We’ve all had them. Those days when work is the last thing on your mind and you’ll do anything and everything to entertain yourself in other ways.
I’ve been a bit quiet lately. A combination of life, and trips away and recovering from trips has seen me turn pretty lazy. I had a wonderful week at the Benicassim festival (my absolute favs were Florence + The Machine and Frank Turner + The Sleeping Souls).
But I returned a little bit broken, sunburnt (from the last day, isn’t it always the way?) and tired, so tired. I spent about two days in my pyjamas recovering before jaunting off to Dublin for a weekend with the girls and a freaking amazing Ed Sheeran show in Croke Park, and then back to Derry for my mums Birthday and family shenanigans.
Having a tribe is pretty freaking important. I have great tribe. I have some pretty amazing people in my life. I’ve spoken about my struggle with depression and it only seems right that I talk about the people who help me keep it at bay without even realising it. The people who get my oddities and weird sense of humour, and the people who inspire me and encourage me and make me feel so freaking on point.
I had one of those crazy busy weekends last weekend. One that crept up on me before I realised what was going on. My little sister graduated from Queens University Belfast on Monday, almost five years to the day from my own undergrad graduation. Saturday-Tuesday consisted of a haze of drinks and meals with my family, and, most importantly, dancing around my sisters flat to Taylor Swift at four in the morning. It was exactly as fun as it sounds. I honestly never have more fun than when I’m with my family, they get my weird sense of humour (because they have it too), put up with me when I’m acting crazy or being a complete grouch and generally don’t judge me for my oddities. Life has been good lately, and it got me to thinking about five year plans, the absence of them for me lately and how my life is turning out in general.
Yeah, so, I have a lot of stationary…
There’s this thing I do when I’m sad. Not devastated crying my eyes out sad, just low level sad/bored/down where I feel annoyed, or anxious, or like I need something, some fix, a change. Something that’s a little bit more than what I have. Something else. Because I’m happy, generally I’m happy, and aware of the fact that I’m lucky, but sometimes I need a perk. And this is going to sound so strange (unless you’re like me, then you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about), and I have different types of high: the shopping spree, the new stationary, the new haircut. But the absolute favourite?
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’ve been contemplating living on my own for a while now. I absolutely love the buzz of a house share, of someone being there when you get home, free for tea and a chat. There’s nothing like sneaky dvd nights and hungover afternoons with company. That being said, I need my own space. Badly. I am a total control freak, and while this is something I’ve been aware of for a while, it’s only lately that I’ve realised just how much of one I am (I told my brother this and he laughed and told me he could have told me this years ago). So yeah, I’m a control freak, I’ve just moved house and all my control freak dreams have been fulfilled by having my own space.
Sorry for the trite title. I was a bit stuck on this one. I wrote it a week ago and decided I needed some time to let it sit while I thought about it. So, here it is.
I’ve grown up in a world where some people have been raised to believe that there is something deeply wrong with being gay. Other people have been raised to be pretty ambivalent about it. Others have been raised to feel passionately that there is nothing wrong with it. More still have grown up and made up their own minds. I wasn’t raised in any way, my parents aren’t that type of religious and I don’t remember any priest or teacher ever broaching the subject of sexuality. My granda can be a bit homophobic, but he can also be a (very tiny) bit racist and sometimes I wonder if that’s just his generation. He’s not a bad person.
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.