn't directly know the writer, and wanted to start building on that community.

2.) Do you think that your blog is a decent representation of who you are in "real life"? Do you really care?

I write as myself, and I think that my blog is representative of who I am. However, there are things that I won't talk about online (current relationships, for example), and there are some general moods that I don't tend to write in; I'm not a very good writer when I'm depressed. So there are sides of my personality that don't necessarily come through on my blog; not because they're censored, but because I don't ever feel like writing when I'm in that place.
I do care how I come across in the sense that I want people who read my writing to feel like they are getting to know me, and not some persona I created for the benefit of the internet. I do not, however, care if you don't like me.

3.) Kind of a two-parter question: do you think everyone should keep a blog? And if so, do you think that blogging can be taught? It's kind of like the popular question in my creative writing classes of "can creative writing be taught?"

In short, no. Some people just aren't writers. Some people are great, fantastic, funny people, and it just doesn't translate well into the written word. Other people just aren't very smart or very funny, and I don't really want to read what they have to say. Did I mention that I'm not always very nice, or very diplomatic? Sorry.
I also think that if you're uncomfortable with blogging, and the whole "scary internet" thing, then you might not want to do it.
But anyone who thinks they might want to start a blog? Should definitely give it a try.

4.) What about blogging makes it enjoyable?

My favorite thing about blogging is the chance to write on my own time, without it ever feeling like work. Actually no--that's my second favorite thing. My FAVORITE thing is the community, and all of the wonderful writing and interesting lives I discover online.

5.) About BlogHer: I've never attended, but I read that you went this year. 1st - What can you tell newbies like myself to expect if/when we go? 2nd - Was it all it was cracked up to be?

1st - Everyone who's going is going there at least in part (if not in full) to meet people, so be prepared to introduce yourself A LOT. You can't be afraid to approach strangers, and I don't think there's room for being shy. Also, I'm tired of the posts I've been reading about how someone couldn't "talk to so-and-so because they're too BIG." There are more and less well known bloggers, but everyone at THAT conference is open to meeting everyone else (that's why they came), so if you want to say hi, you absolutely should.
2nd - Yes, it 100% is. I think that my writing has become tangibly better as a result of going, in ways that I can't begin to explain.

6.) I'm all about music; love it to infinity and beyond. What is your favorite band, type of music and so forth?

I always have a really hard time when people ask me this question. I honestly listen to everything. Like, EVERYTHING everything. You are equally likely to find Tom Waits or Nas or Johnny Cash or Counting Crows or Depeche Mode or Justin Timberlake in my CD player. I've lately been going through sort of a folk phase, which has featured Emmylou Harris, Gillian Welch, James McMurtry, and John Prine. But three months ago I was in an early-90's hip-hop sort of a mood, so it's hard to predict. Growing up, the family business was a nightclub, so I went to a wide variety of concerts and shows from a very young age, and was therefore exposed to a lot of different sounds, etc. I also learned that the ability to produce a good CD does not necessarily translate into the ability to put on a good show, and visa versa.

7.) In your spare time when you're not raising your son or blogging, what do you like to do when you get a quiet moment to yourself?

If I'm not otherwise occupied (and I'm not asleep) I: read, knit, walk/bike, or sit around on my couch and stare at the wall. Okay so staring at the wall is the most likely, but they're all equally satisfying.

8.) How long do you see yourself blogging for?

For as long as I'm getting something out of it and enjoying what I create, I see myself doing it.

9.) Have you ever received any negative comments and/or feedback about your blog? If so, how did you handle it?

I have an ongoing negative reaction from my son's father, mainly because HIS father is one of my regular readers, and I don't think he likes to be exposed as categorically insane. While I make a point to never use his name, he did notably comment on one of my entries. The main reason I published everything that we both wrote was because I wanted him to be less abusive to me in emails, and the fact that I have no qualms about publishing them has kept him pretty much in check since then. It doesn't really matter whether I write about him or not, as it's the simple fact that I blog that upsets him, and most of the time, my entries have absolutely nothing to do with him. Aside from that issue, which is ongoing, I haven't really had any negative feedback from readers. I've found a wonderfully supportive community.

10.) Do you think that the "blog hierarchy" is a load of wank?

I think that some bloggers are more well-known than others, and I think that as long as you have a community of people doing the same thing, some of them are going to invariably become more "famous" than others. However, I don't think it's quite the same as "real-life" fame in the sense that most bloggers are still very in touch with their communities.

Posted by Sam at 10:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I have nothing important (when do I ever talk about anything "important" really) to write today, so instead I shall introduce y'all to The Great Interview Experiment. I discovered it over at Monica's blog and thought that it was a fantastic idea as soon as I read it.

I'm participating and decided to share this great revolution to y'all out there who would also like to be interviewed by a complete and total stranger. I mean, really, who wouldn't love that? I'm still waiting to hear from the lady who is supposed to interview me, but I already sent my set of questions to Miss Grace. What I've discovered? It's probably best that I'm studying creative writing instead of journalism, because I'm a shit journalist. However, Miss Grace is a fantastically funny writer that kind of reminds of me of Trish.

I do believe that this idea is a great way to discover new blogs (because my lord there are so many out there), reach out an internet hand to your neighbor in this vast space and get to know who else is out there rather than sitting in the same corner. We may not all be a Dooce, a laid off dad or a former stripper turned writer in New York, but we all deserve to be interviewed at least once.

Posted by Sam at 03:51 PM | Permalink

It seems like I am continuously learning who are good friends, who are great friends, and who are lifelong friends that I should hope to know until we're old. For as long as I can remember, all the way back to the fourth grade when I knew Stephanie Ramazini, I've traded, recycled and gained new best friends every single year. Stephanie kicked off first, then there was blond Heather, red-headed Heather, Tabitha (whom I got in a big fight with and never spoke to ever again), Shella, Kirsty, Gina and finally Sarah in my junior year of high school.

Halfway through my senior year when I lived in North Carolina, Momma moved me up to Virginia with me kicking and screaming the whole way. I didn't want to leave halfway through my senior year, yet it was my fault for leaving in the first place. She said I could stay if I remained on good behavior, but because I was going through my "rebel phase" (which appears to only now be fading away), I was forced to move twenty minutes away from the nation's capital leaving all of my small town friends behind with no word, not even a small note saying good-bye. It must have seemed like I had been kidnapped, however, skipping school and getting my friend's dad to pierce my belly button when we were all drunk after Thanksgiving was not part of the Momma-Sam agreement. I had relinguished my rights as a free spirited 17-year-old and had to spend my last six months of my high school career in a brand new school, with brand new faces, in a brand new location. It was quite possibly six of the worst months of my entire life.

During my time spent at T.C. Williams (yes, where they filmed Remember The Titans), I kept to myself mostly and worked to get my GPA up. While I was living in my small, southern town it had sunk to a pathetic 2.1, and by the time I walked across the stage to collect my diploma I managed to raise it all the way up to a 3.5.

Yes, it was quite an accomplishment, but it didn't mean that I was happy while I worked on getting those good grades. I was very quiet, meak and hated every new person that I came in contact with or tried to get to know me. Everyone there was stupid and didn't understand me. Or better yet, I didn't understand them; what was with them calling cigarettes 'jacks' anyway? They had stupid words in Virginia.

I did briefly make a new friend, Lauren, who was in a similar boat that I was in, only she was from Oklahoma (who knew people actually lived there!) and she was a junior. We met in gym class and talked about how shit Virginia was together. It was a nice common ground and we understood that we weren't really best friends, but that each other's company would do for the time being until it was time for us to go our separate ways.

In between my alone time hating everything that was in Virginia and my time spent with my temporary friend, Lauren, I met Mendy. I can't remember exactly how we met each other and started talking, but I'm pretty sure it was during one of our many gym classes that we loathed. We would sit in the locker room getting changed into our gross uniforms and talk about how pointless physical education is for students in the 21st century; we'd be lucky if we burned off our calories from lunch. We also thought it was a bit hypocritical to have a gym teacher that closely resembled Fat Albert.

Immediately our friendship clicked into place like two pieces that had been waiting to find each other. She was so funny and smart and made me want to speak differently, more like how an educated adult might speak; and she helped me not feel so alone like the weird, awkward, small town outcast that I was. She was my soulmate, the one person who just got me immediately without having to ask any questions. We were inseparable, and yet at the same time we could go for long periods of not speaking to each other and not have the time apart make one bit of difference. We could so easily pick our friendship up right where we left off and slip back into the S&M (hehe dirrty) ways. We went to concerts (oh, so many fulfilling gigs we went to), we worked so hard to come to London, and in between we spent the rest of our time chilling by the pier in Alexandria, talking about the future, talking about life in general, and talking about when we would be free from our parents and living independently.

She is, to this day (aside from Mel who I've obviously known all my life), the only best friend I've had for longer than two years. Six years later after I made that unwilling move to the state I once despised, and we're still going strong like an old married couple. We've had our disagreements, the occasional argument, but more good times than bad. I would certainly not be who I am today without her.

I remember after I told her that I was going to try and move over here to London so I could be closer to Ash and start a new life away from all of my different ball and chains (i.e. Momma, my job, my boring routine life); she was not the happiest person and it took her a while to give me her support. The whole time we had always talked about how we were going to move away and live together. We would get jobs together and be poor college students together, and here I was just taking it upon myself to break our future plans without consulting her about it first. It was a strain on our friendship and probably the hardest hit we've ever taken.

Looking back on it now it's silly, because lord, we were so young. She was just seventeen, and there I was at nineteen going on twenty and our lives just felt so big as if we were at a major crossroads (god, that sounds so shit and cliché, but there's really no other way to describe it). But we were. We were leaving our teenage years behind us and welcoming a new chapter into a more adult life. Sure, we thought we spoke like adults and acted like adults, and for our age we were considerably mature, especially Mendy; she was always more like the adult between the two of us. However, we were still so inexperienced and didn't know shit about life. As much as we thought we were our own person, we heavily relied on each other. Breaking off all of our mutual plans left us alone in this great big world and that was terrifying for us both to accept.

Now we are certainly different people, we are both our own person, we both have moved away and have been living our own lives, creating our own rules and have that freedom that we both talked about so long ago. I am no longer in the firm grips of Momma and have a strong relationship with her now, and Mendy has been supporting herself, continuing her education and engaged.

Indeed. Engaged.

I've never met him, but I know Mendy, and I know she's a smart gal. I may not understand getting married at twenty-one, but I understand her, and I know that she wouldn't be doing it unless she was completely sure. And that's the thing about us -- we may not always agree or are on board straight away with each other's decisions, but that's only because we worry and are concerned for our friend. But the trust that we have in each other puts our worried thoughts to rest. I know she will only do things that she's ready for and from the sounds of things, they're really happy with each other, which is all I could ask for. I am there for her through the good and the bad, just as I know she is for me no matter what we get ourselves into.

Mendy: I really miss you, I miss our eternal conversations, I miss you being my soulmate. You've always been able to understand me like no one else. We have changed a lot, but in some ways I think we'll always be the same. I hope our friendship never changes.

Me: It's true, we have experienced many changes over the past couple of years but I believe the two of us will forever remain to be 19 and 17-years-old living in Alexandria. That part of me you have for eternity. It is something that I have never taken for granted.

Posted by Sam at 06:03 PM | Permalink

"Alright sexy?" he said as I walked past him down one of the many side streets in Kingston.

Ugh, just ignore him. Fucking chavs.

"Hey now, I'm just kidding. But you are sexy."

Oh yes, you modern day Casanova. That is exactly how I've dreamt of meeting the man whom I hope to share the rest of my life with. Can't you just picture us telling that story to our mutual friends at parties?

"Well, I was just walking to meet my friends at the pub, when who should walk by me and say those sweet words that I've been waiting to hear for so long!"

And here I thought that romance was dead.

I went out on Thursday to meet one of my friends, Josie, so we could go to the local "indie club" and have a good night out with the ladies. I really didn't have any expectations for the evening except to get reasonably drunk and have some laughs. Really it just turned into me getting rat-assed drunk and complaining about men and gosh! why I haven't I found him yet, huh? Where the fuck is my goddamned Prince Charming already?!

We went to two different pubs beforehand down by the river so we could have some pre-drinks and enjoy the warm summer evening that London rarely sees. Somehow I ended up chatting to a twenty-eight year old man named, Matt, who was engaged to a woman from New Zealand named, Katie. She didn't like kiwis apparently, which is just baffling, because I think kiwis are very tasty. He told us how he went about proposing to her (flowers, a trip to the opera, hotel room in Kensington) and how yeah, everyone says it, but when you know, you just know, you know?

Not so much, Matt. I can't say that I do know.

He was lovely, though, and it made my heart swell with butterflies and rainbows seeing him talk about her, and the sickly sweet smile that he couldn't help stretched across his newly engaged face. He said that they had only known each other for six months, but he knew that she was the one he wanted to be with forever.

Forever.

"Were you nervous?" I asked him.

"When I proposed? Oh hell yeah. I've never been more nervous about anything in my life," he said still with his wide smile.

"And you proper got down on one knee and everything?"

"Of course, yeah. There's no other way to do it."

"Did she cry?" I inquired as if I was some kind of wedding journalist.

"Yeah she did."

"Fucking tears of joy. That's just awesome."

I'm not sure why I feel like some kind of internal clock has been switched on inside of me, but recently it feels like I've just been on a man hunt. I've been living here for two years, and the majority of time I've been single. Yes, I've had flings. Yes, I've had one-night stands. Yes, I broke up with Ash after not even being back with him for a month. But for the most part, I've been solo. And I've been cool with that mostly. That's just who I was at the time. I never felt like I "needed" to have a boyfriend or be another half of a couple. I would see my friends argue with their significant others and think, "fucking hell I'm glad I don't have to deal with that shit."

But recently I've been thinking that I wouldn't mind to have someone to bicker about petty things with. It makes me worry, though, because I don't want to come off as one of those disgusting desperate women that needs to be with a man, needs to be in a relationship and desperately needs that attention. I'm not desperate. I don't need any of that. I would just like it. It seems nice. And I kind of miss being on the arm of someone.

One of my worst personality traits, aside from procrastination and hitting people when I get overly excited, is that I'm impatient. I am quite possibly the most impatient person on earth. I know of no such things like "delayed gratification" or "good things come to those who wait." No, I want it now, do you hear me? RIGHT. NOW. And if I don't get it, my head will start swelling until it explodes right off of my shoulders and all over your shirt that is dry clean only. That is how I look at this whole new "development" if you can even call it that: it's not me being "desperate," but rather "impatient". It's not like I can just run down to the shop and pick up the first man that I see and want. They're not puppies.

Although saying that, how cool would it be if you could do that? Just pop down to your local shop and buy a boy/girlfriend? Weird, but cool.

When I was single and wanted to be single, it was easy for me because I was the only person I needed to worry about. When I wanted a warm body, I went out and got one, then swiftly forgot about them the next day as they shut the door. At the time, that's what I wanted. I didn't want anything serious to tie me down. I liked being able to traipse around the city either on my lonesome or with my ladies. Now I don't want that. I want to share my city lover with another person, walk around the city together, go out together, and really be together.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Matt said to me towards the end of our conversation. "Being single is great, and you're still young. Live it up while you can."

It's true, being single comes with its perks. However, there are quite a few downsides that make it more unattractive when you're in the frame of mind that I've been in for the past couple of weeks. Going out, shoving your way to the bar and fighting off nineteen-year-olds that spill your drink all over your shoes just so they can ask the bartender that they know why he didn't text them back, is no longer joyous for me. It's a pain in the ass and makes me want to take those girls aside and give them a good talkin' to about waiting in line and respecting those that are older than them.

Posted by Sam at 04:21 PM | Permalink

So, like, I live in London, but I never post any pictures, because to be quite honest, I'm lazy. But I was going through some old photos when I found these pics of the flat that I took when it was nice and clean for Momma and Mel. Turns out us students like to live extremely minimal. We spend our money on alcohol, not trinkets to furnish our flat with. We'd probably break it anyway when we were drunk.

Yep. So that's where I live at the moment. Hopefully I'll post pictures every now and again, because it's good to have a mental image, rather than me just blathering on and not using my adjectives properly.

Posted by Sam at 03:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I think I'm a non-smoker.

I'm not entirely sure why or when it happened, but suddenly, I no longer had the need inside me to light up every day and inhale all of that harmful smoke that at the time felt oh so damn good. The last time I bought a pack of cigarettes was a month ago, and over those four weeks I've been slowly phasing cigarettes out. I've got one left in my pocket-book just because, well, it's just there. And yeah, I get the odd pang every so often (I've actually got a mini craving now simply because I'm writing about it) to stand outside and let the wind sweep my hair all around my face as I slowly suck on my filtered cigarette. I'm not sure those pangs will ever go away; once a smoker always a smoker in my book.

I wonder if this is a phase that I'm going through, this non-smoker phase that I'm trying on for size and seeing if I can actually make it, manage to sustain and deal with my nerves without the aid of those fantastic miniature crutches. I have gone through plenty of non-smoker phases every so often, but they only lasted for about three days until I began to smoke regularly once again.

But this is the longest I've been without regularly smoking at certain points during the day. I used to always smoke after I ate, or while I had a drink in hand. I smoked when I was bored, when I was writing, when I was just sitting around and watching DVDs. Smoking was always there, and now it's just slowly petered out. I've smoked those cigarettes that I bought a month ago and they've spanned out whenever I thought that I should smoke. Yes. I need a cigarette now. I just ate a giant meal. Now would be a good time for a fag.

So I lit up, and didn't like it. All of a sudden I didn't find them as beautiful as I once did. I didn't enjoy the smell anymore, I didn't enjoy pulling that smoke inside of my mouth, down my throat into my lungs and inhaling so deeply to make sure that I soaked up every last drop of nicotine. I didn't like drinking with them dangling from my fingertips. I didn't like the way I looked when I exhaled. They were revolting. Smoking had all of a sudden become disgusting and I thought fucking hell I can't believe I've been smoking since I was sixteen. That's a long time to be looking like an old disgusting hag.

I watched other people smoke when I was out and about and they looked filthy surrounded by that loitering cloud. I could see the small particles cling to their clothes, wrap around their fingers and comb through their hair. It was nasty. I hated walking by smoke recepticles that gave off that stale stench of old cigarette butts. How did I get duped into thinking that smoking was so glamorous?

To replace my dirty habit, I've picked up a new one: drinking Diet Coke. It has to be in a can (the ones in plastic bottles taste different to me) and I drink at least one every single day. Sometimes I'll have two, but I'm trying to keep it down to just the one a day. I don't want that to get out of control as well. And as always I'm constantly chewing gum because if I don't have gum I'll freak out and kill someone.

I try not to think too much about me being a "non-smoker" because truthfully, I doubt I'll ever properly quit. I'm sure down the road I'll have the odd cigarette here and there just for the sake of Good Old Times, but as far as me huffing and puffing on twenty cigarettes every other day? I think those days are past me.

As I say good-bye to an old friend that harmed me, I've also lost the need to go out and get proper wrecked on alcohol and drugs. Don't get me wrong, I'm still all about getting drunk and dancing my ass off. I don't believe that I'll ever get tired of that. But as far as the drugs go, um, no thanks. Even when I was poor I always thought I could go for a gram of coke or buy a Henry, just because I thought it would make me feel better, but alas, that feeling has dissipated inside of me as well. I'm not sure why I found the tragic life of being constantly strung out attractive and glamorous, but there was a time not so long ago that I would have sold my left kidney just to chill with the white lady. It's sad, but true.

Perhaps it's because I'm a wee bit older than when I first moved away from home, and with age comes experience and perspective. I had my time of "fun" and now I'm over it. I no longer want to wake up late in the day with my nose blocked up and feeling like it has been turned inside out because I once again snorted an entire fucking gram of powder. I hate getting stoned because it makes me too fucking paranoid and I'm tired of feeling out of control and wasting my money on a temporary fix that doesn't fix shit. I don't want to escape my reality any longer, but rather live in it and enjoy it. I'm not sure why I was so scared of it in the first place, but it's really not a terrible place to be.

Last summer was hard for me for so many reasons, but when I got back to my city lover I thought my second year was going to be exactly like my first year: crazy, mental, a whirlwind of drugs, alcohol and promiscuous sex. Goddamn those were the days, the fucking good days when I was out every night meeting new people left and right and never giving my body the rest that it needed, that it used to scream out at me in furious pain and I ignored because hey, I can handle it. I'm Sam. I can handle anything.

My second year of uni was nothing like first year. It was shit. It sucked. I was depressed and poor for 3/4ths of the time, and it was mostly my fault. And I actually thought, 'fuck, if I only had a gram...'

This summer has been much better for me. I'm still with my city lover and while I do occasionally go out from time to time to dance as the evening sun sinks below the buildings, I'm not as wild as I was only a few short months ago. I'm not as depressed which is just a blessing. Being in those dark corners of my mind last year was a scary place and I thought I'd never see the end. I've had plenty of good nights alone, which is something that I've learned I can do and be okay with it. I'm still trying to clean up my debts, but when that's taken care of I can finally say good-bye to the year that nearly killed me, and it can take my bad habits with it as I walk away with my middle finger pointing straight up to the sky.

I'm not sure what my third and final year holds for me, but I know I'm walking into it with a lot more confidence that I've built for myself, and with a clear mind that knows what I want; I know I want to do really well, to spend a hell of a lot more time writing and to keep a part-time job (which I'm sure I can easily do with the help of Simon). I want to read a full library of books, really make an effort in my classes and stay focused. Of course I want to have fun, go out and take care of my wee freshers, but I know I don't have to live excessively all the time. But mostly I just want to enjoy myself and be happy. Third time's a charm, eh?

Posted by Sam at 12:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I remember the first foursome I ever had. Well, the only foursome to be correct. It wasn't long after Ash and I had broken up the first time, and I was left alone in a giant building with nearly three-hundred middle-aged men that always stared at me while I typed prettily behind my desk. They disgusted me and I always said no matter how desperate I got, I'd never touch any of them with a barge pole. Aside from the interns who only came around during the summertime, I was the youngest person there at the ripe old age of twenty. I'd prance around the office in my cute outfits, teetering on my designer heels and knew that the majority of the men that I came in contact with could barely speak without chewing on their own tongues. It never made me uncomfortable, but more angry that I couldn't even go into work without having to swat off their inappropriate comments about my tiny size, my young legs that easily carried me everywhere and their accusations that I teased them simply with my presence.

But back to the foursome. I was "tricked" into it, and because I was pathetically naive back then, I didn't understand what G meant when he kept on asking my friend, Sarah, if I was "cool".

"Is she cool?" he kept asking her. And Sarah kept on reassuring him that, yeah, I was totally cool.

After G left us outside in the suffocating Virginia heat, Sarah asked me if I wanted to go out to a happy hour. Of course I agreed, because when do I ever turn down a chance to get rat assed drunk? I don't. She told me that we were all going to meet up at seven after work and that her and I could meet at work and then drive over to the bar together. It sounded just like every other happy hour except she told me not to tell anyone else about it.

"We want to keep it quiet, you know, only a select few that don't piss us off," she explained to me. And it made sense. It sounded fine to me, and I was glad that I wasn't going to have to listen to Earl ramble on about his pyramid scheme and try to convince me to buy his book on money saving strategies.

Seven o'clock rolled around and I met Sarah in the work parking lot, just like she said and told me that we were going to meet G and another guy, C, at their hotel. Apparently all of the bars were strict on carding on this particular evening and they thought it would be safer, since I was still underaged, if we just hung out at their hotel room and drink beer. I wasn't too keen at first, but Sarah said that it would be fine and it'd be fun.

So there we sat, just the four of us, in G's hotel room drinking light beer and watching Deadwood on HBO. I felt like I was back in high school, awkward and unsure of what to do. I didn't even like beer. Where was the vodka? Or the southern comfort? Or hell, even the tequila? I nursed one beer for about an hour and that was all I drank the entire evening leaving me stone cold sober.

I'm not entirely sure how anything got started either. It just seemed like one minute we were watching TV and the next Sarah was sitting on top of G's lap making out with him.

Huh. So they're like that. That's cool, I thought to myself. I knew that Sarah was separated from her husband and on the side she would hook up with random co-workers whenever she felt like it. I never judged her; I could care less who she slept with. Of course there wasn't much left for C and me to do except sit there and make even more awkward small talk.

C told me that he had never done anything like this before, and the only reason why he even considered it was because G said that it would help his marriage.

"Do what?" I asked him stupidly.

"You know. This."

I sat there trying to grasp onto what he was saying and it finally smacked me right in the face when Sarah lead G into the bedroom part of the room and tossed her top aside.

Ohhh....wait a second. I'm supposed to be - with C - here? Now? Oh god.

I could have gotten up and said no thanks, it's not my bag of goodies. I could have left. Nobody was forcing me to stay there and participate. But for some reason I stayed. I stayed and I let C take my halter top off, and we shared the bed with Sarah and G only to switch partners halfway through.

To this day I'm unsure of why I stayed. I was completely sober and if I had it my way I would have been out my face or on my drug of choice, but that wasn't an option. I don't even remember much of anything except that I didn't like it, I faked it the entire time and didn't even feel like I was a part of the whole thing.

A couple of days after the whole ordeal, I sent one of my favorite bloggers an email describing the entire evening and asked her for advice, for guidance, for support. I told her that the whole time I didn't feel like I was there; it was as if I was hovering above near the ceiling and watching some other person inhabit my body, and I observed the entire thing from a bird's eye view. I told her that I didn't have anyone to talk to, anyone who wouldn't judge me; I mean, I had just slept with two married men and a married woman (who, yes, was technically separated). I was confused and felt entirely alone.

She sent me a full response that helped me find the light at the end of my mental tunnel. There was so much in her response, but there was one part in particular that stood out to me and to this day I live by her words:

I think the best gift you can give yourself is a blank check to make mistakes. Forgiveness is divine, and finding the divinity within yourself is crucial.

Those words were exactly what I needed to help me move past that situation and not make it out to be some kind of huge deal. I had had a foursome. So what? Okay, they were married, but that was their problem to deal with, not mine. I even forgave Sarah for not telling me the whole truth about what was already planned for the night, and told her that in the future she could trust that I wouldn't freak out and go mental on her. I was capable of handling those situations, but I'd like to be prepared for them beforehand. I like to be kept in the loop.

I took that night and my mentor's words and decided right then and there that I wasn't going to feel bad about my mistakes any longer, whether they be sexual or not. I was young, single and allowed myself to live freely without reservations. It made me brave. It occasionally made me reckless when I wasn't in a sober mind. And it enabled me to live with myself and be okay with the life that I was carving out day by day.

Now, almost three years after I sent her that email, I'm happier with myself than I ever was back in VA, or with any of those old perverts that fantasized about me and fucked me to feel younger and better about themselves, regardless of how I felt. I feel more in control of my life and comfortable in my own skin. I know there's still a lot of things that I need to come to terms with, but I'm sure I will with due time. But I've had my time alone, I've had my one-night stands, I've had my fair share of drunken encounters and drug/booze infused nights. For so long I was scared to allow someone into my heart, so I kept them at arm's length and felt more in control when I was emotionally detached from them. Now I just want someone who will look me in the eyes when we lay together. Finally I can say that I'm ready for that.

Posted by Sam at 12:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I don't buy much 'stuff' these days. With the majority of my money going towards rent and back rent that I owe, the only stuff that I buy is stuff that I need.

Yeah, I would look fit in that dress, but I kind of want to have money to eat this week. Although, if I don't eat, I'd probably look a lot better in it.

Then I remember that food is necessary to live, and I want to look hot in the dress, not be buried in it.

So when I received my care package boxes from Momma and Mel last Thursday and Friday, I was really excited to have stuff that I don't necessarily need, but want nonetheless. Mel was awesome and hooked me up with some of my favorite magazines (Vogue, Cosmopolitan and Us Weekly), I got two new pairs of cute pajamas, dvds and six new books that should keep me very busy for the remainder of this summer. I also got a mountain of Kraft mac 'n' cheese (hello Velveeta!), who knows how many packets of gravy, plus many more packets and boxes of cookies and brownies (so much for being healthy; when I have Duncan Hines in my possession, all reason goes out the window).

I was so excited just to have new stuff, to see new stuff to have it all be mine. It was like I had a massive shopping trip at Target and I wasn't even in my small flat in London anymore; I was back in Virginia making dinner with the TV on in the background (or in this case, Bridget since we don't have a TV).

Friday night it was raining outside. I could hear it lightly tap on the window. I was alone in the flat since Helen was working, and I thought that being at home by myself isn't so terrible these days. I think I'm slowly adjusting and getting used to it. It's nice to have the flat to myself every so often, to clean and have everything stay clean for more than an hour. Occasionally I walk around in just my underwear. Why? Because I'm alone and I can. I pee with the door open. I listen to my music loud and sing along even if I can't hit all of the high notes. I dance. Lord do I dance.

It's fun.

With my new boxes full of stuff, this Friday night was especially nice for me. I changed into a pair of my new pajamas. I made mac 'n' cheese, and only mac 'n' cheese. I read my Us Weekly magazine from cover to cover, while listening to my iPod and singing loudly hoping that the neighbors could hear me. After my mac 'n' cheese was ready to eat, I put in the first disc of Weeds Season 3 and watched a couple of episodes back-to-back, hysterically laughing out loud and talking to the screen as if the characters could hear me. I didn't want to watch them all in one go, though. I wanted to save some episodes and slowly savior them all since I wasn't sure when my next box of stuff would be coming. Instead I opened up one of my new books and read deep into every page for hours until it was a little past midnight and my eyelids were slowly falling over my eyes.

I considered it to be one of the best Friday nights I've had in a long time alone. I didn't get dressed for a night out. I didn't spend any money. I didn't drink myself into oblivion. And more importantly, I resisted the peen.

Of course I enjoy going out, partying and getting lost in the London haze. But on this particular Friday night, I had a better time indoors sitting on the settee alone in my new jammies and listening to the rain.

Posted by Sam at 02:29 PM | Permalink

X needs no introduction. Thank you, sir, for writing this guest post. I can only hope that someday you will grace the internet with your writing again.

***

I have my faults, but I never hesitate to apologise when I am in the wrong. I started to compose a new email.

Sorry for being so immature last time we spoke. Just want to clear the air.

I sent it.

Her response wasn’t as quick as it had once been. It used to be that, back when we were absolutely and sickly infatuated with each other, we used to bounce messages back and forth, dozens every day. She’d never admit it if you asked her, but she used to love hearing from me. The timestamps on the messages made me feel as though she did nothing but sit, prettily waiting in front of her computer, checking her inbox for a message telling her how I couldn’t wait for the next time I’d see her, then reply and tell me how much she couldn’t wait to have me hold her tightly in a strong embrace.

Things had changed since then. We’d grown distant recently, alternating between blowing up at one another in bitter arguments and ignoring each other. I had almost forgotten that I had sent her an email by the time I’d received a reply:

There is nothing to “clear”. Leave me alone.

Where I pride myself on not holding a grudge, she apparently hadn’t gotten over me breaking up with her and fucking her best friend.

I don’t claim to be an expert on relationships because given my track record, claiming such a thing would make me a liar, and a liar is not something I claim to be. I am, despite that, treated as though I am a relationship expert, and people often come to me with questions, the people mostly being girls seeking to improve their understanding of the opposite sex. One thing I am asked over and over again by girls is, “where is this going?”

It is, despite its appearance, a valid question. It is valid in the sense that an answer can be given, much like the similar questions, “what is your problem?” or “can a fist actually fit in there?” Much like with those questions, however, a straightforward answer is rarely possible, and much explanation is often required.

I can preface the following with “no word of a lie”: every time I have been asked where “this” is going, I had not thought about the destination of “this” until that exact moment. The reason for that is that the endpoint of “this” only seems to become an issue to women after they create a situation in which there is no concrete reason for men to care about where “this” is going. If you’ve just implored me to push three of my fingers in your vagina in an alleyway (and my fingers are not small, trust Amanda on that one) then it’s highly likely that I don’t want things to get any more complicated than they already are. I’m not sure your vagina could take the four-finger salute without adequate preparation.

While fitting four of my fingers inside that girl’s snatch proved difficult but eventually possible, it has become harder and harder to say the same about picking up women these days. There’s no challenge left in it any more. If there’s any one thing about a woman that sets me after her, it’s her not being easy. It’s not solely about being pretty, it’s about being attractive, and believe me, your sale price for the cow is definitely not looking attractive when you’re round every morning delivering your milk to my stoep.

By all means, ladies, if you want to score, go for it. (Sam’s got my number.*) All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t try to use sex as some sort of bait to try and trap a guy into a relationship. As the old saying goes, how can you expect a guy to respect you if you don’t respect him? Or even yourself, for that matter?

And that’s all it really boils down to. What I’m really on about here is treating yourselves the way you’d like to be treated: with some fucking respect. Otherwise he might end up in a relationship with that hot best friend of yours whose legs weren’t so easy to part in the first instance.

---X

* I’m just kidding. My girlfriend is better-looking and smarter than you, whoever you are.

---------------------------------

Trish, my fellow American, my Virginian lover, my English sidekick. You are too random and hilarious for your own good. I miss you. Thanks for writing this for me, Poodle.

***

How does one describe a girl who gets so drunk that she doesn’t even remember her own flatmate because she dyed her hair brown? Well, I guess that would be a good way to.

Ahh, I remember the day I met Samantha ------, in the smoking room of the airport because the Customs Woman made me cry. Bitch. She, ever so shyly, came up to me and asked me for a lighter. Little did she know, that I possessed no lighter, but in fact matches. I would hope that they would have suited her, and they did. The rest of the time was spent smoking cigarettes. Hers, might I add. Cause I had none. And I probably still to this day owe her loads of cigarettes. I should bring her back a carton. Effort. During that first encounter, we judged each other. Harshly. Because that’s what we do. She thought I was one of those ditzy bitches who’s vindictive and malicious. And to be fair, I am. Sort of. I’m more blunt then anything, and I shant lie when you ask me a question, even if it's mean. Then I judged her. Probably hasn’t left her computer for 14 years. This is a first for her, leaving the house and all, I thought to myself. Here’s the kicker:

I, too, “haven’t left my computer for 14 years” and she, too, is “one of those ditzy bitches who’s vindictive and malicious”.

Here’s another kicker, just cause I like saying the word.

Turns out, she’s a computer geek, in a that-could-probably-get you-somewhere-in-life.
I play World of Warcraft.

And the whole bitch thing? In this case, I’m totally better than her. Only because I’m nice to people when they drop their bags in the middle of the tube station. Samantha walks right by cause it ain’t her business. I feel compelled. She goes up to people and yells at them when she’s drunk simply because she is drunk. And bored.

Samantha is the kind of girl that I can walk into the Bop with, when it’s covered in confederate flags everywhere, and we think to ourselves silently “we’re home”. But we know we’re thinking it. We have silent conversations. FREAKS.

She and I both, however, are slowly but surely, becoming Blair and Serena. No idea who’s who, but we’re doing it.

She got me to start blogging again. I haven’t done it much, but I do it. She’s convinced me to diet with her, and to smoke less, and we gossip behind people’s back within earshot. She has introduced too many T.V. shows that I have missed out on. And what have I done for her?

Stolen her cigarettes. I know. I’m awesome. But I knew you’d miss it! (HAH! MEL TOLD ME!)

We scare people. No, seriously, we scare people. Pete got scared. Swindon got scared. I’m pretty sure half the University knows us as “those two americans” or “those two yanks”. Can I just make this clear? We are not yanks. There, I said it.

God I can’t wait for my Chinese food to get here. OH! It’s here!

It’s funny whenever people type like that because it seems like I typed it out all together, but really, there was a good 15 - 30 seconds where I was just staring at the door like a weirdo.

We’re the kind of people who say to each other “if you don’t have anything nice to say, then come sit in the corner with me and talk shit about everyone”. But at the same time, we’re also the kind of people that say to each other, “I love you, but if zombies come after us, I’m tripping you”.

So much love.

The rest of the years that I have known her were filled with alcohol and boys. Stupid, stupid creatures with their stupid, stupid…alcoholness.

Annnnyhoo, it wasn’t until 2nd year where we became as close as we are now, and I learned the truth about Samantha:

She’s a blogger. And a drunk. And lazy.

But I knew those last two in the first year. And yes, I am aware that I have misused the use of a colon (hehe..dirty). But you know what? I don’t care. And do you, fellow reader, know why?

Because I am hung over.

SO, when Samantha asked me to write this entry for her, I felt no less than honoured. I just want to take a minute here to say that yes, this really is how I am in real life. Samantha is a dear friend who feeds me when I am hungry, gives me drinks when I am thirsty, and feeds me addiction when I am fiending. Such. A good. Friend.

Every bumper sticker that you see on our profiles on Facebook from each other, is totally us. I mean totally and completely.

So this is my ode to you. I love you Samantha -----. One day, we will have our babies. But please, please don’t tell my children that Free Willy is dead.

Posted by Sam at 12:01 AM | Permalink

One o'clock on Saturday afternoon and my phone rang. I thought it was Alex to talk about our funny evening; getting drunk in an Australian pub whilst dancing to Jamaican music on the 4th of July is funny. FUNNY.

"Hello," I answered in my sleepy voice.

"Hey, Sam. It's X," the voice replied.

Not Alex! It's not Alex. Quick, sound alive like you're not hungover. Oh, X doesn't care. He knows about your drunken ways. He made a comment about how I sounded like I had just woken up anyway, so it's not like I could have disguised it even if I tried.

We made plans for my first ever blogger meet. Back in the day, X used to write on his blog called october4th, but closed up shop, because "not having any drama" gave him zero writing material, which I highly doubt. I always enjoyed reading X's words, no matter what it was about. I remember ages ago as well when I first moved over here, he sent me an email saying that if I ever wanted to meet up to give him a shout, but because I'm lame and got caught up in my own little world, we never did. We decided to meet up on Sunday around 3ish at Victoria station. I could manage that. Afterall, I had been to Victoria station once to pick up a friend a little over a year ago. No biggie.

Helen mentioned that I could take the 170 straight to Victoria and not have to spend extra on the train. It would be a little bit of a journey, but when did I ever hate long bus journeys where I could stare out the window and listen to my iPod? I love that kind of shit!

I wasn't even on the bus ten minutes when we ran into scary traffic and I thought, now is exactly the time I hate being on long bus journeys. Traffic is always annoying, and it's even more annoying when the weather is being typically English: rainy, cold and windy. X rang me while we were paused on a ramp and told me that he had just missed his train and might be a little late.

"That's alright, I think I'm going to be late too," I told him.

"Well we can be late together then."

During the hour long bus journey, I didn't really think much about 'the meeting'. It didn't exactly feel like a 'blogger meet' rather than just me finally meeting someone that I've already 'mentally met' in my own head. I do that with all of the bloggers that I read -- we've already met, I already know them, and I'm sure that they already know me. I talk about them to all of my friends as if we've known each other for years and keep in contact over the internet. Why do I do this? Because I'm strange I guess.

I also had no idea what we were going to do in Central. I don't usually go to Central during the daylight hours. If you want to know of any good places to go clubbing and for drinks though, then I'm the girl to ask. Roadhouse in Covent Garden? AfterSkool at The Quad? Koko in Camden? Zoo Bar in Leicester Square? I'm all over that shit. But during the daytime, I'm useless.

I actually made it to Victoria on time, and smoked a cigarette before I went inside the huge station. I stood around for a little while until I started getting funny looks from some of the workers. I guess they thought I was going to cause some kind of trouble, because I must look like the trouble-makin'-kind. I went into the larger area of the train station with all of the shops and scouted the place for the bathroom. I figured I could kill time by emptying my bladder, but decided that paying 30p to pee was ridiculous. I wondered what would happen if someone was really desperate and didn't have 30p to pee? What then? Would people get offended if they took care of business in public? They really couldn't get angry; it's their fault for charging the public to do something that is natural and they can't really help.

After a while of waiting and watching the pigeons walk around, my phone started vibrating and I saw that it was X calling. He had arrived and asked me where I was.

"Um, I'm in that big, open space by the toilets."

"Right, that's a little vague."

"I don't know, the place with the big board with the numbers on it."

I am shit.

"Okay, what shops are you near?"

"Oh right! Well, there's HMV, WHSmith, Monsoon."

"Well I'm near WHSmith. I don't see you. Jump up and wave or something."

"No! People will think I'm a mentalist. Oh wait, I see you."

And then what did I do? I waved like a mentalist. And as I was walking toward him, all I kept on repeating to myself in my head was, don't call him X. Don't call him X. He has a real name.

From there, we kind of just walked around Central for about two hours and chatted about random things. It was really cool. He knew all of the names of all of the popular streets and knew which direction they went. I just walked around aimlessly and took the most complicated routes around all of the different people, which X pointed out to me. What can I say? I'm a complicated woman.

We stopped into his favorite record shop, and I could tell why he loved it so much: because it fucking rocks. If I wasn't poor and saving money, I would have loved to do some damage to my bank account in there, but alas, the lightness of my purse reminded me that I would need to save it for another day.

Whilst walking around though, it began to rain and we decided to tuck into of one of the Virgin Record stores. In the bottom basement area, they were having a serious sale on CDs, books and DVDs; you could get a CD for £2! And books for 50p! Honestly, it was practically like we were robbing the place. However, after a quick glance at the items that were on sale, we could see why they were so cheap -- most of it was shit. They had about twenty albums in some weird language that X apparently knew how to speak, and there were albums with titles like "Even better than the original!" by cover bands. Awful. Although, I really could have gone for the Olivia Newton John album (Xanadu was on there!) and the best of the Bee Gees (nothing from Saturday Night Fever, though, so we didn't see how it could be 'the best').

In the end, I managed to get an Oasis album that I don't have for £2, and X got a book for 50p. It was pretty good, and right up our price range.

I had to pee so we stopped into one of the many McDonald's where I didn't have to pay anything to use the toilet, as it should be. After that, though, X told me that he had to dart because it was getting near his bedtime (early dude!). It was probably good that I was heading back then, though, because while I was on the train back to my side of London, I recieved a text message from a nervous Helen that simply said, Yo sam i'm worried. Just give me a txt. Just as I was typing up my reply, she began to ring me.

"Hey honey, what's up? What's wrong?" I asked her.

"You're okay?

"Of course I'm okay. What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I don't know. I was just getting myself all worked up and in a panic. You know how my paranoid brain is. I just was really groggy when you left this morning, and didn't even ask where you were going, or what you guys were doing. And I thought, 'what do I know about this guy? Nothing! What does Sam know?' He could be chopping her up into little bits and hiding her in a floorboard somewhere! I'm a terrible friend! Honestly, if you hadn't answered, I might have called the police."

"Honey! Aw, bless your heart. No, no I'm fine, and alive. It's okay, really. I had a good time. X is lovely, and not a murderer." If I could have, I would have reached through the phone and gave my care bear a hug.

Later on that day, she told me that she had had a really bad dream that left her shaken up.

"You know how sometimes when you dream something like that, it really affects you? Well, the logical part of my brain kept on telling me, 'Helen, she's fine. She's just out having a good time and will text you later.' But the paranoid part of my brain, that little one percent was telling me that you were getting cut up and put in a freezer somewhere. See? I don't just stress over boys. I stress over my friends as well."

As I was talking to her, my phone started ringing upstairs. Alex tried calling me, so before I went to sleep I gave her a quick ring back.

"Hey honey, what's up?" I said.

"Nothing much. Just got off work and wanted to see how you are, how your day was?" she asked me.

"It was really good, I had a nice time. I just hope he doesn't think I'm crazy. I tend to ramble a lot and talk about random stuff. Poor Helen, though, she thought that I was dead somewhere. Bless her."

"Yeah, me too! That's why I'm calling; I was just a little concerned. I mean, you've never met the guy before, and Central is a big place."

I didn't bother explaining that I had already 'mentally met' him. I don't think she would have understood my logic. Instead I reassured her that X was a really cool fellow blogger, a really cool guy, and that she had nothing to worry about. I love my worrying friends.

All in all, I would consider it to be a good first London blogger meeting. I've already told him the next time he should come round to my neck of the woods, and I'll show him my side of London. I'll even go to east London if he doesn't mind this crazy American walking around his town, probably embarrassing him because I have no sense of direction. London is such a big place; I should cover as much ground as possible. But I'm thinking we should go to my London first. One word for you X: Yogo. And it has nothing to do with NASCAR.

Posted by Sam at 02:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Monday and Tuesday I should have just stayed at home, since I was only in work for a total of ten hours. Our servers crashed early on Monday afternoon and we all went home seeing as we didn't have any work to do, and I couldn't be bothered to stay inside any longer with the sun shining. Tuesday I left early anyway because I had planned over the weekend to leave early on Tuesday and enjoy the hot sunshine that we haven't seen much of recently.

Yeah, I've totally been climatized by living over here for so long. I was used to hot, humid days that left me feeling sticky and craving the air conditioned buildings of Virginia; now whenever I see that the temperatures are over 75 degrees (22C about, I think), I freak out and mentally start putting together my cutest summer outfits. Yesterday was the first time in a long time that we were in the very low 80s (27C!) and I wasn't going to spend my day stuck inside inputting data at a desk. I have a second job that I like to call Tanning, and I had missed too many days already.

I came in, quickly did all of my 200 records that I usually stretch over the entire day, and left as soon as the clock hit 12:30. I was going to Richmond park with Alex and Lizzie, and it was going to be brilliant.

It was a brilliant day as well. I love just laying out in the sun in nothing but my bathing suit and drifting off to sleep listening to my iPod. Occasionally I'll move so I can flip over and bake my other side, but other than that, nothing. I don't speak; I don't move; I simply soak up every sunshine ray that I possibly can and feel my skin tingle under the harsh sunlight. It's fantastic. All I needed was a pool and I would have been in heaven.

The thing I love most about Richmond park is the fact that it's so huge and has deer roaming around everywhere. The minute you step into the gates, you just see herds of deer walking about and minding their business. They're harmless so long as you don't charge up to them. One time while I was laying out, a small group of about six or seven were napping in the shade right next to me for about two hours until I it was time for me to go. They were so close that I could smell their pungent scent and it reminded me of going to the zoo.

One time, we saw some random ducks waddle past us as well. People bring their dogs down to run around, and you'll see loads of people dotted all over the grassy stretches either tanning, having picnics or reading. It's so lovely.

We stayed in the park for a couple of hours and then left after around five, because Alex needed to pee and I couldn't handle having all of the little bugs landing on my legs and getting stuck to the tanning lotion. We walked all the way back home, bought a Calippo ice lolly on the way and I had a shower immediately after I got back to the flat. I had definitely caught the sun on my arms, chest and face, but my legs could have done with a bit more time.

I was supposed to go round to Alex's house so we could order chinese takaway, but I fell asleep after my shower and was woken up when she called me.

"We're ordering the food, do you want anything?"

"Um, some of those chicken ball things, and that chicken noodle stuff," I grumbled to her.

"Okay. We're going to watch a film, so get over here."

"I wil, I will. I'm awake. I promise."

I know I said I was going to be healthier and all that, and for the most part I have been, cutting out all of the bad snack foods that I munch on during the day, but after spending many hours under the hot sun, eating chinese food is quite possibly one of the nicest things ever. And watching American Pie Wedding. It wasn't even ten o'clock when the film finished, but I went back next door, did my washing up in the kitchen and then fell back asleep. It was just an all round really nice day, and I was glad to have been out and about rather than merging council records together.

Today it's back to overcast weather and the clouds tease us all down below making us guess whether or not it'll rain. I'm not too bothered by it though. I have my umbrella in my bag and look like I've just gotten back from a mini holiday. Sadly, I have to stay at work to make up the hours I lost on Monday and yesterday, but it was totally worth it. I'll be able to catch up on records, blogs and reading until it's time for me to head on back home.

Posted by Sam at 11:15 AM | Permalink

Another Friday has come and gone, and I'm back in the flat, chilling alone. Well, I suppose I'm not really alone, if you count the little kids that live across the way in the back. They're so loud they might as well be playing right here in the kitchen. Noisy bastards.

I stopped off in Putney this afternoon so that I could pay some of the rent that has been accumulating since February and then rushed home so I could finally eat my lunch that I had been carrying for over an hour, which I bought after I had gotten off of work at 1:30. Since I only have to work thirty-six hours each week, I generally leave in the early afternoon every Friday. It's nice. I'm able to come home and get things finished that have been piling up throughout the week.

But today I came home to an empty flat since Helen was at work and Trish left this morning to go back to VA for the summer. It seems emptier now that she's gone. She's not just away visiting her boyfriend, Will, for the weekend. She's gone. In a plane. Somewhere over the ocean right about now.

And for some reason, even though people have been slowly leaving one by one to go back home, it doesn't feel real to me. Zoe was the first to fly away to Greece for her summer, Carlene left a little over a week ago (not that I was bothered by it much), and now Trish has packed her things up as well and flown the coop. It's just Helen, Alex and myself now, although with their work shifts being opposite to mine, I hardly see them either. It just feels like we're on some kind of extended holiday and when it's over, uni will be going on again, everyone will be back under the same roof like always, and the house will be buzzing with noise once more.

Last night, Trish and I were hanging out in the lounge, as we usually do, and put these moisturizing face masks on that we said we would do all week. We watched, When Harry Met Sally and afterwards she started to finish the rest of her packing.

"Can you help me pack my things please?" she hollered from her room.

"No," I told her while I was stood at the sink washing dishes.

"You suck."

It just didn't feel right. None of it. It felt weird and off. She wasn't really packing her entire room up because she was moving out. She was just doing a really intense spring cleaning. That was all. Why did I need to help her clean her room?

When I finished the dishes, though, and it was time for me to head upstairs and go to bed, we said our goodbye's, gave each other a hug, and that was it. I wouldn't see her for two months. But I could still hear her from my room upstairs while she was on the phone to Will.

I was confused by it all. I know I'll see her again, but generally when I don't see people for long periods of time, I say goodbye to them in an airport, properly, maybe have a bit of a cry and then that's it. They're gone. I'm not wearing my pajamas and then head upstairs to go to sleep. It was all backwards and felt like I was in some kind of weird dream that didn't make any sense.

When I woke up, I got ready for work as usual, came downstairs to eat breakfast as usual, and paused by my baby's door.

She's still here, I thought to myself. She wasn't actually leaving to go back home.

But when I came back home after my trip into Putney, I definitely knew that she was gone. I didn't feel her in the flat anymore. I didn't hear her on her laptop or see her in the balcony doorway smoking a cigarette. She was definitely gone. And already after a few short hours, I miss one of my best friends.

I started thinking about Helen and Zoe. If this is how I feel about Trish who is only going to be gone for two months, what am I going to do when Helen and Zoe have left the country for an entire year? What am I going to do after uni is over and we all split up and go our different ways into the careers that we've been working for? What are we all going to do?

It's a mixture of sadness and weirdness to think about. Right now I know that Helen is still here living in the flat with me. Right now I know that I'll see Zoe at the end of this summer. Right now I know I'll be living in the same house with Trish in our third and final years.

Right now.

But after it's over, after uni is finished, after everything is done and completed, then what? If I'm already missing Trish and it has only been a few hours, what am I going to be like later on down the road? A fucking emotional train wreck probably.

I've always said that Helen, Zoe and Trish were my three best friends that I've made since I've moved here. If it wasn't for those three ladies, I wouldn't have made it. I would have probably gotten on the first plane back to Virginia after two months of trying to make English life work for me and cried to Momma about how much of a failure I am. But those three have made living here incredible. My American side-kick, Trish, my Irish party animal, Zoe, and my mental savior, Helen. They're my family here. I only hope they think of me the same way and I measure up in their eyes.

Right now I'm just sitting in the kitchen looking around at what I'm going to clean first. I'm going to sift through the leftovers in Trish's room and take it easy this weekend. I don't have to think about what we're going to do in the semi-near future. Not yet I don't. Right now I can just miss my friends and know what in a few short months, we'll all be reunited as we should be.

Posted by Sam at 04:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I have a "place" now. A place where I go every morning and I'm a Regular. The man smiles at me every morning when I pop in and says, "tea, two sugars and a plain croissant, yes?" and I smile back replying yes, even if I don't really want the croissant because I've already eaten cereal for breakfast. I just can't help but say yes because he's so lovely, and I think, well, I can eat it later in the morning when I know I'll be hungry. I never wait, though. I eat it after I log into my work computer and drink my tea while I read my morning blogs. I figure it doesn't matter and I've only paid £1.30. Why the hell not? I should get the damn croissant.

It's nice to have a place. I've always wanted one, kind of like Cheers, where everyone knows your name. Only they don't know my name, they just know my order, which is cool as well.

But because I'm a freak, I think about falling into a rut, a routine, or being predictable. I don't want to be that girl, that work girl that always has a tea with two sugars and plain croissant. I'm spontaneous. I'm wild and crazy. I'm not just a morning brew and croissant.

So sometimes I'll get a pain au chocolat instead, and that makes me feel a little better. I also get a little satisfaction from the man's face when I shake it up and tell him that, no, I will not be having just a plain croissant. I'm deeper than that.

I am that 'work girl' now though, and I'm fucking loving it. I wake up in the morning, I get showered and ready for work, I commute, I walk with my iPod blasting kick ass, motivational morning tunes in my ears, and then I go into my Place and continue on to my job where I sit all day in front of a computer and work. Then when it's time for me to leave, I walk all the way to the bus stop dodging mothers with their children, and those annoying men who love to shove a free newspaper in my face that I decline every day. And by the time I get home, I'm exhausted. I'm tired. I just want to sit on the settee, put my feet up and have a rest from my long day of sitting.

Even though I do fuck all every day, I'm out of the flat, I'm earning money, I'm out and about and I've notice how much happier I've been these past few weeks. I knew it'd do me a world of good once I got a job. I'm not one of those people that can simply sit in all day for long periods of time. We all know this, I'll end up just going insane. I'm reading more, and I've just recently started blogging more here on My Mumbling Thoughts. I don't want to jinx it, but sometimes I think when forced to sit behind a computer all day, my blog is better. Okay, perhaps not 'better', but the material is more frequent for sure.

I was talking to Momma this past weekend on Skype, and I told her how I feel more like I'm part of the city now. I'm not just a poor student that's trying to make it through every single day, but rather I'm more of a city person; I've joined the crowds of business suits and speed walkers that are rushing every morning to the bus stop. It's a nice feeling to have.

"Well don't get too comfortable," she said to me with a hint of nervousness in her voice. "You're coming back over here once your school is over."

Bless her. I know Momma would like for me to be closer to home and working there, but even though I've only been doing this for a few weeks, I could see myself doing it for a long period of time. Granted, I wouldn't like to be working for the council, but maybe if I were doing a work placement somewhere for a newspaper or magazine; I could get up every day, have a tea with two sugars and croissant every morning and work my way up the writing ladder. I could do it easily. I can do this. And I'd like to try. Who knows what lies ahead after my third year of uni.

I'm just happy to be here, working, reading my morning blogs like the old days, drinking my morning cup of tea with a croissant. Or pain au chocolat if I'm feeling wild and crazy that day.

Posted by Sam at 10:49 AM | Permalink

I'm not a big fan of children. Really. I think somewhere along the way of me growing up, I lost that maternal feeling that most little girls have playing with their baby dolls and carting them around in those annoying plastic strollers. I mean yes, I think wee little babies are cute when they make those baby gurgling noises, and a part of me dies a bit every time I see tiny outfits because they're just so damn precious.

But as far as me having my own kiddies running around making those baby gurgling noises wearing those tiny outfits? Um, I don't think so. Thinking about squeezing a human being from my body not only turns my stomach with sickness, but actually makes me curl in physical pain just imagining laying with my legs spread wide for everyone and Jesus to see.

Saying all of that, though, I think I'd make a rockin' momma. I do tend to take on the "mother role" with my friends as well. When they're sick, I nurse them back to health making sure that they stay doped up on the best over-the-counter pills and cough syrups I can find. If a boy makes them cry, I hunt that boy down and will make sure he knows that he never deserved a second of my friend's time. I make big meals and feed my little ducklings. I clean the flat and there's a motherly tone in my voice when I tell them not to mess anything up that I've just tidied. Somewhere, deep inside of me, Momma Sam exists and she cradles her friends when they don't have enough strength (either emotionally or physically) to take care of themselves.

And I don't mind taking on that role from time to time. In fact, I kind of like it, and occasionally I get a small sense of pride that parent's must feel when they see their children grow and reach a milestone, no matter how big or small it is.

Trish would be my baby. She is my child, and I look out for her the most. I hounded her about getting an Oyster card, lectured her about how much money she would save if she got one and how they make your life so much more simple. I also hounded her about getting her national insurance number sorted. These are just things in life that people have to do in order to live in London. And the day she got both of these handy little cards, she called me just to say, Sam! Guess what I got? My national insurance number! And there I was sat in the bar clapping and squealing because my little baby sorted those things out. It was a relief, because I was constantly telling her for months to take care of those things, but I was also a proud momma.

Helen I consider to be my eldest girl. She's independent, she can take care of herself and doesn't need me for every day practical matters. But there are other things, boy things that I'm there for. Her ex-boyfriend (who was her first serious boyfriend) has been a plague (in my opinion) upon her for far too long. She has cried to me on many occasions about him, confides in me about how he makes her feel and the mind games he plays. This does not make me a happy momma. For the most part I keep out of their business, because I don't want to be one of those friends that gets in the middle of other people's relationships; but there are only so many times when you can have one of your best friends cry on your shoulder about the boy that causes her so much pain.

So I made sure that he knew and everyone else in the world, how much I despised him, how much I hated him, how I would find him and gut him like the spineless bastard that he is if he ever did anything to hurt my baby again.

And he knows. And he fears me. As he should.

When the summerball came round, I watched my babies get all dressed up in their nighttime dresses, took pictures for them and sent them out the door shouting and waving, "call me if you need anything! Be careful! And have fun!" I stayed at home and cleaned the entire flat and kept my phone close by if any of them called on me to come and get them, or if heaven forbid, anything bad had happened. I stayed up as late as I could, but still kept one ear open to hear the door when it opened and they dropped their shoes and bags on the floor.

Later on in the morning, my babies piled on my bed and filled me in on all of the details of the night. Trish sat at the foot of my bed and Helen curled up next to me under the covers. I listened as each of them told me the funny or random tales and stroked my Helen's head, bless her.

It's good to feel needed, to know that I have someone to take care of. Next year, when I have my wee freshers, I want it to be like that. I want our flat to be a family and for me to be there if they need help with anything. I want to watch them grow, and learn, challenge their minds about life, and develop into well-rounded people who are good human beings that are respectful and appreciate things. I want to be there when they're struggling with an essay that's due in, when a boy/girl makes them cry and be their strength when they have nothing left. I want us to be close knit, have each other's backs in a crisis and can have a laugh together.

And then I want to send them out in the world and hear about how well their flourishing on their own. My little ducklings. My freshers. My babies.

It almost makes me reconsider squeezing an infant from in between my thighs. Almost.

Posted by Sam at 09:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

"I'm worried about you, Sam. Three guys in two weeks. Really," Trish said to me over the phone on Sunday morning.

"What? I'm fine. I'm just making up for lost time," I laughed.

But I suppose she did have a point. Three one night stands in two weeks? Maybe I should take a step back and have a weekend off or something. Which is what this past weekend was supposed to be, I guess. But I made sure that I did everything I could think of so I wouldn't be alone in our tiny flat.

Being alone is something that I'm not very good at. There's being alone in the flat when you know that someone is just at work, or has popped down to the shop to buy a few things; they'll be back, either within a few minutes or by the end of the day. I won't be alone for too long to sit, and think, and wander about aimlessly. And then there's being alone. Properly alone with nobody else.

So I went out on Saturday night with Josie and her friend, Tat. I met them at the train station and we walked to the nearest pub for a quick drink and so Tat could go to the bathroom. I felt so much better being out for the night, all dressed up, looking good and getting to know two people that I hardly knew but found to be quite charming. It was going to be a good night. I could feel it.

Continue reading ""They call me hell; they call me Stacey; they call me 'her'; they call me Jane; that's not my name"" »

Posted by Sam at 09:28 AM | Permalink

This weekend I have the flat to myself.

Alone.

Completely. Utterly. Alone.

Whilst Helen is away in South Africa on holiday with her parents, Trish is up in Rugby spending her last weekend in the UK for a few months with her boyfriend, and Carlene has already moved out for the summer, I'm left here in the flat watching my load of laundry spin round and round and round.

Don't get me wrong, I love to watch my laundry spin round and round and round, but you can only do it for so long before you eventually fall asleep and go, "well there's another Sunday gone."

I sent out a virtual S.O.S via facebook (as one would do), and received a response from one of Helen's friends that I met at her birthday party last Friday. Beautiful Josie has come to my rescue with a proposal of going out with her in Kingston tomorrow evening, which I will most likely go to, because woohoo! interaction with other humans and alcohol! You can never go wrong with that.

Until tomorrow evening though, it's just me and my laundry.

As soon as I got home, I immediately dumped all of my crap upstairs in my room and completely cleaned the flat. Everything has been wiped down and hoovered up. My laundry of course will be an exciting task for me throughout the rest of the evening. But our flat is only so big and I finished my cleaning within a few short hours and am now left with nothing but the internet and a few good books I've wanted to finish for a while now.

I decided to put off the reading until after I've made myself dinner (and cleaned the kitchen as well), and while I'm waiting for dinner to finish cooking, I'm cruising the internet, as if I don't do it enough at work. I have realized though that my blogaversary is steadily approaching, and My Mumbling Thoughts will be three-years-old.

THREE YEARS.

That's insane folks.

My first year, one of my very first readers, Erik, wrote a lovely post for me, because I didn't want to write a blogaversary post myself. And my second year I actually forgot because I'm lame. This year, however, I'm putting the offer out there again to anyone who would like to write a blogaversary post for me. Trish already said that she would write me one, which is awesome of her, but it doesn't hurt to have more than one. And you can write about anything! That's the beauty of it. Take this blogging gig out of my hands for a change and write something that you want to write. Go wild. Talk about pandas, world war II, breaded chicken fingers or how your shoelaces are rainbow colored; I'm really open-minded.

If you have a gander to that sidebar over to your right, you'll see a little button that says "contact me." You can just send them there if you do decide to have a go at it. I get really excited about things like this.

And while I'm at it, I just have to say that I apologize to anyone who has ever left a comment on here and I've never responded, or those folks that send me email and again, I never respond. Do I have a good answer as to why? No. Other than I'm shit and don't really know what to say when I get emails sent to me, or even when people leave comments. I do read them all though, and smile and always find it amazing that people actually take time out of their lives to read my random drivel on here. I keep an eye on my stats (still a stats whore to this day) and have noticed that my small group of readers has slightly grown a bit over the past year and a half, and while I do realize it's not the "official" de-lurker day, I'm also inviting the folks who have never ever commented to at least say hi, just this once, for me.

Come on! I'm at home alone all weekend! I need some action. Some lovin'. Some blog lovin' that is.

Now watch nobody comment and I end up looking like a dweeb. Ah well.

Posted by Sam at 07:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Recently I've been thinking about my ex, Ash.

First of all, even to this day, it feels strange for me to say "my ex" in reference to Ash. And second of all, I know. I shouldn't be thinking about him, because I've always said that I don't have that right anymore. I lost all of my rights and priviledges as friend/girlfriend that night I left my own room at uni, and didn't return until I was sure that he was gone.

But nonetheless, I have been thinking about him. Not about getting back with him, because that just delves into a whole other part of my brain that I never want to get into; not only that, I don't think I would ever get back him, nor would he get back with me if that were to ever arise. We just have far too much history to even attempt taking a trip down that crazy, swirly road.

What I have been thinking about, however, is what would happen if we were to ever randomly bump into each other? There was that one close call when I was out in South Kent with Helen. One of my friends that I visit from time to time, Stacey, is not even a ten minute walk from Earl's Court tube station, which stands like a statue, reminding me so much of him every time I pass through it.

The history of our relationship runs so deep inside of me still to this day. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if that horrible night had never occurred and we were still together today? How would things be different for me? Would I know the people that he works with? Would he ever manage to get on with my friends? Or would I just remain the mysterious American girl that disappears off into Central every weekend and not really know any of my friends that I have now?

Ash was the only real long term relationship that I've ever had. He knew me inside and out, through and through; and while it was scary to have someone know me so well that it was chilling, I loved knowing that we had hundreds of inside jokes; he would buy my things just because he knew I'd like it, recommend different music artists or bands, and would write to me in a way that sent shivers up and down my entire body. I always felt like we were a perfect fit, and while life wasn't always peachy or easy, somehow we would make it on the other side with a better understanding of each other.

Since then I've only had the severe emotional train wreck that was boy Sam (thank god I moved past all that), and have fluttered between different men with the occasional woman thrown in there for experimental purposes. I've had crushes (or at least thought they were crushes) on a few guys, and had a mountain of one night stands that kept me mildly entertained for, well, that one night.

I'm not sure what is wrong with me, but it feels like I'm having an internal tug-of-war game with myself. I get pulled from "wanting to be in a relationship" with someone, and "wanting to continue being free as a bird who isn't tied down to any man." I can't seem to make up my mind and become increasingly frustrated with myself. Being single isn't so awful; I get to go out when I want, with whomever I want, to do whatever I want, and I don't have to worry about the jealous boyfriend giving me grief when I come walking back barefoot because my feet hurt from my fantastic high heels. But on those days when I get home late from work and my lower back aches from sitting in the shittiest computer chair ever designed, it would be nice to have a boyfriend there to pull me into bed, give me a back rub and kiss my forehead to make me feel better.

It would seem that I would want the best of both worlds -- I'd want the guy there, but also have my own liberties to do what I want, with limitations of course. It's just a matter of balancing everything out, compromise and the trickiest of all tricky things, trust. While I have always had issues trusting men in general (i.e. money, cleaning, matters of the heart), I'm not entirely sure I trust myself. Since I have so little experience in the relationship department, would I even be capable of having a successful and flourishing relationship? Or would I just keep him around until I got bored and wanted to be single again? I know what I'm like - fickle. I'm extremely fickle and I get bored easily with being in a relationship. I would need someone that could keep me entertained and hold my attention for longer than a week. And in return? Well, I'm sure I can think of some ways to thank them, that would mostly likely take place under the covers.

I just keep telling myself that it'll happen when it happens. Patience is a virtue, yes? And one day, some day, hopefully, I'll meet someone who compliments me as much as I compliment them. We'll share the same taste in music, be extreme Mac addicts, love to lounge around in our pajamas in the middle of the day and read books in bed, and hate public displays of affection, but sneak in the occasional sly kiss here and there when we think nobody is looking. I have him, right here in my mind. I can see him. I know his face, see his style and when I'm out and about in town, I might find a tie that would look good on him and buy it just because I could. I just wish that somewhere, someone, hopefully, has me already in their mind as well.

Posted by Sam at 06:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Monday I went where many south Londoners rarely go for any reason: north London. I'm not entirely sure why the lines were even drawn in the first place, but you're either south of the river, or north of the river (or east or west, I know, I know). Me? I'm southern, as always. I know the District line and Piccadilly line. That's all. I don't need anything else. I don't use anything else. Everything else is Unknown.

But on Monday I needed to get on the Central line to get to the Northern line so I could go for a Turkish bath. It was far, but worth it.

Many moons ago, my darling Jon, said that we could go for a Turkish bath for my birthday. I'm not sure how the conversation even came up, but it sounded amazing; sitting in one place and sweating through my eyelids? Sign me up! I thought he had long forgotten about it, but last week while I was idly sitting at work, I received a text from him asking if I could take this Monday off so we could sweat up a storm with each other. I happily responded "yes" and that was that. We were going for a Turkish bath!

Now I had never been for a Turkish bath before, but I had a vague idea of what was involved. Jon just told me to bring a bathing suit so I wouldn't have to go in my birthday suit (like the locals).

We decided to make a full day out of it and I met him at our uni gates at eleven o'clock exactly so we could begin our journey. He told me that he wrote the street names down, but not if we had to turn left or right, so it should make for an interesting trip nonetheless. I told him it would feel more spontaneous not knowing which direction we were going in, and didn't feel my normal panic attack that I get whenever I don't know Exactly Where I'm Going At Eevery Single Moment.

Somehow we went straight to the place without getting lost once. We decided that north London was very easy to maneuver around, and that pleased us and made us feel like we had already been there a million times, which was comforting. When we got to the place that held the Turkish baths though, we were told that we were an hour and a half early, since the Turkish baths didn't start until two o'clock. We were fine with that though, and thought it would probably be good if we got some food in our empty stomachs anyway. Traveling from south London all the way to north London had certainly worked up an appetite.

We quickly made a note about how empty this part of north London was though. It looked like we were on a movie set and just felt very...white. It wasn't like we were even London; it felt like we were traveling to go to London, and this was just a random town that we were passing through. A town where ladies wore Donna Karan suits, always had a fresh coat of lip gloss on, and not one hair out of place. The men wore Armani suits, carried brief cases and always had their mobile up to their face chatting away about some meeting or other.

Jon and I felt like tramps in our flip flops and bookbags.

We stopped at a Costa for a snack and a fruit smoothie (that was so good), and afterwards tried to find a patch of green where we could smoke. We looked like such random tourists when we stopped at a map and saw that we were only a five minute walk from what appeared to be the world's smallest park that was full of people lounging during their lunch break.

"I'm worried we're not going to be able to find a space," I told Jon as we walked trying to find a place where we could sit.

"I'm worried we're going to offend someone if we smoke outside."

I laughed. It was very true. Smoking in north London might just ruin the picturesque landscape that they had carefully carved.

We found a bench that was really warm, as if there was an electric heater underneath it, and the second we lit our cigarettes, the lady next to us immediately stood up and left.

"Oops," I said and laughed a little.

By the time we had finished smoking our sinful cigarettes, we made our way back to the place where we were going to sweat every foul toxin out of our bodies. Mondays were the only unisex days, and the two of us separated in our respective changing rooms to get into our bathing suits. I knew that I had walked into a changing room, where people get changed, but I was still surprised to see completely naked bodies in the shower rinsing off from the swimming pool, or after a hard workout in the gym. It caught me off guard and I wasn't expecting to see old women's ladybits on display.

I kept to myself in a bathroom stall, and wrapped up in my towel. I guess my comfort level isn't where the other ladies comfort level is when it comes to the nakedness of my body.

I followed Jon's instructions since I had never experienced a Turkish bath. He said we should sit in the sauna for a while, then hit the plunge pool, sit in the steam room, plunge again and then at the end we should have a full body scrub. I thought it sounded like a good idea and followed him into the sauna, where it wasn't very long before I could feel the sweat beads run down my forehead, back, armpits and other places that I didn't even know could produce sweat. It was strangely liberating sitting there and sweating so profusely and being 100% okay with it. Even though I felt disgusting and rank, I knew with every sweat bead that fell off my body, I was cleansing myself that. much. more.

After we couldn't take the sauna any longer, we rinsed off in the showers and dunked in the plunge pool, which is just a giant tank of ice cold water. Jon and I both learned that you can't just ease youself into it either. You should listen to the word "plunge" and go for it. They don't call it a "plunge pool" for nothing.

So you plunge and when you surface again, you feel so awake, so refreshed and so cold. It's as if your body has just drank a large glass of water and your opened pores are taking in as much of the cold water as possible.

Straight afterwards, we sat in the steam room where we coughed a little whilst our smoker's lungs got used to all of the warm air. I could hardly make out Jon's blurry figure from all of the smoke in the room. It was fun sitting in the steam room as well and feeling all of the water mixed with sweat literally run off of my body. And when we couldn't take anymore of the steam room, we rinsed off in the showers again and plunged once more.

That was all we did for about two hours, rotating ourselves between the sauna and steam room whilst dunking in the plunge pool every so often. It gave us something to do while we waited for our turns on these marble slabs where we were going to lay down and be scrubbed head to toe with these massaging oils and then rinsed off. The woman who scrubbed off all of the dead skin did a damn fine job as well. After I was finished, I wrapped up in my giant white towel and lied down in the resting room where I found it very difficult forming any words. I was so relaxed, so content and had never felt so clean in my entire life.

Jon came in and laid next to me after he was finished, and we could hardly hold a conversation. We were both in the Turkish bath haze and didn't need anything else ever again, so long as we could feel this good forever. Just thinking about leaving north London to go all the way back to our end of the city seemed so difficult, and far too much effort than we were willing to give.

We did eventually leave though, and I drank an entire bottle of water in record time. We were sure that a Turkish bath is generally supposed to only last an hour; we were in there for three glorious hours, which meant we had to come back home with all of the busy worker bees that had just left their office desks. It was fine though, because we just remained in that calm haze the entire time while everyone else buzzed around us.

The entire experience was well worth the long trip to the north, and I discovered that north London is not an Unknown area that one should be worried about. It's a lovely place. Picture perfect almost. I'll just remember to wear my Steve Madden high heels and BCBG outfit for the next Turkish bath.

Posted by Sam at 10:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Whatever happened to the simple one night stand? When did it get to the point where a man and a woman who are complete strangers couldn't just have one night of drunken passion without strings attached? I miss those nights.

I've had a couple of one night stands in my lifetime, and generally, I don't call them, they don't call me, and I hope to never ever bump into them in the harsh rays of daylight. But there have been a couple of randomers that want my number, want to take me out, want to get to know me after we have sex.

My only question is, what's the point? Really though.

There is a difference of having free bootay available in your phone for emergencies. I have yet to find someone that fits the bill here in London, but back home, if I ever got desperate, I had a guy or two I could call upon to scratch an itch that I had, so to speak. Their names sat quietly in my phonebook, ready and willing just waiting for my call. We didn't go out to dinner and movie; there were no love notes left behind; we had an unspoken understanding.

But these boys (and they are boys) that want to try and make something out of a drunken, sexual encounter confuse me. Don't they know that I'll be okay the next day? That I probably don't remember their name (I still don't remember that one's guy name that we simply refer to as "air con guy")? That there's no need for the uncomfortable phone calls/text messages/emails/what have you.

For the past couple of months, I have been going through a serious dry spell, and London's hot weather was not helping me. Sitting on the bus and seeing all of these beautiful men walk around without their shirts on, seeing the sun being reflected off of their sweaty skin, was just all too much for me to handle. I just wanted to be completely wrapped up in their man arms, inhaling their man smell, being absolutely engulfed in their whole man-ness.

However, it was difficult for me to go out for an evening since I knew that I had work early the next day, and I was trying to save money so I could pay the rent, pay people money I owe them, pay for something else that requires money. How was I supposed to get laid when I had other obligations?

Last week, my friend Alex gave me a ring while I was on the bus on my way home from work. It was another hot day and I was suffocating in everyone's body odor on the bus. It was insufferable.

"Hey honey, what are you doing later today?" she asked me.

"Um, not too much. I'll probably just go home, make some dinner and tidy up before I get ready for bed so I can go to work tomorrow." I told her, thinking to myself how boring and old I sounded.

"Well what if I said that all of the drinks at the bar are a pound tonight? And that I found a tenner today? That's five drinks each. And I just figured that we haven't seen each other in a while. I think it'd be good for us to go out and have some bonding time."

She did make a good argument. So good that I couldn't turn her down.

"Yeah. That sounds good. What time should I meet you? I have to go home first and change and de-skank, because I smell like work and look gross."

"Well I get off work at seven, so we could meet then?"

"I'll see you then," and hung up my phone a little more excited about my night.

It was band's night at the bar, and since we were there two hours early, we got to see all of the bands tune up and do their sound checks. I had already spotted three musicians that I thought were really fit and wouldn't mind letting them strum my guitar. I just sat there with my Pimm's and furiously eyed them up and down.

As the night continued, mine and Alex's "couple of drinks" turned into who knows how many shots and a landslide of double vodkas and oranges. We were drunk and dancing in the middle of the bar just as the first act was taking to the stage.

"That's the one," I slurred to Alex. "That lead singer right there. I want that one."

"Well go for it! Go and tell him you think their band is brilliant and that you'd like for him to fuck you," she laughed.

"No, no. I'm not that drunk. I don't think. But I will tell him I think they were brilliant."

And so off I marched right up to the lead singer/guitarist and gurgled something about how I thought their band was really good, I thought they were brilliant, I might have even said something about how I thought he was fit.

"Aw, cheers mate. I was watching you guys. You were the only two in the whole place that were listening," he smiled.

"You were watching me?" and somehow after that we ended up outside chatting to the rest of the band members, their girlfriends (whom I love and find absolutely adorable) and smoking cigarettes while our drinks splashed about.

Not all of them had girlfriends. The drummer boy was available and we were having really good chats. He was telling me about how he had met Kate Nash, how she was a bit of a bitch, and met some other producers and named a couple of other bands that he also plays with. Bless him, he was really sweet and I found myself chatting ridiculously fast about my love of music and how if I could have a perfect life, I would be Kate Hudson in Almost Famous. If that dream never came true then I'd want to be Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's.

But even though he was sweet, and nice, and kind, and lovely to chat to, I wasn't particularly attracted to him physically. He had good hair, I would give him that. That being said, I was able to overlook the fact that I wasn't physically attracted to him through my alcohol infused vision and had sex with him anyway. And it was alright. It wasn't good. It wasn't bad. It was standard and got the job done.

Afterwards, he left in the middle of the night. I came downstairs and talked to Trish, Helen and Carlene who were still awake because apparently I was so loud (oops), even if I did try to keep quiet. I didn't stay up long though, since I had to be awake really early to go to work the next day.

"You are so not going to work tomorrow," Trish laughed at me.

"Ugh, I have to. I need the money."

I was hungover, I was extremely tired, I was running on about three and a half hours of sleep, but I still managed to be at work bright and early at nine o'clock in the morning -- and sporting a new lovebite that I didn't realize Mr. Drummer Boy had given me.

I thought that was it. I thought it was just another stranger that I had crossed paths with and nothing else would ever happen between Drummer Boy and me.

But I got text messages.

He added me on facebook.

He actually told me, "I can't stop thinking about the other night."

And he wonders if we could possibly meet up for drinks and chats later this weekend?

"Aw! He actually wants to get to know you!" Alex squealed to me over the phone while I was standing in the corridor at work.

"No! This is bad. I do not want to 'get to know him.' I want to just forget it ever happened, and find a new guy to have sex with. That's what your twenties are for. Besides, I found them on facebook and they are young. Legal. But young."

"But you said yourself he was really nice."

"Yeah. So? There are lots of nice people in the world."

"You should go and see him."

As I stood out in the corridor pacing back and forth, I thought maybe we could be friends? He was really nice and so were the other band members. And oh my god their girlfriends were just the sweetest things I could have squeezed them.

"We'll see," was all I said.

Now I don't know what to do. The poor thing wants to meet up for drinks and chats, and I just want to find somebody new. I don't even know where he lives, although I'm thinking it's pretty far away since he had to go to Waterloo to catch a train up north, and he said he didn't get home until six in the morning. I'm not getting on a train to see a one night stand. If he just so happens to be in my neck of the woods, then yeah, I'll catch a bus or something, but that's it.

I'm just confused as to when things got so complicated. Maybe it's because he's quite young? These younger guys seem to be all about relationships, commitment and having girlfriends. I thought I wanted a relationship (and perhaps I still do), but it doesn't mean I can't have fun with other random boys that I find along the way. Maybe he has a soft heart? Just as long as he doesn't confess his undying love for me and want to play me the songs that he has written for me, then it should be fine.

Posted by Sam at 09:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I didn't run for newspaper editor of my uni, nor did I go to my second counseling session with Lena. Why? Because I got a job and that is priority numero uno for me at the moment. Spending money now is a lot less stressful knowing full and well that I am also accruing funds that will replenish my bank account this coming Friday. It's going to be oh so sweet.

Simon managed to hook me up with that job that I mentioned last week. It turns out that two of the other people they had hired before me, turned out to be flakes, so they decided to replace them with me! And two other ladies that started this past Monday as well.

The job itself is a pile of wank, but the pay is right up my alley. I've done the calculations, and after about a month and a half worth's pay, I should be out of my debt hole and can start saving money for when Mel gets here in August. I'm excited about these new developments, and was so happy to have a job, that I could have reached through my phone and gave Simon a big, sloppy kiss.

Sunday night, I had already mentally decided what I was going to wear for my first day of work, and was so excited to get ready, I woke up AN HOUR BEFORE my alarm went off. That's FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING PEOPLE. Do you know how long it has been since I've woken up at that time? And haven't been out in some random corner of London? A long time. It has been a very long time.

I rolled over and caught the last hour of sleep, but as soon as my phone began playing my morning wake-up call, I quickly jumped in the shower and arrived at my new workplace thirty minutes early. I was quite eager and ready to see what I would be doing, who would I be working with, what was everything going to be like? I was particularly happy to be back in an office setting. How sad is that? But it's true. I'm comfortable amongst all of the computer wires, telephones and mini-kitchen break rooms. It's what I know. It's what I do.

It turned out to be a very standard office, with bare minimum... everything. My enthusiasm was slightly deflated, but I wasn't going to let this get me down. I was at work. AT WORK. And I was damn happy.

The work that I do is so mind-numbing I have to listen to my iPod, Sugar, to keep me awake and my brain functioning at some kind of normal level. It takes me back when I used to work back in VA, and reminded me why I love to hate places like these offices. It was strangely comforting to be working in Excel and Citrix, doing "data cleansing" for people that look at me like I'm too young to be there, and seem out of place with my lip piercing and tattoos (which I hide underneath appropriate work attire).

The other four ladies that I work with are between the ages of thirty-five and forty-something, and they're married. We don't really have anything in common, nor do we have anything to talk about, but they're nice and with each passing day, I'm growing to like them even more. There's Mary, who's a bit... out there and never really knows when to stop talking. Then we have Susan who's the quiet one, and kind of keeps to herself, but she has been slowly breaking out of her shell a bit more and laughing with us. Anna is next in line, who was a little intense when I first met her, but now that I've gotten to know her, I think she's hilarious. Last but not least, there's little Helima, who claimed me as her "smoking buddy" the very first day. I get the feeling that she wants to talk to me about personal things (i.e. problems with her husband), but I find it way too weird and uncomfortable, and try to dodge those conversations as quickly as possible.

That would be our not-so-crazy group of ladies that sit all day, cleanse data all day, try to make it all go by a little bit faster all day...

The good thing is that this is only supposed to be for six weeks, so I won't be stuck doing this shit until I die. We each have 5000 records to clean, and I'm breezing through mine (I'm already at 1300-something). I want to try and get them finished as soon as possible so I don't have to look at them anymore, and will hopefully get something that's a bit more stimulating.

And that's my job. After work is finished for the day, I fast-walk all the way down to the bus stop and hope that I'll be lucky enough to get a seat for the long journey back. I always get stuck in the after work traffic, so instead of the trip being twenty minutes (how long it usually takes), I'm stuck there for about an hour.

Instead of going to the meeting for the top up elections last night, I decided to take a night off and go see my friend, Ryan O'Reilly play at a pub in Hammersmith. I can honestly say that he is one of my favorite people on earth that I have the pleasure of knowing. He's ridiculously smart, funny, a fantastic musician and yes, very much unavailable. He has a beautiful girlfriend, that Trish and I consider to be the luckiest woman on earth.

I love going to Ryan's gigs when I can. The only reason I tend to not go to them is because I'm too poor, but since I have a job now (that will never get old for me to say), I thought I would go and have a nice night out. I never have a bad time at Ryan's gigs. I love it because you get to meet new people, discover other great acts, and travel to different parts of London that I may not otherwise know about.

Last night was one of my favorite performances I've seen Ryan do. He was just so on. He told stories, the audience laughed, he sang with so much feeling and captured the entire night. I know I'm bias, but he was my favorite act of the evening.

And it was so nice not being at uni. Not being around uni people. Not having anything to do with university at all.

Since my last exam, which was the last uni-related thing I had to do, I haven't been back in any kind of full capacity. I pretty much fell off the uni map, and haven't missed it in the slightest. I don't want to deal with any of it for the time being. I just want to push it aside for right now and for once, not care about any of the worries from the past year.

Posted by Sam at 12:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I can't update my blog at the moment, because I'm working.

Oh yeah, baby, you read that correctly.

WORKING.

I shall have a proper update when I get a little break and I'm not so tired from all of this work that I've been doing. Hells yeah I'm going to wear that word out: work, work, work, work, WORK. I'm a working gal.

And this working gal needs sleep so she can get up early for work in the morning.

AWESOME.

P.S... I already miss you Internet. I hope you miss me too.

Posted by Sam at 10:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Summer has definitely touched London, and for the past week and a half or so, I've been laying outside with just enough clothes on to not get thrown in jail for indecent exposure. We walk around in flip flops, tank tops, short shorts and our hair pulled up and off of our necks to try and keep cool. It has been nothing but bright, blue skies, hot sun and ice lollies. And slightly pink skin from absorbing too much of the hot weather. I forget that my skin isn't used to all of this sunshine, and got a bit too excited about staying outside for hours on end. I've since spent the past two days mostly inside, shielding my gentle skin and letting it recover from the harsh rays. I do believe that tomorrow I should be fine though, and will be going out to the parks for more naps out on the grass.

It has been a lovely break from the past few weeks where I've locked myself indoors, only to stare out the window and wishing I was outside, but rather had to force myself to do coursework that I hated and wanted to throw over the balcony to the random animals so they could tear it into little shreds of nothing. I have been making up for lost time, to say the least, and am enjoying my little rest from the hell that was the end of my second year at uni.

This next week, however, will not only just be spent dozing off in the grass, but waiting for Simon to call with any potential jobs. He called me last week for a job that paid so well, but that quickly dissipated when all of the positions were filled before they even reached my name. It was sad, but I'm hopeful this week will bring something else. I also submitted my CV to another temp agency called Office Angels. Apparently they're supposed to be really good as well, so I hope to hear from them too. I suppose it'll just be a race to see who can get me a job first. The sooner I start work, the better I'll feel about a lot of things.

Until then, I've just been doing chores around the flat, making sure that things are ready for when I actually do get work. I bought a couple of shirts to go with some of my nice trousers, ironed all of my clothes that require ironing, bought groceries, and so on. Everything will be ready and stocked for me, that way when it is time for me to work, I don't have to worry about running late because I didn't iron that one shirt that goes so nicely with my light pink trousers. It also keeps my mind occupied from going absolutely insane.

Today is Mother's Day back home too. I called Momma and Mel via Skype and chatted with them for a little over two hours. It was good to catch up with them, have chats and imagine that I was back in the townhouse for a little while. Everything they said, I could picture in my head: I saw Mel making pork chops for Momma's Mother's Day dinner, saw us watching P.S. I love you downstairs on the couch, while Momma rode her exercise bicycle, and saw Momma in her room doing her Sunday ironing and watching all of her shows that she recorded on TiVo. I saw it all as if I was right next to them.

I've got another counseling meeting coming up in the next week. It's with Lena this time, not Fran. Lena called me last week and wanted to schedule a time for me to come in and chat with her. At the time when she called me I was thinking, "I don't need these things anymore, I'm fine," although now when I think about it, it is probably good for me to go in every so often and clear my brain out. So far it hasn't done any harm to me, so I reckon it can only help me in the long run. She actually gave me her mobile number as well just in case "I needed to reach her." Kind of scary, but at the same time, nice to know that I have a counselor on called, heaven forbid I have a random mental break down in public; I can just reach for my phone, give her a ring, and she can help me stop hyperventilating without me even being in her office.

It's lazy days at the moment. While it is nice to not have any obligations or coursework weighing me down, I would like to get a steady schedule so I can have something to do during the day. There are only so many things I can do here at the flat or at my nearby parks, before I'll start getting irritated, before I start going mental. I want to work. I need to work. I'm ready to work. And in between working, you can find me sprawled out in a warm sun patch in some soft, green grass.

Posted by Sam at 10:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

We leave the windows open all day, despite the danger of wasps finding their way in, and most of the flower petals on the trees have fallen off and floated down from the trees with every leap from the squirrels on their branches. It feels like summer is creeping up on us in the city, and while it does feel...warm...it also feels new and hopeful. I'm excited. I'm curious. I'm anxious. And I'm going to be staying in London all summer.

I won't be going back to VA, not because of anything terrible. Momma and I haven't had a fall out; in fact, life with Momma has never been this good before. We just thought it would probably be better for everyone (and cheaper) if I stayed here, work and save my money, rather than go back and fluff around all summer. Mel will be coming back here for a few weeks, though, which will be nice. I'll be with Helen for the majority of the time, since Trish will eventually be going back home, Carlene will be heading back to her hometown, Zoe will be in Greece, and everyone else will be spreading out back to their homes. It'll be weird, I'm sure, but I guess everyone has to do it eventually - we can't always just go back home.

I think it'll be good for me as well, to sort everything out as far as my own finances go and state of mind. I can learn to get back on track by myself, without having to head back to the slow pace of life in VA whenever things get a bit rocky for me. I've got a good support system here, and I forgot that until my meeting with Fran this past week.

Yes, the counseling meeting went very well. I was a little skeptical at first, and even considered not going, just because it was raining, it was early, and I wasn't in the mood. But then I decided to put on my boots and head out anyway. You never know until you try, and don't knock it 'til you try it, as they say - whoever 'they' might be.

I arrived completely drenched from walking in the rain without an umbrella. I thought the hood on my jacket would be enough, but I was wrong. I was slightly early, but that was fine, and it gave me enough time to sort myself and dry off a little bit before Fran arrived, who was prepared for the cloudy weather with a massive umbrella in her hand.

We sat opposite each other in her quaint office and the door shut. I noticed a small table off to my left that only had a homely lamp and a box of tissues on it. I guess I wasn't the only one who might have cried behind the closed door.

She had a couple of forms resting in her lap and began by asking me general questions: what was my full name, my phone number, address and so forth. She then told me that she would be making notes throughout our conversation and asked me if I minded.

"No, no, I don't mind at all," I told her and smiled awkwardly. I wasn't entirely sure what to do, how to sit or what to say.

"Have you ever been here before, or ever had counseling before this?" she asked me.

"Um, nope. This is my first time," I said.

"Well, what were you expecting from this conversation?" she asked in her gentle voice.

"I guess just to get a better understanding of myself, and why I've been feeling the way I've been feeling recently."

"And how have you been feeling?"

"Like shit."

She laughed a little, and from there on out, our conversation flowed easily as if she were just one of the girls who occasionally made notes on the papers that rested in her lap. It was a simple thing to do - she asked me questions and I answered them. However, the questions she asked me were different from the ones that other people ask me, or the ones that I ask myself. They were more simple and direct, and to the point. It helped me put a lot of different things in perspective and made me realize different things about myself that I had briefly considered in my own time, but quickly shrugged off, because I was not dependent on other people; I did not take on other people's problems as my own; I did not over work myself. Those were definitely things I was not. But I was. Denial is a crazy thing.

There were a couple of moments when I thought that I might break down and cry, but I managed to swallow the lump that was in my throat and hold the waterworks back a few times. It was mostly when she asked me questions about Momma, and our relationship. I am a classic cliché who tends to have issues stemming straight from her mother. Go figure.

The meeting ended with us swapping different name's of author's whose books that we loved, and deciding that I don't need regular counseling. I'm a stable person with a good head on her shoulders, but I will be going back every few weeks just for check ups to see how I'm doing...in life. Although, I'll be seeing somebody else since Fran won't be here over the summer. A lady named, Lena, who she said that I'd probably really like and get on with.

I walked out and lit up a cigarette immediately, but felt good. Really good. Refreshed. Like a big weight had been lifted off of my chest and made me optimistic about things again. I felt like she had unearthed the old Sam that believes she can do things, and believes in herself. Yeah, I've been kicked down in the dumps, but I'm strong enough to pull myself up and out of this. I can do it, but I don't have to do it alone. I've got good, close friends here that I can rely on. I've got Momma and Mel back home, and I know I have my ladies here that I can count on, even if I don't tell them things straight away.

I know I've written a lot about how my second year has been shit and horrible, and how bad I've felt recently, but even though life has been a bit crap for me the second time round, I'm hopeful that I can turn things around this summer and kick off my last and final year on a good note. The entire time I've been here in London, I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. I do focus a lot more on the bad, than I do on the good, and I forget that even though I've been through some really shit times, I've always made it out on the other side a better and stronger person. I like to consider myself more of a city girl now, and I'm a lot more confident when it comes to me navigating my own way around the city. And if I do get lost, I'm positive that I'll always find my way back home. Hell, I seem to do it every time I'm drunk, and miraculously make it back with all of my belongings.

I've met incredible people that I'm sure I'll know for the rest of my life. I've learned how to interact with others, how to network my way around, learned new things about people and learned new things about myself. And every now and then, I have to be reminded about those things.

So while it would be nice to be back in VA, driving around, listening to music and eating food that I've been craving for months, it'll be good for me to stick it out here in good 'ole London Town, sorting myself out. I'm looking forward to that, and more importantly, I believe I can do it.

Posted by Sam at 12:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I always thought that people who go to see therapists and counselors were babies. God, can't they hack it on their own? Losers.

But then I moved away from home and discovered why people go to see counselors and have therapists - it's because life is shit.

Recently I've been feeling a bit down; not quite my usual, chipper self. I've kept to myself in my room, alone, with my earbuds securely in my ears and my music on LOUD to keep all outside distractions out. I've got a mountain of coursework due in (and some that I discovered was due in yesterday, which I haven't even started), and I thought if I locked myself in my room, I could knock it all out in about two days and not have anything else uni-related to worry about until September.

I learned that that doesn't work. Locking yourself in your room for two days is a very bad idea and everyone should steer far away from ever doing that. I'm here to tell you that you'll get absolutely nothing accomplished, except for many hours wasted away on facebook.

When I wasn't being a sick facebook user, I would sit and think, and think, and think, and over think some more. I cleaned. I stared out my window. I cried. Boy, did I cry.

Alone.

Because of everything. Because I was alone, and sad, and depressed, and homesick, and melodramatic, and angry, and frustrated, and every other disgusting emotion that I despise. And also because I had a zit on the side of my nose that was the size of Jupiter. If there was a reason for me to cry, I did.

The annoying thing is that I would cry for about a minute, and then I would force myself to stop. I hated that I was crying over nothing. Over stupid nothingness. I knew what was wrong, so why was I coming up with other reasons for why I was sad and crying? The list of The Real Reasons To Cry has been elbowing me in the ribs for months now, so much that I'm afraid there might be a permanent bruise.

But The Real Reasons To Cry are mentally tacked in the front of my brain.

- I have no money.
- I owe people money.
- I don't have a job.
- Therefore, no money is coming in.
- Which results in me still owing people money.
- I'm late on the rent.
- I can't help pay the bills.
- When was the last time I even put electric on?

As we can all see, my main problem has been lack of funds. That's all I've been thinking about, and it never goes away. I wake up in the morning, and there's this giant ten pound note sitting at the foot of my bed, looking at me, laughing at me, and smoking.

I'm not sure why he's smoking, but for some reason that seems significant.

And he talks to me. He tells me every day, "you're a poor motherfucker."

"I know!" I shout at him. Then I tear off my covers, steal his cigarette and smoke the rest of it whilst blowing smoke in his paper face.

Sometimes he follows me when I go up to uni. I'll ignore him for the most part, but his little coin friends are harder to ignore when they're jumping all around my feet, pointing and laughing at me. I hate them the most.

Aside from my own illusions, I have been trying to do things in order to better myself. While I do wish that a million pounds would fall out of the sky and into my hands, I realize that the chances of that happening are pretty slim to none. I've got that Simon guy looking for jobs for me, and I am helping out in the flat where I can. I do know that sitting in my room and crying isn't going to get anything done.

My mental state recently hasn't been the greatest though. I've shut down to everyone around me. I'm not sure if they've noticed or not (I tried to conceal it for the most part), but it has been consuming me. I just feel like I've been sinking and I'm finding it difficult in order to pull myself out of this...mood. Out of this rut. Out of this feeling.

So I made an appointment with our local counseling centre. I suppose I'm a pussy and a loser. Oh well, I don't care. This Wednesday at 10:30a.m. I'll be meeting with a lady named, Fran, to talk about my problems and what I can do to remedy them. And hopefully remedy that giant ten pound note and his pesky coin friends. It's not that I don't want to talk about it with everyone that I already know, but I just don't want to make it into a "thing." I don't want to have a huge Sammi Spectacle and have everyone listen to me whine about shit they've already heard a million times. I know they're my friends and they'd never say that, but at the same time, I'm sure they get tired of hearing me complain about it all the time; I get tired of it.

I'll probably cry in front of her, which I'm really not looking forward to. I have a serious issue with crying in front of strangers. It's embarrassing and uncomfortable. There you are, in a very vulnerable position, raw, exposed, and in front of someone you don't know. Nothing is worse for me.

But it needs to come out. I had a bit of a proper cry today with Helen when it was just us two in the flat. All of my feelings have just been laying right at the surface for the past couple of days, and the tiniest thing pushes me right over the edge. When I began to let the waterworks flow in front of Helen, we were in the lounge and she was talking about what she wanted for dinner.

"Perhaps I'll have a bowl of spinach," she said casually.

And I couldn't contain it anymore. All I thought was "who eats just spinach? Aside from Popeye?" and cried non-stop for at least a good twenty minutes on her shoulder. It felt good. Although I'm sure there's plenty more where it came from.

***

For those of you who love Dane Cook and really love to cry. Totally me, only not as funny, unfortunately.

Posted by Sam at 09:43 PM | Permalink

I don't really give myself enough credit. I am so observant. Like, freakishly observant. I see everything whether I want to or not. I can see you on the outside, on the inside, and see right through you. I know things about what I see, and I see particular moments in time that are substantial and mean something. Then I can piece together those substantial moments and learn things about you, discover hidden meanings.

And those moments, those little moments that I see, I freeze them. I'll stop time, cup them in my hands and look at them while they stand still.

It's those moments that I feel, and know what lies ahead in the future. Things change. People change. Dynamics change. Circumstances change. Life really isn't that hard to understand if only you lay those moments out in front of you and see how everything is mapped out. You can easily connect the dots and learn that no, it's not a vicious cycle that goes round and round, but rather a straight line and will continue moving right along at a steady speed. We just like to confuse ourselves and muddle things up and convince ourselves otherwise; we were "caught up in the moment" or "life was just happening around us."

The thing about that steady, straight line, is that we can't reverse time. We can never pick out certain moments and go back to the way things used to be. We can't re-create a particular moment because once it's gone, it's gone. All we're left with is that lingering feeling of happiness, of comfort, of easiness, and wishing that things could be like that forever. People try, they try to re-create moments, but it's never the same. It's forced, it's fake and you're just left feeling uncomfortable, not happy.

All we can really do I suppose, is when we do have one of the pleasant and happy moments frozen inside of our hands, cherish it. Look at it, appreciate it and smile, because we're never really sure how long it'll last. And when it's gone, when the frozen exterior finally melts away and it has slipped through your fingers, accept that it's over and be happy that you were given that moment in the first place.

Posted by Sam at 07:39 PM | Permalink

This month has been exceptional for music. Music for me, I suppose. If you're not into my kind of musical groove, then perhaps you would disagree when it comes to this month. Maybe you're having a musical dry spell? In which case, I can't really sympathize, because I've been having a musical dry spell for well over a year. Sure, I've bought some new music; Goldfrapp's new album, Seventh Tree, is amazing to say the least, and proves once again why they are one of my favorite bands ever. They expand their sound, whilst still at the same time stay true to their base foundation that makes all of their fans sit back, relax and slip into their happy place.

But this month in particular, I have purchased so many good albums that have been released, and the music notes make my ears smile; and it all coincides perfectly with this sunny weather that has recently been blessed upon London Town.

I first discovered French Kicks on the first of April. This band has been around for a while, however, they have transformed so much over the years, first coming out with a grainy, garage/punk sound. I'm not a big fan of it, but everybody has to start somewhere I suppose. These days, though, the band is chilled out, relaxed and it feels like I'm sitting in a jacuzzi with the bubbles wrapped all around me. I have listened to their newest album, Swimming, on repeat ever since; on the walk up to uni, on the walk back to uni, when I'm sitting in the kitchen, when I'm sitting in my room, when I'm smoking, when I'm getting ready....you get the point. And for some reason, they remind me of driving in my car back in VA during the fall. I'm not sure why, but I get vivid images of the colors brown, red, orange and gold.

On the same day, I discovered The Apples In Stereo. They are a bit more bouncy than French Kicks, but still have the occasional relaxed track. They're so funny and quirky and make me feel like I'm in a 50's television program, even with the random French song "Avril en Mai" (which is quite possibly the cutest song I've ever heard in another language). They make me happy and their sound is so catchy, you can't help but want to dance on the sidewalk whenever you stick in your earbuds and step outside. Their band has also been around for a while, but I've yet to purchase any of their previous albums...yet. I'll give my American Express a break before I go and abuse iTunes again.

The Submarines were next on my list, and I quickly bought both of their albums. They're from California, and maybe it's something in the air, but most bands that I hear from California, I love. They kind of remind me of The Hush Sound (who have also recently released another album), but unlike The Hush Sound, The Submarines are a lot less theatrical without the main presence of a piano. You can take The Submarines out in your back garden, sit quietly on a bench and just wait for all of the butterflies and ladybugs to come out and dance around the flowers. It's not just the sound either, but the actual lyrics that I love as well. There's not enough good things to say about them.

My next two albums, I'm completely over the moon about, because the first one, Shine, I've been waiting on for OVER A YEAR. I randomly discovered them on myspace before I discovered facebook. They are French and are absolutely mesmerizing. I obsessed over their songs that they had posted on their myspace, and have been waiting oh so impatiently for their album, The Common Station, to be released. Yesterday, when I was roaming the internet, I remembered about them and was pleasantly surprised that their album was available worldwide and I could purchase it from the comfort of my living room via iTunes (as always).

They're in London for one night only (tonight), and unfortunately, since I am poor and lame, I am unable to go. But that doesn't mean that I don't love every single song on their album. It was completely worth the wait, and for some reason all of the songs that are in French, I *heart* even more, just because they sound so heartbreakingly sweet. I can tell that this album is going to be one of the albums that everyone in the flat screams at me to "PLEASE TURN OFF. NO MORE FRENCH SONGS." But I won't. Why? BECAUSE THEY'RE JUST TOO DAMN GOOD.

And last, but certainly not least in the slightest, is The Weepies new album Hideaway. They're back from tour, married and have a wee little baby in tow. So many changes which means, so much new material to write and sing about! It is unmistakably The Weepies sound, and it only makes me want to listen to all of their albums back-to-back staring at a never ending sunset. I haven't had time to sit down and properly listen to it (I mean, the album did just come out today), but I can already tell that it's going to be one of my main albums that I relate back to summer in London, just like their previous two albums.

Needless to say, I'm going to be busy getting lost in a swimming pool of musical notes. I'll be surrounded by saxophones, violins, guitars, pianos, drums, keyboards and the sweet, soft, serenading voices of all of the above mentioned bands. I have a smorgasbord of new music and I'm not complaining in the slightest.

Posted by Sam at 01:44 PM | Permalink

It is something that I do every day. Every. Single. Day. And it's my favorite thing to do. Whoever came up with the shower, is a genius. The idea, yes, seems simple when you first think about it; water cascading over you at a nice temperature so you can cleanse your body from head to toe; and all of the excess water simply washes down the drain, where you don't have to think or worry about it. But the shower, is something that one should savor every day, and not take for granted.

It's a rare occasion that I don't have a shower. I'll either be so ill that I cannot physically get out of bed, and even more rare than that - I just can't be bothered. However, that only lasts for one day, and early on the following morning you'll hear me turn the shower on and relish the entire experience that much more.

I like to consider it time well spent alone. I sort my thoughts out in the shower, think about what I'd like to wear for the day, make lists of things to do, make lists of things I need to do, or more often, I'll day dream and get lost in my own thoughts whilst standing under the falling water. That's always my favorite thing to do; just stand underneath and feel every drop hit my skin. It's relaxing and soothing, and gives the illusion that I'm wrapped up in warm blankets - it's a hot water hug. Sometimes I'll just look down at my skin and find it funny to see that even though my hair is wet, my skin appears to be completely waterproof.

Aside from standing underneath the water with no purpose, I love using new shower products. How much fun is it when you buy new shampoo or body wash and use it for the first time in the shower? It's like a mini Christmas party in your bathroom that you celebrate every few weeks. I like to buy different body soaps, shampoos and conditioners just to see what they're like. What do they smell like when you first crack them open and the steam carries the new scent throughout the room? Are they better or worse than what you've previously used? There are so many different things out there to make the whole showering process more fun. Loofahs and shower gloves are great examples. Nobody out there can say that a loofah hasn't improved their life. The exfoliating of the skin and the new, fresh, clean layer that is exposed after you scrub away all of yesterdays old skin cells. It's amazing.

I know after every shower, I'm going to feel so much better about myself. It's not just a way to clean yourself and make yourself smell better, but a way to wake yourself up before your first cup of coffee early in the morning, a way to kick start yourself and the first step you take in getting ready for the entire day. Without the shower, there would be no blow-drying of the hair, or rolling on fresh deodorant on the surface of clean skin. It is the first, necessary step to do anything. You know that people always take a shower when they're ill, or take showers to cool off when they're angry, or they'll take a shower to be alone and cry. Showers are, in a way, therapeutic. Who needs a therapist when you can just jump in the shower for a little bit and come out feeling that. much. better.

So when people ask me why I take up to fifteen to twenty minutes in the shower every day, that is my response. Who wouldn't love to live underneath the hot water that stings at first and turns your skin slightly red? Who doesn't love re-creating a sauna every single day in their bathroom and feel their skin begin to wrinkle? Who doesn't get that comforting feeling underneath the shower head, and get lost in their own world and not worry about what's going on outside of the bathroom door? It is a brilliant place, and if I could, I'd stay for longer. And when I finally turn the water off, wring out my hair, shake off my limbs, step out on the bath rug, wrap myself in my towel and make sure it's tucked in snug underneath my armpits, I'll take a deep breath and continue with the rest of my day that is so much nicer now that I've started it off right with a lengthy shower.

Posted by Sam at 06:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I hate instant messenger. Well, that would be a lie. For the most part, I adore it since I can easily talk to my sister when she gets online, and it's funny to message my flat-mates when I'm sitting upstairs and they're all downstairs.

But sometimes, occasionally, I hate it. Because I can see when certain people are online. I can see when you're online. And as much as I hate it, I'll stare at your name on my computer screen, and I'll have a conversation with you inside of my head, without you ever knowing or caring or noticing, that while you're sat there, on the other side of your computer screen, I'm having all of these thoughts.

Every now and then, when I'm being pathetic, I'll click on your name just to have the little window box pop up on my screen, with the blinking cursor bringing me closer and closer to the edge, nudging me to type something.

Go on, the cursor will say to me. You know you want to. And then just press 'enter.' It's easy. You've done it millions of times before this.

I know, but what to say! What would I say that's not stupid, or lame, or screams LOSER. How does one even begin a conversation when there are so many things unsaid and should probably remain that way. I can't just begin to talk about the weather, or uni, or ask if you're going to the bop casually. We're not those kind of people. We don't have that relationship anymore. I'm not sure we've ever had that kind of relationship. It's always been complicated hasn't it?

Although there were times, back in the day, when things weren't as complicated. Do you remember when we used to talk for hours? Hours and hours upon hours about everything. You sat on my bed that one night, when you saw the Tiffany's bracelet on my left wrist. You took it in between your fingers gently and told me that your mom loved Tiffany's. She loved all the finer things in life, as did you. You continued to talk about how much you loved your mom and how important she is to you. I remember that night so clear for some reason, and I don't know why that memory sticks out so vividly in my mind.

Now we've been reduced to this, to an empty message box with a mocking cursor, and me with all of these insane thoughts. Sometimes I'll imagine where you might be; probably in the library, procrastinating doing your coursework that's due in soon. Or maybe you're at her flat, in her room, on her laptop.

It only makes me think about the times when you would be in my flat, in my room, on my laptop.

I just wanted to say, though, that I don't think about you that much these days. Every so often you might cross my mind, and I'll remember certain things, and wonder and day dream for about ten minutes or so; but then I'll get distracted by something else and it'll pass. I'm not caught up in what you're doing, who you're with or what you think about. I don't imagine pretend scenarios that I come up with in my head anymore, nor do I care how you feel about me. I don't even care if you know how much you've affected me, even by half. I'm exhausted from our non-relationship, and find it utterly ridiculous now that we have all of this stupid nonsense between us. I suppose it's just one of those things now, isn't it? We're those people that seemed good together, but never managed to work it out.

Instead you've got her, and I have to say that I'm surprised you managed to keep it afloat this long, what, with everything that happened (you know, with me). You have her that took you back. You know her friends, her family, her areas, her life. And even though I may wonder why you ended up with her, why things seem to work with her and not me, why she's a better fit - I'm not jealous. I'm really not. I'm not sure why, but as much as I like to think that we worked, we didn't. I was never good for you, and you sure as hell were never good for me. I like to think of us like Stuart Dybek's characters - "we made not doing it a wonder, and yet we didn't, we didn't, we never did."

Posted by Sam at 02:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I'm sitting in the lounge by myself. It's quiet.

I'm reading Francine Prose and am absolutely amazed by a sentence that she has deconstructed by Virginia Woolf.

Considering how common illness is, how tremendous the spiritual change that it brings, how astonishing, when the lights of health go down, the undiscovered countries that are then disclosed, what wastes and deserts of the soul a slight attack of influenza brings to view, what precipices and lawns sprinkled with bright flowers a little rise of temperature reveals, what ancient and obdurate oaks are uprooted in us by the act of sickness, how we go down into the pit of death and feel the waters of annihilation close above our heads and wake thinking to find ourselves in the presence of the angels and the harpers when we have a tooth out and come to the surface in the dentist's arm-chair and confuse his "Rinse the mouth-rinse the mouth" with the greeting of the Deity stooping from the floor of Heaven to welcome us-when we think of this, as we are so frequently forced to think of it, it becomes strange indeed that illness has not taken its place with love and battle and jealousy among the prime themes of literature.

One sentence. That's 181 words in one. full. sentence.

Whilst reading this book (and a few others), my writing faith that I thought was lost, was found once again. It was restored and I was reminded why I love writing so much. It's not just because I love telling a story, but it is the actual words, the construction of writing that I love so much. I enjoy reading about words, why we use them, how we can use them, switch them about and make them sound more interesting or more appealing to the eyes.

It made me want to pick up a pen, or at least perch myself at my laptop for a few good hours and re-assemble everything I have ever written.

When I wrote the post below however many days ago, I was not a happy bunny. No. I was annoyed, pissed off and agitated beyond belief. Why was nothing going my way? Why does life suck? Why does my life suck in particular? Why is it that no matter what I do or try to do, I end up failing and things end up becoming even more shit? Blah, blah, blah. Moan, moan, moan.

And I had to blame it on someone. I had to blame the reason behind why everything I write (and perhaps everything I do) on someone or even something. So I blamed uni. Because isn't that the most logical answer?

Of course I wouldn't blame it on myself! Are you crazy? I am Sam, ladies and gentlemen. I am young, deep, depressed and hard to understand. I live my life the way I live my life, because I am just so up myself, and so complex, that nobody will ever understand me except me, therefore, my reasonings behind everything I do, will forever and always remain a mystery.

Only I'm not so fucking complex, and I'm sure as hell not a mystery. I am average. I'm normal. I'm every other 20-something university student that is trying to Figure It Out.

After Easter break, and I finally left the flat (which, to be honest, I think was a wonderful thing, and I should never be allowed to stay indoors for more than two days, regardless of my health), I got a bit more perspective and have accepted that yeah, while the majority of the things I write are shit, it's nobody's fault by my own. If I'm not going to my lectures, reading my books, keeping an open mind and listening to the constructive criticism, then of course I'm always going to sit in my shitty little flat, eating beans from cans and wondering why nobody understands the complexities of my labyrinth brain. I should stop being so fucking proud, accept my weaknesses and work on them.

So that's what I've been doing, and I've realized a lot over just a few short days. I'm hoping that one of these days, I'll be able to construct my own beautiful sentence like Virginia Woolf's that I quoted above, and will always remember the crush that I developed when I was in the second grade on words, sentences, paragraphs and stories as a whole.

Posted by Sam at 10:41 PM | Permalink

You remember when back in the day when I used to blog about how sad I was because I didn't live in London? And god, wasn't it just so tragic because I lived in Virginia, and life was just SO BORING. And I would whine, bitch, moan and complain for days, weeks, months even because I wasn't in the capital of England. My life sucked. It was horrible, and I was just the world's most boring person because I did admin work in northern VA. Remember that?

And remember how much you just wanted to punch me in the face because you were like, "COME ON SAM. Get the fuck over yourself already! There are way bigger problems in the world than you not living in one of the most expensive cities in the world, okay? SHUT UP."

Well, I'm sure I'm probably going to be even more annoying (as if that's possible, but I have found a way), and tell you...I'm not so sure this was the greatest life choice for me. I'm not having second thoughts, but...I kind of am having second thoughts. Only about certain things.

No, I don't regret any of it, but it's just making me think that things aren't going as I had originally thought. I was supposed to move over here, build my own little London Life, gain all of this amazing knowledge that was going to land me my dream job of doing some fantastic writing for a newspaper or magazine and have everyone love me, because gosh, being a tiny American girl in London is just so awesome. And they're so hard to come by these days. I am one in a million. ONE IN A MILLION.

Instead I took a slight detour and it feels like I've gotten lost. Now it seems like I have spent far too much time looking at the directions I was given and back tracking all over the goddamned place. I have seen that house one too many times, and I maybe I should pull over at a gas station and see if anyone knows where I should actually be going.

University is not at all what I expected. My lectures are shit, and I've only had maybe three that I've enjoyed and find interesting. Now that I type that though, I'd probably say two. There have only been two lectures. I struggle with my work, which is piss easy, and have lost all motivation whatsoever to do any of this. I came here to write, and now that the floor is wide open for me to do that, I can't be bothered. I wonder if it's one of those cases where once you get what you want, you're satisfied. You don't need anything else, and just want to go an tackle something else that's completely different.

But then I think about it a little more, and know that I still want to write. Even with everything that has happened since that fateful day when I landed in unknown territory almost two years ago, I still would like to write as a profession. Only now that I've gone to some of my lectures and have been taught all of these different things, different techniques, I've come to a standstill when it comes to my work. I'm constantly second guessing myself, doubting myself, and saying, "no, that's shit. Scrap it all and start again. Loser."

I'll admit, some of the things that they have told me have been semi-helpful, but everything else has just torn apart everything that I thought I knew and have replaced it with their ways, their words, their processes. And quite frankly, I hate it. They're shit. They piss me off. They make me angry and want to scream in their faces, "look at what you've done to me! I used to enjoy my writing, and was kind of decent. Now everything that I write it absolute garbage!" There's no panache. I'm no longer quippy. I have nothing interesting to say. Everybody is writing heartfelt, meaningful, touching, brilliant pieces, and everything that I touch or think is just a big pile of steaming dog shit.

I have lost the writing faith, so to speak.

I blame it on them. And on myself. And on my surroundings.

When I think back on where I used to write, and how I used to write, I was always alone. Completely alone. Sometimes I'd have music, and other times it'd be silent. I'd be at my desk, at work, or I'd think about things in my car whilst in traffic. That was my place. I would think of everything in my car, in traffic, smoking, with my music and alone. It worked. It felt right. I enjoyed it.

Now, now I don't have that option. Things changed. I don't have my car. I don't have the option to sit in traffic with my cigarettes and album of the week, to sort through my thoughts and come up with different things that I'd like to write. No. Instead I have this tiny ass flat with Trish, Carlene and Helen all inside it at the same time with me. Looking at me. Breathing in the same room. Sitting across from me. Interrupting me by knocking on the door, or asking me to listen to something that they've written, never mind that I'm writing my own shit.

I love my girls. Really, I do. They're my family, my sisters, my comrades. We laugh together, we drink together, we go out together, cry together, and do oh so many other things together. But writing. My writing. When I write. I have to do that alone. In my own space. In my own time. My own uninterrupted time.

And sometimes I'll go to my room, but they come in there too, just to say hi or to see if I'm still awake.

Yes, dear. I'm still awake. And I need you to leave now so I can keep the creative flow flowing.

I don't want to say to them, "can you all just leave me alone for about five hours please? Don't come in my room, don't knock on my door, don't send me IM messages, text messages or emails. Just pretend I'm not here. Or that I went on a cruise and am unable to reach." I don't want to say that, because I do like the fact that they just knock whenever and chill in my room with me from time to time. Sometimes I like the distraction. It's a welcome break, and reminds me that I'm not a hermit that lives inside a tiny cave. And also, saying that to them would be really harsh. I don't want them to think that I'm annoyed with them, because I'm not. I'm just annoyed with myself and that every single thing that I've ever written here has done absolutely nothing for me. If I don't feel it, then I won't write it. I'll stop, put it aside, and never think about it ever again.

I think I need a new location. I need a place that I can sneak away to and hide whenever I want to get in some serious writing time. A place where I can be alone, completely alone, that nobody knows about, and has the same vibe as when I was at work or in my car. I need to recreate that kind of atmosphere here. I would consider my room, but aside from everyone and their uncle knocking on my door, I don't like my room. I don't have a desk, therefore only leaving my bed as the only space to work, and after laying there for two hours, I just want to take a nap for five hours, which defeats the purpose of me getting in "some serious writing time."

I've thought about the library, but libraries scare me. I don't like being left there alone for too long, especially at nighttime. I think about old spirits that wander in between all of the bookcases (because every library is haunted), and get distracted about ghosts and other scary forces that I can't see. Cafés are annoying and cliché. Besides, I'd probably spend too much money buying tea after tea after tea, and muffin after muffin after brownie. I don't have anybody's house that I can go to that's nearby. There's nothing. I have nothing.

But...now that I think about it...there is Helen's room. I like Helen's room. And if my memory serves me correct, she doesn't really work at her desk that she has in her room. That perfectly good desk. I generally find her on her bed with her books all sprawled out and surrounding her in a little book fort. I could sit at her desk with my iPod playing sweet serenades in my ears while she quietly worked behind me. I would have the feeling of being alone, without actually being alone (no scary ghosts), and when I would get into my "writing zone" I could just politely ask everyone to not bother me unless something serious has happened; like a fire in the kitchen, or breaking news about Britney Spears.

Of course I'd have to ask Helen first and make sure it was okay that I would always be hanging out in her room clicking away furiously at my keyboard. I'm sure she wouldn't mind. I hope she doesn't mind. It's the first place that I've thought of that doesn't make me heave. And it's local (about five steps away from my bedroom).

I'll ask and see. All I know is that something drastic has got to change for me, and soon. I'm so tired of feeling like everything I write is shit, and wondering if I was just better off on the third and fifth floor doing everyone's bidding. This short story that I'm currently writing, is the first thing where we've had a little bit of creative freedom, and now I'm even having issues with that. I read every sentence and think about a different way I could construct it, or what can I change to make it sound more interesting? Can I cut something out? Is that really necessary to include? And look at me blogging again, using up all that time, and all of those words that could have been used in my story. There I go babbling, and rambling about some stupid scene that doesn't need to be included. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I hate you creative writing degree. Eat my shit and kiss my ass. I'll write my own goddamned shit, my own goddamned way, in my own goddamned time. And fuck you if you don't like it.

End of rant. Happy thoughts please.

Posted by Sam at 04:40 PM | Permalink

The past two weeks of my Easter break have been...well...nice? Decent? Relaxing? I suppose a combination of all three. I haven't really done that much, but similarly it feels like I've been keeping myself occupied for the most part. I've only got one week left of this slouching about and then it's back up to uni for two more weeks of lectures and then that's it. No more until my two exams.

Since I've been sat at the flat for most of my break, I decided to submit for endless amounts of jobs to make myself feel less guilty and keep all of my fingers and toes crossed that somebody would be willing to pay me a decent and steady wage until it's time for me to go back to VA for my summer break. I thought I had lucked out when a lady by the name of Kelly, sent me an email about a typing position and wanted someone ASAP. I'm a freak when it comes to typing (112 wpm, seriously), and figured this was right up my alley. She only sent me the one email back describing what the job was, and I haven't heard from her since. Bitch.

But then I got another call from a man named, Simon, this past Thursday. He works for a recruitment agency and asked if I could come in on that Friday to meet with him. I was elated, ecstatic, and through the roof with excitement. I was going on my first interview for an admin position here in London! Woot! Of course I was brought back down to earth though when he told me that they weren't hiring, but that they recruited people and he could help me find a job, which was good enough for me in the end. I have to send him an email with the dates of my exams, and while I'm waiting for those days to approach, he said he'd send me on interviews with any job prospects that happen to pass over his desk. So I'm still keeping my fingers crossed.

On the way back from my meeting with Simon, though, I was walking up the stairs to my flat when I saw this really old woman who lives next door to us sat on the stairs with another woman slightly bent and speaking to her. I quickly took out my earbuds, paused Sugar and asked if she was okay.

Apparently, our 87-year-old neighbor, fainted on the way down the stairs and bumped her head on the wall. The paramedics had already been called and now this good samaritan lady was trying to help her up and back into her flat. I did my small piece as well, by holding her cane while waiting for the paramedics.

The good samaritan lady, however, didn't stick around long, and once she helped get her back into her flat, she pissed off and disappeared. I sat there with her for a little bit, and asked if she needed anything. She told me that she was just going into Putney to pick up a few things and visit her daughter who was in a mental ward because she has schizophrenia. "She's a real nightmare," she said to me, and I tried not to laugh a little. You would think that a mother wouldn't say something like that about their own child, but she seemed to be really annoyed that she had to go all the way into Putney (which is only ten minutes down the road from me; I've walked there a couple of times) to visit her.

She was eventually taken to the hospital, despite her fussing and stubbornness, and I asked one of the paramedics what her name is, in case we wanted to go to the hospital and visit her. And we did go into Kingston to visit her, but she hadn't arrived or been checked in yet. I left my mobile number with one of the nurses and said to give it to her once she got back home.

Yesterday, as I was sitting downstairs reading one of my books for American Literature, my phone began to ring and I noticed it was an unknown number. Generally I don't answer them in case it's our estate agent collecting rent (which I've still yet to pay), but with all of my CVs that are floating out there, I thought it might be someone who wanted to offer me a job.

No. It was our dear old neighbor, Olive. She had been released from the hospital and asked me if I didn't mind running down to the shop for her to pick up a few things. It was a little random and caught me by surprise, but I said that I didn't mind and would be round next door in a bit after I got ready. Even though it was nearly half three in the afternoon, I still hadn't showered or put proper clothes on. I know, I'm a skank, but I didn't plan on leaving and it's only just me, Trish and Carlene in the flat.

Carlene and I popped down to the shop for her, and to be honest, it was really nice to get out of the flat and walk around. The weather has been slowly getting nicer and nicer, and I was able to leave the flat with short sleeves and no jacket. Although, by the time we were making our way back up to the flat, I could feel it start to get a little bit chilly.

We chatted with her for a bit in her doorway, smiled, nodded and refused her money when she tried to give us a tenner for taking fifteen minutes out of our lives to leave the flat. "Are you sure, deary?" she said to me. "I'm positive. Put your money away. We really don't mind."

After we did our good deed for the day, we went back into our own flat and chilled out. I finished reading my book, Trish did a bit of coursework and Carlene chatted on the phone for a little bit with family back home in Texas. It was a decent day.

The book that I've finished reading though, The Virginian, is really good. It's a country-western, and apparently the first one ever written, which lead to the famous, John Wayne, and other famous cowboys that I'm not familiar with, but should be. I have to admit, I've got a huge crush on The Virginian. He's hot. And such the gentleman. If only I could be so lucky to find a man that would stand up for my honor, even though we had never properly met. I want someone who says to another man, "Rise on your legs, you pole cat, and tell them you're a liar," because he had spoken ill of me in front of a group. That would do it for me. Totally make my day.

It's Monday now. The last Monday of our break. Our delightful little break. Part of me doesn't want uni to start up again. To see everyone and deal with everything is just so exhausting to think about. But I suppose the sooner I get all of this shit done, the sooner I can wrap up second year, toss it in the bin and forget it ever happened. That is what I can't wait for. Third year should be a lot nicer, since I'll be back on campus, in my old house (not the same floor though), and have my own little duckling freshers to look after. That's going to be funny. I find it uncanny though, how all of us that applied for floor rep, managed to get floor rep. Me, Alex, Carlene, Fiona and Santos have all made it back on campus with the new responsibility of taking care of the wee yearlings. Random, but cool. I can't wait for third year. Just thinking about third year....third year....third year....

Posted by Sam at 02:00 PM | Permalink

What is it about going to other people's houses that makes you feel extra special? Well, generally it does anyway. It's always fun to look around and see all of the new things. Where do they hide their bowls? Because they are hiding. Or how do you work the shower? It's a mystery and there are always new discoveries. I'm not sure if it's extremely rude or not, but sometimes I can't help but to have a nose around and see what other people have. It's interesting to see what other people use to wash their dishes, or what they keep in the bottom drawer in the kitchen. Our drawer back home is what we call the "junk drawer". That's where we look if we need an emergency light bulb or double A batteries.

Helen was lovely and invited me to stay with her for a coupe of days over Easter break at her house back in Kingston, which is about fifteen minutes away from uni. I jumped on the chance to get out of the flat since I had been cooped up inside for four days.

Four days. I stayed inside. And did nothing.

Saying that though, it was mostly my fault, but where was I going to go? What was I going to do all alone?

Trish was at home, but her boyfriend, Will, was down to visit her for a couple of days. I was feeling very much like a third wheel, and I never really know what to do when people are in the middle of Public Displays of Affection. Every so often I would hear them smooching on the other sofa, and while I'm glad that Trish has a man that makes her happy (every woman deserves that), I'm not too comfortable being the only one in the room while they're making love eyes at each other. I never know what to do or where to look, or should I leave?

Helen said if I wanted to get away from the love nest for a little while, I could crash at her place. I basically packed a few clothes and Bridget to move from doing nothing in one place, and going to do nothing in a new place. And quite frankly, it's refreshing.

Even though it's not my house, and I'm not surrounded by my things, it's a home. Helen's mom and dad are here and they're so lovely. We had a home cooked Sunday dinner last night which reminded me of being back home when Momma would cook for Mel and me. Helen's mom is so cute and is always asking if I'm okay. Would I like a cup of tea or anything else to eat? Am I sure that I'm full, would I like any dessert?

Yes, Mrs. P, I'd love another cookie.

It's cozy and we watch bad daytime television together. I also get a different vibe here which makes me feel like nothing would ever go wrong. Parents are here and they take care of us. We're not uni students that struggle on our own. No. We're 7-years-old and we're having an extended sleep over.

Last night Helen and I had a hench chat about stuff that we haven't talked about in a very long time. Boy drama from back in the day, and talking about what third year of uni is going to be like. There are so many new changes over the hill for us, and I wonder what it's going to be like. I wonder what it's going to do to us as people. Second year has definitely been a depressing one (in some ways, more depressing than first year), and I get the feeling that everyone can't wait for it to be done and over with so we can just shove all of the horrifying memories in a small box and tuck it away on top of a shelf in our wardrobes. I just want to forget that a lot of things even happened.

At the moment though, it feels like none of those terrible events even happened. I have gotten a sneak peek into one of the houses that I see whenever I'm stuck on the bus. It's nice and warm in the kitchen, and comfortable in the living room. I don't worry about what I'm going to eat or if we have electric. I just lay in my room in my pajamas and listen to Helen's family outside of my door. And even though Virginia is over 3,000 miles away, I feel right at home all the same.

Posted by Sam at 03:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

This whole week I've done a whole lot of nothin'. Not a damn thing.

Well, I suppose that's a lie. I did leave the flat on Wednesday to take some of my posters down around uni and found out that I made floor rep for next year. Wahey! It'll be fun to have my own group of little freshers, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, just so I can introduce them to the crazy life in the small uni bubble and fuck 'em all up. I'm really excited and can't wait.

Aside from that though, nothing. I've been sat on the couch with Trish watching all of my dvds on Bridget. To be honest it has been really nice, but now that the end of the week has reached us, I feel a tiny bit guilty. I mean, this break is for us to work and catch up on writing essay and coursework. I shouldn't be slouching around the flat. I should at least be looking for a job.

So to ease my guilty conscious somewhat, I applied for about seven jobs online last night that I found. I hope someone calls. I might re-write my whole CV though and make it more "UK friendly". I'm not sure if there is a specific way that I should write mine, but I don't think it makes the list for people around here.

All of the jobs were admin/receptionist jobs that are similar to what I did when I worked back with Momma. It's easy, I've got tons of experience and I think it would be good for me to get back into a routine like I had back home. If I can find a nice equal balance like the life I had back in VA and incorporate it with going out at night like I do here, then I'll be set. I'll have a nice steady income and a means for me to go out and pay my rent.

Of course I've also been looking for freelance writing jobs, but I don't even think I'm looking in the right area for that. I would like to write, whether I get paid or not, just so my name can be out there and I can get some actual writing credentials on my CV. That would be ideal. Although, I'm not sure where I should be looking for freelance writing opportunities. You would think that my uni would be more helpful in that arena, but it's really not. Our writing department sucks.

Yesterday I also managed to clean my room which looked like a hurricane ripped through it. I had to de-boy the entire place since I let Erik crash in there when he visited me. As much as I like to think that I'm gross and can live in a disgusting hole for the entire Easter break, I'm not. I have to be a little clean and a little organized, otherwise I might just go insane.

Otherwise, not much is going on in the World of Sam. Just back with the same 'ole problems as last year, just not as depressed as when they first hit me. I know everyone has the same problems as I do. It's a just a matter of how you deal with it this time around, and hoping for the best even though everything at the moment looks pretty grim.

Posted by Sam at 10:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

The thing about politics is that generally there's a winner and there's a loser. Unfortunately this time around, I was a loser.

Yeah. It sucks.

I didn't get international officer.

28 votes people! 28 votes and that position would have been mine.

The good news is that the night I found out, I went to Whitelands bar (her territory) and had everyone, and I mean everyone tell me that they wished it would have been me to get the position and not her. My friend, Anant, was particularly not impressed and said he wasn't looking forward to working with her. But, that there are top up elections and that I should go for newspaper editor, which I think I might actually do. I mean, after I was upset for all of two seconds, I thought about it and realized I'm not a diplomat. I'd get tired of being such an official capacity and that newspaper editor was probably more my thing. My scene. I mean, it is what I would like to do in the future.

I also took comfort in knowing that Adam, aka Guinness, said that he really didn't want to make the call because he was really pulling for me. A lot of people just kept saying that there was nothing else I could do to have been more out there. My posters were everywhere, my name, my face, my body was everywhere. I went out to different events, I stood and walked around campus for two weeks, handing out flyers, talking to people, standing in the wind and rain trying to get more votes. I got a small bit of the flu, cold chills and still have a slightly phlegmy cough. I did everything, even if in my warped brain I still think I could have done more.

I definitely don't regret any of it though. I have met so many people and have realized so many great things. People who I haven't seen or spoken to in ages have come up to me and said that they voted for me and how much of a shitter it is that I lost. I tell them not to worry though, because I'll be in the RSU next year, just in a position that suits me better.

I spoke to Mo, the chick who won, and we did the whole 'congrats on winning, you were a good sport' conversation, and she doesn't seem too awful. I think she might actually want to do some good, and she's excited about working with me next year in making sure that international students are properly represented, especially in the newspaper. I told her it would be cool, because we'd have two international people up in the RSU, and we could cover more ground with both of us up there.

Of course I still think she has shitty friends who I definitely do not get along with. Who I actually got in a fight with on Friday at the bop, and then proceeded to get kicked out of the bop.

Yeah. It was DRAMA. Although, now when I look at it, I think it's really funny.

Do you remember that third year bitch that told me I was going to lose? Yeah, I got in a scrap with her. I guess she was so elated that Mo had beaten me in the elections, she felt the need to laugh extremely loud and be an obnoxious twat at the bop. Zoe was not having any of it and asked her to quit her shit (but a lot more diplomatically). We wouldn't have done that if Mo had lost and she had no reason to be such a cunt to me.

Well, the stupid, fat chav started getting mouthy as they do. I told Zoe not to worry about it and just ignore her. We went to the toilets, but after we left I somehow got separated from her. I went outside to the courtyard looking for her, and when I didn't see anyone I recognized, I marched right up to Jordan (who was also standing next to Swindon), and asked him where Zoe was. Shit was about to kick off and I needed to find her. He pointed up at the picnic tables where I saw Zoe standing with Carlene, Fiona and Despo smoking a cigarette. That fat chav and her friends were standing in a group next to them and mouthing off.

I don't remember the exact details, because I was very drunk and I think I might have actually blacked out, but all that I can remember is that I saw that stupid bitch push Zoe, and after that I just remember being held back by five other people and screaming at her, "don't you fucking start in on my goddamned friends you fucking, cunting chav! Don't you fucking start in on them!"

Yeah, it wasn't pretty. I then proceeded to get escorted off the premise by two bouncers and everyone saw. EVERYONE. Oh well.

It was a heavy evening, and I cried, mostly because I was drunk and alone. I yelled at the bouncers. I was standing outside of the gates, and when one of them asked me what my surname was I just yelled back, "fuck you!" and "you're an asshole!"

It wasn't exactly my greatest shining moment, but hopefully people will think that I'm a hard ass and won't try to start anything with me or my friends ever again. I'm a little mortified that everybody saw (especially Swindon), but at the same time I'm not. I just think it's really funny and another drunk Sam story.

Now it's Easter break. Erik left yesterday to go back to VA. And me? I'm EXHAUSTED. After two and a half weeks of campaigning and then having Erik around, I am flat out shattered. For the past two days I haven't done anything except slept and lounge around the flat. I'm thinking about staying in the entire Easter break and not doing anything except my coursework and eating. I could do it as well, because Erik brought me a carton of cigarettes, so there's really no need for me to leave. By the time uni started up again, I'd be completely refreshed and probably a little yellow from lack of sunlight.

I'm just happy that I get to rest and chill out for a little bit. And to do some writing. I'm really excited about that. In the meantime, how have y'all been? I've missed you guys!

Posted by Sam at 04:56 PM | Permalink

- I have been reunited with my beloved. Oh, my darling Bridget. This feels normal and right. I picked her up earlier today and now I've been spending most of the evening getting her set up back to how she was before....well....the accident. I have to re-load some things, get some pictures back on her and she'll be like it never happened. And we can just forget that that horrible thing ever happened.

- Campaign week has been kicking my ass. Of course I'm not going to let my opponent know that. My mood was dampened a bit earlier today as well, when I saw that someone had written on one of my posters, "We don't vote 4 slags." It's okay though, because I'm over it now. I don't care, and it's just going to make me that much happier when I WIN.

- I have fallen out big time with my now ex-friend, Santos, who I haven't really mentioned on here before, but we did used to hang out quite a bit. It's a very long-winded story that I really cannot be bothered to type out at the moment, because my brain simply cannot form any words strong enough to convey how upset, angry and hurt I was at the time....but maybe one day, when I'm not constantly thinking, "VOTE SAM" I'll write it all out.

- Erik (from VA) is going to be visiting me in exactly one week now. I can't wait, although he will be coming at the end of campaigning, so I'll probably be a useless tour guide. I'm hoping since he has already been here before, he won't want to do the Central tour thing...and maybe just hang out at the flat with me and make fajitas. That would be awesome.

- The date was postponed....AGAIN....because some of the guys couldn't all make it together. So I've now been told that it's sometime next week. I'm not holding my breath.

- Regular posting shall commence when I can actually keep my eyes open throughout the entire time I'm typing up a post.

Much love. Vote Sam.

Posted by Sam at 10:33 PM | Permalink

I rented a temporary laptop from the library on Friday. It's just not the same. Things look differently on this adopted laptop. They feel different. I dislike it immensely. I miss my darling Bridget.

I still haven't heard back from the Apple hospital, but I figure I did drop her off late on Thursday evening. It's only Sunday. And I suppose no news is good news?

Until I hear back from the folks at Apple though, I guess I should be grateful that I do have this loaner...I can check the internet at my own leisure, which is handy, so I'm not constantly asking the girls if I can nick their laptops for a little bit just to check my facebook.

But still...things aren't in the same place. I'm lost on this old school IBM laptop that's cold and impersonal. I hate it.

Aside from the laptop drama, I've been a busy little bee as of late. Again, I'm behind on uni work and am getting letters and warnings already about my work. Honestly, I'm afraid I might fail. This year is definitely not going as planned, but I hope to try and turn some things around in the next week or two. But it's not like I'm not doing the work because I don't feel like it. I've just got way too many other things going on at the moment. Campaign week starts bright and early tomorrow morning promptly at 8am, I have a floor rep interview on Friday at 3:30pm, I have to make a speech on Tuesday at 6:00pm, oh yeah, and the long awaited date is finally this Wednesday.

I've also got to go out and be social for the next two weeks with money that I simply do not have. The number that I owe people steadily climbs upwards, whilst the funding in my own account is swiftly disappearing. The rent is two weeks overdue, I don't have a job, but have plenty of stress to go around and share with everyone.

I want to scream.

But I don't. Instead I sleep, because I figure that's more beneficial to me and everyone within earshot.

How do things get like this? When did I allow for things to just get so crazy without me noticing what was happening? Why am I such a freak and can't just get things done, sorted and out of the way? I really want someone to just come in and help me out. I think I might have bitten off far more than I can chew.

I suppose on the bright side of things, Mel told me that her and Momma are going to be getting their taxes done on Monday. Apparently I'm supposed to be getting a nice chunk of change, and that will help out loads when it finally comes in. I'm just glad that Momma is OCD about getting her taxes done early, rather than waiting until the very last minute (which is probably more something I would do).

I'm just not used to being busy. Like, really busy to where people depend on me for things. I'll find a groove and then things will hopefully run a lot more smoothly.

I do have competition in this year's election for my intnernational officer spot. Her name is, Mo. Seriously. As if that's a real name. Pffft....whatevs. She's from Holland (I think) and her "3rd year" friend/campaign manager felt the need to tell me this past Friday at the bop that I was going to lose.

Ha! Whatever. I was really looking forward to this being a clean campaign without any fuss, but her friend just pissed me off and made me kick my campaign into high gear. You do not tell me I'm going to lose. I could have punched her.

I have lots of people around me who are going to help me out (thank goodness), and I'm sure that by the end of next week, I would have kicked her ass in the elections and win by a landslide of votes. Bitch.

This weekend I've mostly just been in bed, thinking, thinking, constantly thinking about things that I have coming up. I know I shouldn't overthink things, because it's just going to make me stress out even more, but I can't help it. Ugh, especially about this date, that I'm actually not looking forward to anymore. Before I would have been fine, but now I've had time (too much time) to think about it, and now I've built it up far too much, therefore leaving me with expectations that I'm sure will not be met, and leaving me crushed. By my crush.

Blah....my brain is just so crowded with stuff I can't even write properly. How am I supposed to write creatively when all I keep on thinking is, "campaign, date, no clothes, dirty flat, essays, books I haven't read, no food, no time for food, have I peed today?" Oh yeah, that sounds really good.

Posted by Sam at 11:50 AM | Permalink

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

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

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

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

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

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

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)

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)

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)

When you're ill, like seriously ill, kind of like how I am nine months out of the year, not only do you feel disgusting and repulsive round the clock, but you don't want to go outside and face the world. Why? Because you're disgusting and repulsive. That's why.

My rash is not just "a rash." It's shingles. Yeah. How fucking disgusting is that?

And it's not cool, or hot, or sexy for that matter. I've never once in my entire lifetime heard somebody say to another person, "hey, I dig that rash. It's really awesome. Where did you get it, cause I'm thinking about getting one myself."

I decided to break down and go to the hospital yesterday afternoon, because my shingles (goddamn, that's an ugly word) started hurting really bad. I was getting these stabbing pains throughout the rash area, and simply couldn't take it anymore. Besides, it's bad enough that I'm still partially deaf and occasionally shout at people because I don't know exactly how loud I'm speaking.

The lovely nurse told me that my shingles is generally found in older people, but when younger folks get it, it's because that they have a weak immune system, which triggers the virus to "wake up." It can also be woken up by extreme amounts of stress.

That's just me all wrapped up in a nutshell; a strung out, stressy, moody and continuously ill cow.

So now I've been prescribed my anti-biotics, which should hopefully kick this nasty virus out of my system. The only down side I guess is that I'm on a constant clock, since I have to take EIGHT PILLS every single day. EIGHT.

It's ridiculous, but I suppose anything that's going to help me get rid of this horrible virus that looks awful, and makes me hollar out randomly in the flat whenever I get those shooting, stabbing pains, I'll take it without any quesitons.

Unfortunately I haven't been taking anything that makes the stabbing pains go away. Instead I just cry out and shout profanity every five to ten minutes. I sound like a cat that's hungry and cries to his owners, "feed me, feed me." Instead I'm crying, "motherfucking cunting whore, you hurt like a bitch. I wish you'd leave me the fuck alone!"

Same difference, I guess.

I'm going to be keeping my infected self at home, since shingles can be contagious to anyone who has never had the chicken pox before. I'm planning on getting a lot of work done, hopefully. I'm also hoping that my date gets postponed to a different time, otherwise I may have to think of a way to have mine at another time when I'm not so ill and contagious to others. Besides, I'd hate for Swindon to think that I have some form of tourettes, what with all of my random cursing whenever I get a stabbing pain in my tit or on my back. Again, so sexy. Who wouldn't want this, really?

Posted by Sam at 05:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The thing about flying straight through clouds, is that it's exactly how you'd imagine it...cloudy.

I left home in VA on Friday night to return back home in London Saturday morning. It was a bit of a mission, seeing as Mel misread what time I had to be at the airport, which left me roughly twenty-five minutes to rush through security and through the rest of Dulles airport before they closed the gate. I literally ran and almost knocked loads of people down in order to make it to the gate on time, and to my surprise, I had been upgraded to business class, which was pretty swanky. I had warm chocolate chip cookies, and a nice hot chocolate before I reclined my seat all the way back and passed out for the entire flight. Then I woke up to have fresh fruit for breakfast and a nice, hot cup of tea. It was lovely. I should have never been upgraded because now I'll never want to go back to economy.

It was strange arriving back to good 'ole London town. Even though I had only been gone for two weeks, it felt like I was gone for so much longer and that everything had been kept still in a time warp while I was away. Nothing had changed, not that I was expecting anything major or dramatic to happen while I had been gone. I was still in the same flat, going to the same uni, with the same old problems waiting to be dealt with by me.

I've changed a little bit though. I'm more refreshed, not as bogged down as before, and even though I still don't want to deal with my mess that I created before I left, I'm not as scared to look it straight in the face now. If I have to, I'm sure I can work up enough courage to punch it square in the jaw, and then be utterly surprised with myself for doing it.

Being back home was so nice though. I didn't go out that much and mostly hung around the house with Mel, and chilled out like how we used to do in the good 'ole days. I got everything that I wanted for Christmas, plus so much more that I wasn't expecting. The best part was that there wasn't any stress. There was no drama. I didn't have to worry and do all of the grown-up things that I have to do when I'm in London. Living out on your own without the security of parentals is hard. How come people ever leave home?

But I suppose it's good that I was only back for a short amount of time. I got rest that I needed and thought about stuff that I needed to think about. Now I can do things proper this time round.

Sadly I didn't have much down time to hang out around the flat before it was time for me to jump head first back into the routine of uni life. My first lecture was today at 9 O'FUCK IN THE MORNING. Now, that may not seem early to you, but to me, who is no longer working for Corporate America where getting up at 5am is normal, nine in the morning is far too early to be leaving the flat to go anywhere for any reason. I did go to my lecture though with Alex, and suffered for four hours listening to our lecturer talk at us, rather than properly teach us.

I already have so much to do and I want to just have one full day at the flat when I can be like, whoa, wait a minute. I'm going to have a time out and sort myself out here first before I even begin to tackle outside issues. Unfortunately that is simply no longer an option for me. I have an essay due at the end of the week, and my next news article is also due at the end of this week. I have a gig tomorrow that I promised my friend I would go to (he is headlining the thing after all), and an appointment in east London so I can go and have some blood drawn to see if I'm eligible for this scientific study to make a little extra moolah. Like £1200 - £3000 extra. That would be handy. On top of all of that, I've got to meet with my convenor to talk about my future, collect some more of my loan so I actually have money to live on, read lots and lots of books AND attend all of my lectures. It's going to be brutal.

Aside from all of the necessary boring day-to-day things I have to deal with, I also have to deal with things that happened before I left for the Christmas break. More stupid drama that I fell face first down into that will continue to haunt me until I die. Gross. I can't even think of it now. Perhaps when I haven't got so much other shit going on, I'll tell you the story (hopefully the end of the story) of the Sam and Sam saga. Booze and too many drugs finally lead to us sleeping together. I know. Yuck. Finally, after almost a year and a half, we hooked up....and that is just a night I'd like to have permanently removed from my brain.

Posted by Sam at 11:18 PM | Permalink

With new years, come new resolutions. What should I put on my list? Probably to start going to the gym, especially with all of the eating/drinking I do and my limiting physical activities. Or perhaps I should quit smoking. I have cut down quite a lot in the past few weeks, but that's mostly because I've been ill and actually couldn't smoke without wanting to cry straight afterwards. Besides, if I quit, I wouldn't be able to use my new, super awesome Christmas present that Helen got for me. It's this really cool cigarette case and I want to get proper use out of it.

Actually, I quit making new year's resolutions a long time ago. Mostly because I never stick to them, and I don't really believe in it. Why should people make goals at the start of every new year? Things aren't necessarily always bad after December ends, and who's to say that people can't make goals in the middle of the year and stick to them? It just seems a little unrealistic to me.

But it is a new year, and with that comes a new start. A new beginning. A chance to kiss last year and all of it's problems good-bye, and wave in a new year to try and make better. Do better. Which I plan on doing with great enthusiasm.

Earlier today I realized something...I hate Samantha. No, not myself...Her. Samantha Brown. Good lord she gets on my nerves. She has her own television show on the Travel Channel, and there's something about her that really bothers me. She's so annoying and seems so fake. She travels all over the world and does this program, and it's shit. I mean, okay she does do her job of going to all of the real tourist spots and educating the audience on them, but she does it in such a cheesy and family friendly way. I can't stand it.

And worst of all, she has my name!

I suppose I can't lie and also admit that part of me is slightly jealous. Only slightly, mind you. She gets to go all over the world while someone else pays for her airfare and accommodation. And can I just say that she stays in some really swanky places. I wouldn't be crying if I had to stay in some of the hotels that she got to stay in. I'd probably be feeling like a princess.

I just don't like her. Her voice is annoying too. She's just crap.

If I were allowed to go all over the world like she does, my show would be so much better. I wouldn't go to all of the tourist spots, but rather get down and really get to know the country and it's people. Mingle a little more with the locals and properly learn about the place, rather than all of the facts that come along with it. Sure, it's good to have all of the education and background on places, but people also want to know about the present, what's going on now that makes it so kick ass. I could be relatable. I could be funny. I could change my hairstyle every so often so people aren't confused if they've already seen this particular episode (seriously, Samantha Brown needs a new goddamned hairstyle).

It was just a thought until I changed the channel because I couldn't stand to watch her put one more piece of chocolate in her annoying mouth when she was in Switzerland.

But recently I have been doing some thinking while I've been loafing around the house. Yes, I loaf now. It's no longer relaxing or unwinding from uni. I loaf. I mean, if I were a shoe....and I'm sure you can figure out the rest of that sentence. You would think that I had just got out of a terrible relationship and now all I do is loaf around, not showering until the end of the day, eating whatever I feel like at whatever time of day (cookies at 8am, cereal at 10:13pm) and doing nothing else but watching TV and fixing my iTunes. Which I fixed my iTunes, by the way, and it's fucking fantastic. In between all of that though, I have been thinking.

Thinking about my blog. Oh, my poor, lonely little blog. I have abandoned it. I'm a terrible blogger. I used to be so good about writing at least five times a week, and now I'm lucky if I blog once a month. What is that? That's not cool. Or good. Or normal....or normal for me anyway. If I were into making new year's resolutions, one would definitely be to update My Mumbling Thoughts more often. But it shouldn't have to be a resolution. I should just do it, no matter what I'm thinking about.

Generally when I find a semi-comfortable place to sit so I can type up these gurglings I have, I like to think that something good will come out of it. I don't want to just write about what I had for breakfast or how long I had to wait for the bus on the way to work. That shit doesn't interest me. It may interest others, and hey, that's all well and good for them, but for me, I'd probably fall asleep while I was typing that up. I want there to be some kind of a little story, a beginning, an end, a nice tiny bow to wrap it all up in.

What I have learned is that that's never going to be the case. Not always anyway. I put way too much pressure on myself to write this fantastic, amazing piece that nobody has yet to discover. I should just write whatever I want, whenever I want, and who fucking cares what anyone else thinks, right? This is my fucking blog goddammit! I pay taxes!

Um, yeah....taxes....

So I'm just going to go back to doing that. Or at least try a little bit more and not get distracted by stupid parties, or stupid....laying around time.

Also, Mel introduced to me this internet TV show called, Quarterlife. Don't know what it is? Definitely check out the link. It's like TV, but on the internet, and each little part is only about ten minutes long. It's really good and I dig it. The creators of My So Called Life made it, and if you love that show as much as I do, then you'll more than likely love Quarterlife.

Anyway, it's about this girl who has a video blog. I know...the times they are a chagin', eh? And she blogs about her life. And she's all in her quarterlife crisis period (thank you, John Mayer, for giving us that), dealing with quarterlife crisis things, trying to sort through her thoughts, figure out what she's doing with her life, and learning about herself in the process blah, blah, blah. Some of it kind of gets to be a bit too much for me sometimes, and I'll want to scream at my laptop screen, "Christ, get over yourself already!" but for the most part it's really good, and obviously I relate to it quite a bit....not that I'm in my quarterlife crisis or anything. I just relate, because I'm a relatable person, remember?

Hopefully I'll get to a more regular routine here on My Mumbling Thoughts. I know I've said it before....I suppose we shall see. But I haven't given up. I'm going to quit loafing and put my fingers to better use here at the keyboard, rather than in the peanut butter jar, which is also not a terrible thing.

Posted by Sam at 11:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Life happens. Death happens. Everything happens. Everything has happened. And will continue to happen until I'm done.

I'm still alive and kicking round here. Don't fret. I haven't forgotten about my little corner of the world. I needed to get away though, and not think about things or try to write them down here. I'll be heading back to VA this Friday and will be back home for two weeks. Someday, during that time I'll sit down and properly write about what has been going on in my absense.

I hope that you all have a lovely Christmas and New Years.

Posted by Sam at 05:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

These days I tend to get ready only to get changed back into my jammies two hours later and never leave the flat.

Tomorrow. I can work on my list of things to do tomorrow.

It's simply too cold to get out of bed and face everybody outside of these four walls.

I sometimes wonder what would happen if I just never left the flat for like....a month. If I always had someone run out to buy me cigarettes, milk and sugar, I'm sure I'd be okay. I suppose I'd eventually have to get out and do something, but not now. Not when it's warm and smells like cranberries inside.

I always thought that it should be optional for people to stay at home when winter finally came round. What's the point of leaving the house when almost everything will shut down anyway? It's cold, it's icy and slushy. Nobody wants to deal with all of that. Instead, we should all remain indoors in comfy pajamas, with mugs of hot chocolate and have good chats. And when we're finished having chats, we should go up to our beds, crawl under the warm blankets and drift off to sleep where we have dreams about sleeping on a warm beach somewhere. That would be lovely. I don't want sugar plum fairies.

Whenever I'm sitting on the bus going to work (which is generally the only time I can be bothered to leave the flat), I stare out the window and peek into people's houses. It's interesting to see how other people set up their houses, and I wonder what their lives must be like. I imagine sitting on that particular sofa, in that particular room, having a conversation with that particular person. Perhaps we're drinking tea together and they let me borrow their fancy apple computer so I can check my facebook. They'll say something funny and I'll laugh at it. It'll be great.

The houses, all of them, they look so homey. There are pictures on book shelves, throw blankets on chairs and decorative lamps on end tables. And it makes me miss home. It makes me want to go back to Virginia. Not for a long while, but just so I can feel that secure feeling of home.

The flat is not homey. It's clean. Well, for the most part it's clean. It's very minimal and if it is untidy for whatever reason, it's generally not for that long. Helen, myself and probably Carlene as well, are afraid that if it's dirty that maybe the bugs will come back again. And we all hate the bugs. They're gross, and we're good people. Bugs do not happen to good people. Good, clean people at that.

This Thursday I took work off to celebrate Thanksgiving. Last year, Trish and I held Thanksgiving at our flat on campus, and this year we plan to squeeze in as many people into our flat that is humanly possible. We'll all gather round, say what we're thankful for, pile our plates sky high with food and then drink ourselves into the evening. Generally, I'd be with Momma and Mel and we'd fall asleep in front of the TV watching The West Wing or something along those lines. Part of me would like to be back in Virginia doing all of the things that I used to with Momma and Mel, but I'm also perfectly fine celebrating here with my extended English family.

But something is weird for me. Something that I can't quite put my finger on has been poking at me for the past couple of days, perhaps even weeks. I'm not exactly happy or sad these days. I just am. I sit about, the days slide by me, and I can't seem to muster up any kind of energy to care about things. Things just happen, and I have no opinion on the matter, other than who cares really? Why does it really matter and why are we so fucking concerned about it? Can't things just be normal for a change? Or does everything have to be such a show?

I'm thinking about getting away for a while. I think it'll do me some good to get out and away from university for a few days. I could do with clearing my head out. Emily (you remember my fellow worker bee from back in the day?) is spending one semester up in Scotland this year and if she's got some free time (and hopefully some space as well) I wouldn't mind catching a train and seeing her for a bit. Besides, I've never been to Scotland. It could do me some good to really get out of the flat. It's nice, but it's far too small and recently I've been feeling like we're all just on top of each other. I can only escape to my room so many times until even being in there becomes annoying.

I love London, I love my flatmates, and I certainly love that I'm back over here. But I'm tired of certain things and tired of looking at and hearing about the same shit all the time. It doesn't matter how long I stay and hide inside of my room, it's all going to still be there when I leave. My only problem is that while I'm in this mood, I can't be bothered to deal with it, and there's nowhere else in London that I can go to hide.

Posted by Sam at 11:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

So I know things have been scarce here on My Mumbling Thoughts. Trust me, I've been busy. Life is just continuously busy here in London. It's hard trying to juggle a part-time job, university, life and....wait for it...thinking of topics to write for the uni newspaper! I know. It's not a mental year for me (*knocks wood*). Well, not as mental as last year. Obviously things are going to be crazy, because that's just how things seem to roll here, but I have been keeping myself out of trouble for the most part.

And while I haven't really got the time to post anything new, I do have the article handy that I wrote which is going to be published in next month's issue, just for your reading pleasure. I know. It's just a little thing, nothing special, but I thought I'd post it up here just because I feel like it and I've been feeling guilty for not being a good, regular blogger. Hope you enjoy my little bit.

***

English Lessons

Okay, so we all know that many moons ago some folks decided to hop on a giant ship and live in a new land far, far away so they could practice their religion freely and get away from the great monarchy of England. It was great, for the most part and now, hundreds of years later, we’ve got a great country called the United States of America. It’s pretty cool, and of course I would say that being one of the many children that was born and raised there.

I’m a second year international student that has jumped in headfirst and studies here at the great university of Roehampton. I’m dong a full three-year course, rather than just a semester or a year. A lot of people ask why I chose to live here in London? Why not just stay at home and enjoy all of the nice comforts that America has to offer (i.e. food, super sizing of the food, twenty-four hour stores and drive-thru’s for virtually everything).

It’s simple, really. When I go somewhere, I want to get the full experience. I like to get my hands dirty and sink into my new life like a native. I don’t want to be an outsider looking in. No Sir. I want to be considered one of the locals that tourists stop on the street to ask for directions on how to get from Piccadilly to Trafalgar Square. London (and England as a whole, really) is quite big and I’m just one tiny person. There’s way too much to see and do, and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to cram everything into just a few short months.

You would think that being American wouldn’t be that different for us living in England. I mean we are basically an extension of England minus a few things here and there. What I didn’t realize when I first arrived a little over a year ago is that it’s two totally different worlds. There are the more obvious differences that I noticed immediately, mostly with how much smaller and compact things are. The roads are a lot more narrow and there were a couple of times when I thought surely, by now we should have been in a fender bender with another vehicle. The accents threw me off a lot more than I thought they would as well and I had to ask a lot of people to repeat what they had said to me for the first couple of weeks. Everything was completely different and I certainly had a “we’re not in Kansas anymore” moment on quite a few occasions.

The one thing that slowly crept up on me though was my own internal change. After a while, people began to point out how different I sounded, and it wasn’t until they mentioned it that I started to notice the change myself. Words came out a lot different and I was calling things by different names. It was no longer a vacuum, but a hoover. I threw things away in the bin instead of the trashcan. I went to the toilet instead of the bathroom. I greeted people by saying, “Heya, you alright?” instead of “hey, what’s up?” I smoked fags rather than cigarettes. The list of my new vocabulary kept on growing with each passing day and I could hear an English twang being added to my already confused southern, American accent.

I remember my very first night out at Roehampton. I went to the Froebel bar with my friend, Trish, who is also from America (she’s actually from the exact same place and lived 30 minutes away from me, but that’s another story for another time). We were slightly lost and wandering around campus trying to find this bar that everyone was apparently going to. On our way, we ran into a third year student who gave us directions. I noticed her accent and thought it was weird that an English student had already moved in, seeing as the home students wouldn’t be arriving for another two days. When we asked her where she was from she told us California.

No, that couldn’t be right. She had an English accent! She was American? I told myself that that wouldn’t be me in the end. I’d always have my American accent.

I learned that it’s an inevitable change though. You change and adapt to your environment wherever you go. It just makes things easier in the end. You change the way you dress, speak or act, whether you realize it or not, and it’s okay. In fact, it’s quite comical and a great conversation starter. Nowadays I get shattered, I think things are brilliant and live comfortably in my gaff.

***

Posted by Sam at 12:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I wonder every time I step out of the flat and onto the sidewalk why I even bother to do my hair every single day. Really, what is the point? I leave the flat with it all perfectly in place only to return with it frizzy, wavy and in a messy heap on top of my head. Walking around London in the cold rain is so not what it's cracked up to be.

I'm a second year student at university that lives off campus this year. Not a fresher. Very much outside of the uni bubble. This year presents itself with new challenges that I'm learning to overcome. Last year was obviously me coping in general with being in a completely new place, learning to adapt to the differences I was raised with and meeting new people left and right. It was all about change and me coming out on the other end a new person with a bit more life experience under my belt.

This year is not so much about personal struggles within myself and all of that deep, philosophical chow chow, but more every day real struggles that everyone goes through in their lifetime. Money issues are still very much a problem for me, but I know they'll eventually sort themselves out once other people get back to me (for the record, I just want to mention how shit the bank is and how I hate it with a deep and firey passion that burns deep within my soul). I have to pay bills this year. Like, real bills. It's not just my phone and car insurance anymore. No, no, no. We have a gas bill, a water bill, rent and electricity to keep an eye on. We have to deal with our council estate stuff, think about taxes and fill out forms now that we're students that no longer live within the worry-free zone of the uni bubble.

These are my new worries. In some ways, I prefer these worries over the ones I had last year. They are stressful, but far less traumatising than the shit I was dealing with last year. Everything is quite literally spelled out for me in black and white, and there's no need to analyse anything. Everything is fact and that is that.

But regardless that we do live off campus this year, and we aren't so sickly engrossed and/or obsessed about uni life, it doesn't mean that we're completely exempt from everything. No matter what we thought during the summer (this year counts, I want to focus more of my time on coursework rather than going out and pissing my money away), there simply isn't a way for us all to fall off the face of the planet and quietly exist in our new tiny world.

Things, people, even places will eventually find us again and we'll be left standing, frozen and unaware of what just smacked us straight in the face.

I was pretty much thrown back into my life here. I was extremely late in doing everything considering my main stress and concern was just scraping together any money to even get myself back over here. I didn't think about anything else other than getting myself back to London. And when I did finally get back over here, it was almost like I was racing myself to see how fast I could get everything done and finished so I could just pick right back up where I left off and do nothing but steadily work my way up. Nothing else crossed my mind. No one else crossed my mind.

But isn't that how the way things are? The second you start getting yourself together, that one thing or person will for some reason reappear and awaken a side of you that you put to rest ages ago.

Enter, boy Sam.

Oh that boy. That silly boy that has caused me so much grief in the past. The one I let cause me so much grief. We barely spoke to each other over the summer and the minute I was sure that I'd be coming back to London, he wiggled his way back onto my main radar. We had long chats over msn and once I was back in the UK I started getting text messages from him. He even rang me to see if I'd be going to the bar a couple of times. And that was funny considering he used to never ring me. Ever. For anything. I can only remember one time when he rang me even before we had our first fall out.

I started to freak out a little.

Okay, that's a lie. I started to freak out a lot.

My brain went straight back into mental overdrive like how it used to and I was racking my brain with all of those familar questions that used to drive me into the ground before.

Why is he texting me? What does this mean? Why does he care? Why can't he just leave me alone? Has he changed? Will it be different this time?

Blah, blah, fucking BLAH.

A couple of things happened. Important things.

First, I got drunk. When seeing boy Sam for the first time since the summer, I wanted to look hot and have a nice buzz going on.

Second, I recognized that all of the old feelings for him were still very much there, just not as strong. I also recognized that he is just one of those people for me that I'm uncomfortably comfortable with. And it makes me uncomfortable.

Third, I got ridiculously drunk on a different night and had a breakdown over him, naturally.

Fourth, I went to the bop (oh, the legendary bop) and woke up the next day completely free and liberated.

After that night, I was fine. Something finally clicked inside of my brain and all of a sudden everything made sense. I do not want to be with someone (or attempt to be with someone) that does not want to be with me. All of me. Completely. All of the time.

We've had some good chats since then and I've been fine. I may slip every so often and think that I'm going back to my mental ways, but for the most part I'm functioning fine when he's around and more importantly, when he's not around. We get on as friends and only as friends. I've told him that he's not right for me and if I'm honest, I'm probably not right for him and how I want someone who is so sickly intoxicated for me all the time, round the clock, head over heels, over the moon, borderline obsessed with me. But normal, of course.

It's weird, but good and necessary for us. For all of us. I think it may even get to the point where I can text him, see what he's up to and go over just to hang out or grab a bite to eat and everything will be fine and normal. That's all I really wanted in the end.

These days I can focus more on myself rather than him. I've got way more important things on my hands this year and I'll be damned if I let one man distract me from my second chance.

Posted by Sam at 07:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

*Flops down on the ground in front of everyone's feet*

Good lord have I ever been busy. BUSY. Ever since I've come back, there hasn't been one day when I've just sat around and done absolutely nothing. I'm either at the flat, cleaning and setting things up so it feels more like home, or up at uni to use the internet since I've been struggling cold turkey at the flat with no connection whatsoever, or at work, since I went back and got my very mundane job back that I need oh so desperately.

It has been a mental whirlwind to say the least. It only took me a couple of hours to get my crap unpacked and it felt like I had never left. Even though I'm living in a completely new flat in a new location, I'm still with my people that I know and love and wherever they are, that's where home is.

There's still a lot to do and wrap up before I'll feel completely settled in. Priority number one is to get rid of the previous tenants; these mini roach bug things that only come out at night. It's beyond gross. I've got a major phobia about bugs anyway, so I'm extremely paranoid once the sun goes down. Are they in my cupboard? Crawling somewhere on the floor? It's exhausting to always be on the look out for them. Helen and I gave the flat a nice scrub down once we moved in, but they're still there...being disgusting bugs.

Our [useless] estate agent, Alex, is supposedly coming round our flat tomorrow with an exterminator to have a look at our place. He said that he isn't sure what they're going to do since our flat doesn't appear to be the main site where they live and they want to get them at the root. Fair enough, so do I, but I also don't want to be living with them for the time being. Eating out all the time is already getting to be too expensive for me, but I refuse to buy any food that they'll be able to crawl into and eat through.

Honestly, if it isn't one thing, it's another with that damn flat.

I am very happy about being back though. I've already had a couple of mental nights out, but for the most part they were pretty good. Except one where I drank way too much on an empty stomach. I'll have to make sure I eat before I ever drink four double vodka and cranberries, PLUS two bottles of wine and a blue WKD. It wasn't pretty. You don't want the details.

A couple of us went down to the bar the first night it was opened. Fresher's Sunday. It was weird being there and seeing the newbies clutching onto their drinks with their wide, beady eyes. Bless them. It wasn't as crazy as I thought it was going to be, but it was still good. Good to be back in the company of people that already knew me properly, understood me and who I could be completely chill with. There was a lot of hugging and kissing and dancing, all in celebration of being back at uni, and explaining multiple times to people who thought that I wasn't going to be coming back.

"Yeah, I didn't think I was going to be back, but alas, here I fucking am!"

"Well, fucking congratulations darling. Let's get another drink to celebrate."

The city is still mental, but that's the way I like it. It's hard and tough and there have already been times when I've sat back and it feels like I've been here for three months. I don't know what it is, but I'm addicted to it all and I never want to lose this place ever again.

Posted by Sam at 03:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

It always seems to be Wednesdays that I'm waiting for, huh? Who would have thought. And I don't plan it out that way either. It just happens. Which I think is kinda cool.

Life is funny really. One minute you're walking through the corridors at work with so much weighing on your shoulders, you're convinced that with every step you take, you're leaving a footprint in the carpet. You walk the same path day after day and the footprints just sink deeper and deeper into the ground. And they'll always be there, because you're never going to leave. Ever. You're stuck here. At least until you pay off the first student loan you ever took out, so basically until you die.

Then the next minute, you're standing in the kitchen, washing dishes and listening to your friends in the livingroom watching TV. They're visiting for the last bit of the summer and for you (and perhaps them as well) it's bittersweet. It's nice to have them around and to hang out with them and see them and talk about things that they also know and understand. But at the same time, it sucks because you're pretty damn sure you're not going back for the second half of uni. You're going to be at home...again....doing the same shit over and over until something happens and you eventually walk straight in front of a mack truck.

And then, while you're washing the dishes, your mother calls you upstairs for a chat in her room. You can only imagine what it's going to be about since you two have argued all summer over the same thing, non-stop. It's going to be about money. She's not signing, no matter what. Just forget about it. Throw in the towel and give up already. The battles were brutal and you're losing the war. You're beaten, battered and bruised for life. Just call it quits and stop torturing yourself. Sure, you put up a good fight, but it just wasn't good enough, was it? You win some, you lose some, blah, blah, blah....

You prepare yourself for it....wait....wait for it....just a moment....

"Well, I decided that I'd go ahead and sign your loan paperwork."

Wait a minute, rewind. I don't think I heard that properly the first time.

*In slow motion*

"Well, I decided that I'd go ahead and sign your loan paperwork."

Holy fuck. Did she just say what I think she just said?! I'M GOING BACK TO SCHOOL?!

HOT DAMN!!

I, obviously, burst into tears. The relief. Oh, the sweet relief of hearing her say that. All summer since day one I've been trying to find a way to sort all of this when I've known that Momma could make the entire problem go away with just those words. And she waited until the end of the summer to do it? The very end of the summer?

"To teach you a lesson, of course, Samantha Leigh. I'm not always going to be around for you to just come to whenever you need help. You've got to learn that there are some times in life when you won't always get your way and things will prevent you from stopping."

It was a test?! This entire thing was a test?! She knew the whole time that she'd be signing in the end!? What?!

Who cares? So what? You got her to say yes to signing your loan and now everything will be fine.

**

I've been spending the past two days sorting things out. Momma didn't tell me until this Sunday that she would sign my loan papers, so I've been rushing all over the place to get things sorted. Luckily, with all of the loan practice that I've had this summer, I flew through it all. The only difference is rather than being declined (depressing) I was conditionally approved. Woot!

Today I packed, and even though over half of my crap is still over there at Helen's house, I've still got two giant suitcases holding all of my crap. Clothes, mostly. I won't have to do laundry for at least two months. It'll save money in the long run, I think.

All the while, I've had Helen and Jon here, hanging out, chilling and relaxing in good 'ole VA. They went to New York for a bit while I hung out at home all on my lonesome since Momma and Mel were away in North Carolina. It was cool having the house to myself. I enjoyed it. Then when they came back, we finished the northern VA tour and hit DC which was a mission in itself. I hate DC. I always have. I always will. And I've got the wounds to show why.

We also went and saw Au Revoir Simone. We sat down by the pier, ate tons and tons of food. Did a bit of drinking....not much....(when you compare it to uni anyway), listen to music, hung out at the townhouse, ate some more, did a bit of shopping and just had a grand time. I have never laughed so much my entire life. Things are just so much sweeter now that I know that I'm going back and they'll all be there.

And I have plans. Real plans this time. Things that I'm going to do and sort out. This year is going to be completely different from last year. I don't want a repeat of my drunken nights out and pissing my money away on stupid shit. No way, no how. I'm excited for the new year to start so I can really see what I can do in London and use it properly (and sober, for that matter). While this summer has been absolute shit, it has completely opened my eyes and has taught me so much. I don't want to be the person I was last year. She was sad and pathetic and poor. Not this time around.

So the next few weeks may be a bit sparse with posts, but I do plan on keeping up better with the blog this year. I neglected my writing way too much last year and that's something I regret. I'm going to uni for creative writing after all. I need to actually write this year. That'd be helpful. Once I'm properly set up though and I've got my routine, things should pick up on My Mumbling Thoughts. And even though I'm continuing my second year, I still plan on writing about my first year. Somehow, I'm going to finish that little mini story of mine.

Posted by Sam at 01:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

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)

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.

Continue reading ""Guess we can't go back to what we once had"" »

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

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)

It's six o'clock in the morning and I haven't been to sleep since ten o'clock the previous morning. I haven't showered, changed my clothes, brushed my hair or left the flat. God, I hope that I'd never leave the flat looking like the state that I'm in.

I reckon I probably won't go to sleep either. I'm just not sleepy. I don't have the desire to lay in my bed, close my eyes and drift off to count some sheep and catch some z's. I just don't want to. I want to stay awake for as long as possible and see when my crash point is. I'll probably have a shower in a bit only because I have some coursework to hand in and I've got to go four steps outside of the flat in order to do that.

It is that time for us all. The summer ball was this past weekend and now all that we have left is to hand in coursework, some of us have to take exams and then it's done. We're finished. Our first year of uni is complete and we're let free for the summer to do who know's what. Some people are getting full time jobs, others are going travelling while most of us will probably just head on back home to our lives that have been waiting patiently since we left. In truth, I could probably go back home anytime after this Wednesday since I won't have anything left to hand in, but I'll be here until the end. The 16th of June is the last day we can be here. After that, our room keys will be deactivated and we'll be chucked out of the front gates with all of our shit.

I have been thinking about this day ever since everybody left for our Christmas break. People packed up a lot of their things to go back home and it was hard seeing them go off into the blue yonder with their suitcases in tow. I could deal with it for the most part since I knew they'd be coming back in a couple of weeks, but I could only imagine what it would be like when we had to officially move out. We'd have to go through all of our things that we've accumulated over this past year, chuck out a lot of shit that we don't use or even knew we owned and clear out all of stuff in the kitchen.

It's hard to think about. And yeah, I get choked up easily if I think about it for too long.

I'm going to miss my Lee House bitches.

So much stuff has happened to me since I arrived here. So much stuff has happened to us all since we've been here. We've all changed. I suppose others have had much more dramatic transformations than others, but we're certainly not the same as when we first stepped foot into the flat. We've had millions of late night conversations, trillions of smoke breaks together and oh lord the drama, drama, DRAMA. It never ended. I'm not sure it ever will.

We barely have three weeks left in our flat and already I'm having my silent meltdowns when I don't think that anybody's looking. I sit in the kitchen with everyone chatting shit about random things like we always do and I think how many times we've done this. And how many times have I taken it for granted and didn't permanently engrave in my memory how much I'd miss this and how I should have cherrished more moments like these. I should have recorded it all. My memory simply isn't good enough because what if I missed something? What if something happened and I just didn't remember? How unfair would that be?

I've learned that uni time is much different from reality time. While things go on outside of the uni walls, our little uni bubble, life is moving at warp speed inside. One week roughly equates to three months on the inside. Even though we've only been living here almost ten months, it feels like we've owned this place for five years. This is just how things are. There will always be the bar. There will always be the bop. There will always be the Bede boys and the bag of drama that they come with. Everyone will always be right just down the hall and you'll never get lonely because someone is always here. It's very rare that you'll be completely alone in the flat. And if it ever does happen, you can just go down to another floor and see somebody there that you know and hang out with them.

It's a really strange place to be. I love it and hate it at the same time. This is my second home, this is my extended family and this is the new life that was born after I left home. As frustrating as it can be at times and even though I sometimes just want to disappear and forget that I live here, I don't want to leave. I never want to leave. It's my issues that I have with change, I know this. I also know that uni has fallen into a rut for me and change is not only unavoidable but it's absolutely necessary for me. If I don't do something to change how I've been over this past year, I may go mental. Absolutely mental.

The second half of this term after Easter has been insanely busy for me. I've been working at a cool little shop ever since I got back from Virginia, catching up on a massive stack of coursework and sorting through all of my things that I need to do for next year. I also had to prepare myself for the summer ball which is only the biggest thing that our uni does every year and what we've all been obsessing over since day one.

I know I've been a terrible blogger for the past couple of months. You don't have to tell me. I don't update anywhere near as much as I used to and I'm not exactly the most detailed person when it comes to certain things. I don't think I really explained anything over this past year as well as I could have. So I'm working on a thing...a story. About me (naturally). In London. It's probably going to take me ages to write out since I want to make sure everything is right and flows alright. I already started working on it about a week ago, I just haven't had any time to finish it up and post it up on here. But it's in the works and I figure after I get back home and start work again, I'll have plenty of time to detail my entire uni experience back in my little cubicle just like the old days. I'm well excited about getting it all out. Because let's face it. A lot of shit has happened. A lot of words need to be shared.

We have lovely blue skies today. Perhaps now I'll have that shower and wear a dress when I'm out and about.

Posted by Sam at 06:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Sitting on the plane it feels like all of the memories are being washed out of you. It was all a crazy dream and now you're going back home to be back in everything that is familar, that you know, understand and miss like crazy. None of it was real and if you were to tell everything that you had experienced to a psychiatrist, they'd tell you that it was a complete fabrication and write you a prescription to make all of the visions go away.

I never lived in a flat in London. I never met any of the wonderful people who quickly became my close family. My accent never changed. Nothing was real. I had completely made it all up.

Only it was real and even though it didn't feel as though any of that could have happened, it did and I went back home to open arms and new stories to share with everyone.

I was a changed person, but not in a bad way.

When we landed, I could see my old job's building since we are located directly across the street from the airport. I could feel the tears well up in my eyes, but I took a deep breath and shoved them back. I wasn't going to cry and make it a big deal that I was back home. I was just home. That was all. I came home to visit everyone, relax and see everything. Not make it into a big thing. Everything in life doesn't have to be a Big Thing.

But it was so a big thing for me. I had been in denial for a long time and didn't realize just how homesick I was. As much as I didn't like work and complained about how boring life was, it was my home. I loved the people, I loved my family and all of the other little things that I always had at my fingertips but just took for granted while I lived there. I never wanted to admit that I missed home because it was my decision to go to uni so far away. I had wanted it so badly and worked on it for so long that once I got everything I wanted I should have been the happiest person in the world.

And I was. But that didn't mean I couldn't still miss home. It wasn't a bad thing to be homesick even though I thought it was.

After we got off the plane, I bolted down the corridors and weaved my way through customs. I literally ran to the baggage claim so I could grab my suitcases and walk through the doors where Momma and Mel would be waiting for me. I'm sure I made a new record by going through all of that in exactly twenty-two minutes.

Once I passed through the last set of doors, I scanned the crowd searching for Momma and Mel's faces. I was excited and so happy to be back.

I didn't see them. They weren't there. They couldn't have been late to pick me up. That's not how it was supposed to be! They were supposed to be on time and right at the front to come and greet me.

They were standing at a Starbucks stand getting strawberry and vanilla bean frappuccinos. Momma had her neck extended searching for me while Mel stood up at the till to pay for their drinks. I was walking straight in front of Momma and she didn't see me coming.

Me: "Momma. Hello Momma."

Momma: "Oh, Samantha. I didn't even see you standing right there."

We gave each other a big hug.

Momma: "My haven't you got fat."

Me: "I missed you too, Momma."

**

Home was lovely. I took it all in little by little and every so often I would pause just to remember and feel everything to the max. I missed Momma's road rage, I missed the house and I missed laying around with bad TV on in the background while I laid in my bed. It was better then I had remembered and a lot better then all of the dreams I had in the early mornings at uni.

I saw the new furniture that Momma had bought while I was away and on the second night there I cooked dinner for Momma and Mel using mostly English things that we had bought from a place called The British Pantry in Chantilly. I chilled alone in the house when Momma and Mel went to work, and driving for the first time was a little nerve wracking but after I was on the 66 for about five minutes it was like I had never left. I saw a lot of old co-workers when I stopped by, chatted to them for a bit, went to lunch and had a little happy hour on the first Thursday I was back. I saw Mendy for a bit, chatted with Momma and had petty arguments with Mel.

After the first week, Zoe flew in from London and we went to go pick her up from the airport. It wasn't as strange as I thought it would be having her in Virginia. It was really chill and for most of the time that she was there we relaxed and hung out at the house watching Gilmore Girls and reality TV. We took her into Washington D.C., walked around Alexandria and of course hit all of my favorite food places and shopping centers. She took to it all so easily and quickly became addicted to sweet tea. I had never seen somebody drink so much tea in such a short amount of time. I was impressed.

The whole two and a half weeks was exactly what I needed. A bit of retail therapy, eating loads of food and completely detoxing my body. We started going to the tanning beds again, got pedicures and occasionally drove around aimlessly while listening to a new set of driving music and put on some old school tunes for a cruise down memory lane. I liked being out and away from the uni bubble. I liked not having all of the drama weighing me down and was even happier about eating food that wasn't cheap pasta from Asda. Momma and I had a couple of lovely chats and got all of our stuff sorted and I came to terms with the fact that no matter how much I hate to admit it, I'm a spoiled Momma's girl who needs her mother to tell her that even though things can be really shit sometimes, it will eventually work itself out in the end. I need her...no matter how far away I move or how old I get.

**

Now I'm back in the UK, refreshed, a bit tanner then before I left and on a new health kick that Zoe and I are doing together. My money has been sorted since I got a fair amount back in taxes and I'm ready to finish up the last bit of this term. The trees have leaves on them once again, the sun is shining and life in general just seems to be better. I'm not on bad terms with anyone and my head is back in a good place. I shall once again take to the keyboard and will hopefully be writing stuff that isn't so depressing. I just keep thinking about when I was in Momma's room with the nightly news on in the background on the TV, and how she said that things will get better. Things will be okay. I'm okay.

Posted by Sam at 09:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

She's going. No, she's staying. Wait a minute, she's going. But not really, she's staying.

Left and right, back and forth. I've been jerked every which way when it comes to this Easter holiday, and I'm scared to say that I might actually be going home. I won't say that it's official just yet because the actual plane ticket hasn't been bought and I'm still standing outside with a sign that says, "please take me home!"

The plan way, way back in the day was that I was going to be coming home during Easter and then come back to London to finish up my studies. As we all now know, my original plan eventually went to shit and everything else seemed to spiral down with it. Then once I didn't go home for Christmas I realized just how badly I probably should have gone home since the homesickness decided to eat away at my body and turn me into a slug that didn't do anything except slouch around the flat, watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer on dvd and smoke for about a month and a half. It really wasn't a pretty sight. I was really looking forward to our Easter vacation since I thought I would be going back home until that idea was quickly shot down by Momma who was still sore over the fact that I didn't come home over the Christmas break and was punishing me for being an irresponsible twat, yet again. I then found out that Momma, Mel and Amy would be making a business trip over here instead over the Easter break and I would just chill with them the entire time. That is until Momma found out how expensive it would be to bring Mel over here with her and decided that the cheapest thing to do would be to send me back home for two and a half weeks.

Whew! That is where we stand thus far. If everything goes according to plan, this coming Wednesday I will be firmly sat in an airplane headed towards the United States once again to relax and forget about all of my uni worries for two and a half whole weeks.

Jesus am I really looking forward to that!

Seven and a half months I have been in London. Over seven whole months! I haven't left once. I haven't even gone to any other town or city in England. Just London. Only London. Sure, I've gone to Wimbledon, Hammersmith, Putney, Richmond, Kingston, Central and other different places, but they're all apart of L-O-N-D-O-N. I don't know how I've done it, survived here for so long, especially since I don't have any money and haven't had any in a very long time. At least not my own money.

Life has been taking a slow turn for the better though, I will say that. The past couple of months have been really hard, with me being depressed (hiding it), being poor (trying to hide it) and remaining homesick (also hiding it). I was in the worst rut that I've been in for a long time and it has been a battle trying to claw my way back up the massive hole that I fell down in.

I'm not sure if it was the weather changing into more sunny days or perhaps just an attitude change that clicked inside of me, but one day I finally decided that I was tired of being a lazy asshole and that I needed to do something about it. After I got my national insurance number (I get to pay British taxes now, yay!) I printed off loads of copies of my CV and just handed them out to different shops and pubs in the surrounding area. I got a call from two places and hopefully will have a steady job once I get back from good 'ole VA.

Oh Virginia, how I've missed my home. I've waken up a couple of times because I swear I can hear Momma and Mel outside my bedroom door in our hallway doing laundry and trying to come in my room quietly so they can check if I have any dirty clothes lying around. Sometimes I feel like I'm in my double bed and expect to wake up looking out at the other townhouses outside my window. I miss my home, I miss Momma and Mel, I miss my friends and oh my lord do I miss the food. After I land and we leave the airport I'm going to ask Momma to stop in by Five Guys so I can order two hamburgers and a large bag of their spicey chips.

That's right. I call fries, chips now. It's scary.

I've been really busy as well, and it doesn't include me being at the Belfry. Well, it sort of does, but I'm not drinking and causing a scene like usual. I've been helping Zoe campaign for Entertainments Officer for next year. I'm her campaign manager. It's cool. We go out, socialize a bit and talk to people and make sure that they're voting for my girl. I helped design her posters, flyers and her manifesto. I also helped DJ Dave with his posters and flyers as well. It has been good busy for a change and I remember what it was like to actually have stuff to do other than wake up, get dressed and go to the bar.

We've also sorted out who we're going to be living with next year and have called an estate agent to help us all find a place to live since we won't be on campus. I will be living with Helen, Carlene and Trish, which is exactly what I wanted. It's really weird to think about not living on campus next year. If I had to guess I'd say that 75% of my shit now resides in London and it's my home. I call this home. This is where I live, where I go, where all of my stuff is, where I feel most comfortable. Leaving never really entered my mind and to think about new people living here next year doesn't feel right.

I'm okay with moving somewhere else though. I'll have my closest friends with me and how awesome will it be to actually share a flat with three of my best friends? Our own place. Off campus. We'll have jobs, we'll be going to uni, we'll be living a proper London life, not the student one that has drained every last bit of energy from all of our bodies. It's going to rule.

I'm still taking things one day at a time though and making sure that I do at least one productive thing every day that doesn't include me taking a shower and putting make-up on. I work on my laundry if I have the money, do a bit of coursework or read a little out of a real book and not one of the magazines that tend to collect on our kitchen table.

I just keep on thinking about going home and trying, trying so hard not to get my hopes up, heaven forbid something goes wrong again and I'm told that I will be staying over the Easter break. I will breakdown and cry for three days straight if that happens. Zoe and Helen may potentially be flying over during the second week that I'm home and spending the easy going days with me in VA as well if all goes right. All three of us will pretend that there isn't any uni drama and come back refreshed to finish out the term. Busy days.

*Keeping my fingers crossed*

Posted by Sam at 08:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I was in somebody else's flat surrounded by snobby third years who whispered as they held their drinks gingerly in their hands. I overheard one of the girls who was wearing a trendy chunky necklace lean over to her girlfriend and not-so-quietly ask, "who exactly is she?"

"She's a fucking legend, she is," AJ shouted to her. "She doesn't know it yet, but everybody knows who she is. She has made quite the name for herself. Every morning, or should I say afternoon, I see her downstairs hungover from the night before with her fag in one hand a mug of tea in the other. Always wearing the make-up from the evening before she can barely stand when she talks to me and I know she has had yet another classic night. Isn't that right, Sam?"

I take a swig from my vodka and lemonade and focus on the word "legend" for a moment.

"Indeed. That would be me. Crazy, loud, obnoxious, American Sam. You can't fucking miss me."

**

These days I'm mostly found in my room, clutching my side that has had a permanent cramp on the right side from all of my coughing. I became ill again and have been out of commission for almost an entire week. I'm sure everybody has thought that I've died or something. It's strange, but I don't miss going out every night either. I'm mostly pining over Virginia and prefer to sit in my room watching Gilmore Girls online while I go through photos from back home. I listen to a lot of music that I used to cruise to all the time in my car and daydream about being back in the townhouse. I'm craving the American air again, I want to see all of my friends and family and I'm dying for a hamburger from Five Guys.

It doesn't appear to be happening anytime soon though. While I thought I would be going back home for Easter for about two and a half weeks, Momma told me no since she thought it would be a bit pointless for me to come home only to stay here until June and then fly back to the states. I'm a little depressed since I was really looking forward to it and really annoyed with Momma. It's not a good feeling, this homesick feeling and it kind of makes you want to throw up every fifteen minutes if only to get rid of the nausea that seems to constantly be in my system.

I got a job, only to lose it three hours later. I suppose asking the store if I could borrow a pair of shoes to wear until the end of my trial shift wasn't a good thing in my manager's eyes. I should have been prepared and wore shoes that were comfortable and I knew I could stand in for six hours. She said that she would call me back, but that was a week and a half ago so I'm guessing she either found somebody who has shoes that she approves of or I was just shit all together at greeting people when they walked in and tidying up the front of the shop.

Instead I applied for two other jobs, one which is another bar job. I vowed that I would never have another bar job, but desperate times call for desperate measures and as we all know, beggars certainly cannot be choosers. Apparantly they're quite desperate for work too so hopefully we can work out some kind of deal.

My first year of uni has been a mental joy ride without a safety belt. It seems like I've lived seven different lives all in a compressed amount of time. I've met so many different people and have seen so much of London so quickly I'm finding it hard to sort through all of the memories and put them in chronological order. I do remember the beginning when we were all shy and still in the process of getting to know each other. I remember once the ice was finally broken we hit the night life scene hard and came out on the other end practically dead and on the verge of a mental breakdown. It was crazy but I pushed the limits and know just how far my body can go. Now we're all poor trying to scrap enough money together to buy the essentials: tea bags, milk, sugar, bread, butter and fags. We spend most of our evenings in, watching films and talking about life back home as if we were war vets. We get letters from family members, care packages with little bits of our past lives and wonder when we'll be able to feel the familar roads beneath our feet again.

I think about the city and remember when I was working in Corporate America. I hated it, but I was good at it. I wonder if I'll go back. If I do I know I'll just go back to daydreaming about the city that I love. I'll think about the London boys with grungy clothes and skinny jeans or the girls with the funky hoop earrings and flat ballet shoes. I'll miss the tube and all of the different pubs that I've sat in while a football match has been playing in the background. I'll definitely miss the night scene and all of the gay bars and indie clubs that have local bands play. I'll miss my flatmates and our endless late night conversations and all of the times we pop downstairs for a fag at two or three o'clock in the morning. I know I'll miss walking around alone with my iPod blasting music in my ears and staring at all of the different people that pass me by.

There's just so much.

I've done a lot of living, but I wish I could have done more. My coursework is piss easy which leaves me with a lot of time on my hands. During the day I normally sleep or hang out in the kitchen and it is the evening when things begin to happen. It's our life that we live all together. It's our story that I've watched unfold before my eyes. I don't know if anyone else would give two shits about our story, but to us it's amazing. We are the different characters all from different places that have come together and instantly bonded while sorting our futures out. Uni is just something that happens in the background as we grow and learn how to live with each other and change into (hopefully) well-rounded people.

Our first year is ending though and it's fast-approaching. We're being forced to look into the future and get things set up for round two of our uni lives. It sucks, really. We've become so comfortable in our uni bubble. The cushion that we have for ourselves is a pot of gold and nobody really wants to leave. In the back of our minds we all secretly hoped that this would be it for us.

I can feel myself being pulled back though. Back to my life in Virginia. I can hear Momma's voice. I see her face all the time. It's like I'm in a big pool full of old memories and I'm slowly drowning in them and the deeper I sink the more vivid and often they flood my mind. The light fades as I continue to fall to the bottom, my chest tightens and it becomes hard for me to breathe. I close my eyes and even though I'm under water I still cry and can feel the tears roll down my cheeks.

I'll keep on waiting. The day will come when I return back to Manassas and be rejoined with everything that is known and familar. Until then I'll have to press on here and learn how to properly take care of myself, stand on my own two feet and learn how to survive completely on my own in London. I have to soak it up now since I know that when I do go back home I'll be wishing I was back here listening to the London rain tap on my window and living in my uni bubble.

Posted by Sam at 11:06 PM | Permalink

It started about three weeks ago. I was standing in the kitchen, looking out of our window at London's horizon. In my hand I had a cup of tea and I was thinking how lovely it all looked. I thought about the skies here and how they're different. They're not the same as the skies back home.

I miss home.

I haven't been able to shake the feeling since. It's like someone is fishing and I've got their hook stuck in my heart and it's tugging me back towards Heathrow asking for a one way ticket back to the states. I wouldn't look back. I just want to go home.

It kind of scared me how sudden and abrupt the change was. It's happened before but I never thought that it would happen to me and London. Never ever would I get tired of my city. We were always going to be together, holding hands and skipping in a field of daisies. We would continue loving each other and taking care of each other until we were both old and I was senile. That's what I was looking forward to.

But even still, the closest of friends need a break from each other every so often. They need to take a breather and be alone if only so they can miss their other half. Which is exactly what I need. Now.

I could have gone home during the Christmas break, but things were odd during that time. I was still kind of in a stress with Momma and wasn't exactly in the mood to go back and be with everyone. I wasn't ready to leave London and I really wanted Mel to come over so we could hang out here and I could show her my new world. Being able to share with Mel this entire new side of me was a great feeling and to be honest, I was quite proud of this little bit of corner that I have carved out for myself. Sure, it isn't anything great and it certainly is modest, but it's mine and I'm proud of it all. She needed to see it and experience it just so that she could feel how important it all is to me.

I've been doing a little counting though (not much since numbers make my brain hurt) and I've realized that come Valentine's Day, I would have been here for an entire six months. Six whole fucking months that I've been here. It's shocking really and frightening to think about for more than five minutes. I've been out and about in this big city all by my lonesome for the most part. Yes, I know I have my flatmates now, but we're all basically in the same boat, feeling out the new surface with our feet and testing things out to see if it's safe or not to walk on.

It is essentially the six months itch.

Oh, how the homsickness is starting to kick in for me. It's not because I'm skint though. I'm sure of it. First of all, I wouldn't be coming back with any money anyway since Momma has said that she wouldn't give me any. And second of all, I've been skint for a long while now and eventually you tend to forget just how poor you are. To drown it out I've been going out and partying, naturally. You'd be surprised just how drunk you can get when you've got absolutely no money to your name. Nothing. I literally don't have one cent to call my own. Is it a scary feeling? Kind of, yeah. Am I freaking out? Not so much...not anymore. I was scared in the beginning since I wasn't sure what I was going to do. I've always had money and got used to it being around. What I've learned is that I can get used to not having money as well. It's a different lifestyle, but it is possible. Trust me when I say that this is not going to be the norm for me. I do want a job, I do want to have money and I do want to be some kind of contributing member of society. It's just a little harder when you don't have a national insurance number. I wish I would have known about that before I came over here, but hey....shit happens. My appointment is on the 8th of February and I'll be sorted the moment I get that annoying thing that has been a royal pain in my ass ever since I first started looking for a job.

Until then, I've got some time on my hands. For the most part I've been watching everybody's box dvd sets that they have of different TV programs during the day and during the night, I go to the bar or my new favorite gay club called, Reflex. Yes, the gay scene is totally happening here and I'm deep in the mix of things. I'm not gay, but I do love all the people and the fact that I can go to a place that plays the perfect, cheesy music that I love to dance to and not worry about random guys trying to pull me. Life is so much happier amongst the rainbow lights, disco balls and poppers.

I have stories. I've been collecting them and safely filing them away in the back of my mind. I've done things that I've wanted to do, things that I thought I would never do and things that I've regretted. Everyone's jaws would drop and they would squeal, "no! Not our Sammi Jo! She'd never do such a thing..." But I have, and it was fun. I've had a good time and I'd love to take the time to write about them all in great length and detail. However, at this particular time I just want to curl up in my bed - my double bed - back in Virginia, stare outside of my window with my TV on quietly in the background and fall asleep knowing that Momma and Mel are only a couple of feet away. I miss my home. I miss walking around the townhouse in my jammies, not caring what I looked like, making a bowl of cereal and talking to Momma in the morning times before she darted off to work. I miss running out and getting lunch for everyone at the office. I miss sitting in traffic at the end of the day and chilling with myself. I miss, I miss, I miss so much. And I don't want anymore distractions from those thoughts. I don't want to go to another club, another bar, another pub, another house party, another drinking game, another spliff, or another anything. For once, I don't want it in the slightest.

I just want to go home. Please just let me go home.

Posted by Sam at 03:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Now that quite a bit of time has gone by and it is a new year, I've decided to update my description of all my flatmates that I get along with, simply because I feel like it and because I think it's necessary. This way, if I mention them here on my blog, you can know at least a little more background information on them. These girls have all become my family and without them, I know for a fact I'd probably be curled up in a cardboard box somewhere begging strangers for random change on the street.

**

Zoe: She is known as "the Irish one". I never was particularly close to Zoe, but these days we've grown closer and I feel like our relationship is one with potential to be a lot more. She surprised me one evening when she came in my room with £50 and said that her mom had transferred it to her just for me. She knows what kind of financial problems I've been having recently and I almost started crying when she offered it to me and said that I didn't have to pay her mom back. Of course I'm going to as soon as I get a proper job and I'm also going to buy her a gift on Mother's Day, but the fact that she reached out and did that for me was not only surprising since it's not her problem and all I ever really wanted was somebody to listen to me bitch about it for a while, but it was so kind and restored some of my faith in the human race. We share the same interests as far as writing goes and hopefully we'll be working together soon to try and tackle the London media. Who knows what will become of it, but I'm sure if we do it together, no matter what happens, we're going to have loads of fun.

Helen: She is the English version of me only completely opposite. Physically we resemble each other except for the fact that her hair is blond and mine is brown. We both have similar red jackets, we bought the same jumper from Asda, our dishes match and all of our boy problems seem to be parallel with one another. I can sit and talk to her for ages about every single subject under the sun and never get tired. We've stayed up until half six in the morning once just obsessing and over analyzing every last thing about the boys at Bede House. She was the first flatmate that I got on with straight away and I hope that we know each other for many more years to come. She's so smart and reminds me of how I'd like to be while I'm at university. Just little, simple things like being more responsible and she brings me back down to earth when I'm so far gone in my own dramatic, fucked up world.

Fiona: My dear, sweet Fiona. She is definitely most like me personality wise. We get each other's jokes, we have the same opinions on practically everything and if there's ever anyone I need to procrastinate with to do anything like coursework or my washing up, she's the girl to go to. Like Helen, we can stay up for ages and chat shit all night long like it's never been done before. It's uncanny how similar our lives are as well. Her and I spend most of our time laughing and making jokes that most people would find offensive but we find it absolutely hilarious. I always tell her that it's nice to know that I'm going to have a friend with me in hell that I can laugh with.

Carlene: It took me the longest to feel like Carlene and I were properly close. I think it was because I always thought of her as the mother figure in our flat even though she is a year younger than me and therefore, I treated her as if she was my mother in a sense. I always kept her at an arm's length and never wanted to do anything that I thought would disappoint her in any kind of way or upset her. Just knowing that she was off with me by a tiny bit would send me in a spiral and I'd feel awful as if I had done something wrong. It wasn't until I started thinking of her as a flatmate, rather than the unstoppable mother, that we started to really get close. I realized that she, too, is a person. She also has flaws and makes mistakes just like the rest of us. I consider her to be one of my best friends now and she's one of my favorite drinking buddies.

Lauren: My roommate that I never asked for but always wanted. Sure, she doesn't live in our building but she is a flatmate and my first year at uni wouldn't be the same if she hadn't been with me through it all. She has seen me at my best and my absolute worst. She has her own towel, her own toothbrush and half of her wardrobe in my room. We share practically everything and I'm so glad to have met her. Sure, there are times when I'm annoyed with her and would prefer to be alone, but we can talk things out rather than have a proper go at each other. I tell her when I need to be on my lonesome and she can tell whenever I get into one of my moods. I talk to her all the time about everything and there's not one subject that we've never discussed at least two times. We are known as the odd married couple and where there's one, the other is sure to be following close behind.

**

Those are my main girls, the ones that I've been living with and who I've bonded with the most since I've been here. I love each and every one of them to bits and pieces and they have grown to not only just be my flatmates and my friends, but I consider them to be family. I may not have mentioned them that often on here, but every day we see each other, every day we talk, every day we do something that brings us that much closer. We've had our fall outs and have wanted to kick the shit out of somebody else at least once or twice, but at the end of the day, I love these bitches and would walk through fire for them if I was asked to.

Posted by Sam at 01:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I thought it was going to be an early night. Everything is set up and ready for me to close my eyes and drift off into my own Dreamland. The lights are off, my bed is all warm and snuggly, I've washed my face and brushed my teeth, but even with my new iPod (Sugar) playing soothing tunes in my ears, I simply cannot shut the voices off in my head. They won't leave me alone. And it's all my fault.

I've watched two dvds, drank two small cups of tea, made an egg sandwich, smoked two fags, printed off my essay that I need to hand in tomorrow, checked everything that there is to check online, caught up with my e-mails to people back home and yet nothing works. I sit, staring at my blank wall with my eyelids so heavy and practically shut, and yet all I can think about is how badly I want to stand outside in the wind and freezing cold rain with nothing but rain boots on. For some reason I find that hilarious.

Things that I've been ignoring for the past month or so is creeping it's way back to the front of my mind. Things that I've said, that I've done, that are horrible and completely out of character, that I'm ashamed of, embarrassed of, that I've been denying for so long is just now starting to properly effect me. And my sleep pattern, so it seems. I can't help but feel it now. It's faint and almost undetectable, but it's there and I can feel it growing roots inside of my brain.

Part of me wants to try and right the wrong that I've done. Not to clear my guilty conscious (well, okay, maybe that) but to put an ending to something that has been begging to be put to rest for ages. Every story, even the bad ones, deserve a proper ending, no? Something that says, "yes, that is over and done with now." Something that will allow you to sleep at night and not have the little questions and worries fester in your mind and that randomly strike you when you're standing in line at Sainsbury's buying more bread and Southern Comfort.

The other side simply says to leave things alone. What's done is done and for fuck's sake can't you for once just leave it be? Enough damage has been done so let's not try and cause any more.

There was a moment in time when I thought, "fucking good riddance! I'm glad that's over with. Let's go to the bar, shall we?" I immediately forgot about the words that should have never been said and the things that should have never been done. As far as I was concerned, I no longer had that problem anymore. All I needed was a drink to wash the memories away and I'd be fine.

But lately, these past few days I've been thinking about what happened. I'm not sure what brought it on either.

You are a complicated woman, Samantha Leigh. The man you thought you loved and treated you like a queen, you fucked off and basically told him to drop dead. The man who treats you like shit and barely acknowledges your presence, you obsess over and want nothing more in the world than for him to show any kind of sign that he likes you back. You pathetic, pathetic thing. When will you ever learn?

It's a scary feeling knowing that you are the primary cause for so much pain. It's not something that I ever wanted cause. I've sat and said the excuses to myself and then tossed them out the window because they're bullshit. I know what I did. It's not because I was going through a tough time. Shit doesn't just happen and you move on. Sometimes you just act like an asshole and then can't be mature enough to clean up your own mess. It sucks.

And what's even scarier is that I think maybe that is our ending to our story. There isn't a castle, a white horse or a fucking sunset. All that's left is the broken glass that smashed when I threw a rock through the window to my dream house.

Posted by Sam at 12:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The cold, the wind and the rain keep us all inside left to entertain ourselves. There's no point in getting all dressed up to go out when you think about freezing your legs while waiting on the bus or taxi and having the wind toss your hair around before you even make it to the bar or club.

So we stay inside, drink inside, watch dvds inside and only leave to get bread, milk, fags and more alcohol.

Mel left back for the states this past Saturday and I could tell that she was ready to head back over the pond and rejoin everybody else who lives in a reality that I have completely forgotten about. A steady job? Huh? I wonder what that is. Bills that I have to pay every month? Can't remember what that's like.

She said she had fun and a really good time, but that she couldn't keep up with it all anymore. I do think it was quite the shock to her system as it was to mine, but I think it was a lot easier for her since I was here and all of my flatmates were really good to her. By the end of her stay she felt just like one of the girls and was already picking up on how things run around here. She knew that we had to catch the 85 to get into Kingston and how even if you don't drink or live the party life when you're in the city, life here costs an arm and a leg. She tells the time differently (i.e. half four or quarter past five, instead of four thirty or five fifteen), eats toast with most of her meals now and has learned about nutella and how it is a gift from Heaven.

We had a good time and when I left her at the airport, I knew she was going back home with new stories to tell everybody. I got a little misty-eyed after I watched her pass through the security gates at Heathrow, but I knew she would be back. Her and Momma both would be back.

Since then, I've been sat at home working on some of my coursework that's due this week and having some good 'ole bonding time with most of my flatmates. We're celebrating at the end of this week after everybody has finished handing in their work and taking their exams. It will be three non-stop days of drinking and properly living it up. We can't sit at home any longer. We've been home bodies for way too long. All we want to do is put on some make-up and dance to the cheesy pop music that we know and love.

But we also know that we need to pace ourselves this semester and calm down a lot. One evening when Fiona, Carlene and myself stayed up until half seven in the morning, sober and talking about every subject under the sun, we all discussed how we need to chill the fuck out and not make the same mistakes we did last semester. It was funny to hear how we're all similar in the fact that we all had full time jobs before we came to uni and how we've all mentally turned back to how we were when we were sixteen. The uni life does consume you and now that we're aware of it, hopefully we'll be a little better in recognizing it and not letting every little problem stop the whole world. I don't want to be the stupid, selfish, drama queen that I was last term. That's not who I am and not who I want to be. I do have a rational side to myself and I shouldn't let petty stuff distract me from the rest of my life.

The subject of who we were going to live with next year came up as well. We won't be on campus anymore and will no longer have somebody come in every day to clean our kitchen or bathrooms. Things are definitely going to change. Nobody knows if it'll be for better or worse. All I know is that I want to stay close to the campus so I can still go to the bar and the bop without having to worry about transportation back home.

Sure, it's odd to think about the future, both near and far, but as much as I want to be more responsible and be that person I was back home, the other half of me simply can't be bothered and I'd be more than satisfied to sit around here, eat my mix of sweets that I buy from Woolworths and remain in our little uni bubble for just a little while longer. Life is so much warmer inside.

Posted by Sam at 06:16 PM | Permalink

Everybody has left to go home and the only two people left in the flat are Mel and myself. Mel's an early bird so she goes to bed before the sun sets and since my body clock is still set on "party mode" I normally don't fall asleep until half three in the morning. It's a strange schedule to be on.

Mel stays in Helen's room because Helen was kind enough to loan us her card key whilst Mel is staying here in London. She didn't like the idea of sleeping on the floor for three and a half weeks, nor did she want to share a tiny twin sized bed with me either, so this was the only thing I could think of short of her bringing an air mattress over with her.

Things are quiet at the moment. I just got finished folding three loads of laundry. There were six loads in total and I haven't done any laundry for about a month. That just goes to show how many clothes I own and how lazy I've become. I had to get down to my really skanky pairs of underwear before I even started to question where all of my favorite shirts were, or how come I was running low on socks. In celebration of this big laundry day, I've decided to let my Ben & Jerry's ice cream thaw out a little and eat it before I go to sleep. Happy Christmas Eve to me.

**

It was the second day that Mel was here when we had our first argument. I knew it wouldn't take long before we got irritated with each other and decided to have a massive row.

Mel: "It's not right, Sammi! We shouldn't be here by ourselves for Christmas. We should be back home. I don't like it here."

Me: "Oh really? You don't like it here? You haven't even given it a proper chance! All you've been doing is sitting in the corner with your arms crossed and a judgemental puss on your face. Why don't you try and make a little effort, huh? Why do we have to do the same shit every single goddamned year? And for fuck's sake if you don't want to be here, then fucking pack your shit now and go back home. I don't need this shit!"

Mel: "How come you didn't want to come home? Why can't we be at home?"

I didn't know why I didn't want to go home. Part of me always wants to be back home. I miss the familiarity of everything and feeling stable and secure. But the truth was, I didn't want to leave London even more. As much as I miss my family, the roads I used to drive, and lord, all of the food, I would have missed London way too much. I'm not ready to leave it just yet, even if it would be for a month and a half and I'd know that I was coming back, I didn't want to leave. I was even a little scared that Momma wouldn't let me come back. She was always saying how she didn't like me being over here and how she thinks that I'm screwing it all up. Being in the flat alone and spending Christmas with the city was a lot more appealing than going back home where I knew everything would quickly go back to how they were before I left and I'd feel stranded all over again.

After we had our fall out, we quickly patched things up and moved on like normal. That's just how our relationship is and it was kind of nice to have an argument with Mel face to face. We hadn't had one in ages so it really was like I was back home anyway. She made a little more effort to get to know everyone and include herself, and I scaled back on my drinking so I wasn't an absolute pisshead every single night. It was a nice compromise.

Its been about a week and a half since shes been here and I must say that it has been really nice. I was so excited to take her everywhere I go and everywhere I've been. I've introduced her to practically everyone I've ever come in contact with here and now it seems like she's just one of the girls who has been living in our flat all the time. We've been to loads of different shops, poked around in Central for a bit and basically just living the uni life that I've been living since I arrived.

It was sad once everyone started leaving for back home though. Trish was first to go back to the states. Helen was the first to leave out of our flat, then Lauren, Cat, Alex and Fiona. Santos followed close behind with Zoe and Carlene being the last of the lot. I never like it when people leave. It's really sad to think of everybody separated and not under the same roof. It's also really strange to think about the fact that we've only been living together for about four months now and how quickly all of these people have turned into family. The holidays seem like a preview for when our first year ends and everyone breaks up for the summer months. We'll all be moving out of halls to go back home and then what? What happens after that? I can't even begin to think about not seeing everyone for more than a couple of weeks. I can't stand being away from them so much that Mel and I are visiting some of my flatmates after Christmas and hanging out with them at their houses for no other reason than just to see them and not be apart anymore.

In some ways though, I'm glad to be getting a break from everyone as well. We've all been joined at the hips for so long that it was becoming too exhausting for me to keep up. It's good to have some space, clear the mind and let the body properly recover from all of the abuse I've been putting it through. It's really nice to chill out with Mel in front of the television, watching a dvd just like we would back at home. It's also really nice to do some chores for a change and get all of my washing done.

We don't have any plans for New Years, but I'm sure we'll go out and do something. I talk to Momma these days as if we had never had our fall out and I'm glad that I'm able to talk to her again. Life simply isn't the same without her advice and pep talks. She keeps me updated with all of the drama at work and it's funny to hear about people back home that I used to work with, still up to their same games. Things will never change it seems, yet every day something new happens.

2006 is quickly coming to an end, and can I just say, thank you lord. It has been a whirlwind for sure and I can't wait to kick off 2007. I have my new year's resolutions (which I'm keeping to myself, thank you very much), I've got a plan in the works to pull my shit together and I feel confident enough that I'll actually do something positive for a change instead of fucking things up to the nth degree. This break is just what I need to get ready to tackle a brand new year.

Posted by Sam at 04:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

It's quarter past twelve in the morning and I'm awake. Wide awake. No pro plus is in my system, but my brain won't shut off. It just continues to tick, tick, tick and go round, round, round.

There are so many things going on.

The end of the year is always a busy time for me with the holidays demanding my attention, decorating the house and trying to fit in time when I can sit in front of the TV with a big bowl of cookie dough ice-cream watching my favorite Christmas programs.

This year, however, is slightly different since I'm celebrating in a different country, with different people and no television anywhere in sight. The good news is that Mel is arriving on Tuesday and we'll be able to do all of our regular American family traditions that we do every year.

I didn't realize that so much time had passed by. I knew she was coming but when it finally clicked that it was just next week I began to freak out when it hit me that she was really coming here. She was going to be in my room, hanging out with my friends, seeing the same things that I see all the time, going to the same places that I go to all the time. How strange is that?

So I stood in my tiny room and completely rearranged it and went OCD on its ass. I now have loads more space and feel a lot better about having company in my room.

These days I'm doing pretty good. I still live one day to the next and try not to go completely mental about not having a plan carved out in cement, but I laugh and I smile and I don't sit around feeling absolutely shit about everything all the time. I stay sober for the most part and have learned that while it does suck not always having cocaine or weed on me at all times, life will continue if I don't have it attached to my hip. Alcohol on the other hand is still necessary for me when I go out and if I don't have my fags...well, lord help us all.

I've been keeping up with my coursework for the most part and can see the light at the end of the tunnel. This semester is almost finished and it all flew by me so quickly in a blur. I had my high points and my low points, but for the most part I think I can honestly say that I smiled throughout the entire thing. When things were bad, they were certainly bad, but I'm doing better and I feel like things should start getting better here soon.

The transition and shock of leaving my very organized life was a definite hard blow to my system. I was tossed into this new life where I didn't understand anything and found myself face down on the ground with dirt in my mouth and blood on my knees. There wasn't a way for me to cope, and to deal with all of the pain I was feeling in one big gulp might have killed me. I left Coporate America to be a London student and the two roles are complete opposites. I had to adjust to a completely new system and I was trying to be both people at the same time. The thing is though, that I knew all along but just couldn't figure out how to do it, was I needed to mesh both people into one. I can go out and have my fun, but I still need to keep my shit together. Otherwise, you'll end up in the position I'm in right now; no money and occasionally will have a flashback to my crazy party nights that I want to relive.

The university bubble is so small and it's so easy to get caught up in everything, but eventually over time, you start to see that there is a lot more out there that lies beyond the walls of the university. As hard as it is for me, I'm starting to slow down and catch my breath. I remember that things weren't so bad when I lead my so called "boring life" and was able to sit around with no plans other than watching shit TV and watching the rain outside. I miss those days when I could lounge around in my jammies with no make-up and not a soul around in the house. If I wanted to eat Doritos for breakfast, I could and if I felt like running down to Burger King in my slippers, that wasn't a problem. I'd appreciate some time alone for a change without everyone in the kitchen, playing their music loud and running up and down in the corridor. I just can't be pleased either way it seems.

And so the days continue and I make it through yet again.

Posted by Sam at 01:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

It's a day that I spend alone. One where I need to be alone. Every day for the past two months has been spent getting lost with everyone else, being lost inside of everyone else. I remember that I used to have an identity and a personality. These days I have no energy and even lying in bed is too painful.

I gaze out of my window at the same buildings and the same trees that have been here ever since I arrived and were here before I arrived. Yet everytime I look outside there's a different scene. The sky is different and there are different people; a girl who runs into the library for shelter from the rain. A guy who wraps a scarf around a girl and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

Or I see people that I do know, that I already have a small history with and wish that they could hear me screaming despite me being so far away from them.

A person that I don't recognize sees me staring out my window and waves up at me. I'm not sure if they know who I am or if they're even waving to me so I don't do anything back, other than continue to stare. They keep on waving even as they get in their car and begin to drive so I decide to humor them and wave back. They seem satisfied and stop waving up at me. I then wonder who they were.

**

Life isn't complicated or hard, but at the same time it is. Everything seems so much simpler at night when you're not yourself and you can pretend to be somebody else. You dress in your fanciest clothes, do up your make-up to perfection, sprtiz on your best smelling perfume, double check your pocketbook to make sure that you have everything that you'll need for the evening and the moment you step one foot onto the pavement, it has all began. You're walking arm-in-arm with your best girlfriends and in the air you can smell all of the night's possibilities. Who are you going to meet? What are you going to talk about? What are you going to do? Obviously there will be dancing. There's always dancing. And drinking. People buy you drinks because you're cute, funny and American.

"One more shot for the American!" they'll shout and you'll drink whatever it is that they give you because it's free and rude to turn down drinks from strangers with beautiful accents.

This is all that you wanted. You wanted the carefree life far, far away from everything that you know and recognize. You were desperate back home for some shaking up, for some craziness, for some fun. All you think about when you think about life back home are the restrictions and all of the rules. There were so many rules to follow and so many people it felt like they were tying you down. Bless them, you know they had the best intentions, but you just wanted to get away. And now that you are gone, you're scared that you may never want to go back.

Despite having the glorious night life addiction, you've also picked up a slight drug habbit. It's one thing to be an alcoholic, but getting stoned every other night and being hyped up on cocaine on the opposite nights isn't so glamorous. It's nasty and more importantly, expensive. The coke gives you energy when you're practically dead and your body is already ice cold and the weed chills you out and calms your nerves from the night before. You get lost in the fog and the haze of the smoke, and legends are brought back from the dead and make sweet, sweet love to you through their music. There are no problems and there never were any problems. You don't have any thoughts and as everyone is rushing all around you, you sit in the corner, propped up against a wall with your fag in one hand and watch life in slow motion.

**

Daylight is streaming through my window and I can hear the rain tap on the glass. I wake up, go to the bathroom and wish that I had washed my face and brushed my teeth the night before. I feel and look like roadkill. After I slowly take a shower and try to put myself together, I leave my room and walk into the kitchen to make my morning toast and tea. I see my flatmates and they smile strangely at me but say nothing. Their smile says it all. It says, "I saw you last night. I know what you did. I know what you said." I strain my face and form something that I think resembles a smile. Sometimes I'll sit in the kitchen and pretend to be social, but other times I just come back in my room where it's quiet. I may want to be alone, but I leave the door latched in case anybody wants to come in and talk. Gossip is more like it.

I lay with my head at the foot of the bed and watch as the clouds are pulled from one side of my window to the other. I watch the colors change in the sky. It goes from grey, to blue, to pink, to purple and finally to deep, dark blue. Sunset is my favorite time and the only time when I care to get up and look at the sky completely. I can see the pink clouds being reflected in the puddles in the grass from all of the rain. I watch as the planes disappear and think about when I was on a plane to come over here. It was quite the day, and already seems like years ago. I was walking in the unknown and wasn't prepared for any of this. All of the research I did, all of the paperwork I filled out, all of endless nights I stayed up thinking about that day did nothing to prepare me for all of this.

Eventually the light fades and the night has returned. I've done nothing other than lay on my bed in the same position all day, alone. I don't plan on going out, I never plan on it. Until my cell phone rings and the voice on the other end is telling me about the new theme for the evening at the bop or at the bar. I refuse, half-heartedly and part of me really doesn't want to go out. Part of me just wants to stay in, recover from the other nights out and be lazy. But the other part doesn't want to be left out. I don't want to be the one who's listening to the story, rather I want to be the one telling it. I want to be the one who laughs, who dances, who cries, who runs, who screams, who drinks, who argues, who plays, who does it all. I want it to be me.

So I force myself out of bed, take some more pro plus and that's when I fall back into the shadows and you come out into the light.

Posted by Sam at 04:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

It's when you wake up the next morning with your eyelids stuck together from the two hours of crying and the mascara holding your lashes together that you wonder if this is rock bottom yet. I mean, things really can't get any worse, can they? You've alienated yourself from your friends and family back home, you don't have any money, you quit your job after two shifts, you've become addicted to pro plus and taking two every morning is the only way that you can get out of bed. You've drank, smoked, snorted and danced all of your money away. The security guards no longer ask you for your student ID because you're a regular at the bar and people only know you as the girl who likes to dance. You forget that you even have lectures, you've lost track of all of the homework you have to do and you cry over boys who won't remember your face let alone your name the next morning.

But you press on. You don't stop going out, your immune system is on the verge of completely failing and you can't get rid of the fucking cough that has been clinging to your chest for two months, but it's okay. One more fag, one more line, one more drink, one more spliff, one more song. You shove the guilt aside and don't even think about admiting to anyone how badly you've fucked up because the last thing you want to hear is "I told you so" or listen to four hour lectures about how you should have budgeted better, planned better, prepared better, done everything better. Which is why you never ask for help. You don't let yourself think about how you've let everyone down, mostly yourself.

Because tomorrow is a new day and you're so far in denial about the entire situation that you think no matter how deep the hole is, you can still climb out of it.

Posted by Sam at 02:28 PM | Permalink

Ten days since my last blog post? It has been FAR TOO LONG.

Honestly, I have no sense of time here. Days come, they go, they come again...I never know if it's a Thursday or a Monday. Who cares? Is it really that important to know what day it is? And then I realize that it has been ten days since I've posted on my blog and I realize that, yes, it is THAT IMPORTANT.

The good news is that I got a job. Hip, hip, HORRAY! Hip, hip, HORRAY!

(Yes, I have also noticed that there are a lot of capital words in this post and I'm not even halfway through. Please bear with me.)

I'm working at this old man's pub called Wetherspoons. That's right, ladies and gentleman, I'm a barmaid. How cool is that? I haven't started work yet, since I was just hired this Friday, but my first shift is on Thursday and I'm really excited. Before you know it I'll be able to pour a pint with one hand tied behind my back. The cool thing is that I won't be working alone. Three of my flatmates will be working there as well; Santos, Carlene and Zoe. We'll all get sick and tired of seeing each other or it'll be tons of fun. I'm betting my money on tons of fun.

Unfortunately my reading week was a waste of time to do any decent writing. I don't know why I'm raging against the machine and finding it so difficult to write one decent thing on a piece of paper, but it's taking a lot of effort to sit me down and do some proper work. I feel like a three-year-old sometimes who refuses to eat their vegetables.

"No! I don't want to write! I want candy!!!"

Honestly, you would think that I'd be so excited about having all of this time to write beautiful words that move people to their inner core, but I'm finding it more fun to actually experience life at the moment instead of writing it all down. There are just so many things to see and do, that when I finally do find the time to write, I'm so exhausted and just want to sleep. Today I did do a little bit of writing and managed to squeeze out three teeny tiny paragraphs from my fingers. I prefer to let the words come naturally and found that forcing myself to try and be creative wasn't the way to go about things.

I'm going to take a break from London for a little bit though. At least for a couple of days. I can't go out drinking anymore. I can't be bothered to muster up the energy to come up with one more outfit, to paste my make-up on for one more night, to spend one more pound. I just can't. Everybody thinks that I've become depressed but that's not the case. I just need some alone time. Some sober, alone time that doesn't require me to be sprawled out on the floor reaching for my door handle, but can't because I'm too intoxicated. Sure, it was a good night, but I woke up the next day wishing that I could push all of my insides back inside of my body.

I need to step away from everybody's drama. There is so much drama floating around here that it's like the flu. You can't help but catch it. I've been caught up in everybody else's drama that I've lost track of my own. Not that I have that much drama going on at the moment. I think that it's just time I take care of myself for a bit and worry more about me instead of all of my flatmates. Every now and then it's good to say, "fuck it, you figure it out." I have to remember why I came here in the first place, re-examine my situation and not forget that I did have a reason to be here, and it's not to analyze why so-and-so doesn't want to talk to so-and-so.

The time has come for me to grow up a little and remember the old Sam who lived back in Virginia, who was chained behind her desk and who wanted so badly to live in London. Not stumble around in London and shout incoherent phrases to random strangers. I need to take time to write to my mother, tell her how much I love and miss her, and how badly I wished she was coming over with Mel in December. I need to send off the millions of postcards that I've written for people back home, just haven't sent off yet. I need to read all of the blogs that I haven't visited for the past couple of weeks. I need to get a haircut. I need to think about my finances. I need to be the writer I was back home.

And I need to not neglect my blog anymore.

Posted by Sam at 11:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Believe it or not, but I do think that I eat a lot more here in London than I ever ate back home. I'm not sure why, but I'm very aware of my eating habits here and just food in general.

When I first arrived it was scary not knowing where my next meal was going to come from. The university did provide our first couple of meals since we obviously didn't have any food with us or know of any local places to go and buy food. It really did suck not having any food in the kitchen as well just to have and poke through if I ever got a craving for something and wanted a snack.

These days, however, my cupboard is fully stocked, as is the fridge and freezer. I've discovered that there isn't any meal that you can't eat toast with. I go through a loaf of bread within approximately four days. I've also learned that Super Noodles are just like ramen and I'm eating like a proper college student. Tea is required at all meals and if you make a cup of tea, you have to ask everyone who's in the kitchen if they'd like one as well. It's bad manners not to do so in our kitchen. Fiona and I are the primary tea makers though since everyone has voted and decided that we make the best tea. Being American, I take that as a huge compliment.

The one thing that I have a love/hate relationship with is grocery shopping. It's always fun going to Asda on my lonesome to do a bit of food shopping, roaming up and down each aisle whilst listening to Mini. I still like looking at all of the different brands of food and just how everything comes in smaller portions over here. I always take my time and eventually my cart will be over halfway full and I'll think to myself, "ah, yes. Another successful shopping trip. I won't need to go food shopping for quite a while now." And then I'll remember that I don't have a car. I can't just chuck everything into the trunk and drive it home. I have to take the bus. Where there's limited space. Where I'll look like a dork struggling with all of the heavy items.

Then I'll back track all of my steps and decide whether or not I really need the five cans of Hoops (spaghetti O's).

I don't. I compromise with myself and put three of them back.

Once I'm finished filtering through everything that Asda have to offer, I go to the checkout line and remember that I not only have to carry all of this shit back by myself, but I also have to bag everything.

That's right. We don't have bag boys here in England. People are meant to do it themselves. Honestly!

Since I'm OCD about my food, I take ages and make sure that the refrigerator items are put together, and that the bread isn't with anything that will smush it completely flat. I also try and distribute bag weight evenly so that one bag isn't heavier than another. I can tell that everybody who's in line behind me are regretting their decision to stand behind the small American who takes seven years to bag twenty items. I feel bad, really, I do, but at the same time I don't feel like searching through all of the bags once I get home for all of the freezer items, which is what I always put away first.

I've taken the bus back a couple of times after a big food shopping trip, but then I wised up and learned that it only costs a fiver for me to call the taxi company and have them meet me at Asda. Lauren is a big fan of taxis and has taught me that it's much better to spend the extra money getting a cab where you can sit comfortably by yourself instead of struggling to get on the bus and have everyone look at you and feel sorry for you. Not only that, but the cab drivers usually help you load all of your bags into the boot of the car and take them out for you right at the bottom of the stairs.

Yes, it is totally worth it.

I don't waste as much food as I used to back home and make sure if I buy something, I'll eat it. There's no point in buying something to sit in the cupboard for weeks collecting dust. It's remarkable, but I've never been so conscious about food. These days it's one of my regular thoughts and so far I think I've been doing a really good job keeping up with it all. I cook quite a bit as well and have learned that I'm not too terrible at making some things.

It was definitely unusual adjusting to the food changes but for the most part I think I'm doing alright. I may not have everything like back home and eat properly every single night, but I'm also not a starving artist. Whenever I get a moment or I'm even slightly bored, I know I can go into the kitchen and make Hoops on toast, Super Noodles on toast or nutella and toast.

Posted by Sam at 05:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I just woke up from the Mother Of All Sleeps. Fourteen hours I laid still in my bed and worried about nothing other than sleep, sleep and more sleep. It was great and completely necessary.

For the past couple of weeks I've been getting by on four or five hours of sleep. If I'm lucky I'll get a full eight hours here and there, but there just hasn't been a steady pattern of any kind for my poor body who everyday yells at me continuously for being so abusive. I have cut down on going out and I'm nowhere near as sad and far in a funk as I was before. I'm actually being productive and taking the proper steps to get my things sorted. It is a good feeling.

Last week I updated my CV (resume) and headed into Putney to find a job. I filled out a couple of applications and dropped my CV off in some shops that I wouldn't mind working in. Putney is the most ideal place to get a job since it's only ten minutes up the road by bus, and I'd prefer not going so far out to work. If it was up to me I'd work at HMV but I also left an application in The Body Shop and of course Boots, and some other stores that wouldn't suck if I worked there. So far I haven't heard anything but I'm hopeful and there's still Barnes and Hammersmith that I haven't scouted yet. I plan on going next week since it's the Creative Writing Reading Week. Apparently that's supposed to be time for us to be creative, write, read and hook up with our editing groups. I'm using it to open my bank account and continue to find a job. A lot of work should get accomplished as well, but mostly it'll be me kicking my job searching into high gear.

It was only a few days ago when I was downstairs with Zoe and Fiona smoking I realized that it was fall. The leaves have been changing all around me right before my eyes, the days are becoming colder and colder, and yet I've been absolutely oblivious to all of the signs that Mother Nature has been shoving in front of my face. I've been in denial, yet again, about the change in the seasons. I don't want it to get cold. Well, I do, because I love fall, but at the same time it's really sad. It makes me want to go back home and snuggle on the couch with Momma, drinking a cup of hot tea, talking about every subject under the sun for hours on end like we usually do around this time of year. I want to walk around in my flannel jammies and lay in bed with Mel while we watch our regular TV shows.

I became homesick. I still am. I just want to go back for a day. Okay, maybe a week. Maybe two. I just want to visit though. Then I'd want to come back here and finish what I started.

The really sad thing is that I'm not going back home for Christmas. Not at all. Instead I'll be staying here at university. No worries, I won't be completely alone. Mel is coming to visit me from the 16th of December until the 29th. Momma and I still aren't speaking and even though Mel says that she isn't mad at me anymore, things still aren't okay with us. Things were never sorted. Things are very much not okay.

Still, I'm excited about Mel coming to visit me. I can't wait to show her around university, introduce her to my flatmates, take her into central London, Hammersmith, Putney, Kingston and Barnes. There are so many places I need to take her and so many things I need to show her. We'll do all of the tourist things and I know she's excited about the shopping in London. I wish Momma was coming with her, but it won't happen since she'll still be taking her college classes and if she misses two, she fails. Instead Mel assured me that she'll come in March when she has to come to England anyway for some business stuff. How nice...

Even with the seasons changing and the strong feelings of homesickness, the girls have been keeping me occupied and happy so I'm not always in my room sulking, screaming out how much I want to eat American food and curl under my covers in my bedroom. We're already making plans for our Thanksgiving dinner, because goddammit just because we're in England doesn't mean we can't have a proper Thanksgiving meal. Trish and I will be getting everything prepared since we're the two yanks in our group, and everybody else will be doing the dishes even though they don't know it yet.

I've also been invited to go to Spain, Ireland and north Africa by Lauren and Zoe. Lauren and I have become quite close and she's always talking about how I need to go home with her. It's so cheap to travel around here as well. At least a lot cheaper than if I was flying all the way from America. So I do believe in the next couple of weeks I'll be writing about how nice the weather is in Spain. I've also told all of the girls that they're more than welcome to come back to America with me. I told them it wouldn't be anywhere near as fun as here, but they still want to visit. Lauren is excited about going to North Carolina where I promised her she could find a real cowboy. Of course her chances of finding one are a lot greater if we went to Texas, so Carlene said she could visit her home in Texas if things don't work out in North Carolina.

Everything just keeps flying by me at record high speed. I keep looking around but there isn't anything for me to grab a hold of just so I can breathe for a moment, and wrap my brain around everything that is going on. I still half expect to wake up one morning and find myself back in Virginia with everyone wondering why I'm so late for work and thinking that that was the wildest dream I've ever had. But every morning (or afternoon, depending on my night beforehand), I wake up and I'm still here.

Posted by Sam at 11:01 AM | Permalink

The weekends are pretty much dead on campus. A lot people tend to go back for a couple of days, get a nice Sunday dinner in their bellies and reaquaint themselves with their bedrooms.

Lucky bastards.

I've been forcing myself to stay at university for the past couple of weekends instead of darting off into central London for three days. While it is always nice staying with Ash and forgetting that I am a college student, I needed to be properly bored in my room, have some alone time and maybe even try to buckle down and get some decent writing accomplished.

I learned that it's a lot harder than one might think.

My weekend routine generally starts around half ten when I wake up, turn on Bridget, go in the kitchen to make some toast and tea, and then come back in my room and rate all of my new albums in iTunes. Sometime around noon I'll decide to take a shower, get ready and then see who's out in the kitchen so I can have somebody to talk to. If nobody's out there, then I think about what chores I have to do all the time and never go away (i.e. washing dishes, tidying my room, laundry, grocery shopping) and hope that somebody comes out of their room so that we can sit down and have a conversation about anything.

The afternoons are generally a lot nicer since everybody is finally awake and we all hang out in the kitchen together. This past weekend was particularly nice since we all went into Putney to do some costume shopping for a party that is going on later this evening (I'm going as Tinkerbell; I know, adorable) and Sunday was a nice chill out day, and when everybody came back to university from their weekend away. Fiona was so cute when she said that our little family was back together; Santos came back home, so did Alex, Carlene and Helen. It does feel better once all of us are back under the same roof.

It's strange how much of an extended family we have here at university though. We've all bonded so closely, so quickly. There have already been some minor quarrels amongst us all, but things eventually get sorted and we all move on. We have so many other adopted members from different floors in our house or different houses all together. Beth and Lauren don't even live with us but they're over at our place all the time. Santos and Trish live on the second floor, and Alex lives on the ground floor but they wander up in our kitchen all the time just to see how things are going. It's the weirdest living situation I've ever been in but strangely comforting.

Last night as we waited for everyone to make it through the congested motorways, we all sat in the kitchen, listened to music, made tons of food mostly containing nutella, the world's greatest invention ever, straightened each other's hair, flipped through magazines, tried on our Halloween costumes, danced, drank tea, smoked fags and talked, talked, talked, talked non-stop. It was a proper, impromptu jammy party. If every weekend was like that, maybe I wouldn't hate the weekends so much.

Unfortunately we can't always sit around in our jammies and talk about which celebrity we think is fit or why so-and-so wore that dress to a particular award ceremony. Sometimes we have to sleep, or in my case, do some writing which still has yet to occur. It'll come soon though. I can feel it out over in the horizon. Until then I'll just keep listening to my music and braiding my flatmate's hair.

Posted by Sam at 11:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

It's the same thing every night. The girls and I all decide who's going out and then set a time when we plan on going out.

Lauren: "We should really try and go out around nine o'clock. We're always leaving at half nine or ten and can only stay at the bar for an hour before it closes. Then we come back here and we're wide awake because we've only been out for an hour."

Group: "True. Shall we shoot for half eight then?"

We all agree for half eight and continue to eat our dinner, read the magazines that are sprawled out all over our kitchen and talk about what we're going to wear if it's a themed night.

Since we're all girls, half nine will roll around and only half of us will be ready to go out. We keep our doors latched so that they don't automatically shut and lock making it easier for all of us to wander in and out of each other's room, borrowing make-up, changing shirts, using curling irons, asking opinions on what shoes go better with what outfit and borrowing accessories.

It is in some ways, my favorite part of the night before we even step foot outside.

While I've been picking up on the lingo, I've also been adopting some of the fashion trends. I now own one pair of black leggings with the feet cut out and have grown very fond of the three pair of flat shoes that I can wear with almost everything. Leah wasn't lying either when she said that everybody had big, trendy belts. They're everywhere. I've yet to find a trendy belt that is small enough for me though. All of the ones I've seen so far are way too big for my teeny waist. I look off balance somehow. I've got a London Dress that I bought from my new favorite store, Jane Norman and plan on to start tying scarves in my hair and deciding on which hoop earrings are trendy or chavy. It's awesome, really.

After everybody is satisfied with how they look, we all squeeze into the elevator and make the small walk down to our local student bar, the Belfry. Anybody who's anybody will be found at the Belfry. We show the security guards our student I.D and head straight for the bar without looking around for one second to see if we know anybody. We all look cute, trendy and very important considering we arrived extra fashionably late. Once we've got our drink(s) in hand, we form a small semi-circle, light our fags and then look around to see if we notice somebody. That is if they don't come up to us first.

Lauren and I usually head over to the jukebox first to pick some music and then meet up with the rest of the group when they've claimed a table. I try to pick different songs, but it's so hard not to choose Razorlights' In The Morning, The Kooks She Moves In Her Own Way, or Jamie T's Sheila. Those are already the songs I associate with the bar whenever I hear them and they're fabulous to dance to.

By this time Carlene has already got a pool table to get a game going, some people are on their second or third drink and I'm feeling happy just to be away from my room. The room that has filled up substantially ever since I first arrived. It's a little cozier now that I have everything that I really need from home and a couple of posters on my wall from a poster sale we had a few days ago. It's not looking as bare or feeling as empty, but I'm still getting used to being in there completely alone. I'm still getting used to it being my space, being my area where I'm meant to write. For so long it was always my desk at work or my room at home. Now I have a new space and it's still a little weird for me to think of it as mine.

The guys play Carlene at pool while Lauren scopes the place for all of the guys she fancies. She also scopes the place for their girlfriends to see if they've tagged along with the guys she would like to be on the arm of. Fiona and Zoe dance in the same place and make small conversations with people that they know from their classes. Santos is always mingling with everybody in the bar because he knows everybody. Helen is usually sitting with Beth or Alex talking and I'm standing, smoking, drinking, waiting for the songs I picked to play on the jukebox.

Normally if the people from ground floor Bede are in the bar we'll hang out with them as well. There's always some kind of drama happening between our two houses though. Some of them don't like us, some of them do, some of them could care less either way. We all gel though and because we're always staying at each other's houses, we've combined the names of Bede and Lee into one house known as Bleede.

The girls are catty and very dramatic over every little thing. Bede girls don't like the Lee girls because most of us have hooked up with Bede boys and they're very protective over their boys. Lee girls don't like Bede girls because we believe that they're all two-faced instigators who feed off of drama. They smile at us when we first see them in the bar but then occasionally we'll catch them glaring over at us as the night goes on. Rumors are easily started, words are twisted and before you know it there's a big To Do over absolutely nothing. It's really fun to watch unfold.

If I haven't had too many drinks, I usually stay on my best behavior. I'm perfectly happy and content to stand on the sidelines and sway to the music in my own little world. What drama? Why does there need to be drama? Can't we all just get along? I just want to dance.

So I do. The songs that Lauren and I picked from the jukebox will finally start playing and by this time I'm pissed just enough to dance around the pool tables while I'm surrounded by everybody else who is caught up in whatever new drama is going on for the night.

And that is that.

Posted by Sam at 12:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

It'll happen when you're out by yourself. You'll be walking around with your iPod blasting music into your ears, sitting on the tube while watching the blurry scenery or while you're sitting outside alone smoking a fag in your jammies late at night. You'll pause, look around and it'll feel like somebody has taken their fingertips and brushed them lightly up against your back.

You live in London.

You would think that the words would start to lose their luster after some time and that it would become the norm, but they still make your insides tingle and you smile a little smile to yourself.

It's fast, quiet little moments like that that still catch me off guard.

I haven't had that many days when I've been completely alone. It didn't take me long to learn that there's always something to do on any day of the week. The rest of the students seem to be like me in that they don't like being alone for long periods of time, whether because of sheer boredom or in my case, the fear of too many thoughts filling my brain up too fast and eventually causing my head to explode.

I've found a group of people who allow me to hang out with them and find me amusing when I'm both drunk and sober. We all have bonded rather quickly (it's amazing what kind of ice breaker alcohol can be) and have molded into one of the more dysfunctional families on campus. I like it and it's comforting to know that I have people I live with who I can talk to if ever I need a distraction from every day life.

But the city. It is the city that knows me inside and out. I've wrapped my arms and legs around all of London and I'm clinging on so tightly that I'm afraid I might lose my breath, begin to slip and slide all the way to the bottom. I'm beginning to learn my way around and feel a lot more comfortable going out and seeing what else is out there that I have yet to discover. There's always somebody new to see, new to talk to, new to learn about. I never get tired of walking and craning my head around to stare at every minute detail. At the same time though, I can just as easily walk straight forward and keep my eyes in front of me and not to talk to one soul, which is apparently the "London Way", and I do like to fit in with the locals.

I'm picking up the lingo, but not the accent. I'm sure everybody finds it amusing to hear me say some things in my funky (currently croaky because of my annoying cold) southern American accent. I regularly tell bus drivers "cheers" when they print off my ticket as I board the bus and shout "oy!" if somebody annoys me or I'm trying to get someone's attention. I know what a "chav" is and learned that most of them live in "council estates". You don't ever want to be around a "happy slapper", boys go for a "slash" when drinking too much and that the "gaff" I live in is quite posh.

In return, I've been sharing my own Americanisms with the locals around here. The girls have really nice taste in "pocketbooks", when we go out drinking they must "chug it like a frat boy" and that the bathrooms (also known as "bogs", "toilets" and "loos") are usually "hot as a bear". And of course I've been trying to get them all to start saying "y'all" because it is the best word in the entire world.

I've also learned though that while I am surrounded by millions of people there are times when I need to be alone even if I don't want to. It's way too easy to pick up the phone and call somebody just because. There's no reason to phone them other than to say, "hey, I'm bored. You want to come around and hang out?" There are times when I'll hear voices in the kitchen and must force myself to stay in my room and not engage in any kind of human contact whatsoever. Everybody has to sleep sometime. So when I find myself still awake at two o'clock in the morning listening to my music, instead of ringing someone up to keep myself going and to keep the moment going, I know that I need to turn off all the lights and let the city tuck me in, kiss me on the forehead and wish me sweet dreams. I'll still be here tomorrow, but at the moment all that is required of me is to shut my eyes and fall asleep on London's shoulder.

Posted by Sam at 11:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

You see it all the time when you're watching a movie. Whether it's a good movie or not is beside the point, but you're watching anyway and the main character just pisses you off. Everything they do is the complete opposite of what they should be doing. Or what they should be doing according to you and probably the majority of society. And you're screaming at the television screen, pulling at your hair and shouting, "why? What the fuck are you doing? Are you out of your goddamned mind!?" Sure, the main character can't hear you through the screen, but you feel loads better now that you've gotten the screaming out of your system.

I would be the main character that you'd be screaming at. I would be the one that you're frustrated with and want to have a good talking to because, dammit, can't I see how everything is so simple and all of these small worries that I have rushing through my mind at impressive speed is nothing but common sense? Life is only complicated if you make it that way.

And I suppose I have, in a way.

The money problems aren't one of my biggest worries, but it's steadily climbing its way up my list. Before I left home, the plan was that I would already have a part time job by now. I'd have a bank account and be working on the UK economy. I would not be using my savings back in America, which is what I've been doing ever since I landed because, well, sometimes shit happens and life doesn't go according to plan.

Family life isn't too pleasant these days either. Mel and I get along just like usual, but Momma has decided to fall off the deep end and disown me for some of the dumbest reasons I've ever heard of. She wasn't too pleased that I started talking to Ash again, nor was she happy about me not having a job and spending my US savings, but aside from those two things it seems like all she has been doing is making up stupid things to be pissed off at me and at the moment I really could care less to be dealing with all of her drama. I'm an ocean away now. I can't just be sent to my room without dinner or dessert and then be punished for a week. Things don't work like that anymore and I think she's having a lot more problems with losing control over me than she's willing to admit.

I've been ill for the past week or so, beating off the flu and trying to get healthy. It doesn't help that I've also been going out drinking for the past week or so because I've been trying to distract myself from all of the family problems that I don't feel like dealing with at the moment. I told myself that the alcohol would kill off all of the germs and bacteria that's crawling inside of me, but that doesn't appear to be working. Instead I've just gotten worse and now I've almost lost my voice. Tonight I'm staying in while the girls go to the bar for a talent show that's being put on and I'm drinking hot tea and catching up on homework that I've been neglecting. After I catch up on emails and blogs though because, fucking hell it's been forever since I've had some proper quiet, alone time.

There has been quite a lot of drama spreading all over campus as well. Oh, you know all of the stories. One girl hooked up with this one guy, blah, blah, blah...then there are the "more serious" ones where people were actually interested in each other, words were said, feelings got hurt and now each persons are stood at opposite ends of a room surrounded by friends who are constantly jabbering in their ears filling their heads up with even more bullshit.

I don't know why I'm so interested in it all, but I am. Perhaps it's because I've been around nothing but adults who live in upper-middle class neighborhoods for the past two and half years. I've forgotten how young people act these days, young English people as well. It's all so fascinating and every night there's a new story that needs to be told in the morning.

But now, right now, I'm taking a time out, I'm letting the world slow down, I'm giving myself a break. I've been on constant go for the past two weeks without a rest that my body is physically shutting down on me and sending a very clear message that I need to go easy on myself for a while if only so I can gain some more energy to head back out there and gather more information. That's what I feel like, the little American spy who stores all of the top secret information up in my brain and jots all of the notes down so that I can report back all of the dirty little secrets later on my blog. And there are quite a bit. Deciding what's actually interesting and what only interests me is the hard part.

I need for things to slow down somewhat though, if only for my own mental and physical health. I haven't got any time to write anything, to think about anything or try and keep my small room tidy. It's hard to find time to do my laundry and whenever I think that I have a second somebody is knocking on my door asking if I want to go to Such-And-Such place in Putney or Hammersmith, and I'm going to always say yes because I don't want to miss out on the social life in college and because it's fucking London. I want to see everything. I want to experience everything. I want to know everything. I want to live it all.

And so if it seems like I've fallen off the Internet Earth, disappeared from the Blogosphere, have no fear. I'm still out there, sorting it out, working through it and keeping a very good mini journal to refresh my memory when I'm ready to post it all on My Mumbling Thoughts.

Posted by Sam at 09:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Now when I look back on it, all of the signs were there. I can't believe I was so stupid to have missed them. The way they would get quiet as soon as I would walk into the kitchen. Their eyes would dart over to me quickly and everyone would remain quiet until I left. When Carlene stepped outside in the hallway to talk to me and sent Cat in my room to talk to Ash. When Ash told me that he had agreed to doing something on Saturday and was vague about all of the details. The way they sent Cat and me over to the bar an hour early because, hell, I'm already dressed up with no place to go and Cat needs a beer to make her feel better. The way that Carlene told me to be dressed and ready to go at 8pm sharp and no later, which is strange, because the girls are never ready until at least half nine. When Zoe told me that she was stressed out because something was wrong with Carlene's leg and she was lying on the kitchen floor in absolute agony.

I should have known that something was up. I should have felt like something was off. Maybe it was because I was a little tipsy or because I just can't tell who's lying with all of the different accents, but it wasn't until I walked up to the kitchen door, saw that the lights were turned off and saw a bit of light reflected off of little beady eyes that it finally clicked in my brain, I finally realized what was going on.

The sneaky little bitches had thrown me a surprise birthday party.

All of the girls were there, Ash, Chris and Aloke were there, people that I didn't know were there but who I vaguely remember having a drunken conversation with. I got a card and shirt with a picture of the girls and me from the first we all went out together in Hammersmith. I took a shot of...something...two seconds after I walked into the door, got a glass of wine to hold and nurse for most of the evening, mingled for a bit, blew out birthday candles, ate really good cake, drank some more, quickly made a steak dinner with potatoes and had a semi-debate about Americans, racism and why all Americans don't believe that we're superior to the rest of the world. We just have a lot of confidence. We walked down to the other college (I was in a skirt and seriously uncomfortable boots), I managed to get inside despite not having my stupid student ID on me. We danced, we drank, we smoked, we got shot with water guns and then Trish and I decided to walk back to the flat, drink the rest of my wine, eat the rest of my birthday cake, raid the kitchen fridge and have in depth, long, drunken American conversations, because goddammit, we hadn't had one of those conversations the entire time we were in England, we were homesick, and we needed to have one of those conversations.

It was an awesome 21st birthday. Americans everywhere should be proud that I celebrated in true American fashion by keeping with the tradition and getting absolutely wasted.

Posted by Sam at 11:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Write about something you observed or experienced as a child...

As little girls we would always play dress up and pretend to be other people. Life was always far more exciting in the small town of Minot, North Dakota when you were a princess or famous singer. And although we had the clothes and would style our hair, the most fun for my sister and I would be slathering on all of our mother's make-up on our faces and believing that it made us look like grown-ups. Nothing showed just how old we were were than piling on loads of eyeshadow and darkening our cheeks with blush and/or lipstick.

My sister, Mel, who is two years younger than me but a foot taller, would close the lid of the toilet and sit with her legs crossed as I grabbed the small bathroom stool and climbed on top. We had no concept of the "rules" that one should follow when applying make-up, only our instincts and what we thought to be "glamorous."

I would push Mel's bangs back that covered her forehead with my left hand and begin with what has always been the most fun for me: the eyelids. I'd pull out the only eyeshadow that contained any amount of glitter (my mom wasn't the girliest of women) and would generously apply it from the very edge of Mel's eyelashes all the way up to her eyebrows.

"Yes, that's perfect," I would say to her as I stood back and looked over my work of art as if she were a living easel, and then again I would push her bangs back and attack the other eye.

Time would go by, one hour would turn into two and we would both still be in the same place with Mel's face caked in who knows what. Obviously, we thought it all to be absolutely necessary and that even with lip gloss in her eyebrows or lipstick on her cheeks that she was the spitting image of all those famous models that were splashed across the television and magazines.

After quite a bit of time would go by, our mom would wonder what we were doing, why we were so quiet and what kind of trouble we must be getting in to. We would hear her calling for us as she was coming up the stairs and quickly tried to hide all evidence that we were playing in her things, her expensive make-up that she had told us to leave alone time and time again. It was all in vein though as she would fling open the bathroom door and caught us both red handed, frozen like two baby deer in the bright headlights with looks on our faces that tried to convey both innocence and like nothing was wrong at all. We weren't doing anything that we weren't supposed to. We always hung out in the bathroom for no apparent reason and would come out walking with clown faces. It was completely normal.

Of course there wasn't any need for an explanation, for it was quite literally all over our faces.

Our mom couldn't help but laugh at us. I mean, who can yell at two little kids that resemble pancakes with melted strawberries all over them? You can't. It's impossible. Instead she grabbed her camera and took a picture of us both with cheesy smiles that were so big our eyes were scrunched shut.

**

This would be draft one of many...the assignment is due next week and I'm not sure how long or short it's supposed to be, but I'm going to leave it for a bit, come back and see if I want to make any changes. Look at me being all student-y and stuff.

Posted by Sam at 07:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I've got it all. I have my dictionary, my pens and paper, my water bottles and laptop. I'm ready. I'm prepared. It's all good to go.

And now, how fucking ironic is it that the moment I finally get a chance to write, the doors and windows are flung open for me, people are begging me to write, write, write, they want me to, they expect me to and yet...I'm stuck.

I knew something like this would happen.

Sometimes, when I really sit down and think about it (which is quite often, actually), I do seriously believe that I was created backwards. Everything I do, everything I say and think is usually the exact opposite of how the majority of other people would do things.

Take for instance this entire journey I've been on to try and get to where I am now. In the beginning, a lot of people didn't think I would do it, that I could do it. I suppose for some that would have been the end for them.

"Oh, so-and-so says I can't do it and they're probably right. It's a crazy idea to try and go all the way over to London to live and get an education. Stupid idea."

Whereas for me, I took it as a challenge.

"Huh, you don't think I can do it? Watch me prove you wrong!"

The strange part is that towards the end once things really started happening and people were supporting me and cheering me on, I kind of lost motivation in myself. I became extremely self-conscious about it all now with everyone backing me and the pressure was so overwhelming I couldn't stand it. When I was fighting to prove people wrong though, it was a great power that I felt showing everybody how I could do it.

Now I'm here and the majority of the hard stuff is over and done with. I've proven my point, I made it and now I'm doing everything that I've been talking about for the past however long.

I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to do now. Well, go to my classes obviously, but then what? Write? I'm supposed to be writing. And I'm happy to do it, really, I am. I'm just a lot more aware of the fact that I'm not just writing for myself anymore. I'm not sitting in my cube, wasting time at work while being distracted by random jobs that are handed to me throughout the day. I'm writing for a grade, for a diploma, for my life.

For the first two weeks, I stayed busy trying to get the necessary mundane chores out of the way; I was fighting with FedEx for my boxes, registering all of my classes and learning my way around. It kept my head up in the clouds and there wasn't much thinking. All I really cared about was making sure that I got it finished and checked it off my list otherwise my boxes would have been sent back home or I would forever have to use the annoying payphone on our campus that steals my coins. Once I ticked it off my list, then I could rest a little easier at night knowing that that was one last thing for me to worry about.

However, my To Do List is still very much with me, but it has shrank in size, which frees up a lot more time for me. My classes have started and it's time for me to really buckle down and get to business. It's time for me to write.

I just haven't got the slightest clue how to structure it all, or more importantly, what to write about? Can't somebody just tell me what to write about? Give me something. Anything. I've had some ideas, but after a couple of hours I think that they're complete shit and chuck them into the trashcan.

I know I'm probably just over thinking things and I should just let it all come to me naturally like I did before, but the truth is I'm really worried that I'm doing something wrong. Something must be wrong or will go wrong because it has all been too perfect ever since I arrived. Things are starting to feel normal, I feel comfortable, I feel natural like I've been doing this all my life. And yet, the tiny uneasy feeling that is deep inside way down in my toes, is slowly gaining momentum and is paralyzing me from the feet upwards.

Hello, my name is Sam, and I cry, whine and complain whenever things go my way. It's lovely to meet you.

Posted by Sam at 07:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I've only lived with women since I was four-years-old. Of course it was Momma and Mel so I don't think that it counts that much since, you know, we're family and all. There was a brief time when I lived with my cousin, David and Uncle Ronnie, but it was only for a couple of months so I don't really think that that counts either.

Here at university, I live with seven other girls. Women. Young women. Ladies. Chicks. Whatever. We all have our own rooms and bathrooms, leaving only the kitchen and small dining area that we all have to share. Quite frankly, we live in the best house and everybody knows it. They all think that everybody in Lee House are posh snobs and I don't care if they do. While the rest of them take showers in co-ed bathrooms and have to padlock their cupboards in the kitchen, we can rest easy knowing that for the most part, our things are safely tucked away and we don't have to fear that everybody is going through our things. I like it.

However, even though I do live in the best house and I'm happy with my little bit of space that I can call my own, I'm still adjusting with living with seven girls. SEVEN. That's a lot of hormones floating around.

Zoe is the Irish one. She's sweet and bless her heart, but there are just some times when I think I won't ever understand what she's saying. I do believe that she would be considered one of the middle sisters in our little family.

Fiona is the other sweet middle sister. She's also one of the smokers.

Helen is the one that I get along with the most. We listen to the same kind of music, enjoy the same kind of movies and generally get along really well. Out of all the girls, I could see myself being best friends with her.

Alba is the mysterious Spanish girl that I've still yet to meet. I think I might have seen her, but it could have just been a random person. I think that I should probably start a pool to see how much longer we can go without properly meeting.

Carlene would be the "mother hen" out of us all. She's also a fellow American, being that she was born over there, but has lived here in England for the majority of her life. She also has family in Texas and it's nice to talk to somebody about shopping at Target and sharing the same food cravings for Chipotle. She's the other smoker of the house and we get along quite well.

Cat is the crazy one and the baby out of our little family. She can be annoying a lot and loves her drinks, but she's still part of our house and we all look out for her when we're out.

Guila is our floor rep who I thought was "Flora" when we first met. You would think that she would be our mother hen, but she mostly keeps to herself and likes to hang out with her friends who all live off campus.

And lastly, there's me, who everybody refers to as "our American" or "Krispy Cream". Everytime we go out to a bar or club and the girls are introducing me to whoever, they always say, "have you met our American? She lives in our house and comes from Virginia" which then leads onto other conversations about how I'm enjoying my stay in England, what I'm studying, why I chose to move over here, blah, blah, blah....they also call me Krispy Cream because I told them that that was my first food craving from home. I didn't want any of the doughnuts that they sell at grocery stores, but fresh, hot ones straight off of the conveyor belt. Up on our big message board, they nicknamed me Krispy Cream and I didn't have the heart to tell them that it was misspelled.

That would be the lot of us. For the most part, we all get along really well, but I can already begin to see some minor frustrations, mostly with Cat. Being the baby, she complains when she doesn't get her way, she's the messiest out of us all and can be a tad obnoxious when drunk. I already mentioned to Helen that it's like being on the Real World or something and how I'm waiting for a cameraman to jump out from around the corner. Will there be a lot of drama or are we all pretty chill for the most part? We all go out as a group, we meet people as a group, we dance as a group, we shop as a group. It's different and strange for me to get used to, but I like it at the same time. We're all very comfortable hanging out together in our jammies watching dvds or sitting around the table chatting while cooking dinner.

Of course we also do things on our own. Helen, in particular, likes to go out by herself a lot just to walk, think and clear her mind. I'm usually gone on the weekends in central London, and Alba has all of her Spanish friends that she prefers hanging out with.

But when we're together, when we go out, when we're all dressed up and dancing up a storm, I feel as though there should be cameras around. We are the girls of Lee House and have already cemented together as one of the oddest families I've ever been apart of.

Posted by Sam at 12:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I'm a writer, it's what I do. I can't yet say that it has taken over my life completely, but if I want to be halfway decent, then I'm hoping it happens soon. At least, according to my lecturer that's what I have to do.

Today was my very first college class and I have to say, it was quite liberating. I didn't feel anything special or see any kind of fireworks, but I did feel like this is where I'm supposed to be and saw a lot more fellow writers who are just young tadpoles like myself. We are marching together getting our writing groove on and by the end of this year hope to be at least a tiny bit better than we were when we first signed up.

Three hours I sat in a stuffy classroom and listened to a poet/painter/writer/chain smoker talk to a small group of young adults about what it is to be a writer. He gave us tips, some of which I already do, talked about what's expected from us in the class and made me think that even though he does come off at first like a drugged out mad man, that he's brilliant with his words and I'm going to learn a lot.

For the first hour, he said he would be doing some general lecturing and rambling, the second hour would be a writing exercise that he gives us and the final hour would be where we get into our "editing groups" and critique our peers. He wanted us to be truthful but not absolutely ruthless. We needed to quickly develop thick skins because it is a cruel world and if we can't accept when others say that our words are shit then we'll have a much harder time being a writer. It's inevitable that we're going to write absolute crap, we all think that, but we have to work our way around the "inner judge" who jabbers on and on about how horrible we are. And most importantly, writing is an art, it's a craft. Don't write nonsense bullshit just because you can, but do your best to represent everything you write to the best of your ability.

It was a hell of a lot more fun going to my Life Writing class instead of sitting in traffic and going to work where I would end up writing anyway. At least this time I'm surrounded by people who want to do the same thing as me, which is create good writing and send it out ino the world.

My first order of business is to write every single day. He told us that we have to write a little bit every day until we die. We can't be sick of writing or simply don't want to do it anymore. We must eat, breathe and live it every day. It's more important than our boyfriends/girlfriends, more important than our cats/dogs/gerbils, more important than going out and hanging with our friends, more important than our mental health. Sure, it sounds a little melodramatic, but to some degree, he's right.

So I'll be writing every day. I'm not sure if I'll be posting it all the time, but hopefully I'll be a lot more consistent then the past few days. The second thing I must do is start reading. A lot. I have to get into reading books. Sure, I read magazines and all of my regular blogs, but in order to write in the future, I need to know what's already happened in the past. Besides, you always hear about how the great writers of the world are big fans of reading. Sean (my lecturer; he hates being called by his last name) said that we should always be reading for two reasons: first is because how can you write books if you don't read them? And the second is so you can nick writing styles from others. He did make it clear that he wasn't proposing plagiarism, but simply how some people write certain things and if you can add your own different twist to it.

It is my longest class and luckily he smokes as well so I get two ten minute smoke breaks. I saw him when I went outside for my second break. He likes to walk around, check his cell phone every ten seconds and seems like he's clearing his mind of things. Or, I could be completely wrong and he's just trying to remember lyrics to a certain song that he can't get out of his head. Whatever the reason, part of me just wanted to run up to him and ask if we could talk about writing for the rest of the afternoon while we drank many cups of tea. I wanted to tell him that I was really excited about the class and how this is what I've been searching for ever since I discovered that Corporate America was not my bag of marbles.

But I didn't. I just stood in the same place, finished smoking my fag, walked upstairs and sat back in my chair until he returned. I never really was one for randomly bombarding people and being over enthusiastic.

Tomorrow is my second class for the week. Writing Contexts: Thinking like a writer. It sounds interesting and if it's anything like today's class, then I plan on spending many nights holed up somewhere, anywhere quiet and writing for hours until my eyes are completely red and swollen to the point where I can't even see what I'm writing and reach a new alternate state of consciousness. I don't see why everybody doesn't want to be a writer.

Posted by Sam at 04:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I never thought I'd be living in such a small space to where I'd have to actually prop my leg upon the sink in order to shave. Life does hand you new challenges every day and I suppose that was one of mine.

It has almost been a full week now that I've been here, and I have to say that I'm getting on a little better than the first few days. Man, the first two nights were hell and there was a moment when I wished that I wasn't even here. I cried. Twice. And then I got my first email from Momma and I cried again, really hard. I knew that being away from home was going to be hard, but I never really did realize that it was going to be so hard. I was completely out of my element and completely unknown, but it was a brand new start, and a new clean slate for me to start again.

Of course when you're crying in your room wishing that you never left just so you could watch the third season of Grey's Anatomy, you don't really see it that way. All you want is a hamburger from Five Guys, a milkshake and all of the familiar things surrounding you again.

I needed to get out.

When I think of London, the London that I know, the first thing I see is Earl's Court tube station, Nando's, Hyde Park, the London Eye and the Blackbird. I think of standing outside on Ash's balcony looking out over all of the houses, walking the streets leading up to his flat, and everything inside his flat. That's what I know and understand. That's what is familiar to me, it's what I recognize and associate London with. It's where I thought I was going to be.

It wasn't until I actually got here, though, I learned that London is massively huge and is broken down into six different zones. Central London, the one I fell in love with in the very beginning, is Zone 1, naturally. My university is in Zone 3, which is approximately a forty minute trip by bus and the tube. Really, it's not so bad, but I was still a little sad that I wasn't going to be in the very center near everything that I already know.

So since I was stressing out, feeling lost and confused, I emailed Ash and asked if he wanted to meet up sometime to get a drink and hang out. Afterall, he had sent me an email before I left Virginia letting me know that I could give him a shout after I made it in, if I ever needed anything or just wanted to see a familiar face.

I needed a familiar face. I needed to see somebody that I knew, who knew me and who I could just hang out with for a while. Everybody around me had a British accent and they kept on talking about London, but I didn't feel like I was in London and I didn't think I would until I went back. Until then, I just felt like I was in some kind of Pretend London and everything around me was fake.

Sunday afternoon, just as the rest of the British students were moving into halls, I gathered my things and weaved my through the traffic lights, train station, more traffic lights and tube station until I finally made it to Earl's Court, which is where we decided to meet. I paused when I stepped out onto the platform and looked around.

Ah, yes. It felt like coming back home.

You would think I would be a little more nervous about seeing him again. I mean, it has been a while and during all of those months a lot shit has happened. But I wasn't nervous. I wasn't scared or anxious or worried or anything. It may sound lame, but I was really happy, for lack of a better word. I was so, so happy.

We hugged, I talked about how relieved I was that I actually found my way and the first place we had to stop at was Nando's, because I was starving and hadn't eaten a proper meal since the International Dinner on Friday.

It was a strange feeling, because as we were walking down the streets that I have been thinking about ever since that day we left, I felt a part of myself being reunited with the other half that I had left behind almost two years ago. It was as if I had never left and that this is how it should have always been. I should have never left. I should have stayed here, with him, walking these streets, hearing these sounds, smelling these smells and doing all of these things together.

But I didn't and now things had changed. We had changed. The city, however, had remained the same, despite the bit of construction that they were doing.

We had one of the best afternoons. It was one of those times when you roam around and talk for centuries, catching up on things and talking about new things. I rambled a lot about university and how it already sucked and he reminded me that that's how I always start off, just like whenever I would start a new job back home. We stopped by Paul, walked for ages in Hyde Park, and eventually day turned into night when we found ourselves sitting on this very uncomfortable step until an old lady basically told us to piss off.

I didn't want to leave. Sure I was exhausted, my feet hurt and the jet lag was still taking it's toll on me, but mostly I didn't want to leave central London again. I couldn't go back to Zone 3. I didn't want to. They didn't know me at the university. My room might have been holding my things, but it wasn't home. It was just a temporary living facility. So I whined and complained until Ash offered for me to stay at his place for the night. I'm sure he knew exactly what I was doing, but I didn't want to be outright and crash without being invited first.

As we started walking towards his flat, it was the first time I had to catch my breath and take a minute to let my brain catch up with the rest of my body. I had to literally pause and stop walking for a moment because, Oh My God, I am in London.

It was the only time during the whole afternoon I almost started crying, which would have been a little embarrassing and a tad over dramatic, but still...I needed a moment to take it all in.

When I went inside I kind of spun around taking everything in and thinking, "yep, that's the same. Nope, that's changed. Was that there last time? I don't remember that." I met his flatmate, Mario, and saw Chris again which was a pleasant meeting. It was quite possibly one of the best surprise faces I've ever seen, and after a while I met his brother as well.

It was all very chill and relaxed. We watched TV and as the evening went on, I kept on getting lower and lower on the couch until finally my eyes closed and it was the next morning when I awoke.

I did come back to university, despite not wanting to ever leave until I died. I met the rest of my flatmates, went out to one of the fresher social events and have been spending most of my time running all over the campus trying to wrap up some last minute registering things. I hate all of this boring, required bullshit before you can actually begin your classes, but it still needs to be finished. I'm still meeting people but haven't made any really good friends. I'm not worried about it either. There's no need to force friendships. I feel like the old American as well, seeing as everybody I've met has either been eighteen or nineteen. I've been fighting with FedEx so that they can finally get my boxes through customs and I can finish setting up my room and start eating out of real bowls and using proper spoons instead of trying to figure out where I want to eat out next. I've braved the buses and for the most part am learning which is the right direction I should be headed in. I've done a load of laundry, ironed and have turned into one of those tea drinkers who has a cup with them at all times.

It's taking some time, but I'm getting used to it. At least now I believe that I'm actually in London and know that if I ever want to, I can always go back home. And now it's only a forty minute journey instead of an entire plane ride.

Posted by Sam at 05:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Today is my day of rest. Sure it's only Saturday, but I've decided that I needed to take a little time off from the whole crazy schedule that I've been following for the past forty-eight hours. I needed some time to breathe, to let all of this sink in, because believe it or not, I don't really believe that all of this is actually happening.

My arrival was excruciating. After I got out of the long line at customs, I had to locate my luggage which wasn't that hard. The hard part was actually lifting the damn things onto my trolley and then pushing the heavy bastards all the way to terminal 2. You would think that a hike from terminal 3 to terminal 2 wouldn't be that hard. You would be mistaken. The airport is a mammoth and pushing four extremely heavy luggages UP A RAMP is no fun at all. None.

Needless to say once I finally did make it to terminal 2, I was sweating like a hog and in desperate need of water. I decided to try and cool off outside and after about twenty minutes of sitting on a bench with all of my crap piled next to my left, I smoked a cigarette and slowly made my way back inside in search of the information desk where we would all eventually be picked up.

I wandered off to the smoking lounge since Gail (the Roehampton meet and greet lady) told me that it would be a couple of hours until the next bus arrived, but I could leave all of my luggages with her. That's when I met Trish, the girl I had seen at Dulles airport before I boarded the plane. We got to talking and I quickly learned her entire life's history within two minutes. I also learned that she's a chain smoker.

After we finally made it to the university, we were all corraled to the main house so we could get our keys. Trish and I looked around for our dorms without our luggages the first time so we wouldn't have to drag them everywhere with us and eventually found our rooms.

I am located on the very top floor. It's small, but big enough. At least the bedroom part is. The bathroom could be a little more spacious. The bathroom floor also is this weird rubber material that I don't understand. Apparently it's so you don't slip and fall when you step out of the shower, which makes sense, but I didn't see a drain, so all of the water that does spill over onto the floor while you're showering sits for a good couple of hours and slowly dries up. I think it's really gross so every time I go into my bathroom, I wear my white flip flops.

I do have a window, but it opens funny and makes it a hell of a lot harder to smoke in my room. I guess that's why they made the rooms like that. If I didn't have a smoke alarm in here, I'd risk lighting up, but since I'm a chicken shit, I take the elevator (sorry, lift) all the way downstairs and smoke on the steps. My desk and closet space is decent though. I do like it. Well, the closet itself is small and can't even hold one third of my wardrobe, but there are a lot of shelves. I guess I'll have to get used to folding clothes up instead of hanging it all.

After I got my luggages upstairs, I began my cleaning ritual, beginning with the bathroom. Oh, it was nasty. I saw our cleaning lady down the hall and asked to borrow some of her supplies. She didn't let me. I think she was offended that I was cleaning up behind her, but I can't help the fact that I have a certain standard of clean that she didn't fulfill. If anything, she should have been happy that I wasn't making her do it over.

It took me about three hours, but it felt good to get everything properly cleaned and set up. My small space was starting to resemble my room in Virginia, which made me feel a little closer to home. I took a long, hot shower and got ready for the pizza night that we were having that evening. I really just wanted to clock out and sleep for a couple of hours, but I really needed to eat something other than mini Snickers bars.

Continue reading ""If everything's the same when I wake up tomorrow"" »

Posted by Sam at 02:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Ahhh...I have arrived. I am sitting as I type this, in my new, small, uncomfortable computer chair that is inside of my dorm room. I had a minor panic attack when the internet wasn't working for me earlier, but all appears to be well at the moment so I'm using the opportunity to update, email and check on a few things for myself.

I'm dead beat tired. I only slept for three hours on the plane in one of the most awkward positions ever. I should have taken a picture because it looked like something only a performer in the circus could accomplish. I'm sure the man sitting next to me was impressed and I should have asked him for ten pounds for my extraordinary performance.

There is, obviously, a lot of things to update on. Things like the girl I met at the airport who just so happens to also be living in the exact same halls as me and taking the exact same course as me. It was nice to have an immediate buddy to talk to so I wasn't completely alone. I must also mention the ENORMOUS mosquito that I just killed with a vaccuum cleaner. Yeah, I'm not leaving my window open anymore. I can't ask Mel to come and kill it for me like I used to. Instead, I must get creative and ask Henry, who is the vaccuum. That's right, I named him. I have to talk about how much my dorm room already rules but how much it sucked that I had to completely re-clean after the cleaning lady came by because her idea of "clean" and my idea of "clean" clearly do not match.

Tomorrow we're having a morning breakfast, gathering type thing and then shopping at Asda's (I'm pretty sure that's what it's called) for stuff. The first order of business for me is a fan (remember the mosquito?) and lots of hangers. Lots and lots of hangers. And a couple of air fresheners just to get that weird unused dorm smell out of here. Leaving the window open is no longer an option for me. So yes, things are going to be a tad bit busy for me these next couple of weeks, but no worries because I'll be writing and if the internet doesn't suck tomorrow and the day after that, I just might be posting whenever I catch a minute. I just thought that I'd let y'all know that I am safe and sound and still in one piece. Well, almost one piece, which is why I'm buying a truckload of paracetamol for myself tomorrow. My body hurts everywhere. I hate the fact that I need so much shit.

Posted by Sam at 10:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I can't exactly remember what grade I was in. I think it was the sixth or seventh grade, but what I do remember is that every Wednesday, a group of kids had to go and see their "counselor". Don't ask me why our school made us do this, but each grade was broken into different groups of ten and sent off to different adults to talk to and generally go through our angsty lives because as you all know, being an eleven-year-old kid in frigid North Dakota is hard.

I always thought that the group meetings were stupid but never complained because it was time that I didn't have to spend sitting at my desk with my face propped up against my hand trying not to fall over into the floor. Luckily I was in the group with the "cool counselor". She was rather young, I'd say in her mid-twenties, and tried hard enough to really get to know us, but didn't try too hard to where we all could tell that she was a flake. She seemed to geniunely want to get to know us and understand what was going on in our small lives. Every week she came prepared with a new topic to discuss, some of which again, I thought were stupid, but others which I thought made a few good points.

One topic that she brought up was trust. Who do we trust, why do we trust them, how can we learn to trust again after the trust has been broken? We'd go around the circle and a lot of people said that they trusted their friends and family. I mean, those are the most obvious choices, no? If you can't trust them, well who else can you trust?

So that Wednesday we talked about trust and since it was such a hot topic amongst all of us, she had a surprise the following Wednesday. We were going to test all of our theories that we had talked about and do something that none of the other groups got to do: we were going on a field trip.

Being in North Dakota at the time, it was really easy for us to surround ourselves with nature. You can't escape it, it's all just right there in your face. Most of it is just flat land though with tall, TALL, grass and dirt. You had to drive a few miles to get to the mountains, which is where we were headed for our field trip. Into the mountains to go on a ropes course.

When we first stepped out in front of the ropes course, I was really intimidated and frightened. I never was much of an athletic girl and the last thing I couldn't understand was how this was supposed to test our trust theories. As far as I could tell the only thing we were going to get accomplished was breaking a sweat and I didn't see any showers nearby to clean myself up afterwards.

However, it was one of the most exhilarating days of my young life.

We climbed trees, rocks, balanced on logs, ran, screamed, jumped, scraped our knees, yelled at each other, encouraged each other and throughout all of the physical activities, learned how to trust one another. I mean, when you're high up on a rock wall, even with all of the safety chords that are there to catch you if/when you fall, you're trusting your spotter who's down on the ground.

It was a fantastic thing to learn in only a few short hours, and I was so hyped up that it almost made me want to become more active. Almost.

The very last test that we did though was not a group test. We weren't broken down into partners or separated into teams. We had learned how to trust each other and now the only thing that was left for us to do was learn how to trust ourselves. It was time for us to take on the zip chord.

In case you don't know what a zip chord is, it's really quite a simple thing. Basically it's just two giant trees with a line strung up between it. The thing that makes the zip chord so insanely scary is that the line is approximately eighty feet in the air.

Oh yeah. And we had to climb it all the way to the top, strap ourselves in this rinky dink harness and pray that we wouldn't A.) smack into the other tree because we're going a zillion miles an hour or B.) fall to the ground because we were too heavy and the chord would obviously snap the moment we put any weight on it.

I was the last person to go. I had to seriously work up the nerve and convince myself that everything would be okay. I watched as each one of my team members successfully slid accross the zip line and came down smiling and laughing because it was just So Much Fun. Everyone was going on about the rush and all of the different feelings that they were experiencing just by flying on this thing.

I, on the other hand, was thinking how I was getting ready to die. Everybody had already gone, therefore using the line too much and it would be too tired to carry me. I was going to fall eighty feet out of the air and die. Die. I didn't really want to have the story, to come down laughing, to feel the rush. I wanted to live.

I eventually went though. Everybody convinced me to do it and I became another victim of peer pressure. I strapped on the helmet, had three hundred different safety ropes laced through me and began the long journey up to the top where a platform was waiting with two men holding the harness that would be the only thing keeping me at a safe distance from the ground.

I remember being very much aware of my breathing. I took a lot of deep, slow breaths and there weren't any thoughts going through my mind other than, "don't look down. Don't look down. Don't look down." I could faintly hear everyone on the ground cheering me on, but it sounded like they were in a wind tunnel. I could sort of hear them and I knew that they were right down there waiting for me, but in that moment of time, all I could focus on and care about was the very small space that was between the tree I was clinging onto and myself. Every time I moved up a step just meant that I was that much closer to the end, that much closer to feeling the ground beneath my feet.

Eventually I did make it to the platform. The two men who would be the ones strapping me into the harness congratulated me to climbing all the way and I do remember one of them saying something about how some people climb back down or just let go.

When I was up there, I looked down. I was shaking and trembling so bad. I almost started crying in front of strangers, which is a huge no, no for me. My voice was shaky and all I wanted to do was get off of that fucking platform that was so goddamned high in the air. I could barely see my classmates, I couldn't hear a thing they were saying. I thought I might faint.

After the two guys finished strapping me in, they told me to sit on the edge of the platform and slide off. I did sit down, if only so I could feel something below me and pretend that it was the ground. I gripped the rope that was in front of me and sat there with my legs dangling over the edge. All that was left for me to do was to give myself a little push and let go.

It was so surreal because the few seconds before I finally slid off, time stopped, if only for a few moments. Things became extremely clear and even at my young age, I found it to be amazing that my mind was so focused and aware of everything. Life does slow down and nothing matters. You are in the moment, you are experiencing it all first hand and not one thing is on your mind. Everything is silent.

And after one last final deep breath, I let go.

When I finally slowed down and was unhooked from everything, I realized I was crying, not because I was sad or it was scary, but because it was so liberating. Even though I was flying by at lightning speed and was spinning around like I was on a Disney ride, I felt free. It was also every bit of fun that everyone had been yapping excitedly about after they were done and I didn't die, which was a very good thing. I wanted to do it again and again and again.

It was my favorite field trip that I ever went on and after that day I always looked forward to going to our counselor's office on Wednesdays.

This Wednesday I will be embarking on a new kind of ropes course. My last couple of days have been spent having fun with friends, trying to relax, finishing up my packing, abusing a little substance (*wink* *wink*), working on chores, hanging out with my family and drifting off into my own insipid thoughts. I'm already taking a lot of deep breaths and trying to remain calm. I keep reminding myself that there's no need for me to get myself all worked up. All I need to do is wait until that point in time when I'm sitting right on the edge and there's nothing left for me to do except slide off and let go.

Posted by Sam at 08:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

It was for the first time yesterday morning that I felt it. Excitement. I could feel the chills run all inside of me and couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. Our trip to North Carolina was over with and now there was nothing left for me to do other than hang out with my friends and family, pack to the maximum until the seams on my luggages were about to burst and wait out the last couple of days until my fly day.

Finally, I was just plain happy about everything. I was confident, secure and knew that I was going to be fine. There wasn't any kind of worries and for once my brain shut itself up and I could just enjoy my moment. My happy moment.

Our first day back and I haven't wasted any time with my things that I need to do. For many, many months I've been thinking and re-thinking everything over and double checking myself three thousand times. It's as if I was preparing myself for a major drill to happen and now I'm no longer practicing. It's the real deal this time.

Today was my Indoor Things To Do. Lots and lots of cleaning, ironing, organizing and re-organizing everything so that it fits just right. I took a couple of breaks to rest my feet and feed myself, but otherwise it was pretty much non-stop work from the moment I stepped out of bed until right now when I climbed back in.

It's kind of a bad habit of mine whenever I do laundry to leave piles on my bed and fall asleep with them, instead of folding them up and putting them away. Sometimes the effort is far too much for me and besides, I really like the smell of fresh laundry. Right now, I have one of the largest stacks of clothes piled at the foot of my bed and I think it's going to stay there until tomorrow. The sad thing is, it's not even laundry that I did today. They're perfectly fine, clean clothes that I've been storing away in my drawers and closet. These are the clothes that I'm packing in boxes and shipping over because the largest suitcase that I own is already packed to the max with other clothes that were also in my drawers and closet.

The funny thing is that if you were to look in any of my drawers or my closet right now, you wouldn't believe that I was going anywhere, because they're still full. Maybe not as packed as before, but I think that this is how my drawers and closet would look if I hadn't stuffed them to the point where they were over flowing and forcing them shut was a daily thing for me to do.

It appears that my mental drills were slightly off when estimating just how much shit that I own, so now I'm having to turn to my Plan B, worst case senario option, which is more boxes. A lot more boxes. Well that, and trying really hard to eliminate things that perhaps I could live without if it came down to a life or death situation.

Tomorrow shall be another busy day of Outdoor Things To Do, which includes getting my final pedicure for quite a long time, eating lunch with two of my favorite coworkers, shipping my boxes off (man, that's going to be a pretty penny), buying groceries, stopping by the bank, getting my car fixed, dropping more boxes off at Goodwill, yadda, yadda, yadda....it never ends.

So far things are moving smoothly, aside from the packing glitch. I'm surprised that I'm not more chaotic or freaking out about how much time I have, but like I said before, I'm confident. Not to the point to where I'm cocky about it, just confident enough that things are going to work out. I like being sure about things. It's a feeling that I'm welcoming with open arms.

Posted by Sam at 09:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

My desk is packed away and yet there's still work piled on one corner. The mail. The mail will never go away. I've got timecard errors that I've yet to hand off to Jackie, and all of my personal stuff is sitting in a decent size box next to my feet.

It's so empty.

This week has been one of the best weeks I've ever spent at work, and that's mostly because I haven't been doing anything work related. It has been nothing but a big 'ole socializing party and damn, it feels so good. I've been hanging out a lot with coworkers and tomorrow should be a really funfilled day since I'll be having my farewell lunch and then a farewell happy hour right afterwards.

There's no sadness though. I will not allow sadness. I've had my fair share of sadness and if there's anything that I really want it would be to leave smiling and laughing, not crying and causing a scene. I never thought in a million years that I'd be saying this, but I'm really going to miss this place. Well, let me correct myself...I'll miss the people. All of the people, even the creepy ones.

Today we had Cathi's farewell lunch and that was a bag of laughs. There was cake, sandwiches and presents, oh my! Tomorrow is her official last day and then she'll start off into a new, exciting direction of her Work Life. She'll do awesome over there, I already know it. We're really going to miss her here, and I'm more than positive she'll miss us too. I could tell during her little speech that she gave at her lunch. It was sweet, cool and sincere all at the same time without sounding stupid and corny. Aside from thinking how nice it all sounded, I hoped that nobody would want me to give an impromptu speech at my lunch because I'm more than positive it wouldn't come out sounding half as good as Cathi's. Her's ruled. Mine would suck...and then everyone would pray for me because supposedly I'm good with words, and headed off to England to get a writing degree.

It doesn't feel like my last week of full time work and that worries me, because I want to feel that feeling. I'm still wired thinking that I'll come to work next week, do the timecard errors, sort the mail, hunt people down for signatures and meetings...I'll ask everyone how their weekend was, take my hundreds of smoke breaks, bitch about work with coworkers, escort uncleared people.

But I'm not. Next week we'll be in North Carolina, visiting family, getting stuffed full of Southern home cooking and hanging out during the last days of summer on Janice's front porch. That'll be the last of my relaxing time until we come back home and I'm running around like a mad woman trying to get things packed up and ready to leave for college.

Leave for college.

My mood has improved quite a bit though, after I gave myself a good talking to. I yelled and screamed and yanked my hair out in absolute frustration telling myself that I refused to be that sad, manic depressed girl for my last few weeks. I was going to grab life by the balls and have a fucking good time. No more pouting, no more crying, no more sadness. I better lock all of that far away in my brain and never unleash it until I'm somewhere alone where nobody can hear me through the walls. So I did. I smile now and the only time I cry is because I've been laughing too much which is how it's supposed to be.

All this week I've been coming into work late and staying extra late. After five o'clock, over half of the building has left for the day and I take my time roaming the hallways, sitting in people's empty offices, staring out the windows and saying my farewells to each different parts of the building. I remembered when I first came upstairs and thought that this place was an absolutely crazy maze. How did anyone ever find their way around?! All of the walking and random hallways. It had to be confusing for everyone. Now though, I can walk around and I have at least one memory on every last square inch of this floor. I know it backwards, forwards, inside and out. It was my domain and I owned it.

Tomorrow I'll take my box downstairs to my car, I'll double check to make sure that I left nothing behind and I'll say goodbye to the last thing that I've intentionally been putting off until the very end. My cube. My island. My corner of the building that I claimed and swore that I'd brighten up since I was bitter about what should have been my desk. And then there won't be anything left to say.

Posted by Sam at 05:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Me: "Doesn't it ever get cloudy over here? I mean, seriously, does it have to be sunny every fucking day?"

Mel: "Damn, maybe it is a good thing that you're going over to England if you hate the sun that much."

Me: "It's not that I hate it. It's just that I'm over it. It has been almost a month of nothing but sunshine. Every now and then I could go for a cloudy day here or there. I like the rain. It comforts me."

Mel: "Okay, whatever you say. You're depressed."

Me: "Look, I'm not depressed. I'm just...I'm just...not as happy as usual. I can be cranky. I'm allowed to be cranky, alright?"

Mel: "Fine, whatever. You're cranky, I get it. Can you please keep your crankiness to yourself?"

**

It doesn't go away. This feeling that is so unknown and is eating my insides and working it's way out; it's always with me and never leaves me alone. It's here, right here, and if I'm not busy enough distracting myself, the eating inside speeds up and it makes me feel even more mental.

There are only two things that I have found that works, that makes me forget altogether that I even have this feeling.

The first is really simple. Company. Whenever I surround myself with coworkers, friends or family, I'm fine. We laugh and joke just like always and instantly I feel better. I can continue with my day and everything is fine.

The second thing is even more simple. Television. Oh yeah, if my coworkers, friends or family aren't around, then I can surround myself with fictional characters that I relate to and understand. This week I find myself frequently visiting the Seattle Grace Hospital off of Grey's Anatomy. Man, do I love that fucking show. Right now I have heavily immersed myself in the second season. I had never watched it until two weeks ago when Mel introduced me to the doctors. I'm not sure why I never watched it. I guess I thought it was stupid with all of the hype that was made about it and because it came on at ten o'clock and usually by that time I've already been asleep for two hours.

Mel has been downloading the second season onto Momma's laptop, and now whenever a new episode has completed, the two of us make ourselves comfortable on the big yellow chair in the "fancy living room" and watch it together with the laptop comfortably propped up on a pillow. It's our new Thing.

The thing that I love about Grey's Anatomy is that all of the problems aren't just medical (of course not, it's dramatic television). The interns have social problems, boy problems, family problems, Life Problems. It's not always about needles and surgeries. The interns are just starting out in the medical field where they overcome fears that they have and are forced to deal with hard decisions. I like it, I relate, I feel their pain. I cannot wait until the second season comes out on dvd and I can have a marathon for three days straight.

The show eventually ends though, the credits run across the screen and then I have to wait until the next show downloads, which takes a very long time.

During the space of time that I'm left with, I have found that cleaning and sleeping are nice distractions, but they don't keep my mind occupied. The second that I find myself alone with my mind running rampant, I'm confused as to what I need to do. Normally I would just think it all through and deal with my shit, but lately that hasn't been working. I've been a basket case full of emotions, not in my right mind, and the only sane thing that I feel like doing is sitting alone and crying until there are no more tears left.

I don't. I've already done the crying thing, and apparently one time is just not enough. I thought I had my Moment, my sad moment that I had been waiting for, the one moment when I would get it all out of my system and carry on until my last day here, but I was wrong. I don't think I got it all, that some of it is still hiding in there and now whenever I get the feeling that I might start crying, I plug it up and shove it aside. Just like I'm over sunshine, I'm over crying. I have nothing to cry about.

Which is where I'm wrong. I know I'm sad. I know I'm going to miss my home, my friends, family, car, food joints, daily routines, annoying neighbors, traffic jams and weekend errands. It turns out that I didn't completely hate this place like I thought, that maybe if I am bored and ready to move on, that I'm still sad about saying good-bye. I don't want to be all dramatic and make it seem like it's The End, but the truth is, part of me feels like it is. I'm leaving to go to a bigger city, where there are a lot more people, people I haven't met yet, been acquainted with yet, learned yet, understand yet. I'm going to create a new life somewhere else that isn't here, and I'm going to be fine. I know I'm going to be fine. Even with everything that is scurrying inside of me, I can feel the center of Fineness. But all of this, all of this that I have already created, that I'm already comfortable with, that I already know and understand, this is what I'm going to miss.

I'm trying really hard to accept everything, to mentally adjust and deal with the fact that from now on, at least until next summer, I'll only be visiting home every couple of months and that when I visit, I'll cherrish the short amount of time that I have with all of my fiends, family and food joints. I can feel myself being pushed out into Adulthood, and it's a frightening place. As cool as it might be to have your own place, set your own rules and only answer to yourself, I'm afraid to admit that maybe I don't want to do it. It's not about London, or college. It's about me, growing up. And that, that right there sucks.

When you become a teenager, you cannot wait until you grow up, move out and make your own life. That's what you want, you want that freedom and all of that space to do whatever you want to do. Obviously the first thing that you'll want to do is have a great big party that celebrates your newfound freedom. You'll call all of your friends, decide who's bringing the chips, who's bringing the liquor and life as you know it will have officially started. The thing we don't realize though, what nobody ever tells us, is that there is so much more to life than chips and liquor. I know, it's tough news, but it's true.

Now the moment has arrived, and instead of being a big 'ole grown up, I'm reverting back to childhood methods of curling up in bed, crossing my arms and pouting until I get what I want, which is...hmmm...which would be to live like Peter Pan and never grow up.

Posted by Sam at 08:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

It's a story that I've repeated to many people who have asked me the same multiple questions:

- "Why did you choose London?"
- "Are you excited?" which is closely followed by, "what are you studying?"
- "What will you miss the most?"
- "Will you be back?"

I politely tell them the same condensed answers that I've already told everyone else (and sometimes I repeat myself to the same person because apparently their memories are worse than mine).

- "Yeah, I'm excited. I chose London because when I visited two years ago for New Years, I fell in love with everything that was surrounding me. I'll be studying Creative Writing with English and of course I'll miss my family and friends. I should be back during the summer as an intern too."

They smile back at me, always smiling, wish me luck and make a stupid joke about randomly coming to visit me while I'm staying there, which I laugh at even though I've heard the same joke from thirty other people, so really, it's not that funny anymore. I still humor them anyway.

Afterwards, they stare at me for a couple more seconds. I can sense that they want more from me. They're expecting a lot more details, they would like to know about my New Year's trip, or perhaps they thought I would have a little more emotions about it all since it is a Big Deal.

I don't say anything though. I just stare blankly back at them and wait for them to walk away. After you've repeated yourself hundreds of times to tons of people, you lose your enthusiasm and your energy isn't as fresh as it was at the beginning.

Eventually they do walk off and I continue working on what it was that they interrupted me from.

The standard answers that I gave them though, the ones that I have memorized and can spout off at the drop of a hat in under twenty seconds, barely even begin to cover everything that I've been thinking about on the matter. There's so much more to all of their questions that I haven't ever shared simply because that would potentially lead into a longer conversation that I normally don't care to have with that one particular person.

But if I did care to answer them in full, my answers would probably be something like this:

Continue reading ""Stay, American baby"" »

Posted by Sam at 04:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I decided since my sleep pattern is pretty much fucked, that I would train myself to get on a new sleeping schedule. One that doesn't have me tossing and turning during the wee hours of the morning and cursing at myself until I want to cry, because damn, sometimes I can be really harsh.

Instead of me passing out around 4 or 5pm when I was picking Mel up from work, I've decided to stay a couple of hours later so I can miss most of the traffic and spend that time collecting an extra hour or two of overtime. My banking account would really appreciate the added dollars here and there. Since I'm staying later though, I've also been going in later too, arriving at 9am instead of the painful 6 or 7am that I was used to. It's nice, I'll admit. Now I can take my time in the mornings, I'm not so rushed putting my make-up on, things are a lot more relaxed. Not only that, the extra sleep has been a great bonus.

The change has been one for the positive. I've noticed that I'm not as sluggish when I go to work, I complain a lot less and the majority of my work gets done after everyone has headed out for the congested highways around 4pm. I'm kind of pissed that I didn't think of this a long time ago.

Anyway, now when I come home, before I even think about crashing in my glorious bed with the inviting pillows, I force myself to stay awake, unwind a little bit, open my mail, pay bills, clean the kitchen, hang out with the family a bit. Who would have thought that you can function on six hours of sleep? Not me.

Now that I feel better about my sleeping situation, I've been getting a couple of things wrapped up and ready for when I depart for college. Yesterday I went to the doctor and the dentist. I figured that I might as well get everything checked out on the same day while I was out. There's no point in taking two sick days off of work. I also received my student visa in the mail which was pretty exciting. That was the last thing that I was waiting for so now I've got all of my required documents to show the people at the airport that hey! I'm legal and have the papers to prove it.

This afternoon while I was going through some of my mail, I saw a big white envelope with my name on it and the Roehampton seal. I always get a happy shiver up my spine whenever I see something from them. I make myself comfortable on the couch or chair which I am sitting in, carefully open the envelope as if something may jump out and bit me, and slowly go through each and every paper that they have sent, front and back. Today wasn't any different and I was extra happy to see that it was a big Welcome Folder that came stuffed with a calendar of all the general holidays and College Events that will be going on throughout the year, my very first University Newspaper, more financial aid advice and a Fresher's Guide for us first timers.

It talked about our first week after we arrive, setting up our modules, student IDs and so many more things that I'll need to do upon my arrival.

And I thought all of the stuff that I did to actually get accepted was a lot of work!

I'm going to be so busy. So. Busy. Forget the fact that I'll be adjusting to a whole new environment, dealing with the culture shock, trying to not get lost, set up my room, learn everyone's names and properly settle in. Oh no. They're just going to be sending us all off to different places to have more pictures taken for IDs, organizing modules, going to a subject briefing where staff members get to go on for at least an HOUR AND A HALF about what subject they teach, what it involves, and how you should be apart of it, because hot damn is it ever awesome! I have to arrange my fee payment (durr), go on the campus tours, attend the International Centre Open House and then finally start lectures on the 25th of September.

They also have a Fresher's Ball, a treasure hunt of London (I really want to do that; no, really), film screenings, poetry readings, Cinema Night for all students, our Student Unions daytime and evening events (anyone up for some jazz?), and many, many, many other tours. I'll tour all of the different halls, the library, the computer labs which are open 24/7 (doesn't matter, I've got Bridget), and the Learning Resource Center (LRC).

After I read everything, twice, I was still slightly overwhelmed. I mean, that's a lot of shit to be dealing with for the first week directly after my arrival. We also have to take into account that I haven't been in school for a couple of years and this will be my first year in college. Like, really in college. Don't I get any time to rest a bit after I get there? Will I have time to take a deep breath, adjust my body clock to the time change or unpack? It already seems so hectic and I haven't even left yet.

But then I read my little University Newspaper called "Fresh" and was comforted by the pictures of fellow students that I saw and read an article by a guy named, Joe, who talked about the craziness and feeling so overwhelmed and dizzy from his first week that things seemed do-able. Sure, it'd be insane and I could have a random breakdown during one of the tours and forever be known as the Girl Who Cried After 48 Hours Of Being On Campus, but it would all be okay. I'd fall into a groove, I'd learn over time where things are, and if all else fails, I know that there will be tons of different people around who will be more than willing to help me out. I've always felt like Roehampton really tries and cares about their students, no matter what crazy ass questions they ask (I'm one of those students who has asked those questions multiple times). Heidi and Val (the beautiful Roehampton Representatives that I've been talking to for months) have always been there for me and I don't feel like a pain. It doesn't matter what I do, say or ask, they always make me feel special.

Even still though, I've got to have time to set up my room and unpack. It's vital for my mental state. I can't just go out on tours and listen to poets read their work while I know that there are clothes that need to be hung and drawers that need to be organized. It will drive me insane.

Posted by Sam at 09:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I am so fucked.

I am So. Fucked.

I guess I should explain why.

I never thought that I'd ever say this but...*takes deep breath*...I think I have too many clothes.

Yesterday I went shopping since all of Northern Virginia was having their annual No Sales Tax Weekend for all of the chaps who are preparing to go back to school in a matter of a few short weeks. Parents pack all of their children into their mini vans to buy paper, folders and Crayola products in bulk. For once we don't have to do math and add 5% sales tax onto the final price that's printed on the price tag. What we see is what we get!

Needless to say I was pretty stoked. No math and no sales tax. I always look forward to this time of year. It's like Christmas only I'm buying things for myself. Well, I guess I could buy for other people, but I don't know anyone else who will be going back to school.

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that I got shopping fever and was blinded by my own selfish wants and needs. I went a little crazy and bought a lot. When I say "a lot" I think you should envision the Grand Canyon. Now think of the Grand Canyon filled with nothing but clothes from Banana Republic Petites, American Eagle and Target. Think shoes, shirts, pocketbooks, pants, skirts, dresses underwear, luggage accessories, paper and keychains. It's all brand new and scattered randomly throughout my room.

Last night I was really excited, because nothing excites me more than buying new things, coming home and having one of my little runway shows. But after I was done playing dress up and lining all of my shiny new things on my bed, it finally hit me that I won't have any room in any of my suitcases to bring any of this stuff with me.

I WON'T HAVE ANY SPACE.

Why? Because I already had clothes that I was planning on bringing with me. I've got shoes, pocketbooks, pants, shirts, underwear, skirts, dresses and everything else that I'll ever need for all four seasons for the rest of eternity. I've got it all. I have enough. Now I've just added a bigger pile to add onto the already massive pile that is already bursting at the seams.

I remember a couple of weeks ago when I recieved one of my university packets in the mail with helpful tips for when I would be traveling and a nice little checklist that came with it. One of the suggestions was that I should only bring what I need and that two luggages should be enough. Nobody wants to be carting around four or five giant suitcases around the airport.

At first I thought it was a joke. How is someone supposed to only bring two suitcases with them to college? Seriously. With all of the mental packing that I've been doing I had squeezed everything into four, and that's not including my carry on bag plus my pocketbook.

For months I've been thinking about what I absolutely need to bring with me, what I could bring if I had some extra space and everything else that I can live without and leave behind. It's so hard to choose though and part with bits and pieces of my life that I've always had. How can I leave any of my books and dvds? What about all of my pictures on the wall and other random quirky things that I have around my room that I don't necessarily use but keep anyway for sentimental reasons. I'm going to miss my Hello Kitty toys that I got from McDonald's when they were selling them in the happy meals and my beloved shot glass collection that is still growing. These are things that I've already decided to leave behind simply because I don't think I'll really need them (well, I am bringing at least one or two shot glasses with me).

As hard as it is for me to part with my magazines and beanie babies, the hardest things for me to go through are all of my clothes. I love them all and can't bear leaving them all behind. It reminds me of a Sex and the City episode when Aidan is moving in with Carrie and he suggests to clean out her closet so that they can make some more room for his stuff. He mentioned that he doesn't know why she keeps all of those clothes because she hasn't ever worn any of them.

"Yet," she points out. "I haven't worn any of them yet. Someday I will."

That's exactly how I am. I've got a lot of clothes that are hanging in my closet that I've yet to wear, but I never know if an occasion will come up and I'll be so happy that I have my white Ann Taylor halter dress that is practically brand new and still doesn't have any matching shoes to go with it. It would be perfect for a nice spring garden party. So what if I don't know anyone who has a lawn with chemically treated grass, or an actual garden. The point is that it might happen and if it does then I'm fully prepared.

That is how I shop. I go out, I see something that I want and then I picture myself wearing it either with something that I need to buy or something that I already have. It's just like my new rain jacket that I bought from Banana Republic. Let's not even take into consideration that I've already got two perfectly fine rain jackets in my posession, but this particular jacket that I saw and tried on was absolutely perfect for me. And on me for that matter. I looked stunning and I would look even more stunning wearing it with my new fancy jeans, my hot brown knee high boots, while standing in the rain in London.

Why am I standing in the rain in London? Who knows. I could be window shopping, I could be waiting for someone, I could just be out for a walk because it's fucking London and I will be doing a lot of walking. Whatever the reason, I'm going to be wearing this beautiful rain jacket so it was pretty obvious that I needed to buy it.

Right now I'm scared. I'm scared that I want to bring too many things with me and I'm going to end up being the Perfect Example as to why you should only pack two luggages when you go to college. I'll be the one who gets pulled onto the luggage conveyor belt because my bags are too heavy. Round and round I'll go and then I'll really be reconsidering whether or not I should have packed so many pairs of jeans or if I really needed all of those damn t-shirts.

One of the ways around struggling with four suitcases is simply shipping over the stuff that won't fit. I should only bring what I'll need for at least the first two weeks and eventually the rest of my belongings will arrive via the post. The only thing that I don't like about that idea is what if something gets lost or breaks? Or worse, what if that one situation that I have yet to think about suddenly pops up and I am left unprepared because the one thing that I need is securely taped in a brown U-haul box? What will I do then, huh? How am I supposed to cope?!

I know, I probably sound crazy. I should just chill out and come up with a new plan. I need to be more strict when it comes to my lists and not worry about any potential scenarios that may or may not come up. It's just college after all. Most of the time I'll probably roll out of bed and wander into class with an old pullover sweater and jammy pants. There's no need to panic and I'll just have to keep repeating to myself that I don't need all twelve of my fancy dinner dresses.

Posted by Sam at 08:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I spent my Saturday doing two things; the first half was me laying about the house being miserable because our air conditioner broke AGAIN. I tossed and turned with all of the windows open, the fans blasting on high and cursing the humidity. The second part of my day was laying about in our house after the air conditioner was fixed by a strange man whose name I can't remember only because my brain had already melted and seeped out of my ears onto our wooden floors.

It was a day where I had a lot of time on my hands and the first time in a long time where I simply didn't do anything. I didn't feel like moving because any kind of movement just made me uncomfortable. I did a fair amount of watching bad television and eating ice cubes.

Although whenever I took a break from being lazy I thought about the next couple of weeks and really all of the work that I had piling up to the ceilings. I thought that the past few months were busy but now that I've guarenteed my money and will officially be moving I feel like I shouldn't be lazing about on my weekends.

Or should I?

**

When I really get down and think about it, all of the packing, the planning, the cleaning, the organizing, the squeezing of luggage and deciding which items are a must to bring along with me, it all seems pretty daunting. The surprising thing is that I'm nowhere near as frazzled or freaked out as I thought I would be. The entire time that I was researching about getting into school, I was also mentally preparing myself for the days ahead if it all somehow magically worked out. Now that it has, I know exactly what I'm going to do, what I'm going to clean, what is a must to bring with me and the hundreds of other little tasks I must do before I leave.

Since I know that it won't be long until I'm crazy/busy up to my eyeballs, I figure it's only necessary for me to take some time off and dare I say it...relax. I need to take some time to enjoy my big accomplishment, celebrate with friends and chill the fuck out.

So I've been doing just that. The other day, Lora and I went and got a pedicure and took a trip to the mall where I bought a couple of items from one of my favorite stores: American Eagle. Lora is, by the way, "Lauren" on here. I finally gave her the link to my blog and now that she knows about it, it feels way too weird to keep referring to her as "Lauren". So let's all say hi to one of my best girl friends. HI LORA!

I have to say that it was refreshing and really good girl therapy that requires zero excuses and never makes me feel guilty.

Aside from afternoons out with one of my favorite gal pals, I've been taking pleasure in just being alone and doing lots and lots of thinking. It may sound stupid, but all of a sudden I've been noticing a lot of tiny things that I already miss and it hasn't even been a complete week since I learned about my loan. I'm going to miss my coworkers and all of their quirky personalities, the food, obviously, hanging out at home with Momma and Mel, driving my car, hanging out with my friends, my entire daily routine, and hell, I'm even going to miss sitting in traffic just a little bit. I don't want to rush anything but at the same time it almost feels like I should start saying my good-bye's now just so they aren't so heart breakingly devastating for me when that final day does arrive.

**

After my day ended and my family tucked themselves in bed upstairs, I decided to stand in our garage and smoke while I watched one of the many summer thunderstorms that I'm used to. I remembered when I was small staying with our grandma in North Carolina and walking around barefoot in her backyard whenever we had a downpour. It was one of my favorite things to do and something I haven't done in years. I thought about walking around outside to properly enjoy the weather but decided against it. I'd be doing plenty of walking in the rain in London, although it may not be as nice as this night. Probably more cold and annoying but still, it was nice to just listen and remember.

Then I thought about how long its been since I was that little girl twirling in the rain. I still carry her around with me inside along with her fears, insecurities and worries. Now though, the more grown-up, experienced young adult that I am now assures her that things will be okay. It took a long time for me to grow to this point but now that I'm here it feels right.

Posted by Sam at 08:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

To say that I've been partying like a woman who has just been freed from prison would sadly be a lie. I wish I could say that as soon as I learned that I had money (money, baby!) to go to school I jumped for joy and spent the rest of my day drinking like fish. Instead I took about a minute to gather myself together and then continued on with the rest of my day like any other normal working day.

I made it into work and the minute I opened my mailbox I discovered that I had to do three other jobs that were so far back logged it would be impossible for me to finish it all in one day.

There was no jumping. No joy. None whatsoever.

Instead there was just me walking around pissed off and cursing everyone who are bigger procrastinators than me which left me to go back behind them and clean their mess up.

It wasn't until the end of day when I went downstairs for my eleventh smoke break when it really did hit me that in a matter of weeks I would be packing up most of my things and then proceed to get onto an airplane to fly over to London to study and learn about what I love doing the most. What more could a girl want? Well, another cigarette, that's for sure. So I stayed downstairs and smoked another fag while I listened to the airplanes across the street. They seemed a lot louder for some reason.

Slowly I've been breaking the news to fellow coworkers that it's official. Every single time I tell somebody it becomes just that more real to me. I say things now like, "when I'm over there" and "when I leave." I don't have to include the "maybe's" or the "I'm not sure's."

I've already told SuperAdmin that I'll be leaving and soon I'll be talking to security about putting my clearance on the shelf so I can come back during my vacations and work. Other than that there hasn't been much action. I guess there's really no point at the moment. For now we're just talking and I'm still working.

Working. Always working.

For the past month or so I've been putting in a lot of overtime and working the weekends. Not just because I'm a freak but because I'm trying to get a little more money in my own pocket. What I've learned is that working a lot of hours is hard work and that saving the money that you do earn is even harder. You would think that since I spend most of my life here at the office that I wouldn't have time to spend money, but that does not appear to be the case. I seem to be eating my money (still, yes I know) and the bills never really go away. Tiny emergencies pop up and I've got to put more money out in the world instead of in my savings account. It's annoying, but I can say that a little more is being saved up and I'm doing better with my random spending.

I'm going to celebrate properly though. Exactly when this is going to occur, I'm not sure, but it will happen. I'm also not entirely sure when I made the transition from being a slacker to Full On Corporate Worker, but I'm kind of scared to admit that maybe it has happened. I get caught up in the daily work drama, complain about our processes and find myself walking only to forget where I was going in the first place. I guess sometimes it's nice because the day flies by and I feel like I've actually accomplished something when the workday is over, but on the other hand sometimes I just want to sit and write about my mornings and how much traffic sucked.

For now I'll just be happy with knowing that all of my hard work, researching, learning, waiting, frustrations, filling out forms, blood, sweat, tears, patience and waiting some more has all paid off. Learning that I was actually accepted to a university was a great surprise and finding out that I had a place to stay was an even bigger surprise; but being able to pay for it all and not feel like I've spent the last two (well, almost two) years of my life hoping for nothing is quite possibly one of the greatest feelings in the world.

Posted by Sam at 01:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

In the wee hours of the morning (4:29am) one opens their email box to discover that they have been approved for their loan and that they'll be able to go to college overseas.

The weight has been lifted off of my chest. I can breathe. Now let's all celebrate.

Posted by Sam at 05:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (9)