So I’ve arranged all of my schoolbooks in order of subject so that there are seven neat piles under my window. This is very productive and I will get 500 points in the Leaving because of it. With a week to go, I’m not exactly as on top of the studying as I should be. But, I don’t know, some college will take me surely. Dundalk IT is down on the CAO now. For good measure. I’m not going to lie to you, I’m not totally sure where Dundalk is. It is because I am a bogger. I think it’s near the Big Smoke but I would be lying if I said I was certain. Oh well.
New headphones from Tesco have me very excited about music all over again. (: Wild Beasts are a band you should look up. Sleepy and amusing.
Operation Farewell Fatty is off to something of a good start. Less carbohydrates and more exercise. I am liking this project. It’s a fool-proof plan that has worked in the past. It requires a level of commitment that I just can’t hack though. Hopefully I’ll look amazeballs for the Debs in August but after that? Winter insulation. Necessary and lovely.
I started thinking yesterday that some people spend their whole lives battling with their weight and they yo-yo up and down, sometimes bloated, other times lean. Other people are astonishingly and naturally thin, without trying. Without even giving it thought. Maybe the way you are is the way you’re supposed to be. Some girls are bigger than others. Some girls’ mothers are bigger than other girls’ mothers. At the end of the day, do what makes you happy. Personally, I miss being energetic. Carbohydrates make you sluggish and while white bread is a sinful pleasure, it does mean I can’t jump over the garden wall as agilely as I could before. Which is the point.
I also started thinking yesterday (or the day before – I don’t remember) that things change. Time changes things. Scar tissue. New routines. A sleepy conscience. That searing heartache isn’t there anymore. Heartbreak is a strange institution. It isn’t fair, it isn’t even humane. And it is horrifically and tragically unavoidable. But it makes you tough. And I spent a long time not wanting to be tough. Part of me still wants to be naive and loving and hopeful and confident in every boy. But heartbreak is a milestone. And it’s part of life. And if you want out, go.
It’s hard to avoid clichés when all I really want to say is that life is wonderful. Tear-inducing lovely. And there’s all that nastiness that comes with it and you have to suck it up. Get on with it. Most of the time, I love my life, every bit of it. Even the bizarre and crappy bits. More and more, I’m learning to really just accept that life is sometimes beyond the Valley of Shit and into the Universe of the Perfectly Catastrophic. Like a lovely journey with a bit if turbulence now and again. And that turbulence makes for good stories later. And I live for telling those stories.
There is nothing sweeter than telling the long, lamentable tales of my misadventures to my friends and having them laugh their little arses off at the absurdity. Lovely. That makes the catastrophes almost seem worth it. Now I can nearly joke about a broken heart – I can at least joke about the (frankly innovative) ways in which I attempted to get over a broken heart. And that is nice. It’s nice that it doesn’t hurt like it used to. It’s nice to have my own little life and be content with that, be content with not sharing it. That awfulness brought a lovely thing: a new and now treasured outlook on life. On my life. It. Is. Good.
This quote is a wildly accurate and succinct translation of what I am trying to say:
“I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.”