Tag Archives: plans

Boy she’s slow lately….


And she doesn’t even have the “no internet” excuse! You’d think that being out of uni would allow me to post more often. Not! Sweet, sweet apathy has ensured that I am in zero mood to write (or do much of anything other than crave desserts…) As I was telling/whining to a friend a few days ago, I do not know how to function with no schedule! Give me a high panic situation and I will deliver. Give me more than three slow days in a row and you are killing me! Add to that my room being criminally cold and the heating on the house central and at the tender mercies of my landlord and I’m sure you ca imagine how well things are going.

But, you say, you’re out of uni! Shouldn’t you be working and being a serious adult and all that? I WISH! No, seriously, there’s few things I want more right now than to have to wake up with the sun and go to work. Unfortunately this will not be possible for an undetermined amount of time. Key and hated word being “undetermined”. The backchecks for my new job are taking about as long as the solar system took to form. Not only that, but the nice people in charge of the process do not feel it necessary to grace us with some sort of progress report or at least a countdown to the next phase. Meaning that I can do next to nothing, seeing as they could e-mail me tomorrow, or they could e-mail me in a month (and that’s an optimistic outlook from what I’m reading on the forums). Out of the window go therefore any and all potential temp jobs since I very much doubt anyone hires you with the adage of “may quit whenever she fancies”. So long-term projects are a no-go, short term projects are too many to pick one and I’m left kind of laying in bed, overwhelmed by everything.

And it doesn’t help that I am constantly cold. Bit hard to find motivation when you’re constantly shivering. So yeah, do excuse my absence. Believe me, it’s not cause I’m having fun….

In which I jump rope


The rope in question being that beautifully thin line between self-delusion and compartmentalising (and try saying that three times fast!). Those who know me in any capacity know that I can panic easily. Not in the ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh hyperventilating kind but rather in the twenty-scenarios-imagined-in-under-10-seconds kind. Bless my writer’s mind! Of course, on a good day, that means I am pretty much prepared for any eventuality up to and including the zombie apocalypse. On a bad day my inner conversation makes the Everything Wrong video series sound like a panegyric. Add to that my ever-present underlying conviction that just because I think something is a good idea, doesn’t mean other people will think so too (and no, telling me otherwise will do nothing. To paraphrase Dr. Banner; “This one’s brain is  like a bag of cats.”). The result? A compulsive need to drown myself in tears (and I’m not adding Bailey’s to that because that shit is expensive!) whenever the words “covering letter” are mentioned. I can argue till Kingdom Come on Chaucer and Aristotelian philosophy, I can play Devil’s advocate for just about any Dark Side character but ask me to tell why you should hire me and all my words desert me.

I’m at my best when you shove me off the deep end and tell me to swim.   Throw me a Code Red and I’ll deliver. Ask me to explain it well in advance and I’ll sound like a bumbling idiot. Hence, one of the most terrifying questions for me (right up there with “Why should we hire you?” and “How do you feel about x/y/z?”) is “What are your plans?”

guy with plan

Gal in my case but yeah. Homicidal Lunatic from Gotham has a point. I just kind of do things. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Some things I like/enjoy/revel in more than others. But the point is, there is no plan. No, no, no! When other people make plans, God laughs, is that not the saying? When I make plans (and declare them) it’s an automatic jinx. I kid you not, it’s happened waaaaaay often to be a coincidence.


So, until I have a divine revelation where some sort of deity swears on themselves that no, they’re not messing with me because they’re bored, please world stop asking about my plans. I’ve no plans, alright? I’ve vague ideas of possibly-good things to do. And then there’s the pile of things I should/must/am expect to do. And I try to make them coincide. Somehow. Compromise, compromise, compromise.

It’s not that I want to avoid responsibility or that I wanna stay a kid forever. I’m not bleeding Peter Pan. It’s that most of the time I’m stuck in this weird Limbo where I know all of the above, heck I even acknowledge it, but don’t know how to get out. Why? Partially because I just suck. Partially because when they taught us Home Economics at school they felt it was more important to teach us the difference between “nuclear” and “extended” family instead of, I don’t know, how to adult! stitch

In which I contemplate year three


There’s something truly exciting about starting the last year of my undergrad course. It’s not even the modules (although there will be geeking about THAT later). No, this post is about feelings and sensations.

I don’t know about you, but for me September has always smelled like freshly bought books. School-oriented much, I know, but it is the start  of the school year. However, since I moved to Norwich, this smell has combined itself with that of cardboard boxes, new houses and freshly brewed tea. It’s really amazing how moving to a new place makes all change seem easy all of a sudden. Granted you will drop half the stuff you sign up for by the time the first wave of essays is due, but hey! What the hell? Acting like Speedy Gonzales (with or without the input of caffeine) is fun every now and then.

And what are my plans for this year you ask? Well other than classes, societies, and my dissertation, I will be (finally) taking driving lessons, setting up a proper schedule for my updating regime and working my way through a legitimate mountain of books I’ve bought and half-read (and seeing that among them are the major works of Pope and Tennyson, we’ll have a long way ahead)…

So, anyway, I was talking of new beginnings. Now my standard response would be to whine but even when my buses are late and my legs sore from carrying boxes of stuff up and down the stairs I find myself content. Not that there haven’t been any frustrations (and a minor breakdown, but hey I’m a woman and occasionally hormone-driven). I don’t know if it’s because I’m officially within my 20s and some sort of switch has been flipped or because I’m finally starting to figure out what I want from my life. I’ve learned not to question my instincts too much.

These last few weeks of September seem to be transitory for everything in my little universe. Not just the new house and new modules. Half the university campus is covered in scaffolding and getting a make-over. With less than a week till the semester starts I’m curious to see how they will pull this off. (The cynic currently sitting on my shoulder claims that there’s no chance, but I only listen to her when there’s money -specifically my money- involved in the issue.)

And I keep coming back to it but hey, new house! And a much better house than the hole in the wall I lived in last year…. It’s going to take me a bit longer to get a feel of the energy in this one (seeing that there’s three of us living here and until classes start we’re pretty much holed in) and I am slightly wary of the smoke alarm in my room as I love burning candles and incense, but I don’t doubt that by the time Halloween creeps by I’ll have it figured out.

I didn’t do much other than read and walk aimlessly over the summer so I suppose part of my all-around giddiness has to do with having things to do; short-term projects until the time comes to start working on the more long-term ones. I’m not very good at playing the long game and keeping up with schedules for an extended period of time but as I said, this feels like a transitory period. Time for me to leave this bad habit behind and work my way from there.