I’m writing this mainly as a means of shameless procrastination so forgive me if I don’t actually say much, and I may well just rant and rant until the keys fly off my keyboard in a furious flurry of plastic. But we’ll see I suppose.
I’ve been feeling very, very gloomy recently. I’m not trying in vain to garner sympathy here, I know I won’t get any (see, see how cynical I have become of late) but this is my blog and I can moan if I bloody well want to. I think probably this is due to a whole cacophony of ‘stuff’. I’m trying to quit smoking, which is a good thing, a very good thing, but naturally it is making me want to kill anyone who happens to cough too loudly on my morning bus journey. Also I am dieting; 3 square meals a day after the toast-fest of undergraduate student life has made me porky. And I don’t like it. I’ll never be a waif, I know this, it pains me to admit it, but I may as well try.
So here I am, fagless, chocolateless and with an imperial fuck-ton of work to do. My answer to this sorry situation? Cleaning my bedroom. Reading things on Buzzfeed. Making cups of tea that I don’t even really want. Half-heartedly reading the news (because I have to be news savvy even when I don’t feel like being news-savvy) and looking through photographs that I’ve seen three million times. Will this actually achieve anything or make me feel better? No. But it’s better than trying to form some opinion on journalistic ethics (oxymoron anyone?) for my exam on Friday. So there. I’ve justified my blatant laziness. I’m feeling a huge sense of dysphoria alright? Leave me alone.
Also I know if any of the people on my course are reading this and are also procrastinating, it’ll make them feel better too. Which is a good thing.
Really, I could just write ‘MEH’ in big letters and be done with it, so I don’t bring people down with my sorry state. But I’m afraid that is not how I roll (and I do roll rather effectively thanks to post-uni podge)…
Not all that long ago, I was stood in a crowded mill-turned-music venue with Sam watching one of our favourite bands (Everything Everything) and dancing the night away. It’s just not fair. If only I could just run away and be a freelance writer now. I’d write irreverent but sassy articles about the state of the education system or human interest pieces about people with minor brain injuries that make them see other peoples’ faces as cat faces. And people would say ‘wow, d’ya know, I’d never have thought that an article about the daily life of a bus driver could be interesting but IT IS!’ and I would sit back in my big armchair and just throw all of my money into the air and laugh as it fell back down onto my rich, contented face.
Shut up Ella.
Until very recently I only had one pair of shoes. And my glasses have broken and I can’t even afford a new pair. Poor urchin child that I am.
But money isn’t everything right? No-one who goes into journalism does it for the money… Or at least I hope they don’t. Maybe some people do. They think they’ll just wander into the Guardian’s newsroom and Alan Rusbridger will say to them ‘Hey kid, I like you’re snazzy haircut and your vague air of arrogance, do you want my job?’.
Whenever I start writing these days I always go back to journalism. It truly is a love-hate relationship. I love it but I wish it would just piss off and leave me in peace when I’m knackered or feeling particularly gloomy. A prime example of this is shorthand. It’s a marvellous skill to have and our tutor Dora is potentially the best person ever, BUT, and there’s a massive but here. It has ruined my life. No longer can I have a conversation with another human being without trying to ‘write’ down everything they say in shorthand in my head. The same applies when I’m watching a film or listening to the radio, but most annoyingly this happens when I’m reading. Reading is the one thing that can truly absorb me. Everything else makes me impatient. But now, when I’m in the depths of a good book, all I can think about is BLOODY SHORTHAND. It’s actually driving me a tiny bit mad. Oh and also I dream in shorthand too. The endless joy.
Anyway, I’m off to perform more mundane tasks before drifting into an all-too-short sleep and waking up in a potentially even more despicable mood.
Sweet dreams everyone.
I'm proud of you too
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