19.11.13- A farewell post from the Crazy Cat Lady, nearly 23, (still) without cats.

I know I'm not going to update this again this week as my workload on a scale of 1 to 10 is about 405.
Just taking a little break to put up one last post before I turn 23 on Thursday and my year of blogging on here comes to a close...as does my sense of youth and my own set of teeth and remembering what my middle name is.

Birthday kiss anyone?

Thinking back over a year, I have become a panicking wreck since starting my MA and completely underestimated how much work it was going to be alongside running the English Society and co-editing the student blog and teaching creative writing workshops in primary schools. But it is interesting and it's only for a year so I might as well keep going; yes, I've pretty much become a hermit and I'm one "night-spent-in-the-house-doing-work" away from buying myself a walking-stick and running out into the front garden screaming at school kids to get off my lawn.

How I approach critical workshops a week
before deadlines 

Even when they aren't on my lawn.
Today wasn't such a bad day. Of course I dreaded going into lecture. Of course I didn't print out my play because I have spent the weekend convincing myself it is a pile of cat excrement and no one will like it and it's not going anywhere except the recycle bin.
But I went and I'm glad. My coursemates restored my thinning faith in my own writing and offered so many helpful suggestions and I'm generally feeling better about being in the class. I no longer spend the whole lesson convinced everyone hates me; in fact I was quite touched with how kind everyone has been about getting me to keep going and stay on the course and telling me that I can write even if I don't quite think so right now.
I'm still a little scared to put pen to paper with it and carry on and will probably be working on my novel (which I'm very, very much enjoying writing) tonight rather than diving straight back into the play and losing my temper with myself again. There are 3 bottles of red wine in the kitchen which Sainsbury's kindly gave me (there were 4 on the weekend...then uni happened) for painting a Christmas display on their window and if I get pissed off they will be gone and no doubt so will I.
And nobody likes a text from a drunken Nat, mainly due to it having less clarity to the modern reader than hieroglyphics.

My finished Christmas window display for Sainsbury;s, who have come to accept
they will never get rid of me. Ever.

I'm very excited for Christmas. Not the shopping bit, obviously (I can't even log into Amazon without calling my laptop a massive "bollocksuckingwankpot" for not automatically buying everyone amazing gifts for under £20 in total...I think the only way you can do that is through shoplifting and I'm not into that. Plus I'm not sure if a big hoody really helps with "shoplifting" online). But for the decorations. For making little Christmas crafts with my little brother (ie, sending him out so I can colour in pictures of Rudolph by myself). For the listening to Christmas songs (I can sing a horrific rendition of Wham's "Last Christmas" in my car. With really authentic pained facial expressions which the car in front can probably see in their rear view mirror). For the Christmas jumpers (I can't weight to get my puddings out...oo-er).
I think the thing I like best about my birthday is that it's only a few weeks away from Christmas.

How I generally look from about November 15th.

And the fact people buy me drinks. I like people who buy me drinks. I just put them on my death list the day after when I'm crying into the toilet bowl.
In fact, my motivation for getting a bit of my portfolio done tonight is to watch Elf in my cow pyjamas. You could say I'm getting quite off the rails.
I'm going to keep this post short and sweet because I have things to do, am clearly wasting time but wanted to wrap this blog up once and for all with a metaphorical ribbon. One day I will look back at this and shed a tear for my youthful adventures in poetry, running (which unfortunately  have had to give up after a recent bone density scan as--joking about old age aside-- I have ended up with bones of an older lady and if I carry on I'll end up breaking them. Which doesn't sound fun...so I've had to replace with cross-training at the gym. Not the same, but sometimes made better by a nice arse on the bike in front). I'll look back at these crazy student nights and hangovers and friendship groups and life events and probably not tell the grandkids most of it (because I won't remember how to turn on a laptop).
And one day a therapist will look at this and section me somewhere safe and cosy.

One of my favourite day release adventures

One final time,
farewell time-wasters who really should be reading something better.
I don't know who you are, but in the most non-romantic, non-sexual of ways...love you

xxx

(...unless you look like this guy. In which case please take my sentiments in the most sexual way possible).