A friend once said to me that she thought it was easier to ‘break up’ with a friend than a boy. Because if you breakup with a friend, it’s really more a case of easing off on hanging out with them, it can always be picked up later, but when you break up with a boy, it’s final.They are out of your life, and there’s nothing left of them. That’s that.
I didn’t really think about it at the time. Didn’t have any strong opinions either way. As I get older, and maybe a little bit wiser, and definitely a lot more savvy about these things, I’ve realised that I don’t agree.
I’ll take your stories about heart break and old boyfriends and raise you a friend breakup.
I woke up this morning to the clattering of water drops on the lid of my laptop, which had been placed safely, or so I thought last night, on top of my bedside table. Normally it sleeps on the pillow beside me, so I really thought I had my shit together when I had the presence of mind to put it elsewhere before falling asleep last night.
Oh, hi there Autumn. You’re looking swell. Full of crisp days, changing leaves and cozy dark evenings. I’ve spent the first week of September looking at stationary, shopping online and reciting Keats’ poem ‘To Autumn’ to myself.
I’ve become a nester. A real life nester. Over half of my online browsing lately has been homeware over fashion. My pinterest is filled with ideas for gallery walls and I’m this close to asking my landlord if I’m allowed to paint. The walls at least, I’m dying to paint the furniture after finding a shop that sells chalk paint literally around the corner from me, but as lovely as he is, I don’t think he’d appreciate me changing too much in the apartment. There are a ton of adorable things that i’m just dying to buy.
I just got back from a pretty rejuvenating bank holiday weekend back home with the family. I’m staying with my final year student sister though, so I came back to a flat full of final years who are essentially living between their desks and in the library. Which got me to thinking about my own finals (back in 2010, and more recently for my masters in 2014). So I thought I’d compile a list of all the crazy things that happen during finals.
It’s Wednesday morning. I’m sitting in work and writing the first draft of this in my adorable little Paperchase List Book. It’s gorgeous and sunny and so very spring-like outside. I’m happily contemplating the weekend and the beginning of my new morning gym routine (and by beginning, I mean I’m going to try going to the gym before work once a week and see how I get on).
Let’s talk about expectation versus reality when you graduate. I graduated from my undergrad in 2010. Right around the beginning of the financial crisis (or the credit crunch, as they were calling it then, haven’t heard that term in a while). The Conservatives had just won the general election, austerity had yet to rear it’s ugly head in full in relation to cuts to arts, education and basically everything that makes life just a little bit richer. I was excited to start a PGCE in Nottingham, secure in the knowledge that there were plenty of teaching jobs in England.