Why Right Now At University Kinda Fucking Sucks

Now I wouldn't call this drunk blogging as such... Maybe we'll just stick with tipsy. Does an entire bottle of wine and an oddly delicious mixture of tequila (obvs), peach schnapps and apple and raspberry juice count as tipsy? We'll work with what we've got.

Here's the honest to God, actual, true as fuck deal. I have literally no idea what is going on in my life right now. So I am going to ramble at you. Bear with.

So I mentioned in my last post (possibly, who can be fucked checking?) that I wasn't sure about university. I am studying English literature and it's just not right for me. To put it mildly. I cannot think the way they want me to think. To put it simply; right now, I have more of a mathematic brain than a literature brain. At this current moment in time, I am much more suited to the way of thinking that involves rights and wrongs. I am not down with theological essays debating the merits of Frankenstein.

But this never used to be the case! I was always fucking awesome at English. English was my thing. I was going to successfully move out of a small town and go to university and be the greatest thing that had ever come out of my said small town. That was what I was kinda destined to be. Ish. So maybe not the greatest thing. Just a thing that didn't stay in the small town and get pregnant by whatever small town boy I went to high school with. I mean, seriously. It is utterly ridiculous the amount of pregnancies that have occurred in my hometown at my age. About 10% of my year got pregnant at around 17. That's about 20 girls. In a town of 8,000 that's a hell of a lot. This is why I'm so pleased I got out of there.

But now I'm in Aberdeen. I'm at university like I was supposed to be. I'm halfway through my 2nd year. And it fucking sucks. Because I have lost all motivation and general interest in my course. I do not want to be at university right now.

I think of it like... You're in a job that you hate for another 2 years. And you know you can leave this job and find another one in a completely different career. You know it's not the most sensible thing to do; leave your job for another uncertain job but it's what will make you happy.

I cried non stop for about 3 hours tonight as I was stressing like I have never stressed before over university and my future. My mother wants me to stay on and do one more year so I can come out with a degree. It makes sense. That is the sensible thing to do. Nowadays, employers look for degrees, regardless of what they're in. But the idea of even one more year at university terrifies me. Right now, I hate university. I have absolutely no interest in staying but I thought that yes, the sensible thing to do would be to continue on and do my 3rd year.

But I cannot bear that thought right now. I honestly cannot bear the thought of even staying on an extra week. I do not want to stay at something that makes me unhappy. I feel I am young enough (and able enough) to make the decision to not continue something that makes me unhappy. And I honestly am unhappy. I am not the type of person to get stressed about something. But I have been so unbelievably stressed these past few weeks that I don't know how much longer I can handle it for.

If you asked me honestly where I'd like to be right now, I would tell you: Paris. Paris is where I would like to be right now. I have been to Paris once and I fell in love with it. I could see myself living there. My friends could see me living there. And hopefully my family could see me living there too. I would love to have a tiny garret apartment up by the Moulin Rouge. I would love to be able to take picnics by the Eiffel Tower. I would love to wander through the antique markets and stop off to see the view at the Sacre Coeur. I feel that Paris is kind of a part of me. Is that very weird and white girl of me? I don't think so. I think it feels like home.

So I would, quite frankly, like nothing more than to leave university right now. To work in Aberdeen for a year and a half and save up some money. To become... I don't know... An au pair in Paris. Yes, these are very romantic dreams at the moment. I know I haven't yet thought through the logistics. But if it's something that would make me happy, then isn't it worth it?

And Mum, I know it's not the sensible thing to do. But if I have to stay another year at university, I think I will go utterly insane. I will lose what little sense of self I have left. I always told you to let me make my own mistakes and I am very much aware that this could be a huge mistake. But I am sensible. And I could deal with the consequences. And right now, I would much prefer to be happy than crying my eyes out alone at the kitchen table.

Also, SD? He is perfect. He has been perfect. He is just... I don't even know. He's the real deal. I can envision a proper, legitimate future with this man. I could honestly, at some point in the very near future, be in love with this man. Right now, he is keeping me sane. I have never felt like this before but it feels so right and natural. And he will be back onshore in approximately 24 hours. I cannot fucking wait.

What do you think? Do you think I should be sensible? Or should I think that life is fucking short and I should damn well live it? Or am I being a complete idiot in every single way? I need your help... Please help.

Frustrating Arsehole

Isn't that a charming title? Especially coming from such an elegant human bean such as myself. The frustrating arsehole in question today, children, is Tall Australian. Indeed, Tall Australian of the epic adventures 'Beach Walk For First Date' and 'Unfeeling, Non-committal Sex For Second 'Date'' fame.

As I mentioned in my last post, I had a potential sex date with him last night. However, even as I was writing it, I knew that I didn't want to see him. I was just feeling really disconnected. I was drawing back into my Lonely State. Now the Lonely State is not a good state to be in. Because, for me, it describes general loneliness. I can never pinpoint just why I feel like that. I could be in need of a hug from a friend, my mother, a furry four-legged animal (I mean a cat, not TGI... Excuse me while I laugh forever at how unfunny that was) or from a man thing. And it turns out that my Lonely State the other night was for wine, food and an impromptu cinema date with my flatmate. And it was rather lovely. We continued it this morning by getting a taxi to the doctors at 9am because she has tonsillitis:

God, I love Miranda. Did anyone watch it? Tiny Friend and I are often described as Miranda and Stevie. I'd say that was fairly accurate:

The height difference is the same. I know, I know. I am utterly huge.

Anyway anyway anyway. Tall Australian is an arse. And he is an arse because... Well I don't quite know. But whether it is a clash in personalities or what, he just rubs me up the wrong way (oo-er) and frustrates me to fuck.

He texted me today and as per usual, by the second text, we were getting on each other's nerves. I wish I could say this was some sexual tension and we'd have crazy hot sex after fighting but... Nope. Just anger. No sex. Just anger. Via text. Our text conversation deteriorated into this (sorry, much screenshots):

Here we can see he's obviously an arsehole because he cannot spell 'enlighten'.

And here, ladies and gentlemen, we can see the rare case of me actually beginning to tell him what I thought.

In this particular case here, we can see that I finally told him what I thought and he just dismissed it. Dismissed it like I was an utter idiot. Arsehole.

And finally, my well known sarcasm rearing its textual head (oo-er?). Again: arsehole.

I am aware that I'm not really shown in my best light in those texts. But he just makes me so frustrated. And I am drawn to replying. I can't help it. I feel he's getting away with it if I don't reply when really, he's winning whenever I do text him back. I hate it when men win. I am too competitive for that. I recently met Tiny Friend's boyfriend (I imagine it was scarier than when he met her actual parents and not... Just me. But he bought me drinks so I like him) and we got to talking about how many people we'd slept with. He was 2 more than me. So I immediately started trying to think of 3 guys I knew might sleep with me so I could beat him.. My competitiveness is dangerous.

Anyway, I just needed to vent my frustrations at Tall Australian. I'm properly annoyed and slightly upset now so he's most definitely in the doghouse. And hopefully will be staying there forever more. Arsehole.

I'm going to now retrieve my phone from where I threw it (quick temper, sorrynotsorry), wait until wine time (5pm) to get a drink and then eat an entire mound of cheesy bacon potatoes that I, the culinary goddess of this flat right now (flatmate is asleep, she doesn't count), made all. by. my. self.

I got skillz.

Wine Made Me Write This

Happy new year, fuckers. It's time for slightly tipsy blogging again.

You know things I don't like? Hearing my flatmate having sex. Hearing my flatmate and boyfriend giggling after sex. The smell my plant makes when I haven't watered it in 2 weeks. The fact I got locked out of my building for an hour in the freezing cold Scottish winter.

I love my flatmate, I do. But sometimes, when you're feeling lonely and sorry for yourself, you would love the chance to just live alone and do everything that you want to do and decorate by yourself and walk around naked after having a bath just because you can. Okay so not much of that is hindered by having a flatmate but still. It's annoying.

A cat followed me home from Morrisons this evening. I had too many bags to stop it getting in my front door when I unlocked it. And again with my flat door. I amused myself by playing with the cat for a few minutes until I eventually realised that it obviously wasn't mine and didn't even belong in the building. So I picked it up and took it to the front door. Unfortunately I had taken off my coat, left my keys in my flat and kept the door to the flat open when the front door slammed shut behind me. I meant to have my foot keeping it ajar but apparently I am just terrible at life so that didn't work.

Long story made slightly shorter, I trekked all the way to Troy's house (down the road) as he was the only person who had my flatmate's number and I knew where he lived. He wasn't in. So I went back to the flat and thought about waiting for Sophie to come home but it was too bloody cold so eventually I dragged my poor, freezing body out into town to go to her usual pub to see if someone was there that I knew. I eventually got the nice bartender (who apparently I shouldn't like because she used to date Sophie's boyfriend but that's all far too complex) to phone her friend who could phone Sophie. Anyway, I finally got back in. Only to be greeted by the cat pawing at my window from the outside and subsequently sitting there for about 2 hours miaowing pitifully. Just look at that face in terrible phone camera quality:

Also right now, I am texting 3 men at once and it's rather exhausting. Slain's Dinosaur (6'9" guy) is due to be back onshore either tomorrow or Wednesday and I haven't seen him since we first met on Halloween and there's all this expectation. Hopefully we'll both be reasonably drunk so it'll be fine. I just want to check out his height again. 6'9"!!

Augustine from work is the second guy. Annoyingly(ish) I didn't expect anything to happen with him so used his proper name and don't have a hilariously clever codename. But not so annoyingly, he asked me out on Sunday. I know! It was really rather unexpected. And was really rather sweet. It was quite the change to have a man be reasonably nervous about asking me out rather than being Cocky McCockypants the 3rd. You know?

And lastly, Tall Australian. I know, I know, I said I'd leave this well alone. But I'm bored. And just one time isn't really enough to properly judge someone...? Alright, alright, stop judging me yourselves.

2015 hasn't exactly gotten off to a flying start of excitement. But I have a lunch date with Augustine later this week, an evening drink with Slain's Dinosaur on Wednesday and a potential sex date with Tall Australian tomorrow. I feel I'm getting in a bit over my head...

Jazz and Liquor: Roxie's Downfall

I may or may not have been watching Chicago recently. Bloody love that film. Also I am ferociously back on the coffee. I tried so hard, I really did but I just cannot give up that which is so very dear to me and crucial for my brain to work and my eyes to open fully. However, I have done marvellously with the alcohol ban. Or, 'limitation'. I have the teeniest glass of wine in front of me from a bottle that I started almost a week ago.

And speaking of alcohol, we may now commence our forage into Certain Times Drinking Alcohol Has Dicked Up Errything.

I do not like to blame myself for anything. Even if something is blatantly my fault, I will do my very best to blame it on some inanimate object. In this case: a bottle of wine. And vodka. And a little bit of tequila.

So after my slightly surreal night with LB, I went home fully planning to remain tres cool and nonchalant. I would not text him or message him on the Facebooks oh no, I would remain cool and dignified and have him be the one to get in touch with me.

But how do people do that?!!

It's bloody impossible! How the flying dick are you supposed to keep away from your phone and not check it every 2 minutes and gradually get angrier and more worried as time goes on and there is no new message (apart from that one from your mother that you CANNOT DEAL WITH RIGHT NOW BECAUSE THERE ARE ITEMS OF MUCH MORE IMPORT GOING ON IN LIFE THAN TRYING TO REMEMBER HOW OLD MY COUSINS ARE). I am not a patient person. In fact I would describe myself as rather impatient.

So of course, I texted him first.

And of course I was ever so slightly very tipsy when I did so.

And of course I texted him relentlessly. Every night. With wine.

And what I don't realise when I have consumed a certain amount of alcohol is how much of a dick I am when I have consumed a certain amount of alcohol. They were the worst texts. They were needy yet angry and just plain childish.

And why did I do this? Why, even though I would refuse to come out from under the covers and show the world my face just in case I bumped into him on my way to uni or work, would I then sit down with wine that very night and start the whole bloody thing again?

Well I worked out - after I sent a particularly awful, embarrassing text that made me delete the entire thread and his number from my phone - that it wasn't because I like liked him. It was because he interested me. There was something about him that caught my eye because I wasn't expecting it. I wanted to get to know him more. I wanted to see if we could get along for longer than 2 hours in the morning. If he really did have my sense of humour, if he really was as genuine as I thought, if he really did have the personality I had seen in him.

Because when you think about it, he was just a hook up in a club. He was just a hook up that had extended into nearly a month rather than just that night. And the men I have gone home with after meeting in a club (only two, quit your judgey pants) were not ones that I would have been particularly enamoured with or intrigued into finding more about them. They were just hook ups. I was lonely. C'est la vie.

So can you understand this frustration of mine? Because, thanks to alcohol, I have come across as a ridiculous, needy, annoying girl who sounds more like she like likes him than just wanting to get to know him. And you might think, come on that's not that bad. Surely you can fix it when you're sober?

That's what I thought when I got a text from him last night - after having silence for 4 days.

He asked me how my tests went. The medical ones I had done last week, that is. Now remember I had deleted his number but still knew it was him as there was one last conversation still in the thread. My flatmate and I thought it would be hilarious to reply with 'who is this?' to show him how little he really meant to me. After exchanging a couple more messages, he eventually realised that I had deleted his number which was awkward. I then relented and told him I was drunk when I did that and would allow him back in my phone if he was nice to me. He then said, (and I quote verbatim from my phone) 'I don't think that's a good idea, drunk you clearly isn't happy with me'.

I replied but haven't heard back from him since. And I am so mad at myself. Because I had the chance to have a sober conversation with him that he had initiated and seemed genuinely concerned about my health. But did I do the mature thing? Of course not. Because I am an idiot. An utter idiot.


Sorry, that was quite a lot to take in, wasn't it? I got a bit frustrated hence the lack of swearing and load of details. Don't fret, I shall no doubt regain my strength and hilarity (ha) for another post. At the moment, I am just weary. Not just tired but mentally and physically weary. I feel like I'm heading for one of those weeks that you just don't want to get out of bed and face the day every morning. It's going to be a bit of an effort.

I apologise my lovelies, I do.

Is this just me? Does anyone else do this with alcohol? And also fuck things up when sober?