a whole lotta love

A little drunk, and a little lost in the sadness that comes with the end of a fuckin' brilliant few weeks that felt they would never end. 

Originally intended to be a week in Devon with my family, I ended up seeing almost all my best friends in some of my favourite, and new delightful, places. 

I feel sad and teary but so deeply happy and blessed. In a delirious exhaustion on the train from London (?) to Newcastle, I sent a message to a friend saying:

'I just had such a nice realisation that I have the kindest and best people in my life, and what have I done to deserve such goodness'. 

Sometimes I wonder if everyone is as blessed to have as good friends. And I mean really fucking good. The kind that let you cry drunk on the phone whilst they are on holiday with their girlfriend. The kind that swim in a canal with you even though it is raining, or read with you, or laugh so deeply you can't breathe from the stomach pain. The kind who I don't feel I ever have enough time with, who I think of a million things to say in too little time. The kind that, god, just make you feel so full and alive and yourself, and that you just want to hug when you are walking in silence because the love you feel is too much. 

As you can tell, I am delirious from both a lack of sleep and a blur of chaotic beauty, and drunk from too much sangria and good times. I also have 'sure on this shining night' playing because for some reason being in York minster made me need to listen to choral music. See what I mean? Friends that let you be yourself. 

I am adamant this is the best summer ever. I think because of the unexpected beauty of it all. How amazing it feels to be in the presence of my friends and drink their warmth, after months of Zoom. And the freedom, to float around the country and stay in random rooms in empty tenuously known student flats, pretending I don't have a whole dissertation to write and a whole paper to research. Oh, Oxford. 

Delightful highlights include: seeing my best friends for the first time in months and drinking wine, swimming at Exmouth in the sun, eating scones at the top of a hill, reading in bed with a coffee in hand, planning an expected trip to Oxford and the hilarity (and I mean hilarity) that came with it, swimming in Port Meadow, traipsing around bookshops with my bffs, eating tapas with Libby and pretending to replicate the Spanish trip we never got to book. I think I may have been on twenty trains, spent hundreds of pounds and used more hand sanitiser than I thought possible, but man my heart is full. 

And now, we focus. On work, on eating, on myself. I'm scared these can't go hand in hand, that Oxford is just not compatible with a healthy mindset (no matter how deeply I love it) and that some form of recovery, whatever that transpires to mean, may be too hard or too scary. But here we are, it's going to happen because I want to continue loving and thriving and breathing the intense happiness these beautiful people impart. 

(wow, that was a lot - the sangria hit me harder than I thought)

love xo (and listen to sure on this shining night before you sleep <3)