A younger you and a younger me

You're laughing. I graduate in less than 12 hours, and you're laughing.

Yep, we're back again as the year of the wood snake finally comes to an end. You're not supposed to be political or show any hint of charisma while on the phones at my job, but yesterday a woman was putting her bad luck down to the year of the snake, and my god i'd never been activated so quickly by someone saying something. I wouldn't shut up. 'OH MY GOD THAT'S WHAT IVE BEEN SAYING!!' escaped my mouth before i even had a second to think. This did take her 40-year old self by surprise as she let out a little gasp, after which i giggled and sheepishly said sorry. Almost as bad as when some 70 year old woke bloke was talking about Trump's ten year plan to abolish Obamacare, and I thought id be funny and say 'well, Rome wasn't built in a day'. He did not find it funny, nor have i attempted to make a client laugh ever since as my talents are evidently wasted on these people.

As I sit and attempt to write this with my XL Gel X stiletto nails, I am sad to think of what tomorrow may bring. I am 24, my life still for all intents and purposes blown mildly to smithereens, and a breakup i thought had long been left behind me has reared its head again. This is a degree that I did not receive the same level of support for as I should have in my previous relationship, as was evidenced by the, now let's say it in unison, being broken up with 3 weeks before my dissertation was due! Haha do you guys remember when that happened and I actually went clinically insane up until it was submitted because I actually didn't understand how I was supposed to process something so foul and also write 60 pages worth of a screenplay? That was so fun! Please god take me back!

But between the (unfunny) jokes and scathing articles written as a coping mechanism, I honestly am feeling a bit sad about tomorrow. This isn't how it was supposed to go down. It sounds stupid because the past 3 months specifically have seen me transform into a better version of myself that would not have existed had i still been in that relationship, but there's a strong pang of sadness with this one. Still being in the same flat, with the same cat, the same walls, the drag path of the bike wheel tyre marks still being visible in the sunlight all reminds me of what once was. Some days this is in a fond way, some days I don't even think about it, and other days, like today, I sit and I stare at the walls until they move. I am so deeply proud of myself that I didn't just pack it in completely in those 3 weeks prior to my diss being submitted, because I would never have forgiven him, nor me, for letting that happen. Similarly, I will forever be eternally grateful to my mum for tough-loving me into keeping going. But, Christ fucking alive, when will I stop being reminded of the same shit over and over again? I do not want to escape it, because it was such a large part of my life that meant so much to me, but a day that should be about celebrating me, and people being proud of me , cannot be only that. I know that my brother and mum will let an awkward air linger when they sit in the same hall to watch me walk up on stage yet again, except this time without a third person sat beside them. I know that they will pity me, even if they do not mean to. And I have no choice but to let them.

All I keep thinking about is how much has changed in the past 6 months, and how so much more will change in the ensuing 6 to come. Memories have felt less like prison bars recently and more like rehab. They haven't met me with anger or intense sorrow, but rather compassion and solitude. On Monday evening I went for a walk around the Kingsdown area and past my old pub. It was strange to walk past there while listening to an album that came out after I had left that place, but that had such intense significance on the day of the breakup itself (note to self, DON'T fucking listen to Willoughby's Interlude while balls deep in confused feelings for someone else and also retracing, in person, some of the unhappiest months of your life, it is surely doomed Yuri). So that was a fun one to explore and totally didn't make me actually dry heave on the side of the road from anxiety.

Anyway, on a totally unrelated and more Carrie Bradshaw Sex and the City type note, I wanted to just briefly mention how you actually legitimately cannot make men do a damn thing they don't want to. Dating a chef for a couple of weeks really drove this home for me conceptually, because like what do you mean we've been seeing each other for a month and you're saying we don't really know each other? Brother does not understand the concept of getting to know one another instead of sending reels! Men these days, am I right! But in all seriousness, someone can scream in your face that they care but unless the actions to back up that claim are there, then what the fuck are you spitting hot air for? Nobody is paying you to say this shit bro, chatting to someone romantically is one hundred percent an option that you do not need to entertain if you don't want to. Chefs! Classic. Better than DJs I guess (right as always, Lina).

So, for the next month or so before I inevitably crash out over something or someone else, I am prescribing you with listening to both Get Better and Happier When You're Gone from Alt Js album, 'Delta'. It definitely won't make you hurl or want to die. Promise.