I’m at home. I really like being home. There’s a bath at home. I don’t have baths but I JUST WANT THE OPTION OKAY.
Being at university is a bigger struggle than I thought it would be. I’ve always thought I was stubborn, strong, and bitchy enough to make this experience what I want it to be and screw everyone else...but I can’t quite manage it. I care too much, I won’t go into my own kitchen and I’m convinced no one likes me without even talking to them. I’m paranoid and smothered in social anxiety and I want to feel how I did before: confident and determined DAMN RIGHT FABULOUS GURRno stop.
An interesting comment was made to me yesterday which was that those who have the most ambition, determination, and success in life don’t get on with university. Those who don’t really know what they’re doing and have to work a lot harder do. I think I believe that. I think those who are ambitious (read: impatient, stubborn, and most likely arrogant) get sick of university pretty quickly. My mind can’t stop thinking about all the other things I could be doing right now instead of writing about theories I really couldn’t care less about.
I’ll admit right now that I enjoy the writing, no matter the topic. I love writing. Give me a diabetic sloth in a top hat who can give massages and I WILL find 2,000 words to write on him. Just give me the top hat and I’ll do the same. And any writing improves writing. My writing, especially academic writing, probably is better now than it was two months ago, yes. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy it and am putting my heart into it. I want my heart to be sprawled out in a veiny throbbing mess all over whatever I write. Right now it’s just my chewed nails bitten from stress and boredom and massive sighs blowing around all the words into an acceptable structure.
I really appreciate how comfortable I feel at home now, how much I adore my hometown, and how amazing London really is. I miss it all and I know for a fact I’d be happier if I had it all back, making my own plans and doing my own thing. But then if it doesn’t work out then I’m screwed. But I won’t let it not work out. But that’s being very naive.
You know it’d be a lot bloody easier if someone KNEW what was the right thing to do. Making decisions is so TIRING. Maybe THAT’S a skill I’m learning here. One of those ‘transferable skills’ people keep banging on about. Decision making. I can help myself with this skill by deciding whether to go to Pizza Hut tonight or not...yes, yes I will. Oh look, I’m doing it! I did a decision, mum, look!