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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

October 22nd: Plastic connection

Spell me a word. Any word. In what order do you press the keys? Not in the same order as me, in many cases. How do you spell "predominant"? Not quite the same as you do. But does that make it wrong or does that mean it's changing? This is a paradox to be considered and pondered over by all lovers of language and grammar - we are fascinated by language change but we're horrified by non-standard spellings which could indicate the beginning of the aforementioned mutation.

What's a girl to do?

Having said that, the inevitable adaptation in language that technology has brought never fails to amaze me. Not necessarily the 'variations' (meaning ghastly) in spelling that the lack of online editing allows into the world, but, more literally, the way we can just press a button and create a letter; press two and create a word; press a selection and create a poem, a story, a song... something which has meaning to somebody, somewhere. How can a button make a letter appear on a screen? How can I make words without speaking or writing?

I express words through my fingers. I create sound through something that isn't my mouth. You assimilate words through something that isn't your ears; you can hear me through your eyes. It unifies us, this - we are one through the language which has words but no sound. This world of technology has created us - a plastic connection.

And with that to consider, I'll leave you with a random pointless 'story' my fingers wrote without consulting my brain. If you get it, leave a comment - I'll be interested to know whether or not you see where I was going with it.

Molly x

Mindless.

Click. Click. Click.

Heads down. Eyes blank. Fingers move. Keep busy, don't look up, don't make eye contact. Exist in solitude, because after all, it's easier like that, isn't it?

Regress. Begin. Open your eyes - no, open them. Really look at the world. Don't see it. Look at it. Notice it. Delight in it. How old were you when it happened? When did you become disillusioned with the world?

Heads down. Eyes blank. Fingers move. She doesn't understand. Touch the keys, type the words. Ignore everything except the feel of the plastic beneath your fingers. She complains. Look at the clock. What time is it? Still two more hours. Oh God, two more hours. Then I can go home. She'll ask me about my day. I don't want to talk about it.

Boss is on his way over. Don't talk to me, don't talk to m-- oh hi, yes, I'm doing it n- yes, it'll be done- you want it for whe-? Another file? More work? She won't be happy. Of course I can do it- yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Three bags full, sir. I am a slave to you.

Close the program. Get your coat. Switch off the light. In the lift. In the car. Key in the door. How was your day? Leave me alone. Are you in a bad mood? Another file? Why can't they-- zone out. Ignore her. Mindless.

Am I happy?

October 9th: The disappearance of rough edges.

If ever you happen to be taking a stroll alongside a river, or in a forest, or even just on a street, pause for a moment. Bend down and scrutinise the ground upon which you're placing your feet; think for a while about all the geological substance which supports us, is always there beneath us, waiting to catch us, whenever we feel the need.

Aim for the moon, the well known saying goes, for even if you fail you will land among the stars. Now, not only is that not exactly scientifically true, the moon being closer than the stars, but it is also somewhat disrespectful to the Earth. How many people are there in the world whose ambition is to 'reach for the stars', or to 'fly high', and how many people long to be 'over the moon' or 'on cloud nine'? And how many people, I wonder, wish to stay grounded?

We're always talking about the sky, always telling ourselves there is always more to discover, more to learn - and so there is. The sky is, as they say, the limit. But why stop there? And what's beyond the sky? Another planet? More ground? Why do we appreciate different ground but dismiss our own? The grass is always greener on the other side.

Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone? In the wise words of Joni Mitchell, yes. It does. Everybody is so blinded by what they don't have that they don't realize what they do and even when they stop and think about it, they're so worried about everything that they can't see clearly. Sometimes it takes the arrival of somebody into your world to wipe the windscreen of life so that you're not seeing through dirt clouded eyes anymore. And then once they've arrived, it's so easy to become used to their presence, to depend upon them to support you - they become the ground. They hold you up and you use them as a stepping stone to reach where you really want to be in life. Oh, you don't use them, of course you don't, but maybe you start to take them for granted and you forget how lucky you are to know them in the first place.

Don't. Just don't. Stop right now and think of everyone you're lucky to know and everything you're lucky to have. Give yourself five reasons you're happy to be who you are, and if you're not happy being who you are, who are you and who do you want to be? Do you truly know the people around you? Do you know what you want from life? Do you truly know yourself? Think about it. Dig out your windscreen wash and scrape away the dirt stopping you from seeing your world your way. It's your world, so be metaphorically (and literally) environmentally friendly. Walk a path and give yourself directions. It doesn't matter if you get lost, because every turn will lead you to where you're destined to be.

The ground we walk on will always support us. The people who love us will always catch us. Pebbles on a beach all look the same, their rough edges worn away by the sea; don't let the world wear away your rough edges. Keep them, because they're what make you unique.

Molly x

September 12th: Turn up the heat, the pressure's dropping...

Just when you think the pressure's off, and you get used to a bit of relaxation, all of a sudden it's time to crank up those brains again and find your seat on this year's seating plan (not that you have those when you get to year 13 or, as it's more commonly known, the second year of college).

The second year of college. Year thirteen. I am on the brink of becoming a second year. Whenever I meet a young child, if I'm on holiday or visiting friends with younger siblings, and they ask me what year I'm in, I do actually have to think about it before I reply. Once I do, I can see exactly what they're thinking because the expression on my face when I was their age mirrored theirs exactly: wow, you're old.

And I am. I am old. Not in the scheme of things, but ignoring the bigger picture, I am almost eighteen and I'm just wondering how exactly that happened. When I look back upon my childhood, I can remember time moving painfully, frustratingly slowly until I was about fifteen - my hatred for that compulsory place of torture mutinously described as school saw to that - and then all of a sudden, it was like somebody had clicked their fingers and put my life on fast forward times three.

Why is it that the older you get, the faster life goes? Day after day after long, repetitive day adds up to time flicking past in the blink of an eye, until eventually you feel like you're in a washing machine on spin dry, banging on the glass and going "let me out!". Whatever happened to being a kid? Whatever happened to irresponsibility? Actually, I'm secretly wondering when I'm going to have that rebellion my parents seem sure I'll have; first I was too young for things, and now I'm too old. I get the "you want to be treated like an adult, you have to act like one" speech quite a lot - then I get the "not under my roof, other people your age have to pay rent" speech too. The inner adult and the inner child in me are constantly having arguments; can't keep their fists under control. I don't know what I'm going to do with them. But seriously, it's like I've spent my whole life so far waiting - to leave primary school, to be a teenager, to get my ears pierced, to get a phone (and I thought they were important things). And then later on: waiting for exams, waiting to be pretty, waiting for a boyfriend (still waiting), waiting for results, waiting to be confident enough to sing in public, waiting to be... myself. And I know that we've been here before, all this "I'm not a sheep, blah blah, confidence, blah blah..." but it's true. And now comes A Levels, and we work hard for those so we can go to university and put ourselves under even more pressure, and I'm just wondering what the point is.

I always thought I'd go to uni, even when I wasn't old enough to have the foggiest idea what to study - thought it was automatic. It was what people did, so why not me too? I've never questioned my future, never thought of changing it, making it my future. Obviously I've chosen the subjects I want to study, but I never thought of doing anything besides going to college, doing A Levels, going to uni... ten years from now I see myself with a job, a relationship, maybe even married. When I was younger, I had it all planned out: by thirteen I'd be popular. Didn't happen. By sixteen I'd have a boyfriend... didn't happen. By twenty-five I'll be either very nearly engaged, engaged or married... and to be honest I doubt that will happen either. I always wanted a boyfriend... the boyfriend, you know? I thought it was weird that I'd got to seventeen without ever having a proper relationship. But now I'm starting to think I'm something of a commitment phobe, which is something I never thought I'd be. Even though I've got friends who are less experienced than myself (and I have had very little boy contact), they've all been romantically interested in somebody for more than a few months... and I never have. Whenever I meet someone and find a mutual attraction, the spark wears off within a few weeks... most recently, a few hours - an impressive record by anyone's standards. When the attraction isn't mutual, that tends to fade away pretty quickly as well - except for this last crush of mine, which has been ongoing since January, though admittedly not as strongly over the summer. We'll see what happens when I get back to college.

Of late it has occurred to me that things don't happen just because they happen to everyone else. I had such naive ideas about the world and it never once crossed my mind that it wouldn't all come to pass. But now, sitting here as a seventeen year old who is completely clueless about... well, pretty much anything except how to piss people off by correcting their grammar, I've realised that I'm basically an adult now and when it comes to my future, nobody can force me into anything. I don't have to leave home next year. I could take a gap year. Get a job. Go travelling (as cliched as that is). Learn piano. I could do anything. The world, as they say, is my crayfish. Or lobster. Or even oyster. Or any other type of hard-exterior'ed creature which takes residence in the sea. There's no time limit on education - I could go to uni when I'm twenty-five... or even eighty-five. (Not that I'd leave it that late; I'm just backing up my point with a little bit of over exaggeration. You should try it sometime. It's great for blowing off stress. WE'RE ALL GONNA DIEEEEE!... And all that jazz).

I started this blog post intending to complain about finding myself on the verge of becoming an adult (to empathize with me, imagine fast forwarding through a film you've never seen to about half way - then, when you've got no idea what's going on, imagine you're the main character, living the story but with no background knowledge as to how you got to where you are. And there we go with that exaggeration again. But it's almost like that.) but I come away believing I've actually made some headway towards deciding my future. That's sometimes what happens when I write: I begin believing I know my characters, and then halfway through one of them does something that takes me completely by surprise. That's what's happening to me, only it's my own story I'm writing now. It feels good to be in charge of myself - at least for now, right here in this moment. By tomorrow I'll be panicking about my first day back and wishing I could be five years old again. (Highly overrated, being five. You spend all your time wishing you were older... and then when you get there you spend all your time wishing you weren't.)

They say youth is wasted on the young. They say "I wish I'd known then what I know now" - but nobody ever tells 'the young' what they wish they'd known. Maybe if we tried sharing every once in a while, we'd be able to create a generation of adults with a great many less regrets.

Molly x