As of 8:20PM this evening, this blog will have officially been my little corner of the Internet for one year. One whole year and this page is still here, still fairly regularly updated, still displaying my boring and irrelevant feelings for the whole world to see. I started off sharing this with only one person, a person who knew everything I was writing about anyway - and now, 645 pageviews and fifteen reader nationalities later, here we are, and how we've changed.
Like I said, everybody I have ever met has changed me, and a year brings a lot of people into one's life. These last two years have been probably two of the most eventful I've had so far; let's see. Since October two years ago, not in order, I've had the death of two grandparents; an operation on my mum; an 'interesting' blip at school; around 40 exams, consisting of GCSEs, AS Levels and a music qualification; getting my braces off; prom; my first job; college; meeting a hell of a lot of new people; becoming friends with Lauren; performing in public for the first time; having quite a few fairly epic sleepovers; going to Switzerland; making two short films for media; forming Octava and doing our concert; meeting Cora in person for the first time; seeing her four times after that; doing Henley Youth Festival with her; seeing Wicked with her and Zoe as the fourth time I've seen it; flying to Denmark and Scotland on my own; recording a song; getting my nana's engagement ring from my grandad; two results days; deciding to study English Language and Linguistics at university; applying to university; getting an exemplar personal statement and a full marks piece in English; my mum buying a house and renting it out; my auntie getting cancer (but it luckily being caught really early so she's okay); first house party; getting four uni offers within a week and two days of my application being sent off; first kiss; possible 'relationship' prospects with two boys, liked another two... (I'm not a slut, I promise).
It's a startling list and it is by no means exhaustive, but it proves my point - if you make a list of how much you've been through over the past couple of years, there will be a lot. Big things and small, everything will have affected you and just looking at this proves to me how much I've grown. Aside from the obvious - the obvious being that of course I've grown, I'm two years older - if you really think about it, it's quite scary. I can't even remember who I was a year ago, let alone two years, and those of you who have been reading since this blog's birth have been here to watch me form into an actual human being instead of the grumpy, insecure piece of crap I was when I first created Mind's Eye of Mine. I guess all I wanted to say, in my typical characteristic way of using far too many words and talking about myself too much, is thank you. Thank you for being here, thank you for stumbling across this however you did, and thank you for finding me and my story and my pretentious writing interesting enough to stick around.
I only started a blog because I couldn't keep a diary. I tried, but I was too surgically attached to my laptop to find the time to write on paper (and trust me, surgical attachment is an intimidating prospect - not easy to break), so I considered this a good compromise. And if I'm being perfectly honest, although this blog is for me to look back upon in the future and recapture moments of my life, there was always the chance that people would happen upon it and enjoy reading it. Writing is my 'thing', my passion and my talent, (and my proof of up-myself-ness), and I, like any human being, like getting recognition for my 'thing'. Like I said, I am not a very nice person and I am definitely not perfect. Or maybe I am perfect, since according to me, that means imperfect. But we won't start complicated linguistic ponderings today. But you are my perfectly imperfect, imperfectly perfect readers, and I value your presence here on the blog very highly indeed - even those of you who don't talk to me. Leave me a comment, pretty please?
I'm feeling like we should be celebrating. Champagne would do, or maybe even cake, but I have neither, so - Toblerone anyone? I did have chocolate M&Ms and Toffifees too the other day, but watching Grey's Anatomy is a hungry business. And chocolate M&Ms are my weakness. Nobody gets my M&Ms.
Well. One of my weaknesses. I have rather a few when it comes to chocolate.
Anyway, it's time for me to bugger off and actually do something productive for once, so I shall end my pointless ramblings here.
See you soon, bloglings.
Molly x
P.S. Freddie and I got advent calendars yesterday - the first time in three years we haven't left it until the first of December. And they're Cadbury... no High School Musical for us this year. Shame. I kind of liked ripping all their faces off. Do you think it would be as therapeutic with a Justin Bieber calendar?
P.P.S. see December 1st's post from last year if you don't know what I'm on about.
Tuesday 30 November 2010
Friday 26 November 2010
November 26th: Between the lines
Sometimes feelings are wordless.
Sometimes words aren't enough.
Sometimes there is no coherency
When one loses their faith in love.
Sometimes our hearts are empty.
Sometimes our love isn't true.
Sometimes the words we speak have no meaning
So we start our lives anew.
Memory is unforgiving,
This love that I can not pursue.
We're leaving the past behind us,
And here I am wishing you knew.
Don't listen to all that I tell you,
Instead look straight into my eyes.
If you listen to what I don't say,
Please try to read between the lines.
Human beings should be simple. If we all said what we thought and how we felt, how simple life would be. It would be like reading someone's mind, only minus the fear that they'd be thinking something horrible about you that you'd have to acknowledge. We would all know what was occupying everybody else's mind all the time - a scary yet incredibly intriguing thought.
But we don't. We don't say what we think, we don't share how we feel, and we can't read minds - and we get annoyed when people don't understand us. But why? Why don't we tell people these things?
I don't tell people these things because I'm embarrassed. I've always been one of those people who likes to sort things out by themselves; I've always been fairly self-reliant when it comes to problems I've had throughout my life. It embarrasses me to ask for help - it makes me feel weak, like I can't deal with things alone, or like I'm bothering people by talking about myself too much, no matter how much the recipient of my self-indulgent splurge denies it. But I've recently discovered that I'm not the only person who feels this way and that's quite comforting, in the way that knowing you're not alone always is.
But perhaps the most common reason for not sharing is because of this. Let me ask you a question:
How are you?
Hands up if your automatic response was 'good' or 'fine'.
Now let me ask you this:
Are you all right?
Again, hands up if the word 'fine' was the first thing that came into your head.
It seems to be automatic to reply in the affirmative to this question. As human beings, we don't want to admit to something being wrong (I don't know about other cultures, but I don't think being British particularly helps with this. Stiff upper lip and all that - even though I'm not particularly British in either appearance or mannerisms) because we all want to keep our pride and present ourselves as being able to swallow every lemon life hurls at us with a smile glued to our face. But I know that in my case, certainly, I reply to the question "how are you?" with positive answers so regularly that with certain people 'fine' doesn't mean fine anymore. I have... sort of a code, I suppose, of euphemistic ways of saying no, I'm not fine, because I can't admit that something's wrong. It goes 'fine', 'okay' and 'good', with 'fine' meaning 'not fine' and 'good' meaning... well, good, really. But those who take notice of these things will see that I rarely reply 'good' anymore, and, finding that elusive silver lining, that's something of an improvement. I may be answering euphemistically but at least I'm answering honestly.
Sometimes we don't talk about things because we want the person we're talking to to work it out for themselves. If they know everything and they know us, we think they should know what we're feeling and thinking without us having to tell them, because that's the sign of true friendship - being able to act as if that person's mind is a mere extension of your own, and you want to believe that the extension of your mind knows what you're thinking and how you're feeling even if they've never experienced it themselves. We want our loved ones to read between the lines, to stop second guessing and trust their instincts and know automatically what's wrong. It doesn't happen often but it doesn't stop us hoping it will - and the ability is there in so many people, just buried beneath the dust collected by living life.
Sometimes we don't talk about things - but we don't refrain from talking about them because they're not important. We refrain from talking about them because they're the most important things in our lives, so important and so constant and so lifechanging that we have no way of expressing them. These things are the 'dark' things we think nobody else will understand, the things that are hard to talk about, the things we think make us abnormal or weird - but 'weird' has negative connotations and these things get easier to talk about the more you do it, especially when you have to respond to questions instead of explaining on your own. Questions are specific; they show us we're not alone, because somebody else knows what's happening well enough to know what to ask. We are not weird; we are different. We are unique. Yes, maybe we are - or I am, at least - a little crazy. But life goes on, and it always will, regardless of whatever psychological or physical problems we may have, so we may as well make the effort to keep up.
Molly x
Sometimes words aren't enough.
Sometimes there is no coherency
When one loses their faith in love.
Sometimes our hearts are empty.
Sometimes our love isn't true.
Sometimes the words we speak have no meaning
So we start our lives anew.
Memory is unforgiving,
This love that I can not pursue.
We're leaving the past behind us,
And here I am wishing you knew.
Don't listen to all that I tell you,
Instead look straight into my eyes.
If you listen to what I don't say,
Please try to read between the lines.
Human beings should be simple. If we all said what we thought and how we felt, how simple life would be. It would be like reading someone's mind, only minus the fear that they'd be thinking something horrible about you that you'd have to acknowledge. We would all know what was occupying everybody else's mind all the time - a scary yet incredibly intriguing thought.
But we don't. We don't say what we think, we don't share how we feel, and we can't read minds - and we get annoyed when people don't understand us. But why? Why don't we tell people these things?
I don't tell people these things because I'm embarrassed. I've always been one of those people who likes to sort things out by themselves; I've always been fairly self-reliant when it comes to problems I've had throughout my life. It embarrasses me to ask for help - it makes me feel weak, like I can't deal with things alone, or like I'm bothering people by talking about myself too much, no matter how much the recipient of my self-indulgent splurge denies it. But I've recently discovered that I'm not the only person who feels this way and that's quite comforting, in the way that knowing you're not alone always is.
But perhaps the most common reason for not sharing is because of this. Let me ask you a question:
How are you?
Hands up if your automatic response was 'good' or 'fine'.
Now let me ask you this:
Are you all right?
Again, hands up if the word 'fine' was the first thing that came into your head.
It seems to be automatic to reply in the affirmative to this question. As human beings, we don't want to admit to something being wrong (I don't know about other cultures, but I don't think being British particularly helps with this. Stiff upper lip and all that - even though I'm not particularly British in either appearance or mannerisms) because we all want to keep our pride and present ourselves as being able to swallow every lemon life hurls at us with a smile glued to our face. But I know that in my case, certainly, I reply to the question "how are you?" with positive answers so regularly that with certain people 'fine' doesn't mean fine anymore. I have... sort of a code, I suppose, of euphemistic ways of saying no, I'm not fine, because I can't admit that something's wrong. It goes 'fine', 'okay' and 'good', with 'fine' meaning 'not fine' and 'good' meaning... well, good, really. But those who take notice of these things will see that I rarely reply 'good' anymore, and, finding that elusive silver lining, that's something of an improvement. I may be answering euphemistically but at least I'm answering honestly.
Sometimes we don't talk about things because we want the person we're talking to to work it out for themselves. If they know everything and they know us, we think they should know what we're feeling and thinking without us having to tell them, because that's the sign of true friendship - being able to act as if that person's mind is a mere extension of your own, and you want to believe that the extension of your mind knows what you're thinking and how you're feeling even if they've never experienced it themselves. We want our loved ones to read between the lines, to stop second guessing and trust their instincts and know automatically what's wrong. It doesn't happen often but it doesn't stop us hoping it will - and the ability is there in so many people, just buried beneath the dust collected by living life.
Sometimes we don't talk about things - but we don't refrain from talking about them because they're not important. We refrain from talking about them because they're the most important things in our lives, so important and so constant and so lifechanging that we have no way of expressing them. These things are the 'dark' things we think nobody else will understand, the things that are hard to talk about, the things we think make us abnormal or weird - but 'weird' has negative connotations and these things get easier to talk about the more you do it, especially when you have to respond to questions instead of explaining on your own. Questions are specific; they show us we're not alone, because somebody else knows what's happening well enough to know what to ask. We are not weird; we are different. We are unique. Yes, maybe we are - or I am, at least - a little crazy. But life goes on, and it always will, regardless of whatever psychological or physical problems we may have, so we may as well make the effort to keep up.
Molly x
Thursday 25 November 2010
November 25th: Happy Thanksgiving and one month until Christmas!
I am not a very nice person.
I'm not. I'm sarcastic and rude and annoying. I get irritated easily and think horrible thoughts about people all the time. I'm more than a little pathetic and I pretend I can deal with things by myself while all the time becoming more and more dependent on other people. I'm a real pain in the arse.
Freddie is sweet and charming, if a little annoying.
Becky worries too much, but she's clever and makes me laugh.
Zoe is loyal and thoughtful, but I think sometimes she thinks about others a bit too much, if that's possible. She tends to forget herself sometimes.
Lauren is hilarious and completely nice - there's nothing not to like about her - but she's a bit competitive sometimes.
Charlotte is so friendly and considerate, though she's completely surgically attached to Becky.
Cora has way too many talents and I'm incredibly jealous of her.
And all of them love me. God knows why, but they do. They love me despite the fact that I'm sarcastic and rude and annoying and that I dump some crap on them at times. And I love them, despite the fact that they're not perfect either - but then I wonder if you know my theory on perfection.
Perfection describes somebody who is perfect in every way and never does a thing wrong - and that would be incredibly annoying. Annoying is an adjective which is not synonymous with perfection; therefore it's an imperfect quality. Nobody can be perfect because they'd be annoying, and that would mean there was something that's not good about them. Therefore perfection and imperfection cancel each other out and essentially that means neither concept exists.
God, my brain hurts.
Are you still following me? Good, then I'll continue. Where was I?
Nobody's perfect (or imperfect, but we won't go there), but everybody has relationships with other human beings, be it romantic, friendly, family or surgical attachment. I've said before about relationships and human contact being pretty much the most important thing in life, and I think, as it's Thanksgiving today, it's a good time to think about that a bit more.
And yes, I know I'm English and don't celebrate Thanksgiving, but that's not the point. I have American readers. And besides, the sentiment is still the same, regardless of your nationality or religious beliefs.
And we totally had turkey sandwiches at lunch today to celebrate.
You only ever know a person as much as they decide to let you. There will always be hidden fragments of someone that you have yet to discover - whether they've been in your life forever or just a few days. I can honestly say that only a handful of people truly know me - probably only one person knows me fully, but the rest know me well enough. If you knew how depressing I am, what dark thoughts I think sometimes, you'd be tempted to reach for the nearest baseball bat and back away slowly with a wary expression on your face. And yet I have the best group of friends I could ever ask for and the most supportive parents (on most fronts) I could have. I'm so lucky, because despite the fact that I am annoying, rude, selfish and pathetic, people don't seem to have noticed, or if they have, they've decided that my positive qualities (which do exist, just mainly unbeknown to me) outweigh the negative ones. And to that, my friends, I say: woopus to the maximus.
Speaking of woopus to the maximus, there's another English trip next Thursday, to the British library again. Charlotte and I are quite looking forward to it, despite the fact that I got roped into a workshop thing that I'm doing my best to get out of. Still, it should be fun. And after the library we can go shopping in London... which is always good. Except I have no money and I don't think Charlotte will let me get away with only going to the cheap parts.
And now I can feel my brain going into hibernation for the night, so I'll be back in a few days to gloat that I've been writing here for a year... never thought that would happen.
Happy Thanksgiving, you gorgeous Americans. And all you Danes, Brazilians, Swedes, South Africans, Canadians, Chinese, Taiwanese, Germans, Israelites, Japanese, Latvians, Thai people, people from Singapore, and, of course, my fellow Brits - and anyone else whose country doesn't show up on this blog's stats page.
Molly x
I'm not. I'm sarcastic and rude and annoying. I get irritated easily and think horrible thoughts about people all the time. I'm more than a little pathetic and I pretend I can deal with things by myself while all the time becoming more and more dependent on other people. I'm a real pain in the arse.
Freddie is sweet and charming, if a little annoying.
Becky worries too much, but she's clever and makes me laugh.
Zoe is loyal and thoughtful, but I think sometimes she thinks about others a bit too much, if that's possible. She tends to forget herself sometimes.
Lauren is hilarious and completely nice - there's nothing not to like about her - but she's a bit competitive sometimes.
Charlotte is so friendly and considerate, though she's completely surgically attached to Becky.
Cora has way too many talents and I'm incredibly jealous of her.
And all of them love me. God knows why, but they do. They love me despite the fact that I'm sarcastic and rude and annoying and that I dump some crap on them at times. And I love them, despite the fact that they're not perfect either - but then I wonder if you know my theory on perfection.
Perfection describes somebody who is perfect in every way and never does a thing wrong - and that would be incredibly annoying. Annoying is an adjective which is not synonymous with perfection; therefore it's an imperfect quality. Nobody can be perfect because they'd be annoying, and that would mean there was something that's not good about them. Therefore perfection and imperfection cancel each other out and essentially that means neither concept exists.
God, my brain hurts.
Are you still following me? Good, then I'll continue. Where was I?
Nobody's perfect (or imperfect, but we won't go there), but everybody has relationships with other human beings, be it romantic, friendly, family or surgical attachment. I've said before about relationships and human contact being pretty much the most important thing in life, and I think, as it's Thanksgiving today, it's a good time to think about that a bit more.
And yes, I know I'm English and don't celebrate Thanksgiving, but that's not the point. I have American readers. And besides, the sentiment is still the same, regardless of your nationality or religious beliefs.
And we totally had turkey sandwiches at lunch today to celebrate.
You only ever know a person as much as they decide to let you. There will always be hidden fragments of someone that you have yet to discover - whether they've been in your life forever or just a few days. I can honestly say that only a handful of people truly know me - probably only one person knows me fully, but the rest know me well enough. If you knew how depressing I am, what dark thoughts I think sometimes, you'd be tempted to reach for the nearest baseball bat and back away slowly with a wary expression on your face. And yet I have the best group of friends I could ever ask for and the most supportive parents (on most fronts) I could have. I'm so lucky, because despite the fact that I am annoying, rude, selfish and pathetic, people don't seem to have noticed, or if they have, they've decided that my positive qualities (which do exist, just mainly unbeknown to me) outweigh the negative ones. And to that, my friends, I say: woopus to the maximus.
Speaking of woopus to the maximus, there's another English trip next Thursday, to the British library again. Charlotte and I are quite looking forward to it, despite the fact that I got roped into a workshop thing that I'm doing my best to get out of. Still, it should be fun. And after the library we can go shopping in London... which is always good. Except I have no money and I don't think Charlotte will let me get away with only going to the cheap parts.
And now I can feel my brain going into hibernation for the night, so I'll be back in a few days to gloat that I've been writing here for a year... never thought that would happen.
Happy Thanksgiving, you gorgeous Americans. And all you Danes, Brazilians, Swedes, South Africans, Canadians, Chinese, Taiwanese, Germans, Israelites, Japanese, Latvians, Thai people, people from Singapore, and, of course, my fellow Brits - and anyone else whose country doesn't show up on this blog's stats page.
Molly x
Friday 19 November 2010
November 19th: Everybody wants to be a...
Cat. Go on, admit it, you were thinking it. But being a cat, undoubtedly nice as it would be, is not actually what I'm here to talk about today.
(Just a quick note before we start: God, wouldn't it be fricking amazing to be a cat? All they do is eat, sleep and get cuddled... a perfect lifestyle by anyone's standards. And they look cuter the fatter they get. Cats: 4. Humans: 0.)
Everybody wants to be... famous or recognized. All these reality TV shows prove that. On the X Factor, when asked why they're on the show, a person might respond "I want to be famous". Whatever happened to "I want to sing"? Everybody wants to be rich. Everybody wants shallow things. Not that I'm saying being rich wouldn't be nice, because I can think of a lot of things I could do if I were... most of my money would probably go to certain airlines offering flights between England and Denmark. But people rarely stop to consider the problems that go with being rich; people sucking up, pretending they're your friend, just to get at your money. Not that I would know anything about being rich, because I'm not. I don't know a lot about anything really. But I can guess. I can empathise.
Go ask a little girl what she wants to be and she'll tell you. A pop star? A ballerina? Ask a boy. A footballer? A rally driver? Okay, so ask a teenage girl. A writer, she'll tell you. A singer. A singer-songwriter, even better! I can sing, she'll say, I can write, I can play the guitar. So what? So can half the population of the world. And for the record, no you can't. You suck. Your lyrics are a pile of crap and your singing voice makes me want to hide under the bed. And so does mine. I never wanted to be famous but I wanted to sing, and I definitely wanted to write. I still do. Singing is a hobby of mine but writing is my true love... but I'm not that good. I know I'm good at English. I know I'm good at language analysis and comparison and spelling and grammar. I know I spend hours thinking about language-y things that never even cross other people's minds. But writing? I'm not that good and I've accepted that. Linguistics will be my life and I will make something out of it, because that's my calling. Cheesy and cliched, yes, very, but it is. Language and linguistics excite me, they inspire me, and I feel at home in their wordy clutches, and I hope my love of it will always remain this strong. I want to be the person who writes the next "Eats Shoots and Leaves".
As I once said to a very close friend of mine when I was in a pretentious-writer mood, "language is my law and I am its keeper... we protect each other". She told me to get a life.
Bear in mind, it was about midnight. I come out with stupid things when it's late.
Why does everybody want fame these days? Why does everybody try and claw their way up to public acclaim on very little or no talent? Recognition is different. It's be great to be recognised and acknowledged for one's achievements, but who wants to be famous? Who wants stalkers and constant publicity? Who wants the whole world thinking they know you and judging you for something you may or may not even have said? Not me. Sure, being ignored sucks, but I don't think being famous means that people care about you. People think you belong to them - that your talent, real or otherwise, is public property. That your life is public property. They think they have the right to express their opinions on the way you choose to go about your daily business and most of the time they have no idea whether or not what they're saying is actually true. The media is everyone's enemy, supposedly. Everybody tells you not to believe everything you read; but here we are, every day, believing everything we read and judging people on it. Okay, some "celebrities" are undoubtedly talentless and fake (like many X Factor contestants, though that's not their fault - I reckon X Factor just manufactures them into what they think the audience wants to see), or perhaps they're famous for doing absolutely nothing at all (Paris Hilton much?), or perhaps they've made mistakes (Lindsay Lohan). But they don't deserve all the stick the media gives them, especially the people who are new to the "fame game", like the X Factor contestants. A lot of them are around my age or even younger and I know for a fact, having had the opportunity to audition myself earlier this year and deciding against it, that I wouldn't be able to go and sing in front of such a massive audience every week. I simply wouldn't be able to do it. No matter how good or bad these people are, they have enough courage to put themselves and their love of music out there, despite how scared they might be, and I think there's something to be said for that.
No news is good news. All publicity is good publicity. Rubbish. Publicity means people are noticing you, and sometimes, if it's not for a good reason, there's nothing you want more than to melt into the background. No news means nothing has changed. No news means the universities haven't decided yet whether to give you a place. No news means the doctors haven't been able to save your loved one yet. No news means something is still unfinished, and unfinished means incomplete, and incomplete means I'm not whole yet. And I'm not whole yet, see - I'm made up of so many different elements, so many different people - people who, upon their removal from my life, would create holes within me that would eventually cause me to crumble to the ground. I am who I am, as said by the wise words of the Orange mobile advert, because of everyone. Everyone I've ever met has changed me in some way, but it's those who don't try to change you who end up changing you the most. Mum, Dad, Freddie, Becky, Zoe, Charlotte, Lauren... and Cora, who has changed me more than anybody I've ever known and pretty much sculpted me into the person I am today. We can't exist on our own; we need our loved ones around us, because without them there's no way we can be completely happy and fulfilled. I know I've talked before about overlooking people, but it's just so easy to do when life sweeps you up and carries you along and doesn't even give you a moment to breathe, let alone tell the people you love that you appreciate them. Everyone gets swept away sometimes, but to my friends and family (and both), I hope you know I love you and I really do appreciate your presence in my life.
Molly x
(Just a quick note before we start: God, wouldn't it be fricking amazing to be a cat? All they do is eat, sleep and get cuddled... a perfect lifestyle by anyone's standards. And they look cuter the fatter they get. Cats: 4. Humans: 0.)
Everybody wants to be... famous or recognized. All these reality TV shows prove that. On the X Factor, when asked why they're on the show, a person might respond "I want to be famous". Whatever happened to "I want to sing"? Everybody wants to be rich. Everybody wants shallow things. Not that I'm saying being rich wouldn't be nice, because I can think of a lot of things I could do if I were... most of my money would probably go to certain airlines offering flights between England and Denmark. But people rarely stop to consider the problems that go with being rich; people sucking up, pretending they're your friend, just to get at your money. Not that I would know anything about being rich, because I'm not. I don't know a lot about anything really. But I can guess. I can empathise.
Go ask a little girl what she wants to be and she'll tell you. A pop star? A ballerina? Ask a boy. A footballer? A rally driver? Okay, so ask a teenage girl. A writer, she'll tell you. A singer. A singer-songwriter, even better! I can sing, she'll say, I can write, I can play the guitar. So what? So can half the population of the world. And for the record, no you can't. You suck. Your lyrics are a pile of crap and your singing voice makes me want to hide under the bed. And so does mine. I never wanted to be famous but I wanted to sing, and I definitely wanted to write. I still do. Singing is a hobby of mine but writing is my true love... but I'm not that good. I know I'm good at English. I know I'm good at language analysis and comparison and spelling and grammar. I know I spend hours thinking about language-y things that never even cross other people's minds. But writing? I'm not that good and I've accepted that. Linguistics will be my life and I will make something out of it, because that's my calling. Cheesy and cliched, yes, very, but it is. Language and linguistics excite me, they inspire me, and I feel at home in their wordy clutches, and I hope my love of it will always remain this strong. I want to be the person who writes the next "Eats Shoots and Leaves".
As I once said to a very close friend of mine when I was in a pretentious-writer mood, "language is my law and I am its keeper... we protect each other". She told me to get a life.
Bear in mind, it was about midnight. I come out with stupid things when it's late.
Why does everybody want fame these days? Why does everybody try and claw their way up to public acclaim on very little or no talent? Recognition is different. It's be great to be recognised and acknowledged for one's achievements, but who wants to be famous? Who wants stalkers and constant publicity? Who wants the whole world thinking they know you and judging you for something you may or may not even have said? Not me. Sure, being ignored sucks, but I don't think being famous means that people care about you. People think you belong to them - that your talent, real or otherwise, is public property. That your life is public property. They think they have the right to express their opinions on the way you choose to go about your daily business and most of the time they have no idea whether or not what they're saying is actually true. The media is everyone's enemy, supposedly. Everybody tells you not to believe everything you read; but here we are, every day, believing everything we read and judging people on it. Okay, some "celebrities" are undoubtedly talentless and fake (like many X Factor contestants, though that's not their fault - I reckon X Factor just manufactures them into what they think the audience wants to see), or perhaps they're famous for doing absolutely nothing at all (Paris Hilton much?), or perhaps they've made mistakes (Lindsay Lohan). But they don't deserve all the stick the media gives them, especially the people who are new to the "fame game", like the X Factor contestants. A lot of them are around my age or even younger and I know for a fact, having had the opportunity to audition myself earlier this year and deciding against it, that I wouldn't be able to go and sing in front of such a massive audience every week. I simply wouldn't be able to do it. No matter how good or bad these people are, they have enough courage to put themselves and their love of music out there, despite how scared they might be, and I think there's something to be said for that.
No news is good news. All publicity is good publicity. Rubbish. Publicity means people are noticing you, and sometimes, if it's not for a good reason, there's nothing you want more than to melt into the background. No news means nothing has changed. No news means the universities haven't decided yet whether to give you a place. No news means the doctors haven't been able to save your loved one yet. No news means something is still unfinished, and unfinished means incomplete, and incomplete means I'm not whole yet. And I'm not whole yet, see - I'm made up of so many different elements, so many different people - people who, upon their removal from my life, would create holes within me that would eventually cause me to crumble to the ground. I am who I am, as said by the wise words of the Orange mobile advert, because of everyone. Everyone I've ever met has changed me in some way, but it's those who don't try to change you who end up changing you the most. Mum, Dad, Freddie, Becky, Zoe, Charlotte, Lauren... and Cora, who has changed me more than anybody I've ever known and pretty much sculpted me into the person I am today. We can't exist on our own; we need our loved ones around us, because without them there's no way we can be completely happy and fulfilled. I know I've talked before about overlooking people, but it's just so easy to do when life sweeps you up and carries you along and doesn't even give you a moment to breathe, let alone tell the people you love that you appreciate them. Everyone gets swept away sometimes, but to my friends and family (and both), I hope you know I love you and I really do appreciate your presence in my life.
Molly x
Monday 15 November 2010
November 15th: My first offer!
I'm so excited! I don't really have anything else to say than that but I thought this was worth a post anyway... I am, after all, supposed to be logging my school days on this blog and as school-related developments go, this is a pretty epic one.
So I got an email from UCAS which said "Your application has changed", so I logged onto Track and saw that I had a conditional offer from UWE Bristol University (which, by the way, is the uni with the highest entry requirements that I've applied to) and I promptly had a little spaz. I'm going to the open day on Saturday so I'll have to see if I like it then, but course-wise it offers things that are fairly different to all the other places to which I've applied. Exciting times!
The funny thing is, my dad is actually working at that university at the moment for a couple of days a week. It would be quite awesome if he ended up there when I'm there. Woopus to the maximus!
Sorry, short and badly written update, but my brain is scrambled and I have far more important things to worry about right now than the state of my writing here in this crappy little blog.
Will be back soon to bore you some more.
Signing off...
Molly (who has an offer from a uni... WOOOP!) x
So I got an email from UCAS which said "Your application has changed", so I logged onto Track and saw that I had a conditional offer from UWE Bristol University (which, by the way, is the uni with the highest entry requirements that I've applied to) and I promptly had a little spaz. I'm going to the open day on Saturday so I'll have to see if I like it then, but course-wise it offers things that are fairly different to all the other places to which I've applied. Exciting times!
The funny thing is, my dad is actually working at that university at the moment for a couple of days a week. It would be quite awesome if he ended up there when I'm there. Woopus to the maximus!
Sorry, short and badly written update, but my brain is scrambled and I have far more important things to worry about right now than the state of my writing here in this crappy little blog.
Will be back soon to bore you some more.
Signing off...
Molly (who has an offer from a uni... WOOOP!) x
Tuesday 9 November 2010
November 9th: Small pleasures for small minds
Small minds. An interesting concept, that, considering that the human brain is sometimes described as the 'most powerful computer in existence'. It can do so much, and yet people are constantly inventing new words to insult the capacity of the brain - stupid, dumb, idiot, eejit, dope, witless, dense, dull, dim, foolish, nitwit, obtuse... and they're just the ones that aren't rude. Why do we do this? Is it really because, as our parents suggest when we come home crying from primary school, being mean to others makes us feel good? Makes us feel clever? More important? Why do some people take pleasure from insulting others and some take pleasure from making people's day? Looking back on my own primary school days, I can remember a couple of boys and a girl, all with faces which made me itch to slap them just by looking at them, who would stalk a slug with a packet of salt and watch gleefully as it shrank before their eyes. Those are the minds that are small. Those are the minds that will (hopefully, if karma has anything to do with it) spend their entire lives stacking boxes. (Not that there's anything wrong with stacking boxes, but most of us have higher ambitions). But karma doesn't always work, does it? And even when it does, it doesn't work soon enough for you to be standing there, pointing and laughing, and certainly not soon enough for them to realize why their lives are suddenly crumbling about their ears. It always seems to be the nice guys for whom things go wrong and I for one am sick of it.
It's so easy to look at someone and judge them. Someone you pass in the street or even someone you know. Someone in your classes, perhaps. Maybe even someone in your group of friends. We can think we know a person inside out but really we have no idea what goes on inside their head. How can we, without being them? Sometimes we do know what's going on inside their head but we just don't remember and we judge anyway. Forgetting is fine. Forgetting is human. We're not elephants, after all - even though sometimes we may feel like one (and some people around college certainly resemble one. Trunk and everything). But when people who really don't know what they're talking about try to tell me what they think is best for me... that is one of the most irritating things in the world, pretty much up there with being told that your A Levels aren't proper subjects and that they're not very important (oh yes, I speak from experience). There's a difference, though, between thinking you know everything because you care, much like my mum did after she went to one talk on uni and considered herself the expert on personal statements, and thinking you know everything because you think you know everything. Those people are just annoying, sticking their noses into people's lives, trying to influence people who are absolutely nothing like them to act the way they do and think the way they do and like the same things they do.
I can't look at people now without wondering if they're as normal as they seem - I understand that things aren't always as straightforward as they may look on the surface, and until you're in that person's shoes for yourself, you have no idea what their lives are like and you should not try to make decisions for them. Let people live their own lives, and if they let you in, don't close the door in their face.
Molly x
An example of small pleasures for small minds is the fact that I have indeed changed my blog background - I thought the whole eye-zapping green thing I had going on was a bit too 'old me'. If you noticed that, nice one. You are perfectly small and openminded at the same time.
It's so easy to look at someone and judge them. Someone you pass in the street or even someone you know. Someone in your classes, perhaps. Maybe even someone in your group of friends. We can think we know a person inside out but really we have no idea what goes on inside their head. How can we, without being them? Sometimes we do know what's going on inside their head but we just don't remember and we judge anyway. Forgetting is fine. Forgetting is human. We're not elephants, after all - even though sometimes we may feel like one (and some people around college certainly resemble one. Trunk and everything). But when people who really don't know what they're talking about try to tell me what they think is best for me... that is one of the most irritating things in the world, pretty much up there with being told that your A Levels aren't proper subjects and that they're not very important (oh yes, I speak from experience). There's a difference, though, between thinking you know everything because you care, much like my mum did after she went to one talk on uni and considered herself the expert on personal statements, and thinking you know everything because you think you know everything. Those people are just annoying, sticking their noses into people's lives, trying to influence people who are absolutely nothing like them to act the way they do and think the way they do and like the same things they do.
I can't look at people now without wondering if they're as normal as they seem - I understand that things aren't always as straightforward as they may look on the surface, and until you're in that person's shoes for yourself, you have no idea what their lives are like and you should not try to make decisions for them. Let people live their own lives, and if they let you in, don't close the door in their face.
Molly x
An example of small pleasures for small minds is the fact that I have indeed changed my blog background - I thought the whole eye-zapping green thing I had going on was a bit too 'old me'. If you noticed that, nice one. You are perfectly small and openminded at the same time.
Monday 8 November 2010
November 8th: Poshing it up with a bit of Backstreet Boys
If I can't live without you
Then I guess this is death
But breathing's so much easier
Having breathed my very last breath
If I can't see without you
I'm walking in the dark
But I couldn't see beside you
My once-ignited spark
If I'm alone without you
If this is solitude
At least I am not lonely
Alone is my new you
If I can't breathe without you
Though I'm struggling for air
My lungs fill much more freely
Is love beyond compare?
Just thought I'd share a bit of my other writing with you today. That's a poem called 'If I Can't Live Without You', written at some point last year, and I don't really know why I felt it was relevant to what's occuring with me right now because on the love front, my life is shamefully lacking. I suppose, though, that the poem refers to the cliches of love, the things that are expected of it, and at the moment there are a hell of a lot of un-romance-related things expected of me that may or may not be the right thing for me to do, and right now it's about finding out what I want from life and how to get it. The poem says "is love beyond compare?", asking if doing what's expected of a person is truly what makes them happy, and that's very relevant to everyone my age at the moment. Deciding whether to go to university and what to study there and what to do if you don't is a lifechanging choice, and I'm sure everyone can relate to that because there are certainly many choices to make throughout your life and many paths you have to choose whether or not to follow.
I can not believe I'm voluntarily analysing something. And something I've written at that. I should shut up now, before I ruin it for those of you who don't actually care about language in any way, shape or form (of which there are many). Okay. Seriously Molly. Zip it.
If this post makes no sense, it's because I'm listening to a bit of Medina right now... good old Danish music. (Even if you don't speak Danish, go listen to Vi To. It's awesome. My friend Zoë can vouch for that and neither of us speak Danish - though in my case, I'm working on that).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnegqiDPbg0
By the way, if you read this and I don't know that you read it (meaning if you're not Charlotte, Cora or Zoë), PLEASE leave me a comment! I've noticed my viewing stats rising... well, quite dramatically lately (which has made me indescribably happy), and I'd love to know who you are. Don't be afraid; I don't bite, I promise!
No vampires here.
(Charlotte, Cora and Zoë, I do also appreciate comments from you very much. I love receiving feedback on my crappy ramblings, so go ahead and finger those keyboards. ;))
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas has just started playing and I'm feeling alarmingly festive. This is not good. It's November the 8th, for heaven's sake. Still, only a month or so to go. On the subject of only a month or so to go, I realized recently that this blog was first set up nearly a year ago. I never thought I'd keep this up for this long! I mean, that was always the plan, but when I've tried to keep "diaries" before, they've lasted all of about... ooh, a week. Or less. Maybe a day or two. Anyway, the point still stands. That was the point of creating a blog in the first place though - my reasoning being that I spend so much time on the computer that maybe it would be easier for me to write here consistently than it would be on paper. And it seems to work! I'm glad, because even looking back on the first couple of posts reminds me of things I'd forgotten about... and how I've changed since then! That first post was one far too depressing to start a blog with - what an impression I must have given (though nobody read it back then, so maybe none of you knew what a grump I was then. But of course, now you're all going to go and read it. Honestly, it's a vicious circle. And to be honest, a hell of a lot of my blog posts now are equally depressing, only written in a wholly up-myself style. I'm not up-myself, I promise, it's just that writing is really the only thing I can do somewhat entertainingly, so can you blame me for wanting to posh it up a bit?)
And on that "poshing it up" note, I might take a moment to point out that the Backstreet Boys is currently playing on my phone. (Though I only downloaded it because I spoofed the song and I needed it to learn the timing. But still.) I don't care, as long as you love me.
And yes, you can see that this is where I decided on the name of today's post.
As soon as I got into English this morning, Hannah pounced on me (not literally, before you start imagining it) and said "I sent your UCAS last night!"
So, as far as I know, that's it. My application is now in the hands of UCAS itself and it's their job to (finally) pass it on to the universities so they can choose whether or not they're going to make my day (and an offer). Exciting stuff. I hope they get back to me soon and I hope I actually get a few offers... all five would be nice but I'm not holding my breath. My personal statement may be good but my grades are less than impressive, and there is - what else is new? - a crazily high number of applicants this year.
I was a right nerd in English today, coming top in our spontaneous test. Hannah was like "You're on fire today!", responding to my answer to a question with "Ooh, get you and your 'utterances'!" - and the thing about writing things like this here, things that happened throughout the day, is that everyone who knows me from college who reads this already knows. Hmm. It's ironic that people read your writing because they like it, but the more people read it, the more you try to change it to make it interesting for them, and they liked it originally. Having said that, I'm going to write another I-already-know-this thing for the people at college and say that Alex and I filmed our media stuff today at last. It's been such a hassle getting everyone together, especially as one person dropped out at the last minute yesterday (thankfully Hollie stepped in and she did a very good job) and we literally found our male character about an hour before we filmed by ambushing him in the canteen and begging him. On Wednesday we'll start editing it and I'm actually quite excited about seeing how it's going to turn out. Hannah-from-media came to Henley to help/watch as well, which was fun since I hadn't seen her since June as she goes to uni now.
Quick note just to say that today's Google image is quite interesting. 115th anniversary of the discovery of X-rays... interesting. I am, however, disgusted to see a capital letter on the "Anniversary" and "Discovery" when you hover your cursor over the image... seriously, Google? Incorrect capitalisation? Get a grip.
I can't look at that without thinking about Grey's Anatomy though, so I think I'd better give Becky and Charlotte a quick mention since that's currently their (Becky's) obsession. Now it's hard to know what she's more obsessed with - Grey's Anatomy or Gok Wan. She needs to get a life, though having been in the throes of an obsession that strong myself, I know she can't help leading every thought and conversation back to it. I do love her. ;)
Now I'd better stop writing here before I bore your faces off. Keep an eye out for the next time I descend upon you with irrelevant, boring and badly put (I blame the music I'm listening to - I never do have a coherent word output when I've got a word input to consider as well) information about my life. Toodlepip, knobs.
Molly x
P.S. Don't be offended that I called you a knob. It's my term of endearment. I sound like an idiot saying words like "sweetie" or "darling" so I use "knob" instead. Seriously, you should feel flattered. If I don't call you a knob, you're not my friend.
Then I guess this is death
But breathing's so much easier
Having breathed my very last breath
If I can't see without you
I'm walking in the dark
But I couldn't see beside you
My once-ignited spark
If I'm alone without you
If this is solitude
At least I am not lonely
Alone is my new you
If I can't breathe without you
Though I'm struggling for air
My lungs fill much more freely
Is love beyond compare?
Just thought I'd share a bit of my other writing with you today. That's a poem called 'If I Can't Live Without You', written at some point last year, and I don't really know why I felt it was relevant to what's occuring with me right now because on the love front, my life is shamefully lacking. I suppose, though, that the poem refers to the cliches of love, the things that are expected of it, and at the moment there are a hell of a lot of un-romance-related things expected of me that may or may not be the right thing for me to do, and right now it's about finding out what I want from life and how to get it. The poem says "is love beyond compare?", asking if doing what's expected of a person is truly what makes them happy, and that's very relevant to everyone my age at the moment. Deciding whether to go to university and what to study there and what to do if you don't is a lifechanging choice, and I'm sure everyone can relate to that because there are certainly many choices to make throughout your life and many paths you have to choose whether or not to follow.
I can not believe I'm voluntarily analysing something. And something I've written at that. I should shut up now, before I ruin it for those of you who don't actually care about language in any way, shape or form (of which there are many). Okay. Seriously Molly. Zip it.
If this post makes no sense, it's because I'm listening to a bit of Medina right now... good old Danish music. (Even if you don't speak Danish, go listen to Vi To. It's awesome. My friend Zoë can vouch for that and neither of us speak Danish - though in my case, I'm working on that).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnegqiDPbg0
By the way, if you read this and I don't know that you read it (meaning if you're not Charlotte, Cora or Zoë), PLEASE leave me a comment! I've noticed my viewing stats rising... well, quite dramatically lately (which has made me indescribably happy), and I'd love to know who you are. Don't be afraid; I don't bite, I promise!
No vampires here.
(Charlotte, Cora and Zoë, I do also appreciate comments from you very much. I love receiving feedback on my crappy ramblings, so go ahead and finger those keyboards. ;))
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas has just started playing and I'm feeling alarmingly festive. This is not good. It's November the 8th, for heaven's sake. Still, only a month or so to go. On the subject of only a month or so to go, I realized recently that this blog was first set up nearly a year ago. I never thought I'd keep this up for this long! I mean, that was always the plan, but when I've tried to keep "diaries" before, they've lasted all of about... ooh, a week. Or less. Maybe a day or two. Anyway, the point still stands. That was the point of creating a blog in the first place though - my reasoning being that I spend so much time on the computer that maybe it would be easier for me to write here consistently than it would be on paper. And it seems to work! I'm glad, because even looking back on the first couple of posts reminds me of things I'd forgotten about... and how I've changed since then! That first post was one far too depressing to start a blog with - what an impression I must have given (though nobody read it back then, so maybe none of you knew what a grump I was then. But of course, now you're all going to go and read it. Honestly, it's a vicious circle. And to be honest, a hell of a lot of my blog posts now are equally depressing, only written in a wholly up-myself style. I'm not up-myself, I promise, it's just that writing is really the only thing I can do somewhat entertainingly, so can you blame me for wanting to posh it up a bit?)
And on that "poshing it up" note, I might take a moment to point out that the Backstreet Boys is currently playing on my phone. (Though I only downloaded it because I spoofed the song and I needed it to learn the timing. But still.) I don't care, as long as you love me.
And yes, you can see that this is where I decided on the name of today's post.
As soon as I got into English this morning, Hannah pounced on me (not literally, before you start imagining it) and said "I sent your UCAS last night!"
So, as far as I know, that's it. My application is now in the hands of UCAS itself and it's their job to (finally) pass it on to the universities so they can choose whether or not they're going to make my day (and an offer). Exciting stuff. I hope they get back to me soon and I hope I actually get a few offers... all five would be nice but I'm not holding my breath. My personal statement may be good but my grades are less than impressive, and there is - what else is new? - a crazily high number of applicants this year.
I was a right nerd in English today, coming top in our spontaneous test. Hannah was like "You're on fire today!", responding to my answer to a question with "Ooh, get you and your 'utterances'!" - and the thing about writing things like this here, things that happened throughout the day, is that everyone who knows me from college who reads this already knows. Hmm. It's ironic that people read your writing because they like it, but the more people read it, the more you try to change it to make it interesting for them, and they liked it originally. Having said that, I'm going to write another I-already-know-this thing for the people at college and say that Alex and I filmed our media stuff today at last. It's been such a hassle getting everyone together, especially as one person dropped out at the last minute yesterday (thankfully Hollie stepped in and she did a very good job) and we literally found our male character about an hour before we filmed by ambushing him in the canteen and begging him. On Wednesday we'll start editing it and I'm actually quite excited about seeing how it's going to turn out. Hannah-from-media came to Henley to help/watch as well, which was fun since I hadn't seen her since June as she goes to uni now.
Quick note just to say that today's Google image is quite interesting. 115th anniversary of the discovery of X-rays... interesting. I am, however, disgusted to see a capital letter on the "Anniversary" and "Discovery" when you hover your cursor over the image... seriously, Google? Incorrect capitalisation? Get a grip.
I can't look at that without thinking about Grey's Anatomy though, so I think I'd better give Becky and Charlotte a quick mention since that's currently their (Becky's) obsession. Now it's hard to know what she's more obsessed with - Grey's Anatomy or Gok Wan. She needs to get a life, though having been in the throes of an obsession that strong myself, I know she can't help leading every thought and conversation back to it. I do love her. ;)
Now I'd better stop writing here before I bore your faces off. Keep an eye out for the next time I descend upon you with irrelevant, boring and badly put (I blame the music I'm listening to - I never do have a coherent word output when I've got a word input to consider as well) information about my life. Toodlepip, knobs.
Molly x
P.S. Don't be offended that I called you a knob. It's my term of endearment. I sound like an idiot saying words like "sweetie" or "darling" so I use "knob" instead. Seriously, you should feel flattered. If I don't call you a knob, you're not my friend.
Friday 5 November 2010
November 5th: Old school blog style
First off, happy bonfire night. Remember, remember the 5th of November and all that...
I don't really know what to write about. I'm in one of those frustrating moods where you want to do something but you don't know what; you can't channel your creativity in quite the right direction. Uncategorized inspiration. Very irritating. So I figured I'd just start writing and sooner or later words will appear on the page - though whether or not they actually make sense is a different story.
The sky is very grey today, and a light smattering of rain is drifting down from the sky. This kind of weather always makes me remember a very unremarkable moment which happened a few years ago now. I was in Devon with my parents, visiting my grandparents, and I'd gone for a walk with my dad and my brother along a coastal path to a lighthouse. It was a cold day, drizzling but still, and so foggy that although you could hear the sea crashing against the rocks below you, you couldn't actually see any of it.
My dad and Freddie were hanging back, talking about something, and I walked on a bit and then stopped and looked out at the sea. There were no sounds except the sea and I could see nothing except grey fog - and although the mental picture I'm creating right now is a dull, almost depressing one, it was sort of beautiful in a way. It felt like I was the only person in the world.
Sometimes I remember that day and I wonder what it would be like to just go somewhere nobody knows me and start my life again. Not because there's anything wrong with the one I've got now, but just to try it, to see what's out there. It would definitely be amazing to live in a different country for a while... naturally, like the knob I am, I didn't really consider studying abroad until after I sent my UCAS application and now it's too late, but I could still do a year overseas. I'd love to do that (especially if it was in Denmark. It's ridiculous how much I love it there - but I'd have to make more of an effort to learn Danish because to be honest I'm currently about as competent at speaking it as an ant is at carrying a piano. Still, the acquisition of a language is something I'm very interested in and, according to the universities I've applied to, it's certainly an advantage when studying linguistics to be 'learning' another language so you can find similarities between that and English - which is something I do automatically. Language freaks 'r' us.)
Speaking of language freaks, yesterday Hollie described the current English government as "ConDemNation", which I thought was total genius. Apparently she'd seen it in a newspaper and also thought it was genius - a rare occurence for Hollie (who is absolutely not a language freak) to be impressed by wordplay, but she likes politics. Can't imagine anything more boring myself... but then again, this coming from the girl who sat laughing her head off at Eats Shoots and Leaves in a public place and, even more worryingly, identified with every word it says.
Yesterday we had to make timelines on language change for English, and I had a little space in the corner of mine when I was finished perfect for a picture, but no picture relevant to the subject. So I asked Becky what I should put and she said "a cat", so we Googled cats and found this picture:
And I put it on my timeline and handed it in to Anna (who is my other English teacher, incase I haven't mentioned her, with whom I'm doing language change. I still have Hannah too; she's teaching us child language acquisition at the moment). Later, I had just met Becky outside her English classroom when Hannah, who was talking to Anna, saw me and goes "Molly, why is there a screaming cat on your timeline?"
I was just like "that was Becky."
Good times. And then I asked Hannah what she wanted me to do about my personal statement, because she wants it, and she goes to Anna, "Molly's personal statement is a fantastic exemplar response"... which is a total lie because it's a load of bollocks. Still, nice to hear!
Octava has a 'concert' tomorrow, for about fifteen minutes at the first ever Goring Gap event, which I think is basically local schools and other random music groups like us showing off for a bit. Still, it should be good, if my voice can just stay alive for one more day. It has an irritating tendency of giving up on me at completely inappropriate times, and the phrase for this, my friends, is simply "how rude". How rude!
This is rather like the old blog posts I used to write about my actual life, rather than waffling on about random crap and making every post say the same thing in different ways. I didn't know it would turn out like this... probably why I left choosing a title to the last minute. Hmm. I don't really have the most interesting of lives so there isn't really anything else to write here... I'll be back at some point with more boring crap, I suppose. ;)
Molly x
I don't really know what to write about. I'm in one of those frustrating moods where you want to do something but you don't know what; you can't channel your creativity in quite the right direction. Uncategorized inspiration. Very irritating. So I figured I'd just start writing and sooner or later words will appear on the page - though whether or not they actually make sense is a different story.
The sky is very grey today, and a light smattering of rain is drifting down from the sky. This kind of weather always makes me remember a very unremarkable moment which happened a few years ago now. I was in Devon with my parents, visiting my grandparents, and I'd gone for a walk with my dad and my brother along a coastal path to a lighthouse. It was a cold day, drizzling but still, and so foggy that although you could hear the sea crashing against the rocks below you, you couldn't actually see any of it.
My dad and Freddie were hanging back, talking about something, and I walked on a bit and then stopped and looked out at the sea. There were no sounds except the sea and I could see nothing except grey fog - and although the mental picture I'm creating right now is a dull, almost depressing one, it was sort of beautiful in a way. It felt like I was the only person in the world.
Sometimes I remember that day and I wonder what it would be like to just go somewhere nobody knows me and start my life again. Not because there's anything wrong with the one I've got now, but just to try it, to see what's out there. It would definitely be amazing to live in a different country for a while... naturally, like the knob I am, I didn't really consider studying abroad until after I sent my UCAS application and now it's too late, but I could still do a year overseas. I'd love to do that (especially if it was in Denmark. It's ridiculous how much I love it there - but I'd have to make more of an effort to learn Danish because to be honest I'm currently about as competent at speaking it as an ant is at carrying a piano. Still, the acquisition of a language is something I'm very interested in and, according to the universities I've applied to, it's certainly an advantage when studying linguistics to be 'learning' another language so you can find similarities between that and English - which is something I do automatically. Language freaks 'r' us.)
Speaking of language freaks, yesterday Hollie described the current English government as "ConDemNation", which I thought was total genius. Apparently she'd seen it in a newspaper and also thought it was genius - a rare occurence for Hollie (who is absolutely not a language freak) to be impressed by wordplay, but she likes politics. Can't imagine anything more boring myself... but then again, this coming from the girl who sat laughing her head off at Eats Shoots and Leaves in a public place and, even more worryingly, identified with every word it says.
Yesterday we had to make timelines on language change for English, and I had a little space in the corner of mine when I was finished perfect for a picture, but no picture relevant to the subject. So I asked Becky what I should put and she said "a cat", so we Googled cats and found this picture:
And I put it on my timeline and handed it in to Anna (who is my other English teacher, incase I haven't mentioned her, with whom I'm doing language change. I still have Hannah too; she's teaching us child language acquisition at the moment). Later, I had just met Becky outside her English classroom when Hannah, who was talking to Anna, saw me and goes "Molly, why is there a screaming cat on your timeline?"
I was just like "that was Becky."
Good times. And then I asked Hannah what she wanted me to do about my personal statement, because she wants it, and she goes to Anna, "Molly's personal statement is a fantastic exemplar response"... which is a total lie because it's a load of bollocks. Still, nice to hear!
Octava has a 'concert' tomorrow, for about fifteen minutes at the first ever Goring Gap event, which I think is basically local schools and other random music groups like us showing off for a bit. Still, it should be good, if my voice can just stay alive for one more day. It has an irritating tendency of giving up on me at completely inappropriate times, and the phrase for this, my friends, is simply "how rude". How rude!
This is rather like the old blog posts I used to write about my actual life, rather than waffling on about random crap and making every post say the same thing in different ways. I didn't know it would turn out like this... probably why I left choosing a title to the last minute. Hmm. I don't really have the most interesting of lives so there isn't really anything else to write here... I'll be back at some point with more boring crap, I suppose. ;)
Molly x
Tuesday 2 November 2010
November 2nd: The end of the beginning
Depressing as the title of this post may sound, relax: I'm not here today to bore you and depress you by writing in ridiculous poncy prose about the shortcomings of my life (many though there are). I simply want to muse over the fact that where I am as a seventeen year old student right now is exhilarating, stressful and, well... slightly terrifying, to be honest.
Yesterday was the college deadline for UCAS - to anybody unfamiliar with this name, it refers to the Universities and Colleges Admissions Service, through which we (predictably) apply to university - and as of about ten o'clock last night, personal statements and uni choices are no longer of my immediate concern. I have officially applied to university!
So I'd like to take a moment to say this:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Where did the time go? When did I get so old? Ever since I was a child I've been thinking of uni as something that was a long way off (as it was, then) and suddenly, before I know it, I've chosen my five and sent off the form to some randomers who have nothing more than forty-seven lines and a few average grades to decide the course of my future. It's incredible and ridiculous and I still feel about twelve... I don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing and part of me wants to curl up in a ball and just drop out of life completely.
The other half, though, can't wait. That half of me wants to get out there and kick some ass - finally show myself what I can do, finally find my place in the world. I'm lucky enough to know for sure that English Language and Linguistics is what I want to spend my life doing, but what does one do with that? It's not exactly career specific. What I really want to do with it is discover new theories about language that nobody has found before... I want to be one of the linguists in the English Language textbooks that most students come to loathe with a passion and the special few who are in love with language, the ones like me, are inspired by.
I always did have a split personality.
(Also, Hannah told me that Tristan (head of Humanities and her boyfriend - they are the sweetest couple alive - wants my personal statement to use as an exemplar response for next year's students; an achievement of which I am simultaneously proud and embarrassed. More proud though. Woooooo!)
Seriously though. If compulsory education is the beginning of our lives, we reached the end of the beginning nearly two years ago. But that's all it is; the beginning, the foundations upon which we build our worlds and balance our homes. Now we've constructed our worlds, we get to live in them, like on the Sims when you build an epic house and then you get to the fun bit where you get to control their lives. (I apologize to all those Sims on whom I've vented my bad moods over the years - it really isn't fair to kill you just because I'm a bit pissed off. Really helps though.) So let's get out there, kick some butt and show everyone that every negative thing they ever said about us was wrong.
(Except the bit about being lazy. That was true. Oh, and the bit about eating too much chocolate. And- well, we don't need to go there. The point still stands.)
(Premature P.S.: I've noticed from the blog's statistics that some of you wonderful readers are in Canada and Alaska; if that's you, drop me a line! I'd love to know who you are and what brings you here to the story of my not-so-interesting life and the pretentious style it's written in. Leave me a comment!)
And with that, I leave you in the capable hands of David Tennant in his first ever episode as the Doctor: "From the day we arrive on the planet and, blinking, step into the sun, there is more to see than can ever be seen, more to do than - no, hold on... sorry, that's the 'Lion King'."
Molly x
Yesterday was the college deadline for UCAS - to anybody unfamiliar with this name, it refers to the Universities and Colleges Admissions Service, through which we (predictably) apply to university - and as of about ten o'clock last night, personal statements and uni choices are no longer of my immediate concern. I have officially applied to university!
So I'd like to take a moment to say this:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Where did the time go? When did I get so old? Ever since I was a child I've been thinking of uni as something that was a long way off (as it was, then) and suddenly, before I know it, I've chosen my five and sent off the form to some randomers who have nothing more than forty-seven lines and a few average grades to decide the course of my future. It's incredible and ridiculous and I still feel about twelve... I don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing and part of me wants to curl up in a ball and just drop out of life completely.
The other half, though, can't wait. That half of me wants to get out there and kick some ass - finally show myself what I can do, finally find my place in the world. I'm lucky enough to know for sure that English Language and Linguistics is what I want to spend my life doing, but what does one do with that? It's not exactly career specific. What I really want to do with it is discover new theories about language that nobody has found before... I want to be one of the linguists in the English Language textbooks that most students come to loathe with a passion and the special few who are in love with language, the ones like me, are inspired by.
I always did have a split personality.
(Also, Hannah told me that Tristan (head of Humanities and her boyfriend - they are the sweetest couple alive - wants my personal statement to use as an exemplar response for next year's students; an achievement of which I am simultaneously proud and embarrassed. More proud though. Woooooo!)
Seriously though. If compulsory education is the beginning of our lives, we reached the end of the beginning nearly two years ago. But that's all it is; the beginning, the foundations upon which we build our worlds and balance our homes. Now we've constructed our worlds, we get to live in them, like on the Sims when you build an epic house and then you get to the fun bit where you get to control their lives. (I apologize to all those Sims on whom I've vented my bad moods over the years - it really isn't fair to kill you just because I'm a bit pissed off. Really helps though.) So let's get out there, kick some butt and show everyone that every negative thing they ever said about us was wrong.
(Except the bit about being lazy. That was true. Oh, and the bit about eating too much chocolate. And- well, we don't need to go there. The point still stands.)
(Premature P.S.: I've noticed from the blog's statistics that some of you wonderful readers are in Canada and Alaska; if that's you, drop me a line! I'd love to know who you are and what brings you here to the story of my not-so-interesting life and the pretentious style it's written in. Leave me a comment!)
And with that, I leave you in the capable hands of David Tennant in his first ever episode as the Doctor: "From the day we arrive on the planet and, blinking, step into the sun, there is more to see than can ever be seen, more to do than - no, hold on... sorry, that's the 'Lion King'."
Molly x
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