Final Semester, Frantic Overthinking & Fat, Fat Families

So today was the first day of my final semester of my final year at University.
Final year of education.
I have been in education since I started school nearly 20 years ago. This makes me feel an odd mix of exhaustion, pride, sadness and relief. Nearly twenty years. That's hell of a lot of biros. That's even more PE excuse letters (for the amount of times I was excused for "time of the month" from swimming lessons, you could swear I was having a fucking haemorrhage not a period).

How I will probably be discovered in the library
during a Masters course

It also brings with it a massive sense of panic. I can't relax. I've tried running, I've smashed gym workouts and while the endorphins help, they aren't enough to get rid of the tension. My thoughts have been going haywire for weeks, my appetite is still struggling and I keep getting panic attacks at really inappropriate moments (traffic lights aren't ideal, neither are public toilets. Leaving a public toilet looking sweaty is a bit awkward, especially if you have just entered and left the cubicle alone). I am one of these people who is afraid of change and the unknown. I've been accepted on my MA course, yet would I do this full or part time, if at all? I've come to the decision to do a gap year and move home and work full-time for a breather before I have a breakdown in the library by next year and am found in the poetry section naked, screaming and covered in egg.
But I'm still scared. I don't want to move home, but I need to save money and work. Will I even enjoy full-time employment? Should I just go straight onto the Masters course after all?
Not to mention absolute chaos and confusion on the romantic front. Everything is confusing.
I wish I was a cat and only gave a shit about sleeping, eating and licking my own arse.
My first lecture back was the Dylan Thomas module. It looks challenging. Very challenging. But that's what I love about him. I love that his poems are so bloody complex and have to be read and reread over and over. I love the ambiguity of his Romantic versus Modernist style. I love the sexiness of his syllable stresses (...okay, too far). The lectures look hard, but so much fun. We have to do a presentation on his work and get the chance to read out our own poems inspired by him which is a great idea to push students to think creatively.
We got offered a variety of topics including the Cold War, language, radio and film and sex and the body. When sex and the body was offered, I stuck up my hand to claim it as my topic for presentation far too enthusiastically and instantly felt a bit embarrassed when I found no one else was keen to claim it. I might as well have just strolled into lecture in a pair of nipple tassels proclaiming, "Hi my name is Natalie and I'm a massive fucking pervert."

One possible buffet combination

After lecture, I went to my good friend Craig's "All You Can Eat" birthday celebration at Taybarn's. Ironically, I ate sod all. My stomach is still twisted in a giant knot. But I have to say I loved the company and had a great night and met some really lovely people. I also witnessed one of our group conquer 9 consecutive meals. He looked proud.
I looked disgusted.
That's the thing with these "all you can eat" places. They're so horrifyingly grotesque and mesmerising if you want to people-watch (being that self-confessed pervert, I watch people a lot. I draw the line at public gym showers however so you can't arrest me). Here are a few scenes typical of buffet-type environments. Go to Taybarn's and play Bingo with this list if you wish. You will probably discover:

That time I nearly rivaled my "salsa"
 pregnancy with a vodka & Diet Coke baby

* Families with a collective weight of 3 tonnes.
* Children with chips lodged in ears/noses/etc.
* Fairly old couples who look more enamoured by their fourth helping of chicken curry than the aging bore across the table with whom they are stuck with in stale matrimony.
* Unacceptable food combinations (eg. Yorkshire pudding, hot dog sausage and custard).
* An abundance of "food pregnancies".
* A sea of french fries littering the ketchup-splodged shores of a high-chair.
* Obese people filling carrier bags of burgers.

It all combines into a beautiful image to rival a glowing pink sunset over the shores of a Caribbean sea. I personally can't understand the concept of eating until the point of wanting to burst and watching strangers glut themselves until they turn a faint tinge of olive-green always makes me feel a bit queasy. Surely if you go for a meal you should be enjoying it, not inhaling it.
Then again, I'm sure my affinity for cold tinned carrots, massive jars of beetroot and ketchup-covered Sunday dinners aren't to many people's tastes either. Not to mention my secret crushes on James Blunt and James Corden.

I'd be Smithy's takeaway anyday

He's beautiful, it's true. Oh, shut up, he is.

Ah well. Each to their own.
Until next time. Need some kitten porn.

PS- I haven't even thought much about cats today as my thoughts have been elsewhere, but I did buy a cat card and looked at a picture of a Persian earlier.