#cant share any of my best uni stories as they are not appropriate for work

[valsedelesruines]

All the young folks at work are swapping uni stories which has made me nostalgic. 

Some of the memories in no particular order: cheesy chips; 2 am sprinting; thousands of kisses; kissing boys; kissing girls; college songs in the pub; the swan and three cygnets; strongbow and taddy’s and carlsberg and stella; strip clubs and maccies in Newc; swapping shirts with girls; sleeping in girls beds; chunder charts; alcopop waterfalls; kicked out of club for breaking in; kicked out of club for naughtiness; kicked out of men’s bathroom; stealing ornaments from loveshack christmas tree; stomach bugs; laundry lines; rooftop break-ins; oranges in my nightclub purse; homecoming king; hundreds of trains; chants on the cobblestones; stilettoes on Geordie girls on icy cobblestones; henry hoover; drunk chats in the smoking area; formal gowns; formal spooning; chunder in the soup next to me; chunder on the wall in my home; chunder in the sink; hand-painted shirts for dancing; belly dancing; break dancing; street dancing; dancing in the street alone; sticking to the floors of klute; picking up pounds off the floor of klute; taking pret sandwiches off the street; taking glassware and sweaters off the street; using glassware and wearing sweaters found in the street; drawing on eyebrows; drinking and crying; crying and drinking; shitty decorations from poundland; bonfire night fireworks on the sands; running away from the fireworks; skipping class to audition for BBC game shows; dixie chicken; urban oven; subway; baked beans; shitty lentils and rice everyday; skepta and bugzy malone; stopping in the middle of the road at midnight to lie down and look at the stars; that being my last memory of you before you died; a lovely funeral and a ruined song; spicy curries; panic attacks; shwarma wraps; morning after pills; IUDs; 3 hours in A&E; vodka ice cream licked off my leg at a rounders game; campus tours through the cathedral cloisters; fattened up by dining hall meals; swapping last nights stories at saturday brunch; hash browns and fried eggs and tomatoes and baked beans; picassos in the hallways; lonely walks by the river; helping chickens cross the road; rewarded by courgettes from the allotments; pinching blackberries to make jam; the lads; cheeky nandos; tinder swipes; yik yaks; free apple sourz from the prison guard; long island ice tea pitchers at spoons; vegan sweet potato casserole; halloween pumpkins for pumpkin pie; monster mash in klute; lumiere; siberian winters; you knocking on in the middle of the night; the first time you said you loved me; valentines formal; observatory hill; the cheeky girls; the wicker man; mudlarking the Wear; fajita fridays; running under stopped lorries; back to backs; snowdrops and crocuses; “down it fresher”; “spillage is lickage”; spliffs in shitty apartments; traffic cones in the dormitory showers; poetry open mics; life drawing; toasties; yu-gi-oh games; big tescos; archaeology, I suppose; “what freedom!”

[theaboydsnest]

Homesick

It’s already my second day in London, and I don’t have much to show for it. Actually that’s not true. I made one acquaintance who told me all about her travels in Ireland and gave me a laundry list of places to visit, unfortunately she had the leave the next morning back to her home in Belgium. She was lovely. For a brief moment I was able to escape the suffocating beast of being homesick. I’m quite certain that everyone in the bloody hostel is tired of my tears, thank god I don’t have to see any of them again. In the last 48 hours (which has felt like a freaking eternity!) I would venture that my tears could fill a litre water bottle, which as I’m writing this reminds me that I need to go buy one, since this godforsaken hostel doesn’t have clean drinking water…fuckers. If you cant tell I really want to get out of this fucking place, just one more night and then I’m checking into a hotel so I can cry in some bloody peace and quiet!

I was supposed to fly out to Ireland tomorrow, land in Dublin. But I’ve cancelled that for a whopping refund of 0 pounds! But it was too much too soon. It’s funny because I usually underestimate myself, but on this trip it seems that I’ve greatly overestimated my abilities. My trip was scheduled to be two months, which feels like an impossible feat at this point. So here’s a little back story: I have really bad anxiety and depression. It’s something I’ve dealt with for a while now, but my issues have been quite severe for the last few years. And now that I’ve graduated from Uni I’ve started to feel like myself again…along with all of the work I’ve been doing with my therapist and just spending time to work on myself. So with all of this, I thought “Hey Thea, you’ve always wanted to go travelling, why not mend your broken heart and eat, pray, love your way through the UK?” so my brain was like yeah this is the perfect time, and my heart hasn’t known whether it’s up or down for some time now. So I went with my brain and booked my trip. Ignoring my gut that was telling me I couldn’t do it, because I just chalked it up to anxiety, and at this point I was ready to give anxiety the middle finger because I’m tired of living in fear. So here I sit in London, feeling a bit broken and down in the dumps. But occasionally I get hit by these waves, and I think it feels like freedom. But I don’t really know, because I’ve never felt free. Most of the time though I feel like I’m being hit by a tsunami of pain, sadness, fear and loneliness. I thought staying in a hostel would be invigorating and that I would meet tons of people right off the bat. Turns out I couldn’t be more wrong. It’s such a humbling feeling to e surrounded by so many people, but to feel so very alone at the same time. So far I’ve won the lottery of shitty roommates, all whom have been men and feel that it’s appropriate to undress in our shared living quarters. However, I cant really blame them because the tiny washroom we have to share with 14 people is filthy and the floor is constantly covered in about a centimeter of water. Water that peoples feet and nastiness has been marinating in, which is also on my feet cause I was an idiot and forgot to bring flip-flops. Those of you reading this that know me, know that I LOATH feet. Fucking hate them. And for the past two nights I’ve gone to bed with disgusting foot water all over my feet. Vom.com

Side note: I’m sitting outside at a charming little café and the road I’m facing appears to be a one way, apparently it’s not holy shit. Do people just drive wherever they want here?! Definitely not going to be operating a motorized vehicle here, or a bike for that matter. Walking seems to be the safest way to get around except I don’t understand their cross walks…or if there are any. Some streets tell me which way to look for oncoming traffic which is very helpful since I almost got smucked last night. No worries though, the bloke driving the car offered me some lovely words of advice (this is sarcasm).

Tangential to this side note: people smoke like bloody chimneys here, also apparently vaping is allowed in the hostel. So that’s like hostel 4: thea -1000 So as it stands right now, I’m somewhere between being so homesick I want to board the next flight out of London, and feeling terrified because I don’t have anywhere to sleep tomorrow night and I would rather sleep on a park bench than another hostel. Don’t worry mum, it wont come to that…fingers crossed. Mix in there a heaping spoonful of I don’t know where the fuck I am and my phone doesn’t even turn on because it’s so broken…so no using google maps to find my way around. Oh and don’t forget a dash of if a see a dog I will pet it without asking you and probably cry all over the beautiful fluffy piece of heaven.  So yeah, that’s roughly where I’m at right now if you can follow my disrupted train of thought, which I’m going to blame on jet lag, but really this is just how scattered my brain is on the daily.

Anyway, I’m safe and alive and that’s all I can really ask for. My guts are turning about having to navigate their bloody transport system tomorrow, so keep me in your thoughts please haha.

Its funny, above I was tempted to write “keep me in your prayers” but I’m not a religious person, so it seemed disingenuous of me to say that. But I’ve found myself searching for some kind of divinity while I’m out here on my own. The first place I walked to was St. George’s church. It has a bell tower which reminded me of living downtown, so I walked until I found it. I sat across the street in awe of the painted glass windows. And I thought of the blessed souls that pledge their devotion to the church and believe in a higher power. Believing in a higher power is always something I wished I could do, but I find that I’m too much of a realist to believe in something so blindly. But as I was sitting on this bench I found myself striking up conversation with some person, animal, thing in my head. And I asked for kindness and compassion in my journey. And I asked for safety above all. It was really quite something, and honestly I still don’t really know what to make of it. Around the back of the cathedral was the most beautiful park with old growth trees and a quaint little fountain. I wanted so badly to go sit by the fountain and enjoy the peace. Be one with my thoughts and fears, but the damn thing was closed. So I walked a bit farther and eventually made it back to my hostel. Oh that was after I ate the absolute BEST pasta I’ve ever had. With feeling so homesick I haven’t been eating much, so I had about 6 small bites and threw in the towel. The sweet waitress that spoke about as much English as I do Italian asked if I was okay? I had to laugh because I was the farthest thing from okay, but this kind soul was genuinely concerned about me because I had hardly touched the biggest plate of pasta on this planet. Even if I was feeling 100% there’s no way I could have finished it haha.

Anyway, I’ve been sitting in this café for a few hours now and my tea is quite cold, so I should probably get on with it. Until next time. xx