Friday, 28 May 2010

Another year gone.

I'm sat on my bed typing this with The Temper Trap's 'Sweet Disposition' on repeat and feeling strangely nostalgic. I feel like watching a sad black-and-white film/listening to piano solos.

I finished my exams this week and have pushed them to the back of my mind where they'll stay until results come out. Alone in an empty house, I've been left to my own devices and free to think almost every waking hour of the day, maybe too much. Doubts about the future have crept into my mind and the truth is, I'm scared I'm gonna get left behind.

This is the third year all my friends and I have been at uni. The third and final ye
ar of study for them but not for me. This does not give me a good feeling inside - the same feeling I get when I think of good times passed. Norah Jones' debut makes me cry because of this feeling as it reminds me of some of the best holidays of my life in the Sun of France, Spain and Italy and how they'll never happen again.

The fact is, the people closest to me are progressing with their lives and will go wherever their lives take them while I'm two years behind. This absolutely terrifies me. I can't help but ask myself how long it'll take them to think of me as their old friend who isn't relevant to their lives anymore. I guess I think that when the next academic year comes around I'll have no one left. Thi
s thought is perhaps more brutal for me because I haven't already had a flawless university experience. If I had the chance to do it all differently I'd take it in a heartbeat. With everyone moving on, it seems I'll go to France alone and come back after a year to a void where my old life used to be and be alone. This would probably be a fitting end to my studies.

I've even started to have worries about my fail-safes, friendships which have always been absolutely concrete, people I know I can always turn to. Amy for example, we
don't spend the most time with each other but it's always been understood that we both need each other. I won't see her for ages but she'll text me something or I'll reread a post on Myspace (I love how no one uses it anymore. It's like a perfectly preserved time period of when I was an early teen) and it'll make me feel so much better, like I'm worth something. She gives me so much strength. Will this love affair fade? Will she ever tire of my life inexperience and outgrow me? I don't think I could bare it if we drifted apart. She's one I couldn't live without.

So yeah. Another less than perfect year passed and I still can't seem to see a light at the end of the tunnel. I suppose this all boils down to a fear of loneliness but after a me-shaped hole is cut out of England come
August, I'll just have to hope that hole will still be there when it's time for me to return. Hope that it will still be remembered. Is that too much to ask?

Wednesday, 19 May 2010

Back by popular demand.

So recently I've had what some might call a dry spell. After getting a steady stream of sex for a long period, February saw it end abruptly. This was kinda caused by all of my 'fail safes' getting boyfriends or moving away (although the ones with boyfriends asked me repeatedly to come back to theirs, it turns out I do in fact have morals) but this hasn't stopped me feeling a bit shit about myself since then, thinking I'm inadequate/the Elephant Man etc. This was up until Monday night which was probably the best validation I could have had.

The Raz
It's Monday and against my better judgement I'm persuaded to go out to a club in Liverpool called the Blue Angel. Now this is the kind of studenty club where everyone gets absolutely twatted off the cheap alcohol, is really sweaty/dirty and no one cares. There's a phenomenon named 'Raz Juice' which is basically a mixture of sweat and dirt which drips off the ceiling and runs down the walls due to the heat, collecting on the floor. I went in with white pumps on and needless to say came out with black ones. Yum.

The Boy

I'm with one of my best friends outside while he smokes, he finishes and we walk back into the club. He then points out this guy he recognizes on the other side of the room. I look over and he's beautiful, as in actually gorgeous and I'm told he's bisexual. My friend's shown me him before during a Facebook stalk and he's the type of guy you talk about getting with as some kind of dream. I jokily suggest we go and stand near him at the bar and before I know it we're pretty much next to him. He gets served, gathers his drinks up and turns to walk away. This is when he sees me and we maintain eye contact for what seems like forever. He seems interested.

After getting drinks and going downstairs to dance I don't really think there's much chance of anything happening as The Raz is dark and people are difficult to find in the best of times. However, I carry on dancing and much to my surprise beautiful guy is dancing not too far away. This is when I shock even myself. It's like old confident, care-free me takes over (well I'm not su
re I've ever been totally care-free) and I start dancing with him. Now this is a straight club so it's not like I give him a lap dance or anything but I make it clear I'm interested. He makes it clear he's interested too and I end up spending probably most of the night with him.

At this point I'm not going back to his. New mature me who thinks about the consequences far too much is screaming at me to go home with my friends at the end of the night. Later on he eventually tells me he's going to the toilet and asks me if I want to go back to his after that. Still adament I'm sleeping in my own b
ed alone I say something super sexy like 'I'll make you a deal. You go to the toilet and if you can find me when you're ready to go, then I'll go back with you'. He accepts and I make myself busy finding my friends and making sure it's incredibly difficult to find me. Find me he does though and, leaving my friends, we jump in a taxi outside.

The rest is pretty much just a blur of drunken, sweaty sex but before all that we actually have a long conversation about stuff which is odd. I seem to remember talking about foreign films and his film collection before any c
lothes come off. The following morning could be less awkward but I'm still kinda drunk which makes me not really care. He refuses to put clothes on and walks around naked which normally would make me uncomfortable (I'm weird like that) and tries repeatedly to get me to stay longer. I politely decline saying I have to meet someone (a lie) and that I'm already late. He shows me the way out and on the bus home I ring my friend to tell him all the gory details. It turns out that this guy's actually a model and is signed to Storm Model Management. I'll let you ponder over which one he is.

I have his number. He's clearly too good for me. To text or not to text?

Saturday, 8 May 2010

Pot Luck.

Wow. Was it really November when I last posted? Has it really been that long?

Since it's been so long I feel like I should be able to write about something fantastically amazing which has happened in the past few months but, in truth, there hasn't really been anything. Every time I think I'm done with blogging forever it always sneaks up on me, whispering that it's not something I'm ready to leave alone. I'm come to realise that it's probably more for me than anyone else. Looking back at things I've written just a year ago is odd so I can't even imagine how it'll be ten, twenty years from now. I guess, after much deliberation, I simply haven't run out of things to say.

A quick run down of the past six months or so: disappointing housemates, a new year gay bashing, passing previously failed exams, too much alcohol, too many drugs, too many nights out, just the right amount of dancing, not enough meaningful encounters, not enough meaningless encounters, growing up, one guy wrongly thinking I gave him crabs and then telling everyone he knew, dependency on friends, building bridges with family, a sleazy dating website, planning a holiday abroad, planning a year abroad, a nation election and an undesired outcome.

I'll probably explain the most important of the above eventually but one is of particular relevance right now. Today I watched a film entitled L'auberge espagnole. It was a thoughtful Christmas present from my sister which I just got around to watching about a French man who travels to Barcelona on an Erasmus exchange. If all goes to plan I too will be going on such an exchange to Aix-en-Provence near the south coast of France. To be honest, I'm absolutely terrified. Before now I've kinda shrugged it off as something I'll just deal with when it happens.

The film prompted me to start looking at all the forms I have to fill in before various deadlines and it's really hit home how much uncertainty there is involved. I'll be in similar circumstances as the Romain Duris' character in the film as he has very little idea of what to expect. I'm the same. I'm basically going to be moving into place with complete strangers in an unknown town in a country where I don't speak the language nearly as well as I should. I mean yeah, I'm excited but also realistic about the first few weeks - they'll be nothing short of excruciating. It also doesn't help that having failed a year I know none of the other students who will be joining me from my university as they're all from the year below. By time I get there I won't have studied French for over a year as well.

Term starts in September. Wish me luck?