i feel like my flatmate claims the living room. all i want to do is come home from work and chill out and he’s always playing videogames or dnd with a bunch of people, and i can’t do anything, i can’t watch telly, my only option is to either watch him do stuff or just go to my room, and i’m paying too much fucking money to not be able to use my own living room EVER.

i can’t wait to leave this house, but at the same time i don’t want to leave at all. this is such a small, safe space. i live with my flatmate and my boyfriend. and the idea of my boyfriend leaving horrifies me. he’s moving to london to start his career while i finish my degree, but the idea of staying in uni for a year without him is terrifying. who will i love? who will love me? who will look after me? who will make sure i eat and sleep and go to the doctors? who will phone nhs direct when i can’t move my neck in the morning, or make me tea when i’m sending production emails? who will kiss me and calm me down when i’m having an anxiety attack? i don’t think i can look after myself very well. i’m so frightened of being on my own.

i’m so worried my family hate me, or won’t forgive me for being so distant. i struggle calling them and keeping in contact because i don’t want to worry them with how down i am all the time. but then i get more down for feeling like such a shitty daughter/sister/granddaughter. i miss my family so much. i miss the smell of my house. i miss coming downstairs to find my sister watching tv at 7am having not slept. i miss sneaking out for a cigarette, heart pounding in case i’m caught. i miss the warm glow of my nanny and farvey’s house. i miss my nanny’s laugh and my farvey’s stories. i miss my dad’s soft voice. i miss my mum’s hugs. i miss my life. i miss my home. i miss going to mcdonalds with my family on a friday, for fuck’s sake. watching films together. i am so fed up. i haven’t been home for six months and it’s killing me.

i’m annoyed by my job. i don’t want to do shift runner training. i want my red shirt back. i want to go into work and spend 8 hours on a till, monotonous and safe and familiar and soul-destroying and then go home. i don’t like change, i don’t like making mistakes, i don’t want to be in a superior position to my friends, i never wanted to climb the hierarchy, but i desperately need the pay increase.

i’m not intelligent enough to get the grades on my course i want. i get the occasional first, but i’m paying too much money not to graduate with a first overall. i hate it.

i hate that i’m unfit, my body’s bulgy, my roots are showing, i’m getting spots, my diet’s poor, my money’s running out, and i don’t really feel like i have that many friends. i feel unsociable, and broken, and miserable, and just utterly down.

sitting in on dnd games is strangely comforting

(via etherealogie)

hubstarkid:

hubstarkid:

So my dad’s “we’re keeping Darren Criss in the attic” joke has reached its conclusion today. He went up to the attic and we heard struggling and things falling over and he made some “get off me, this is against my human rights!” noises and he came into the living room as though he had something cupped in his hands (DC short jokes ftw). Then he gave imaginary Darren to me and I set him free, and he kept pretending to heard him back when he tried to run away, then he pretended to step on him.

I DONT LIKE THIS JOKE WHERE DID THIS COME FROM!?

I asked them to make up a different ending where he went home safely (cos I’m a massive child) and my sister said that tiny Chris Colfer clung to the back of a car like in Toy Story and saved his one true love. Then they hitched a ride back to America where they make tiny, tiny Glee.

my family <3

(via just-kidding-im-a-snake)

A 72, the highest mark I’ve ever had on an essay :D …Unfortunately, it was a formative essay, and thus doesn’t contribute to my overall grade, but regardless it brought me a realisation: essays are like dough - you should never overwork them.

Every time I spend hours labouring over each individual word, agonising over each paragraph, bashing myself over the head with tomes of critical theory, I always get lower marks. Every time I just sit down and write in one go, one fell swoop, an outpouring of ideas, I get high marks. Every time I squish together mounds of critical theorists, I get second classes and criticism. Every time I go off the wall and come up with my own interpretations, ideas, and arguments, I pass high.

In other words, the best way for me to write is just to relax. To do my research for a week, then just sit down in one night and write it all out in one go. Don’t think too much, don’t let anxiety eat me up - just pour it all out onto the page.

Today I’m sending off applications for an internship, a council seat, and an officer position, and Tuesday morning I start training for work! Life is nice. Might go to the local bookshop tonight for an international literature spoken word evening. Woooo.

yesterday i had a soul destroying seminar on waiting for godot, a wonderful postmodern presentation by a friend on the same topic, and a rather badass lecture on victorian art and architecture. i sat in the library with my buddy and talked about sylvia plath and ted hughes, and had pictures taken for a prospectus. then i waved my friend off at the station, and went shopping with my boy. there is no satisfaction greater than full freezer, fridge, and cupboard. honestly, the joy of knowing tons of fresh, delicious food awaits you is immeasurable. my boy boiled sushi rice, which is now wrapped in the fridge waiting for tonight’s sushi-fest! and i made us couscous, nacho burgers and salad, which was awesome, and he got ben and jerry’s oh my apple pie for ONE POUND FUCKING FIFTY because it’s being discontinued. such a bittersweet feeling. so we ate delicious food and the finest icecream while watching zombieland, and then we snuggled, and this morning i had pate and green tea for breakfast, now i’m going to have a hot shower and head to a university challenge audition, and then after i’m hitting up either a christmas festival in truro or a book release party in falmouth.

SO MANY THINGS TO DO. SO MUCH JOY. LIFE IS BLOOMING WITH HAPPINESS.

tomorrow i have to pick up my marked essays and exam transcripts, which makes me feel a bit queasy, but they will provide tons of feedback to make the essays due next month the finest essays i’ve ever written. honestly, i am going to work my ass off. i’m going to get a first. and if i don’t i’m gonna kill everyone i know. 

And I have to figure out whether I want to write about the use of the colour ‘white’ in Joyce’s Portrait and how it’s infused with his political and cultural beliefs, or masculinity and homosociality in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. DECISIONS, DECISIONS.

But first I’m gonna shower, tidy my room, and buy a massive bottle of cola. 

VIVA LA REVOLUTION!

Or I could do ivory in HoD. Or eyes in Joyce. There are really just too many options.

Criminal Minds and NCIS, you slay me.

What a nice lad he was.

Edit: Just Googled him, and apparently he studied Classics. DREAM!JOAN, WHAT A FOOL YOU MADE OF YOURSELF.

For those keeping up to date with my what-awful-thing-is-going-to-happen-next! week, know that nothing went wrong yesterday apart from having to work the 12-9 graveyard shift. And today, I have had an eggy-in-a-basket and a cup of milky coffee for breakfast, and spoke to my boyfriend, and daydreamed about the feminist society at university. Today I will start promoting my creative writing society, and attempt to wriggle onto the FS committee BECAUSE IT IS EVERYTHING I NEED AND LOVE AND RIGHTFULLY DESERVE. Then I’m wandering off to try to waive my library fines. Then working 11-7 with people I like. WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG? Oh god.

Sunday: Fight with supervisors over their bullying of staff

Monday: Life threatened by customer, customer then served and given a discount by supervisor

Tuesday: Discover am being fined £283 by the library for books I returned years ago

Wednesday: Taxed £133 illegally, spent hour walking in rain because lift from work didn’t turn up

WHAT JOYS COULD THURSDAY POSSIBLY BRING MOST GLORIOUS WEEK OF MY LIFE

I’ve been sent a letter by a debt collectors stating I owe nearly £283 for 5 library books, which were due to be returned last year. 5 library books, which I actually paid a £20 fine on and returned… last year. Books that I later bought on Amazon for my university course. Because we all know master thieves buy duplicates of the things we steal, just for funsies, because I adored blowing all of my savings on text books I already had, just for kicks. And apparently I have not one, but two library cards, one of which was registered at my local home library when I was 400 miles away in Cornwall, and the last one wasn’t closed. And considering I returned the books to the library before it packed up and moved to the other end of town, I’m gonna put my money on them losing said books and trying to pin it on me. I’ve been living at the other end of the country for the last year! I’ve been a loyal member of Cornwall county libraries, for a year! Furthermore, I haven’t received ANY notifications for overdue books despite having an email account with them, and them having my current address. For fuck’s sake, who ever heard of libraries having debt collector’s anyway? This is Britain, this is not how we do things. I fucking hate automated library machines. Human beings, that’s what libraries need. There goes my career as a librarian. I’m never gonna be allowed to step foot in a library in a professional capacity after these black blotches on my record.

Jesus, this is the worst thing that could ever happen to a literature student. Being accused of disrespecting libraries and books is below the belt.