June 28th: Suck on that, haters!

This is me when I was seven or eight.

I just saw a post on Twitter asking this:

If your eight-year-old self met you, would they be proud?

It made me think. I have no idea what my eight-year-old self would think of the person she will one day become; on paper there isn't much to me but a lazy girl with short fingers who messes up most of her exams and can't do much but correct other people's grammar. But there is so much more to me than that; things that my eight-year-old self never saw coming. I recorded a song. I mean, that's crazy! How many people get to do that at the age of seventeen? I got five offers within three weeks of applying to uni. That's just ridiculous. I never ever expected that one. I was so determined to get an A in English that I redid almost everything I could - and no, I wasn't successful, but I tried damn hard and I'm proud of that. I wrote two novel-length stories when I was eleven and thirteen (admittedly they're crap, but the point still stands!) I find plane journeys easier than long train journeys because I've done more of them - and I don't suppose there are many people my age who can say that. And you know what? I want to spend the rest of my life correcting other people's grammar, because I'm good at it and I don't believe there are enough people who truly love language the way I do. (There are quite a few of us, but there can never be too many!)

Maybe I am a nerd, but I like it that way. It feels a bit arrogant to post this, but wondering about my younger self's opinion of me really got me thinking. I have a feeling she would have looked at me and said "I thought you'd be prettier than that and why don't you have a boyfriend?" - but then I would tell her "Because I don't want one right now" and she would be amazed that not having a boyfriend is something you decide, not something that happens because nobody fancies you. (And trust me, I could have a boyfriend. If I wanted a creepy old bald guy with a funny accent, greasy hair and a dodgy eye who works in Starbucks. Let's face it, eight-year-old Molly would be disgusted at the calibre of guys she'll one day attract.)

When I was eight I had all these expectations and dreams; things I thought would happen by default just because they happen to everyone else. I thought that by now I'd have a boyfriend or at least have had a serious relationship (as opposed to the pathetic few moments throughout the last five years or so when the romantic side of my existence has flickered into life). I hoped I'd be popular. Maybe it only sort of came true, but either way, instead of wishing I could change the way I think and feel, now I'm happy with my ever-single status and I'd rather stick pins in my eyes than become one of those 'popular' girls. Somewhere along the way I became happy with who I am, and I see no reason to try to be someone I'm not. Who needs that? I have a great family, I have the best friends I could hope for, and I've learned over the past year and a half especially that it's okay to be vulnerable sometimes, because it lets other people see you for who you truly are. The more real you are, the more real your relationships with other human beings are likely to be.

So now I sit here wondering about my twenty-eight-year-old self. Will I be in a relationship? Engaged? Married? Pregnant? Will I have a family? What about my career? Will I have my degree? My Masters? My PhD even? Will I have discovered any of that linguistics stuff I so long to unearth? Will I still live in England or will I be teaching English abroad somewhere? Who will I know? Who will have disappeared? Who have I yet to meet? Will I still have this blog? Who will I be in ten years?

I only know one thing, and that is that I have absolutely no idea. Maybe I never will. But this quest for answers upon which I am about to embark is going to be one hell of a ride, and I can't wait to get started.

So if there's one thing I would tell the girl I was ten years ago, I would tell her that popularity isn't what she thinks it is. Eight-year-old Molly, those 'popular' people you always wanted to be like are nothing more than fakes, and if there's one thing you're not, it's fake. Maybe the dreams you had then didn't come true, but so many others did. You have so much to come, and yes, you're going to go through some stuff in the next few years, but who doesn't? Don't give up, because you're going to come out on top eventually. Oh, and your name is pretty. It'll grow on you. Stick with it.

Suck on that, haters.

Eighteen-year-old Molly x

June 24th: Becoming a person

Right now I'm sitting in the Student Learning Centre in college trying to waste some time - I'm here because it's my English class party today and I have some books to return anyway - and all around me is this completely weird atmosphere. It feels like a ghost town. I feel like I don't belong here anymore; funny really how little time it took for me to feel that way when I haven't really been gone all that long.

This college has been my home for the last two years, and it became the walls inside which I conducted my life; now, I'm walking through these oh-so-familiar halls and rooms that I know so well and I'm surrounded by people I don't recognize. It's almost like somebody's plucked me from my universe and plonked me into an alternate reality. I suppose the fact of the matter is this: I am surrounded by first years. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it's funny when your exams are over to think that for the others, life continues as normal. They get up in the morning, they get on the bus, they attend lessons, they go home. (With a bit of variation... college is never really that simple.) The only real thought they give to us, to the year above them, is "Now they've gone, we're the second years". It's weird. I think for me it's only just hit that uni isn't next year, or months away in the future, as I've subconsciously been thinking it is. It's here, it's really happening now, and my exams are over, and there's no way I can change my results now no matter whether I passed them or not. When did this happen? When did the future descend upon me like a vulture swooping down on its prey?

I shouldn't feel like everything is creeping up on me because I've been preparing for university for over a year now. Exams, open days, exam results, personal statements, selecting my five choices, uni applications, halls applications, finance applications, receiving offers, accepting offers, trying to learn to cook and clean... it's all been in preparation for the future becoming the present, so why has it taken me by surprise to realize that these next three months of summer truly are the end of the beginning? I'm looking forward to going to uni, I really am, but it is an incredibly big step - for all my life I've been a part of my family, one of four, a quarter, if you like, and now I become one and they become thirds. This is when I become an adult. This is when I become a person.

At the risk of using a cheesy cliche (let's face it, cheesy cliches are what I do best), the first chapter of my life is closing. A new one is beginning now, and I want it to be as amazing and special as I imagine it to be. Who knows; maybe I'll even write it in green ink.

Molly x

June 11th: The awesome moment when your favourite teacher describes you as her Mini-Me...

Two weeks ago yesterday was my last official day at Henley College before we broke up for study leave, and for the first time in my life, I'm actually sad to leave a place of education. The one great thing about both my primary school and my secondary school was that I spent the whole eight years and five years respectively longing to get out of the place, and so when it came to leaving, I was the one running out of the school without a backward glance while everyone else was crying behind me. But I loved almost every second that I was at college and I find it so ironic that the place I least want to leave is the place I was at for the shortest amount of time.

I've been trying to write this post since the day I left college - the 27th of May 2011. That's over two weeks, and I seem to be unable to finish this. Possibly one of the reasons why I haven't posted anything on this subject yet is because I'm not quite sure what to write... the original purpose of this blog was so that in the future I could look back and remind myself of things that happened during these important years and the way I felt about it all, and a momentous occasion such as this should be documented, but it's just so hard to believe that my days in sort-of-compulsory education (college isn't compulsory, but it's just what most people tend to do) are over; that my days as a child, reliant on my parents, living at home, are all over. Now I have to go out into the world and fend for myself, and as yet I have never experienced a more exciting and yet terrifying prospect.

I have had some really great times at college. I can't believe that's it; that never again will I sit in the language corridor with my friends for an hour before lessons or eat there at lunchtime; never again will I beg said friends to go to Starbucks instead of the library in our frees or hang out with Hannah after English or tutor; never again will we share Starbucks Fridays or Picnic Wednesdays; never again will I complain about walking up to Rotherfield with Hollie (not that I object to walking up with Hollie, but if you saw the hill I'm talking about, you'd agree with me); and especially that never again will I sit with Zoe on the bus and have philosophical conversations or act out random songs in Russian accents (because that's the kind of cool kids we are). We can finally throw away those stupid little homework diaries we all pretended to use but really discarded after the first couple of months. (Have to say, I remember walking through the big college building on my first day with said homework diary, trying to match the room number on the page to the arrows on the signs. I was truly earmarked as a first year.)

So goodbye, Henley. You've been brilliant. I will actually miss you, which is more than I can say for my secondary school... everytime I go past Langtree, something inside me gives a little whoop that I don't have to go there anymore. But in all seriousness: in leaving Henley College I'm not just leaving a place of education. I'm saying goodbye to Henley, the beautiful town which has been home to everything that has happened in my life over the past two years; I'm leaving behind lazy afternoons by the river in the sun, stressing about exams in Starbucks, spending all my money on Bloc Super Chocs (observe - the best hot chocolate in Henley:)

and yes, even getting the train home with Charlotte, skipping the odd lesson on the odd can't-be-bothered afternoon. But most importantly, I'm parting ways with so many people, old friends and new - people I've known all my life and people I've known less than a year.

Lauren - I've known you less than two years, but it seems like you've been a part of our friendship group for as long as I can remember. It seems strange to imagine life without your glorious randomness, your ability to keep a straight face while saying the funniest things, and your wonderfully strange Northern pronunciation, of which we are all so fond of making fun. You're brilliant!

Charlotte, I didn't know you very well before we came to Henley, but I'm so glad that we became friends. I've had so many laughs and more serious conversations with you over the last couple of years, and thank you for that. You're a truly hilarious person and I love having your presence in my life.

Becky... there has never been a moment during my life when I haven't known you. You've been there through every change we've ever had to deal with and though we've both had other close friends, you will always be my oldest friend, and even though I won't see you everyday anymore, nothing can change that. And stop doubting yourself, woman! You're awesome and you know it, so go kick some arse. (Or even ass.)

And of course Zoe... what can I say? That first day I met you on the bus when we were both still in year six, you were so shy, and now look at the madwoman you've become! I have truly loved knowing you and growing from a child into an adult with you (and with Becky, obviously). I'll never forget all the bus journeys, all the times we sang together, all the deep conversations... we've shared an awful lot over the past seven years and I hope we will continue to in the future. Pub time, yes?

I love you all, and I hope that whatever you wish for the future comes true. In ten years when we all meet up and show off our boyfriends/husbands and gloat about the marvellous lives we possess and the shows Lauren's been in and the photos Zoe's taken and the art Becky's got in the National Gallery and whatever Charlotte's decided to do with her history degree and the linguistics theories I've published, we'll look back on now, on the eve of our lives truly beginning, and remember that we spent it together, and wasn't it great?

Molly x

(The title of this post refers to a very cheesy Facebook message that my epic English teacher sent to me after I wrote her an equally cheesy letter. Among other things, she called me her Mini-Me. It pretty much made my life.)

May 21st: Ten things to do before you die

I was eating lunch with Becky and Charlotte yesterday and Becky asked me, "Have you written any blog posts recently?" and it was only when Charlotte gave away her true stalking tendencies by reciting the name and date of the last post that I realized I'd been seriously neglecting my wonderful bloglings.

The thing is, though, that I have nothing to say these days; I know writers everywhere say that one shouldn't wait for inspiration because if you do you'll never get anything done, but I'm not a real writer, just a pretentious pretend one, so that doesn't really work for me. So I'm here listening to Glee - yes, I'll admit it. I like Glee. Suck it up. - staring at a copied and pasted post from early April that I never finished and trying to dig up something somewhat interesting to say.

There are a lot of lists floating around regarding things one should do before one finds oneself inconveniently dead. So, taking into account everybody's constant 'Your life is just beginning! You've got plenty of time for all that!', and of course that ridiculous rumour about the world ending today, I thought I'd offer some thoughts of my own on some of the things that people feel are valid pastimes to spend one's life doing.

1. Unless you're one of those irritating irrepressibly hearty types with an enthusiasm for everything (or just very athletic) don't bother with the whole scaling Mount Everest thing. For one thing, it's a mountain. It's a pile of rock. Mountains are incredibly impressive and seriously inspirational for us pretentious writers, but if it's the view you want, there are plenty of mountains around the world which are hooked up to those magical inventions known as cable cars. Saves you the months of intense training and the need to lug an oxygen tank up to the top to counterbalance the thin air.

If it's charity you're doing it for, why bother spending out a ridiculous amount of money to a) train to climb it, b) get your hands on all the equipment, and c) get to a bloody mountain in the first place? I mean, obviously some people are lucky enough to live in a mountainous area, but there aren't many big piles of rock lounging around my part of England just waiting for me to tame them. Just donate the money to charity without all the fuss of scaling a mountain!

2. A lot of people think finding the people who bullied them will give them closure... but that's a load of crap. These people made your life hell for a while! They dented your self-confidence! Why on Earth would you want to go back and thank them for that? Wouldn't you rather see them suffer? Or at least forget about them. Don't go and find your childhood fiends, people. Find your childhood friends instead. The ones you let drift away - but not the ones who didn't bother. Find the people you were sure you had chemistry with, the ones you never told... find the ones you loved, not the ones you hated.

3.  Do not go swimming with sharks. Er, hello? Dangerous, guys! I for one don't understand the point of all these life-threatening things-to-do-before-you-die suggestions. An adrenaline rush is an adrenaline rush and if you're looking for one, there's no need to jump around with your arms waving to attract the attention of deadly sea creatures. Just ride a rollercoaster! Easy peasy! Swimming with dolphins, however, sounds like fun. Much less dangerous. I'd definitely try that.

4. Visiting Paris. Paris is lovely, but overrated. It seemed to me to be just like London, but French. There are so many beautiful places and countries around the world that get nowhere near enough attention and exposure - when choosing somewhere to go on holiday, don't just go for the obvious; do a little exploring!

5. Riding white water rapids on a river at the end of which is a big-ass waterfall. This is just plain stupid, people! The buzz would be amazing but imagine the, er, comedown when you reach the end...

So, just so you don't all think I'm a boring sod, here are some suggestions of things I'd like to be able to look back and say I did... or even demonstrate...

1. Fall in love. Preferably with someone who loves me back. Do I really need to expand on this one? Oh, and have children.

2. Learn another language... you all know my stance on languages, so this is a big one for me. It'll be hard and it'll take time but imagine being able to communicate fluently in a language other than your native one! The results are so worth it!

3. Be part of one of those awesome things where loads of people in a big crowd all suddenly break into song and everyone else is like, 'What the hell?'.

4. Be the best you can be at something. I was talking to Lauren the other day about this very subject and she made the very valid point that someone's always going to be better than you, but that means you're always going to be better than someone too. We're all better than someone else because we all have our own special talents, so be the best you can be and don't listen to the haters. They really are just jealous.

5. Live in another country for a while. A month, a year, your entire life - it doesn't matter how long. You'll gain insight into other cultures and consequently the world and humanity like you've never had before.

6. Keep a diary (or a blog, if you're an idiot like me and would rather put all your feelings out there for the world to stumble across). I know it's difficult to remember to write in them but when you look back and read them, it's like finding a chapter you've never seen in a book you've read many times before. This way, you get to see sections of your life the way you'd tell them to others, and maybe it'll help you realize that they weren't all that bad after all (this only works if you don't censor things like I tend to do. But it's hard to be brutally honest when you know anyone in the world in possession of an internet connection has the ability to read your deepest darkest feelings). (Just so you know, I don't censor much, so you're not missing out on anything particularly exciting.)

7. Let someone completely into your life. But make sure you don't take them for granted.

8. Do something that makes you feel like the totally awesome person you are. Write a novel, or perform in a real theatre, or hang your artwork in a gallery, or record a song... know people can see you doing what you do best and enjoy it!

9. Ride some white water rapids. I suggest the French Alps for this (awesome, AWESOME rivers with plenty of rocks and currents but a nice lack of big-ass waterfalls). It's such great fun! Just remember to go with a company and not by yourself, because if you fall out and smash into a rock I'm sure it's not particularly comfortable.

10. Bury a time capsule! But make you sure you leave some kind of clue or it may never be discovered, and that'll be such a shame. Also, write a letter to your grandchildren. Let them know what the world was like back in the olden days of 2011.

So, when the world continues not to end later today, have a think about what you want to look back on when the fateful day arrives. Go for it - who knows? Maybe you'll be one of the few people who actually manage to cross everything off their list!

Molly x

And thank you to Becky, Charlotte, Cora and Zoe, who gave me a bit of insight into the things they want to do before they die. I wish you all the best of luck with following your dreams.

April 29th: What makes the world go round?

Sorry guys, but for this one, you're going to have to dig out the inner language lover in you. Some of you might have to dig a little deeper than others, but trust me, you've all got one languishing somewhere.

Which is in no way like somebody telling me that I have a maths lover hovering in the deepest depths of my subconscious. Because I don't. Never have, never will. But there is no way that it's possible not to adore language, not when you think about it. There is no way you can't find it amazing. Go, now, stop reading this and go and stand in front of the mirror and fix your eyes upon your lips and say something. Watch your lips. Feel your tongue. See and hear and feel how you speak, how you make sounds, how you form language. This is how we, as human beings and as any other animal, communicate. This is what makes the world go round.

My mum always tells me that maths is what makes the world go round. Apparently maths is the most important thing in the world. But how can that be possible? Imagine a world without letters. A world without sound. Because English isn't just about comprehension and Shakespeare - oh hell no. For me, English is about language. Not just English, but any and all languages. I love the sound of it, the physical biology of it, the look of it; I love the art and the science of linguistics.

So imagine it: this hideous imaginary world. Imagine a silent life; no conversation, no music, no laughter. No Facebook, no Twitter, no Blogger. No Tumblr or Flickr or YouTube. No internet. No communication. No friendship, no family, no love.

And for those of you who are maths lovers: no numbers, because you can't have numbers without the words to describe them. The number 48, for example, is the number forty-eight. We have words for numbers but we don't have numbers for words. Money has words on it. 'Money' is a word. Money makes the world go round?

Think of it this way. When you go abroad to a foreign country, you find the currency hard to understand. Unless you're particularly familiar with it, you can't translate it into the amount an item would cost you back home. But you spend it anyway, and it's almost like it's not real money - you've got some fake cash burning a hole in your pocket and it doesn't matter what you spend it on because it's not going to make much of a difference to your funds. But when you get to the till with your carefully selected purchases and realize you can't so much as say hello or thank you to the person behind it... well, that's when it starts to get a little bit awkward. Even when you know what the correct word is, do you say it? Some of you will, I know, but most of you won't. I don't. It's hard to speak words of a foreign language to a native speaker, but when you do and they understand - that's one of the best feelings out there.

The phrase 'my favourite language is...' is not one you hear a lot. Does it sound nerdy? Probably. Oh well. I don't care. A lot of people don't often give this subject much thought, but those people who say 'Oh, everyone speaks English anyway, I don't need to learn another language' piss me off no end. For one thing, not everybody speaks English and secondly, why on Earth would you not want to acquire at least a slight interest in a second language? Let's face it: you do. You want to know more about the world and its languages. When they mention the odd 'bonjour' in TV shows, you know what it means. You've listened to the occasional song in a foreign language. You've done French or German or Spanish at school (and obviously other languages if you're not English, but I'm just writing about what I know here). We all have a basic understanding of the world's most well known languages (except Mandarin, because, well, it looks bloody difficult. Probably a brilliant language though) and because of that, we lose our spark at language learning.

Speaking from my own experience, I dropped German after two years and did five years of French instead, leaving school at the end of it with, yes, a GCSE in it, but also having lost all interest and charm in the language and now, less than two years later, I can barely string a sentence together. I gave up on German because the teacher and I had a hate-hate relationship, but I made the wrong decision. Now, when my brother asks me for help with his French homework, words come to me first in Danish, then in German and lastly in the language they were supposed to come in first. I've never formally studied Danish and I dropped German five years ago - surely there's something wrong with that?

I came out of French thinking I was crap at languages. Now I realize I was just crap at that one. What do you think would happen if we exposed children at a young age to more than just French or German or Spanish? What if we gave the underappreciated languages of the world their chance to shine? Danish, for example. Or Romanian. Greek. Icelandic. Dutch. Norwegian. Or... I don't know, the click languages of African tribes. Why do we have to stick to the ones that are widely spoken? What if we let children choose their own language, the one they find an affinity with - would we end up with a society of extremely linguistically adept children or simply a society of confused ones? Either way, it has to be better than forcing kids to attend lessons in languages they despise. That's not going to help anyone.

Not that I'm saying language lessons in schools are a bad idea - not by a long stretch. Some people are lucky enough to find an affinity with a language they can study alongside the maths and sciences of this world. All I'm saying is that we should take into account the languages we've been neglecting for so long. And who knows; maybe it would create a generation of children with better grammatical abilities... after all, having an interest in a foreign language greatly increases your interest in your own.

Molly x

April 15th: Filling up the metaphorical glass

It occurred to me yesterday that life's good.

I know it's not often that I say that because I am one of those irritating people who tend to look on the negative side of life, but the thing about us glass-half-empty people is that we are surrounded by those who are the opposite; people who fill up the rest of the empty glass. And I'm lucky, because I've got so many people in my life who can do that, and it's so strange to think that without making a few stupid little decisions, I could never have met them. If my mum hadn't attended the same antenatal class as Becky's mum, we might not have met. If I hadn't gone to Langtree I'd never have met Zoe (and missed out on seven years of bus journeys! Shock horror!) or Charlotte, and if I'd chosen Abingdon college over Henley, as I was tempted to do for a while, I wouldn't know Lauren. And those are quite big decisions, but of course, without posting that comment on the What Is This Feeling instrumental on YouTube three years ago today, I'd never have met Cora - and that was a tiny decision and now look where it's led us.

I can't imagine life without any of these people, but as they all turn eighteen around me (with the exception of Charlotte, who at seventeen and three quarters (ahem, blud) is the baby of our group and Cora, who turned eighteen positively yonks ago) it really hit me that after June, I won't be seeing them every day anymore. I can't help wondering, much as I want to believe we'll stay friends, if we'll be those people who head off along their different paths with an exhilarated expression upon their faces, clutching their maps and calling, 'Don't forget to write!' - leaving the madly waving crowds behind them never to hear from them again.

It takes a lot for a friendship to be maintained over the internet, especially if you have to try. The friendship that Cora and I have is effortless, but then we've never really had any alternative. When you take a couple of friends who have built their relationship on face-to-face communication and plonk them on separate ends of the country, it's obviously going to be a lot harder to continue with the closeness of before. And I'm aware that if my friends and I grow apart, it'll partly be my fault, because I chose universities that are bloody miles away from here and I have every intention of going abroad to study for a while (so anyone who wants a free holiday better make a special effort to stay in touch).

Although I do love my friends here with all my heart, the kind of friendship I share with Cora is so much deeper and, in my opinion, harder to find, than any other relationship I have ever shared with anybody. I mean, when I met her she was just another person I met on the internet, just another person who shared a love of Wicked - but I had no idea that within a couple of months she would become the person who knows the most about me, the person to whom I tell everything, the person who can decode all the random cryptic comments I make. She's the one I want to tell when something good happens or when something bad happens, when something makes me laugh, when something makes me think... and yes, she is older than me. Yes, she lives almost a thousand miles away. Yes, I have only met her six times in person. But let me ask you this: who the fuck cares? Does that really mean 'internet friendships' can't be real?

And if you say no, they can't be - let me reintroduce my earlier point regarding 'real life' friends who have been separated. Does that mean that if you move away from someone, your relationship should be terminated, just like that? That whenever you talk to someone on the phone, you don't really know them because you can't see their face? That the friends your children make on holiday and spend all week with before going home and becoming penpals are freaks and perverts? Of course it doesn't. Cora and I prove that online friendships can be just as real as co-present friendships - more so, even. I mean, how many times have you been stabbed in the back by people you thought you could trust right here at home?

And, in this day and age, when life is becoming more and more dependent on technology, why shouldn't we utilise that to forge new relationships with other human beings? We have the whole world at our fingertips here, people. Rich pickings! To not acknowledge that would be like trying to grow your own potatoes on a highly infertile surface because you're too proud to nip to the supermarket next door. (Not to say that one shouldn't be wary of said freaks and perverts, because of course they do exist. But if you surf the internet in a state of panic, assuming everyone around you is one, consider where you are. Oh look - on the internet. Whoops.)

I'm looking at my cat sleeping on my bed right now, and she looks so peaceful, like nothing in the world really matters. I think she's got the right attitude. Nothing does really matter - if we make mistakes, we can correct them. If we go the wrong way, we can turn around. If we go wrong, we can go right again, just as long as we're surrounded by people who will let us. And who cares where they live?

Molly x

March 29th: The perfect tense

"In linguistics, the perfect tense usually refers to the present perfect tense used to describe actions now completed (thus "perfect"). The term "perfect" comes from the Latin perfectum, meaning "completed", from the verb perficio."


And so Wikipedia defines a term that, frankly, has absolutely nothing to do with what it means. I've always found this phrase interesting and, in taking this concept literally, have found myself pondering this question:


If we spend all our time regretting the past, stressing about the future and worrying about the present, is there really any such thing as the perfect tense?


Take, for example, what is currently life for millions of students all over the world. Exam time is rapidly approaching, stress levels are building, students are arguing with parents who think tidying their room is more important than revising (in my case anyway)... university offers are coming in (or not, if you're unlucky), student finance forms are being filled out... and seventeen and eighteen year olds everywhere are going "Shit... I'm moving out. Shit... I don't know how to do laundry. Shit... I don't know how to cook. Shit... I need to do some work!"


And so do we do some work? Pfft. Don't be daft. At least in my case, I find every possible way to procrastinate on the face of the planet; have even once or twice resorted to tidying my room. What is it about procrastination that takes over every aspect of one's life? For me, procrastination isn't even productive in any other way - I've got about twelve unfinished blog posts on my drafts page that I'm either too uninspired or too lazy to finish.


I am doing my final A Level exams in three months. I am moving out in six and I have no idea how to cook or clean or get these elusive grades I need to do it all in the first place and somehow I assume it's all just going to happen, that I've got all the time in the world - but time is running out. Time can run faster than I can, so why the hell am I still here? Still on Blogger; still on Facebook; still on Twitter and every other stupid site that I can't seem to leave alone despite the fact that I know that when I open that envelope in August and pull out the piece of paper that contains my future I will, for a dizzying hopeful moment of possibilities, think that maybe it won't be as bad as I think - but then I'll look and I'll see that I've done what I always do and let myself down again. Do I not realize this is one of the most important years of my life? Choosing a university, doing my A Levels, leaving home... why am I floating along like I always have, now of all times? Why can't I just get a grip already?


Oh well. I suppose that's all you're getting from my ever-complaining mind today - I'm sure it'll all work out. It always does.


Molly x


Doesn't 'procrastination' sound like some kind of sexually transmitted disease?

March 3rd: Love

I don't understand the word "love".

"Love" is made up of four letters. L, O, V, and E. Do these letters carry a deeper meaning than the rest of the alphabet? Are they in some way special? Or are they just coincidence - four letters chosen by somebody at some point in history and given the responsibility of denoting the most powerful and important force in the universe?

Except gravity, of course. Life would be pretty difficult without gravity. Perhaps where love makes us more lighthearted, gravity's effect is to counter that by making us heavy-bodied; perhaps gravity is love's counterpart, the one that always manages to bring us tumbling back to Earth again. Perhaps by being in love or by loving somebody, we are defying gravity.

Why, when these seemingly insignificant individual letters are bound together, do we get a word that supposedly represents the strongest of feelings - romantic or platonic? What gives this word the authority to describe such a thing? And who decided what "love" should be called? Who coined "love"? Who invented love?

Give it some thought. You'll end up just as confused pleasantly mystified as I am.

Molly x

In case you were curious about the identity of the 'somebody at some point in history', I took the liberty of looking it up on http://www.etymonline.com/ so that I could inform you all.

Old English lufu "love, affection, friendliness,". *Lubo (cf. O.Fris. liaf, Ger. lieb, Goth. liufs "dear, beloved;" not found elsewhere as a noun, except O.H.G. luba, Ger. Liebe), from PIE *leubh- "to care, desire, love". Meaning "a beloved person" is from early 13c. The sense "no score" (in tennis, etc.) is 1742, from the notion of "playing for love," i.e. "for nothing" (1670s). Love-letter is attested from mid-13c.; love-song from early 14c. To be in love with (someone) is from c.1500. Love life "one's collective amorous activities" is from 1919, originally a term in psychological jargon. Love affair is from 1590s. Phrase for love or money "for anything" is attested from 1580s. To fall in love is attested from early 15c. The phrase no love lost (between two people) is ambiguous and was used 17c. in ref. to two who love each other well (c.1640) as well as two who have no love for each other (1620s).

Don't you just feel love, affection or friendliness for me for doing that for you?

February 26th: The stealing of the Mac...

So I'm just chilling with Cora's Mac while she's in the shower and it occurred to me that I could use the time to post here on the blog - since I did tell everyone I'd write about what an amazing time I'm having to make you all jealous.

Just kidding. But I do have a lot to tell you - these past two days have been, on a scale of one to ten, 92947386184678146731461846184646 times amazing. (That's an insanely long number. Just thought I'd state the obvious and point that out. Innit.)

So here I am in Denmark. It's snowy here - though it's melting fast - and I have been heroically resisting the urge to throw snowballs at Cora since she protested so profusely... and then she went and threw one at me. Nice.

Naturally I threw one or two back. I mean it would be rude to let such a cry for attention go unanswered.

So on Thursday I arrived about ten o'clock (getting up at four in the morning was SO worth it) and we went into Copenhagen and basically shopped. Since we went shopping again yesterday, I have basically no money, but hey, I do have some fabulous new clothes. And I've been saving for this trip since I was like, twelve, so.

Hello peeps (god I hate how people use that word. But I'm using it now as I'm not Molly and thought I should make you all aware of it.)...
Molly will kill me for my horrid punctuation xD
So I'm the knob Molly's been spending time with "here in Denmark" aka Cora the freaky Dane.
Btw would it be completely rude of me if I kept her and never gave her back? I mean she's rude but also the cutest grammar freak I've ever met (well she's the only grammar freak I've met...)
I know she's been "complaining" about how I threw snow at her but you have no idea what she can get up to. Well some of you might now what I'm talking about, like twitter raping you xD
Molly Ellen freaking Turner you're amazing and I really don't want to let you go! Maybe I should just lock the door to the bathroom... Better not as you'd have to stand there all naked :P Okay so that's not true you've got towels and clothes with you. Why am I even writing this? I'm boring and really not funny at all. By the way Miss T you owe me money MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!
*cough, cough* damn those evil laughs they're are killer on ones throat.
Molly why did we get hold of so much candy? The coffee table is practically overflowing with candy and empty cans...
Oh ooh... Molly just turned off the water, which means she'll soon be back. I'll let you in on a little secret; she asked me to do this xD "Wouldn't it be fun if you wrote in my blog post" and naturally as I'm such an obliging person I have done as she requested.
Though I didn't completely follow her instructions hehehehehehehhe... 
Wicked was ozmazing but it's nothing compared to the London show. Oh she got out now so I'll end it here. Sorry for my boring pooness.
Cora signing out now, see you peeps (again I hate that expression).


And I, the knob to whom this blog belongs, have returned from the dead (the shower was that scary). 


(Random point: right now we're watching Spongebob Squarepants in Danish. It's kind of strange - but then I'm getting used to seeing things I know well in English in Danish instead. X Factor was particularly strange.)


I hope you enjoyed Cora's input to the blog.... as you can see, she's got a very different writing style to me so you can probably tell whose writing is whose.


So on Thursday, we actually met one of our friends from YouTube - Julie, or JulieOfSurburbia as she's commonly known. She's one of the sweetest girls I've ever met and it was awesome to see her in real life - though strange to get used to her face not being behind a screen.  But it was great and I'm really glad we did it, since she's an amazing person and so lovely. :)


So as Cora said, we saw Wicked. In Danish. It was actually pretty awesome. Obviously the way they did it was very different to how it is in London; they used TV screens placed around the top of the stage to set the scene, since the stage was smaller, but they also adapted it in really great ways. For example, during Defying Gravity, the arm Elphaba was on moved around the stage so she "flew" rather than just hanging there. They also actually included Dorothy - you could see her throwing the water over Elphaba. It was actually really good and the fact that I only understood a few words didn't make it hard for me to know what was going on; I guess after seeing the show four times you kind of get to know the storyline pretty well.


So I have to go now, but I'll be back probably when I go home (nooooo, don't want to go home) to force the rest of my awesome time here in Denmark upon you. Sorry for the crappiness of my writing in this post but alas, that is what happens when I have a lot to say and I want to write it all down before I forget it.


Toodles, bloglings!


Molly x


Have realized 'knob' rhymes with 'blog'. Could I call this the 'knobblog'? Would that have two Bs? Knobblog? Knoblog? Hmm.

February 20th: The writer is her reader's character.

I start writing this post topic-less, title-less and bored, so I doubt anything good will come of it but like I said, I'm bored. I'm procrastinating. I've never wished half term away before but as far as I'm concerned, Thursday can't come soon enough. And I'm well aware that by posting something new the day after my last post, a lot of you won't have read the aforementioned previous update and therefore will be a little confused as to why Thursday can't come soon enough.

So my suggestion is: tear your eyes away from my writing, - I know it's hard, I'm brilliant like that (not) - scroll down, and enlighten yourselves about the exciting Thursday (and indeed Friday, Saturday and Sunday) I've got planned.

Go on, I can see you still reading. Naughty.

Or, if you can't be bothered, you can just stay here and read whatever crap I'm about to spout. See, I've got this feeling, and I don't know what it is, and right now, making a playlist of 'writing music' so I can update my blog about a miscellaneous, undefined feeling which I may or may not have seems more important than redrafting my history coursework so I can get a good grade in history and consequently get into university.

So. Writing. Writing, writing, writing. I wonder what it is about knowing that people are reading that makes us adapt what we say and what we write and how we act... it's almost like we're ashamed to let people see our true selves, our talents. There are things I've written which nobody will ever see and they're all so much better than this crap I put out on the internet for any old random person to stumble across. And why? Why shouldn't I want my very best things out there? Why should I fear people seeing what I can do? When I put things on YouTube I know it's because I'm not that great a singer and maybe I'm scared of a negative reaction, but why would anybody react badly to my writing? Not because it's brilliant, but simply because it's writing; there is no reason for anybody to hate it. When you hate a song, you either dislike the melody or the voice - when you're reading, unless the writing is really terrible, you only notice the subject. That's the thing about good writing: they say it should be unnoticeable, so that all you can identify with is the character's emotion and story. Obviously with blogs it's different, because what you're reading here is my voice. I am not telling you fiction - most of the time I'm not even telling you non-fiction. I'm telling you feelings. I'm telling you thoughts. I try to write as honestly as I can here so that reading it is like being inside my brain, but still I'm aware that my every word will be digested. So, without meaning to be, I'm a character. I'm your character. You see me as you wish to see me; you see me as I choose to portray myself. You're only ever getting my side of my story, no matter how honest I try to be. Getting into university is hard, but I don't work as hard as I should. Freddie is more talented than I am, but he tries more things. And I know I'm not bad at everything. I have talents just like everybody else does, but somehow this blog always catches me on my bad days - probably because on my good days I never feel like I have any reason to write. People are sympathetic to and interested by other people's woes, but bored by their happiness. But I'm not writing for an audience here... right? I started out writing for myself, and myself only, but I'm not writing merely for myself anymore.

I can't imagine why anybody else should find my 'story' - if you can call drifting along like I am a 'story' - interesting - I don't. But so many people have said school days are the best days of your life and if that's true, I want to remember them.

They were wrong, anyway. School sucked. College has been great, or at least it would have been if I hadn't got some kind of anxiety disorder last January. And yes, I'm aware that's the first time I've admitted as much here on the blog but I used to hate saying it. Now I don't mind it so much... so many people know that I figure you all might as well know too. That 'code' I wrote about a few months ago was supposed to be helpful, because people wouldn't know what I meant when I said I was fine and they wouldn't make me explain. But now I've explained it, people know it, so I may as well just say what I mean. But actually I like it if people ask me if I'm okay because it shows they care, and that they know, and that they remember - and that's what true friendship is. You're supposed to know what's wrong with your friends. You're supposed to know when they need a hug and you're supposed to help. At least, that's how I try to act with my friends. I try to show them I know them, and I know not everybody works like that but there really is nothing like knowing that people care about you.

I'm not claiming in any way that my life so far has been that difficult, though of course I've had hard times, like everyone does. But I think that whatever awful thing you're going through really does make you stronger, massively cliched though it is. It gives you perspective, and it gives you compassion, and it gives you strength, empathy, sympathy. I would even go as far as to say that it gives you a deeper understanding of the world, because I used to look at people and wish I was them, wish I had their perfect lives. Now I can't look at anyone without wondering if they're as normal as they look, because I know I look normal and I'm not. I went through the worst stage probably late last summer and into winter, and now I hope I'm getting better, but it affects me worst of all in English lessons (I know. Of all the places, right?) and all I wanted to was to be able to sit there, bored, in a lesson. I couldn't allow myself to be bored, because I had to be alert all the time. I was scared of losing control of myself. And it's more than that, but to be bored is such a simple thing and I couldn't have it. I want what people don't even realize they have; normality. And it made me lose all interest in everything. My attendance was slipping because I was afraid of going to English incase I had a panic attack, I was afraid of exams for the same reason and revision didn't seem important because all I could think of was will I be okay in the exam? And I was embarrassed to tell anyone besides my friends so everyone thought I just couldn't be bothered to turn up to my lessons. People think anxiety is nothing - just nerves, perhaps, but they don't realize I'm not stressed. I don't feel the reason I have this. They don't know the way you're hyperaware of yourself and of everything you're feeling, they don't know the random pains you get, they don't know how you get scared of going to your favourite lessons days beforehand.

I know quite a few of my friends 'in real life' read this, and that I'll probably regret posting it at some point in the future, but right now I don't care. Maybe people should know, maybe then they would understand why I do some of the things I do. People tend to adapt; they find their own ways of dealing with things and yes, my methods of coping with this aren't always the most sensible thing to do but I'm doing my best. I'm getting there.

And now I'll stop my little rant. I guess all I really mean is that nobody's perfect. Nobody's normal. So even if you think they are, just stop and give them the benefit of the doubt sometimes.

Molly x

February 20th: Doctor Who, Denmark and daft amounts of brackets.

It's been quite a while since I last wrote, or at least it feels that way... it's only really been a couple of weeks. I guess it seems like longer because the amount of times I've sat here with my fingers tapping at the keyboard, trying to come up with something of a tiny bit of interest to say (and failing) is ridiculous. I've got about ten drafts in my Edit Posts page all saying pretty much the same thing, all ending up with me stopping after I've written about this much and reading them through and thinking God, this is boring. Who's going to want to read that? Because like Hannah said in one of her tweets once, it's not that blogging is hard, it's just that I bore me... should I put that out there for the world to see?

(The answer, in her case, is hell yes. She may bore herself but everyone else loves her.)

My lack of updates hasn't been due to a lack of a subject though. I've certainly got a lot to say (and will probably do so in my typical manner of using far too many words to describe a simple thing... really must stop doing that. Word limits hate me.)

So first of all, I am now learning to drive. And it's amazing. Like really amazing. I've had two lessons and a bit of road-terrorizing going on round where I live (twenty miles per hour... I am such a badass) and I haven't crashed yet... yet being the operative word. Though according to my mum, I'm instinctively good at it. (A load of crap, but nice to hear.)

(Wow, I like brackets. I've only written three paragraphs and the brackets are out in force. Are they stalking me?)

Also, now it's half term and tomorrow I'm orf to Devon to visit my step-grandad and the South-African-wife-he-married-in-secret-last-June-eighteen-months-after-my-nana-died-and-whom-I-didn't-much-like-at-first-but-now-I-do. Innit. My dad's family is complicated. But they're fun and Devon's great, even if I have been there 2156843373000000 times and don't really appreciate it that much anymore. But there's an open day for one of the Plymouth universities - the one I applied to - on Wednesday and since Plymouth is in Devon, we considered it useful to crash with the grandparents while we were there. I'm really hoping I like the uni, since the town is amazing and the entry requirements are practically nothing. Having said that... it would be so embarrassing if I didn't even get the grades for that. Oh, how complicated all this uni business is!

Also, I have just realized my dad's speaking in an Australian accent on the phone. Who on Earth is he talking to?!

So Devon's a four hour drive from home and I assume we'll be home around eight on Wednesday evening, which is fine because that means I can go to bed early ready for getting up at four the next morning to grace Heathrow airport with my presence because I'm going to Denmaaaaaark! Woooo! Finally I get to see Cora again... August to February is a long long time and I miss her! But on Thursday morning I am getting the earliest flight possible and I should be there at 9:45AM... assuming the snow the wonderful Danes are supposed to be getting doesn't delay me and it bloody better not. And then we're spending the day in Copenhagen and seeing our friend Julie, who lives there (and whose name I will definitely pronounce wrong) and THEN we're seeing Wicked... in Danish. So I'm going to see my favourite musical, in my favourite language, in my favourite country, with my favourite person. Epic, right? And the fact that I don't speak Danish is just a small inconvenience. Since this is my fifth time seeing Wicked I'm hoping that I know the storyline well enough to follow anyway. I'm so excited! And I can't wait to hear what the songs are like in Danish - actually the good thing about it is that I can understand some Danish but not enough to annoy me if the songs are translated badly. Which they won't be, because Denmark's awesome.

And then I'm staying there until Sunday and on Monday I have college. Talk about coming back to reality with a bump. And just to add insult to injury, I have two pieces of coursework due in on the first day back.

So all in all, life's good. Except oh God, results day is in eighteen days... craaaaap. I have so failed everything! Well. I've so failed history. English not so much. But I doubt I got what I needed. Anyway, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Wow. I have actually finished a blog post! Amazing. Oh and I really should mention this:

This is my Adipose. Any Doctor Who fans out there? Cora got this for me and it's so adorable! It's a stress ball so it's squishy and kind of sticky and it's got a tooth. Honestly, I have never seen anything so cute. It's even got toes! And you can hold its hand. Adorable.

And yes, you can see one of my post-it notes from my English revision on the wall. I believe that particular post-it was talking about 'backing' - when a vowel is pronounced towards the back of the mouth.

So there's your random pointless fact. You really do learn something new everyday. Hmm, maybe I should make it a regular feature... a random pointless fact in every post.

Anyway, I'm going to leave you to it now, my beloved bloglings. Have fun and I'll hopefully bore you again soon with a long-winded account of everything that's happening this week.

Molly x

Also, Cora bought two massive packets of chocolate M&Ms for when I go there. See, this is why I love her.

February 9th: If only enthusiasm were enough...

If enthusiasm could get you what you want and need out of life, I'd be getting As in English, flights between Denmark and England would be free, and Becky could probably fabricate a degree in Grey's Anatomy out of thin air with her bare hands. If excitement or anticipation could set you up and send you on your way, I'd be recieving unconditional offers from my universities instead of conditional ones. If positive thinking really worked, I'd have passed every exam I'd ever taken with the top mark possible. If self-belief wasn't overrated... well, maybe we'd all have a better incentive to believe in ourselves.

See, I'm currently researching and collecting data for my English coursework. English coursework which is an incredibly exciting assignment considering I would ideally like to be a linguist; it's a language investigation where we get to choose anything we like (to do with language - which you can relate pretty much anything to) and... well, investigate it. This is what linguists do. This is my opportunity to find something that nobody has ever seen before and study it and come up with a hypothesis and an analysis and maybe someday those textbooks that occupy my classroom will be quoting me instead of the other way round.

I picked Second Language Acquisition (pretty self-explanatory but for those of you who aren't English nerds/don't know me, it's when you learn a second language)... a risky choice, considering it's a topic we don't actually cover at this stage of English Language education (it's pretty much my top choice of things to study at uni) and I've been talking to my auntie about it, since she's a teacher and she studied that as part of her degree. She says I sound extremely enthusiastic - now if only 'enthusiastic' was readable as 'really freaking awesome and guaranteed an A because it's the best idea out of everybody in the whole of the country for A2 English Language coursework'. If only I were good enough to get that elusive A! I have actually given up on getting my A now. I took my AS exam three times to try and get something better than a B, but it didn't happen, so I don't hold out much hope for getting an A at A2. To be honest I'd be happy with a B this year. Why is that, hmm? Last year I got Bs without even trying and I didn't appreciate it, and this year I'm just hoping I did well enough to get a B so I don't have to retake the exam.

But I don't care about that anymore. It's just that English has always been 'my' thing - the thing I'm good at... the only thing I'm good at. And if I can't get an A, if I can't be the best, then what else? Why does everybody else get something at which they're brilliant and amazing and talented - the best - and not me? I just wish I could kick butt at something, you know? Still. That wasn't what I came here to talk about.

I came here to use this magical invention we know and love as the internet to reach out to you all. See, I need victims. Um, I mean... volunteers. Usually, if somebody wants to look at your language skills, they want you to be fluent, yes? Not this time. I'm trying to determine when exactly you become 'fluent' in your acquisition of a second language - I want to see when you start using grammatical features like modal auxiliaries (will, shall etc), prepositions (about, in etc); and what words you use to describe certain things. So basically, I need non-native speakers of English at all stages - especially Danish people please, but everybody is welcome. I know it can be embarrassing speaking a language to a native speaker of that language - trust me, I know - but I promise you I find this fascinating and I think anybody with even the slightest grasp of language is amazing, especially those who speak more than one, no matter how basic your skills may be.

This would probably be a good place to add that I can not speak any other language but English, and even though I consider myself to have a fairly strong grasp of language - it's just one language. Is it better, do you think, to have a brilliant grasp of the structure of one language or a good or mediocre grasp of two or more? When you think about it, even having the ability to speak one language is amazing: words are stored in our brains and we can retrieve them whenever we feel the urge to construct a sentence; and we can construct a sentence, not just with words, but with the correct word order, the correct prefixes and suffixes, the correct grammar in general. When we're writing, we know which way to arrange the letters within the words so that they make sense; we know which way to put the words so we don't say the complete opposite of what we mean. The average person speaks approximately 38,000 words per day and around 200 words per minute and we never run out of things to say. Amazing, right?

So please, if you're reading this and you're not English and you are at any stage whatsoever of English language learning, please get in touch with me if you feel like taking part in this investigation. It's only for college, so it's nothing massive, but I need people or I'll never get that A I pretend not to care about... and you wouldn't want to be responsible for the downfall of my education, would you?

Thank you in advance!

Molly x

January 26th: Bloglings, Cyberbirds and swapping strangers in the street

'Ello bloglings!

I seem to be reverting to my old informal blogging style these days... I hope I'm still making sense, because I tend not to when I'm writing. Whichever examiner reads the English paper I wrote this morning is going to be very well acquainted with the sense of coherency I lack when he or she is finished. I just hope they understand what I was getting at or it's hello retake for me.

But yeah: maybe drop me a comment and tell me which you prefer. Do you want to hear my 'inspirational' pretentious ramblings or do you want to be let into this mediocre existence I call my life, of which only the somewhat interesting bits make it onto here (and mostly not even then). Up to you, bloglings.

Random LOL moment: stumbled across this Facebook group the other day and it really made me laugh, so I thought I'd repeat it here to amuse you lot.

"Old people at weddings always poke me and say "You're next". So I started doing the same thing to them at funerals."

Soooo as of today, I am officially an exam free bitch; free as a Cyber-bird (Doctor Who series two bloopers - YouTube them if you don't know what I'm on about) and ready to... get on with my history coursework. Oh how I love my life. But actually life is looking up - now the exams are over I can look forward to half term, which means jetting orf to Denmark to see my very best friend, the amazing Cora, to whom I am rude enough to live in a different country. And that is brilliant and yet so depressing, because I miss her so much it's like someone ripped half of me off and gave it to her, and now everytime we have to leave again she takes that half away with her. The few days we have together always go so fast and then it's so long before I can see her again... life's not fair. Although saying that, getting to see her at all is so worth how much I miss her when I leave.

It always makes me wonder, thinking about this; why is it that we can be surrounded all day every day by people we're acquainted with, people we don't like, people we don't even know, and yet the one person I wish could be here isn't. I'm jealous of people who pass Cora in the street because at least they have the chance to go up and hug her if they wanted to (not that they would. I mean, I adore hugs, but even I would find it a bit weird if some random person came up to me and hugged me in the street. It'd be like one of the... 'different' people at college coming up and talking to you for ages about whether or not to add you on Facebook (give them a fake name. Just take my word for it. DO NOT TELL THEM YOUR NAME.) They will stalk you.)

Why, of everybody I pass on a daily basis, why are they here and not Cora? Why can't I swap one of them so I can have my best friend here with me like everyone else has theirs? And yet I know that what we have is deeper than normal friendship; it is unbreakable by things that would be detrimental to other friendships - like distance, for example. I know that when I go to uni I will lose touch with people whose company I very much enjoy at the moment, not because I want to but simply because it's hard to keep a friendship going when you sluice away some of the immediacy and intimacy that comes with seeing a person on a day-to-day basis. But Cora and I have built our friendship on so many coincidences - on an internet connection, on both of us being free at the same time, on me posting that fateful comment in the first place, on us both having enough credit to text each other (thank GOD for BBM, it is the BEST invention ever for overseas friends - the hours of conversation we've clawed back from both being in possession of a BlackBerry is incredible)... we have a relationship reliant on technology and therefore distance will never be a problem for us communication wise. But it still sucks. More than it's possible to describe.

All those months of anticipation and excitement we endure before we see each other and then it's over in a flash; not having your best friend there to hug when simply nobody else will do; not being able to look at them when a private joke comes up in conversation and know they're thinking what you're thinking... and then, on a bigger scale, what if something happened to one of us and nobody thought to tell the other? What if she, the person I am truly scared to lose, just disappeared from my life, or I from hers... what would she think? How would I feel, never knowing? (Those of you who know both of us: this is now your responsibility. If anything ever happens to me, you know what you have to do.) This is a really basic, really crappy description, but it is impossible to put into words what I feel regarding this.

This has turned into quite a random post, but since we're on this subject: think about it. Think about your best friend, think about how it would feel to have her or him a thousand miles away from you, or disappear without telling you, and then go and tell them how much they mean to you. It's important that you tell people these things because, morbid as it may be, people don't last forever, and it's a shame that we have to rely on things like death to make us say the words we really mean.

Molly x

January 13th: A piece of ass

I was just skimming through my post from the other day to get to the comment left by the adorable Lauren, and it occurred to me just how many times I wrote the word "ass" or "arse". As I'm English, my brain automatically reaches for the "arse" (better than my hand reaching for one, after all), but sometimes that R is just clumsy - we, too, deserve a smooth word to colloquially describe the rear end of homosapiens like ourselves. Oh, Americanisms, how we love you. Seriously though: "arse" or even "ass" is a good word. It rolls off the tongue like marbles off a table - trundling along slightly haphazardly, savouring its last moments of captivity before it makes a break for freedom and hits the floor.

And oh yes, I am aware of how dirty this blog post could sound - but only, my friends, if your minds are that way inclined. If you choose to see in-your-end-os where there are none intended, it's your brain that needs sorting out, not mine.

So anyway, while I was musing over the pros and cons of the American and English colloquial word for bottom, the phrase "piece of ass" popped into mind. Now I happen to find this a completely brilliant phrase - there is nothing quite like it, is there? A simple yet amusing, highly descriptive and connotative way of speaking of (according to yourdictionary.com) a. a woman regarded as a sexual partner and b. an instance of sexual intercourse. And I suppose if you will consult Urban Dictionary, you will end up with definitions that go something like:

a. Any female person
b. A 'hot chick who is ready for sex'
c. To 'get some action, have, or get to have, sex with a fiiiine female'
OR, my personal favourite,
d. Something you find at a crime scene

And that is why we don't consult Urban Dictionary.

Seriously though. Great phrase - indeed, so great that I felt I had to blog about it. But then it entered my mind that I was tagged on YouTube to play the Google Tag Game a long time ago and I never did because I don't 'do' vlogs (or if I do I get accused by my friends of flirting with the webcam) and so I should do it here now, since my post is already breaking all the rules of things I probably shouldn't talk about before nine o'clock.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Google Tag Game, the rules are thus:

You have to Google your name followed by a series of verbs and see what comes up. It's pretty easy to do. Just watch and learn.

Molly needs a smack.

Molly needs a special home.

Molly looks like she has a googly eye.

Molly looks fucking scary.

Molly says she sees, reads and writes. It feels okay.

Molly says NO!

Everything Molly says is a lie.

Molly wants some doggy friends.

MOLLY WANTS TO BREAK FREE!

Molly does not approve.

Apparently, Molly does Eeyore.

Molly hates the camera but loves Justin Bieber.

Why does everyone hate Molly?!

Molly asks you. She doesn't know what she asks you, but she asks you.

Molly asks for bacon.

Molly likes to hump chickens.

Molly likes it raw.

Molly eats algae off the sand.

Molly eats food. (Really?)

Molly wears a bit thin.

Molly wears really small panties to show off her killer legs. (Uh-huh.)

Molly was a pregnant Harvey girl.

Molly was a fantastic host. (Thank you very much.)

My big Molly loves a good spa.

Molly loves to roll in the sand.

Molly loves to bark at everything.

So guys. I hope you learned a bit about... Molly. And no. It's not all true.

Only some of it. Woof woof.

Molly x

January 11th: I've got words

I've got words. Everywhere. Inside my brain, floating in the air, decorating the walls... I've got words. They follow me around and they haunt me, and now, sitting here in this darkened room where the only light emanates from my computer screen and the fog creates unseen mystery beyond the glass behind me, I should be able to translate the words that haunt me into letters. I should be able to let them flow from my brain out through my fingers and into my keyboard; I should be able to write a song or a story or a poem. But I'm here instead.

This is where I come when I can't translate my inner words to outer words. When these words I've got won't show themselves, I come here and let my fingers pluck other words from the air and put those down instead. Because I can't do much in this life I'm living, but I can find words.

To see the world through the eyes of a grammar freak is to live a rare existence indeed. One finds themself, at the most basic level, reading everything they see, the words before their face's eyes imprinted on their mind's eye long after the words have disappeared. One muses about the pragmatic and literal meanings of simple declaratives like "good morning" and finds a simple greeting between strangers enough to keep their mind occupied all day. One sees every word they think, type or say dance in their imagination as it passes through their lips or fingers. One repeats a B grade English Language exam three times because they're in search of that elusive A, and risks sounding like a stalker by emailing random language theorists just so they might gain a stronger grasp of that linguist's theory. We all know that to be a grammar freak is to annoy people by correcting them; to have the 'urine extracted' from you (or the piss taken, for those who don't speak Received Pronounciation); and for you to be thought of as highly strange and bit obsessive - but we grammar freaks know that this is what we were meant to do, and when you know, you know, you know? (Yes Becky - that was for you.)

I could say the same for all 'callings'. Take Glee, for example, since the new series returned here last night and Glee fever is heating up the UK with a vengeance - Rachel is patronizing, intimidating and incredibly annoying, but she knows what she's good at and she does whatever it takes to follow where her voice may lead and that is a good trait to have... especially if you can be less of an arse about it than she is. Speaking of arses - Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory. He actually reminds me of myself a little bit, only he's much, MUCH worse. I don't claim to come anywhere near the awesomeness that is Sheldon Cooper. Anyway, I'm getting off track.

I know this is a bit soon to be wrapping up today's post, but I'm currently experiencing a complete evaporation of inspiration, so you'll just have to suck it up. (Sorry, disgusting phrase, but very pleasing to say. Oh, Americanisms.)

Basically, kick some ass. (I'd go all British on you and say kick some arse, but it just doesn't have the same ring to it, so ass it is.) It doesn't matter whose ass you're kicking or the subject at which you are kicking the aforementioned ass; just do it. You'll be awesome, so even if people say you're a freak or call you obsessive or get annoyed with your constant showing off, remember you're following the path in life you've chosen, and therefore nobody but you has the authority to tell you how to walk.

Molly x

December 22nd: Chasing inspiration

Sometimes I read back over the things I've written, both here on the blog and elsewhere in random files on my laptop, and I just start laughing. I start laughing because I sound like such a total knob, so pretentious and up myself - but the truth is that when inspiration strikes, that's what happens, because inspiration is talent. I know Zoe gets the urge to reach for her camera when she sees something that would make a fantastic photograph, in the same way that Lauren can, when she's acting, become a whole different person. I have no talent at either of those things, but their ability to claim inspiration shows that they do. Similarly, neither of them - or indeed any of my other friends - voluntarily spend a good chunk of every day musing over words and their grammatical meanings and usages and the way you can change what you're saying by changing their syntactical order or whether or not people are actually saying what they mean. Their faces don't light up when they notice an amusing arrangement of words, and they do not feel the complete outrage I do when I see a misplaced apostrophe. But that's why I'm doing linguistics at university and they're not. That's why we're friends; because we're different. We can share our passions and talents and soon enough we have pretty much everything we need to know covered.

Lauren's blog post the other day talked about definitions, and it got me thinking: who creates these definitions? Who gave Samuel Johnson and the other writers of dictionaries permission to classify words in this manner? If they created the definitions, how did they know how to define them in the first place? What if words could feel - would they resent this brusque categorization we thrust upon them? We do. We resent our categorization, our stereotypes - who's to say words aren't the same? Humans can't be defined by words... words are simple; humans are not. Right? But no - no. Humans are complex, yes, but so are words. All the different meanings they have and the way they can change whole entire meanings just by swapping themselves around (looking at child language acquisition, one of the first examples we learned for the two word stage was "Daddy kick", or indeed "kick Daddy" - is this merely an overexcited child with a desire to learn football, or do we have the next Hitler on our hands?). Words can inspire, enlighten, delight; they can teach, entertain and thrill. They can also destroy, crush, weaken... words are amazing, and how often do we stop to realize it? Possibly only when we visit a country where we don't have a grasp of the language and therefore can't take it for granted - some of my favourite words are in foreign languages, especially Danish - it's only then we realize that we don't just use words for conversations. We use them in shops; for directions; for warnings; for instructions; for having conversations with your best friend's parents when neither of you speak the same language (luckily the best friend in question speaks both); for telling freaks to back off (accents can also be hard to understand in this case and trust me, I speak from experience)... the list goes on and on. And if you're with someone who speaks the language it's so easy to just let them do all the talking... Cora's very familiar with that.

Seriously though. I'm not entirely sure how I got from talking about inspiration to boring you all with my love of language (again), but I hope I've made my point: words. Words can destroy or they can inspire - it's up to you how you use them but please, give them a chance to be what they're meant to be and say what they're meant to say. They'll thank you for it.

We all lose our inspiration every now and again, but if we didn't, we wouldn't be able to appreciate that rush that inevitably comes; that burst of enthusiasm which brings idea upon idea into our brain, usually before the last one has even fully disappeared, and lets us know that everything is going to be okay - that we are, as we were so sure of before our inspiration dissolved, talented. Special. Because we are, and easy though it is to forget that in the midst of all the other talented and special people we meet throughout our daily lives, try to remember how special you - yes, YOU - are.

To use a quote I once heard which has always stuck with me: to the world you may be one person, but to one person you are the world.

Merry Christmas.

Molly x

November 30th: The first replicated date on Mind's Eye of Mine.

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.

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

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