january




Some nice scenez out the library windows I have been stuck behind for endless hours.
Its a bright fresh January morning. It is this weather in which Oxford looks the most magical. 
The return has been good and strange. I feel at home and as though I belong which is good, and necessary and relieving. I didn't know how would feel when I came back and was nervous to leave comforts and my cat.
But it feels like I never left.  
In the past 6 days I have: sat my first exam, been out 3 times, read for and written 2 essays (lol not fun–turns out u can't condense the reading for the causes of the collapse of the Roman empire into 6 hours!), handed in 2 appalling essays, had a mint tutorial on gender nd politics, gossiped, watched a lot of drama unfold, drank a lot of coffee and laughed a lot and listened to penguin cafe orchestra on repeat. 
I suppose when I think of it in those terms, my anxiety and fatigue appear justifiable. We all laugh that we spend 90% of our time complaining about Oxford, despite the fact we a) actually love it nd b) chose to be here. I mean what did we expect. But sometimes it does feel ruthless. Cramming 11 essays into 8 weeks, making u write them prior to any teaching, giving u so much work that everything you hand in is actually just shit. Its such a microcosm nd a beautiful bubble, but still a bubble. I'm struggling to understand how these two worlds fit together, how to establish some coherence between normality and intensity. And also to fight the pervading imposter syndrome, the endless voice that you're not clever enough, that you shouldn't actually be here. But alas, I am. So fuck it. 
Maybe its January, maybe its hormones, maybe its just life, but my brain has been on overdrive recently. The only thing that makes me think I'm not enjoying myself is me questioning whether I'm enjoying myself. Its found on no sense of unhappiness or loneliness or dejection, its just my brain thinking "am I enjoying this?" to the point where I question whether I am. I fucking wish it'd shut up sometimes! I think I'm feeling a lot more on edge than I have in a long time nd maybe its getting a bit too much. I can feel it in my shoulders. 
Its that mentality where u think: if I could just relax this would be amazing. But the relaxation isn't happening. Ugh. 
But really this city is beautiful nd I'm so lucky and challenged and the people r so interesting and clever and its magical. 
I just need to find some means of relaxation. Getting my brain to stop worrying. Because there's nothing structural to worry about.
"nobody is in love with me and everything is still soft and warm"–trista mateer (got some thoughts on love but we'll save them, enough existentialising for one day)

feeling things

This is entirely a narcissistic record of self-documentation.
I thought I was content with remembering 2018 and its happiness internally, telling the tales of its sun and its peace and its adventure orally and through the golden memories locked away.
But then, irrationally, I had a panic that I wouldn't remember it as such.
This site has become, more than ever, a diary. A record of emotions and headspaces, a place to remember how I was feeling when I'm sad or happy or nostalgic.
And thus, it seems only right, when I am locked away in the library or suffering the dullness of January (currently!) to flick to the instant gratifying memory of 2018 and remember happiness does exist.



SO, in a brief and unexciting dialect.
2018 was magical, I dream of eternally remembering it as such. Of its achievements and surpassed goals and new people and new countries and peace and so much fun and endless laughter and fun and accomplishment and self-love and independence and friends and new homes and new families and stimulation and rigour and fear and wow.
It was the best. The summer was euphoric, the months preceding challenging but rewarding, grudging but growing, and the months after full of newness and excitement and routine and everything I had craved.
SO that's it. That's how I want to remember it. Stilled in an epoch of peace, sat on a Corsican beach, book in hand and radiating sun soothing. Caught in a Parisian park, eating baguettes and feeling at home in my company. Captured in days in bed tired but content, nights dancing, laughing, weeks blurred in happiness, tea with friends, in just being.

I am now hovering in the liminal space between festivities and return to uni. Its sort of unsettling and a bit disorientating.
I've been feeling especially emotional recently, irrationally so.
Everything makes me want to cry or feel, its not a sadness, just a very emotional sense of being. I haven't been in touch with this poignancy for a long ol' while so I am sort of confused nd a bit concerned about how I'll cope alone, u know?
Will I still want to cry when my mum buys me a turtleneck because she knew I wanted one or when I think about family evenings in front of the fire or when I look at my to do list or I just feel emotions. Fuck I probably need to stop crying so much.
knowing when to let myself feel...knowing when to let the feeling go (thank u @ambivalentlyyours for always providing the answers)
Anyway, so I really just wanted to remember how I was feeling, and sometimes typing offers more catharsis than writing. I feel emotional and different and fragile and anxious and small, but 2018 was sick nd January is always hard.