march reflections and april intentions

March started off on a high but slowly and surely withered to the lowest of lows without a real explanation (yay, depression).

On the 2nd, I embarked on my first international adventure to Hong Kong. Up until this point, I'd never ventured past the safe(-ish) borders of Europe and I've long felt deprived of true worldly experiences. Notably, my Tinder profile was lacking a nice landscape shot of me in front of a really famous mountain or huge ass temple.

I fell in love with the city and I physically cried when I left which is incredibly pathetic. I won't say too much as a dedicated post will be up one day soon. When I returned, I was still in total escapism mode which inevitably led me to neglect my very real adult responsibilities. To cut a long and boring story short, I ended up down in the dumps and I've pretty much spent every waking second in bed except whilst I'm at work, of course.

I've got some cute mate dates planned, I'll be attending a concert solo and I'll be having my first haircut in 13 years. Technically these, unbreakable promises to friends and commitments bound by money should force me to get my arse out of the house. In addition, I do have some more tangible goals which I'm hoping will help me to refocus and stop me aimlessly plodding along.

lose half a stone
I'm now only three-quarters of a pound away from a two stone total loss so another six pounds or so will take me well into the next stone bracket. My weight loss has slowed down and I'd like to get it going again. I have recently reintroduced sugar back into my diet and it was a huge mistake. I am an addict and I don't think I can ever do moderation when it comes to anything sweet. Apart from cutting back on the chocolate and the cake and the biscuits, I've simply been doing calories in < calories out. I'm not about that keto life.

curate new Spotify playlists 
I usually turn to music to drown out the noises of the London commute, when I need an ugly cry or whilst I'm heavily pre-drinking ahead of another messy night out. My current playlists are appalling and something must be done before my quality of life suffers any more.

finish an entire book
I haven't read a single book, cover to cover so far this year despite spending a small fortune on them in the departure lounge at WHSmith in anticipation of the painfully long flight to Hong Kong. Instead, I binged on Broad City and I probably made the passenger sat next to me incredibly uncomfortable with the numerous sex scenes. Amongst the titles purchased was Dolly Alderton's Everything I Know About Love which I've seen plastered all over blogger's Instagram feeds so it must be a good'un.


why I hate my job and what I'm doing about it

I hate my job. It’s easy and relatively well paid but it’s so fucking boring. There’s absolutely nothing of substance to it.I finish a nine hour shift and still feel unaccomplished.Maybe I shouldn’t complain but I do anyway and will most likely continue to until my circumstances improve. Or more realistically, until I find something else to moan about. I am British, after all.

The main issue is that I don’t know where to go from here. I have very little direction to the point that it's almost none existent and I feel embarrassed about it at this point. My closest friends whilst just beginning their career, they actually have dreams, an end goal and something to work towards. I’m just floating around, hoping for the best. It’s not that I’m not ambitious but ever since dropping out of university for the second time and having to watch my dreams of becoming a Civil Servant die a devastating death, I sort of lost it.

These things I am sure of: firstly, I still want to work in politics in some capacity and secondly, if I don't find something more stimulating seriously soon, I will literally end up dying of boredom. I'm also slightly concerned that that's my second reference to death in one post but, I digress.

The other pretty huge issue is me and my innate self-sabotage. I'm unhealthily worried about trying something and it's simply not for me. Although to a normal human brain that sounds fair enough and at least I would have tried, right!? However, to me, it translates as utter failure. I guess that's the plight of a perfectionist.

I will be applying for entry-level paper-pushing, arse-licking roles which will hopefully help me get my foot in the door. I don't know whose door I actually want to squeeze into yet but I'm trying to be okay with that. I just need to start somewhere and particularly before a major depressive episode creeps up on me and I end up stagnating horrifically.

I'll be sure to keep you updated on my progress but in the meantime, please wish me luck as I desperately need it which you will already know if you actually managed to read that incoherent word vomit above.


why I dropped out of university (the first time)

I cried on A-level results day. I couldn't quite believe that I was off to the University of Warwick to study Politics and International Studies where I could become a qualified social justice warrior.

the university 
Immediately, something was off. I didn't like it there and this was before the course had even begun. I was blinded by prestige when I made Warwick my firm and I had failed to do any proper research which had evidently backfired.

There was a bubble which enclosed the already small campus and I felt extremely trapped. I began escaping to Coventry as and when I could in desperate search of civilisation and human interaction with non-students. The public transport, however, failed daily and I would often be left stranded with only the 24-hour Tesco to comfort me.

Don't get me wrong, I did have some fun. I met my best friend and maid of honour to be. I joined the rugby team as a loosehead prop and started pretending that I knew how to play. I had a few cracking nights out in Leamington Spa and I also discovered that I had a dangerously high alcohol tolerance which is really annoying (and expensive, too). Despite all, I just couldn't shake that niggling feeling which overshadowed everything else.

the course
The course was disappointing and, for want of better words, a bit shit. Once again, my lack of research had failed me. My coursemates were alright. A lot of champagne socialists and one or two right-wing nutjobs but, on the whole, people were nice and normal-ish.

I struggled with the content. Partly because I didn't enjoy it but mostly because it was really fucking hard. I was so embarrassed and I felt massively out of my depth, and being amongst the likes of Oxbridge rejects certainly didn't help. I still somehow managed to scrape a 2:1 in most assignments submitted but that still wasn't enough reason for me to stay.

the big decision
I felt panicked. No one prepares you for the possibility that university may not actually be the best time of your life. They'd somehow missed out that rather important detail in the glossy prospectuses but they hadn't forget to boast about their award-winning Bridge society.

I was comforted by stories I found online, even by fellow bloggers, in the exact same position as me. I was also glad to learn that there was a simple explanation with a relatively easy solution. This mistake wouldn't have to define me and, in a year or so, I could conveniently just pretend the whole ordeal never happened. Perfect, I thought.

After much deliberation, I decided to change courses to Geography. This was not a completely random decision because it was always my strongest subject right throughout school and one I absolutely adored. When I look back, it's a wonder why I never chose to study Geography in the first place. Perhaps it was to escape the ridicule and avoid the colouring-in taunts or perhaps I was or afraid of being asked what the capital of Namibia was because I definitely didn't know. Warwick did not teach Geography, however, therefore I was forced to look elsewhere and essentially, drop out.

…and then what happened?
I dropped out in May. I'd stopped going to lectures and seminars a while back but I made it official, paperwork and all, just in time to safely dodge exam season. I felt relief. My celebrations were relatively short-lived, however, because I was promptly billed by Student Finance England asking for the money I'd been granted back for the remaining six weeks or so of term - the bloody cheek!

Anyway, I'd successfully gained a place to study Geography at the University of Sheffield after a pretty lengthy application process. I never imagined that I'd willingly put myself through UCAS ever again but I told myself it would be well worth it.

Spoiler alert: it wasn't. I'll spill all in part two, coming very soon, in which I tell you the story all about why I dropped out of university for a second time but this time in my FINAL year. 


bi, shy and ready to cry

Today I am here with a dating update that no one asked for. Since being ghosted by the last person I slept with, I came to the sad realisation that the most action I have had over the last couple of months has been on tube, up real nice and close and personal with sweaty strangers. 

I tell myself that I am done with online dating at least once a week but as soon as the existential loneliness hits me, I find myself swiping again. I don't even bother deleting the apps anymore because I'm done lying to myself. OkCupid is currently my number one choice which, if you've never had the displeasure of using, is basically a bootleg Tinder that attracts a special breed of people.

One woman wanted to financially dominate me which I was seriously considering because I'm never not broke but it just felt icky. That was actually one of the least ludicrous propositions. Users will unashamedly ask you to participate in their obscure fetishes. The ones you have to Google and instantly regret doing so. I'm not kink-shaming by any means, by the way. You do you, just don't include me thank you very much.

Never in a trillion years did I think I'd become a relationship person but here I am crying myself to sleep because I've got no one to cuddle at night. Despite this, I can't help but self-sabotage. Last week, I point blank refused to go out with this guy because I convinced myself he was too good looking for me. When I relayed this information to my best friend this, her eyes rolled so far back into head she looked possessed. Anyway, that's what has been going on in my head. My heart has been aching for romance, all the cutesy stuff and of course, hugs. My vagina has been craving human touch of a different kind. I'm sorry for being vulgar but I'm at that desperate stage where you're so sex deprived, you start to fancy anyone and everyone. A few days ago, I found myself fantasising about the 65-year-old security officer at my local Sainsbury's who has hairy ears and beer belly.

I need help.

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