Tag Archives: Musings

Romanticising other things.

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Source: weheartit.com

I haven’t written anything on here in over 2 months.

I totally get that these moments of total writer’s block happen from time to time. I’m only human, my brain can only spew out so many melodramatic metaphors before it gets tired of itself. There’s only so many cliches I can avoid before I become a walking one.

I’m not sure why it’s been so long. I’ve been writing things down, obviously. Disappointed little scribbles in my journal. At one point I experimented and wrote out an entire paragraph whilst under the influence – there was a lot of wiggles and a lot of pent up angst, wow.

I lost my muse…well, my muse lost me. So I’ve had to kind of learn to romanticise other things – like the suffocating smell of festival toilets and the feeling of new socks on cold feet. But over my brief hiatus from publishing anything on my favourite corner of the internet, I’ve managed to write down a few short little blurbs.

So here it is; Harriet’s random 2am/ every day thoughts: an anthology.

On places I’d rather avoid:

“I equate places with feelings. And if it were up to me, the train station where I last saw you would be simultaneously the favourite and most despised place in my entire world.”

In an email from my grandmother:

“I went to New York when I was 20 to see if it was any different from Nottinghamshire. If it was the same, I could always come back and settle down. Instead I found your grandfather and no, New York was not the same as Notts.”

I went to the edge and found you.

On weekends that turn into melodramatic moments:

“It’s almost tomorrow and I don’t want to go home.

Ever have one of those weekends? The spell-binding, soul-searching, over-the-moon kind of weekend? I am at the end of one and I’ve got this sinking feeling that I’ll never feel something so definite, so completely euphoric. I feel my youth creeping up on me, I can feel the fire start in my heart and I can feel my toes curl as I yearn for moments that last.

I don’t want to stop being 21. I want nights that beat the sun and glowing embers that don’t know how to die.

I want to carry on living this spontaneously forever.

It’s almost tomorrow and I don’t want to go home.”

“I’ve had a weekend.

A destructive, ridiculous, incredible weekend; filled with sobbing and catchphrases and loving people despite it all.”

shhh

Source: weheartit.com

On people who don’t know how to stay:

“I can’t blame you for walking away. How can I possibly? We both know I burn too brightly to be extinguished. There’s a ‘no vacancy’ sign just for you hanging over my vibrant, unbelievable, explosive life.”

“Because our entire existence was me trying to hold on to what you used to be, and you trying to show me how much you’ve changed.”

“I hope when you retell our story, you describe me as ‘the girl who screamed poetry at you when you told her to run, even though she was never yours to walk away from.'”

“I’m glad you’ve found ways to smother your grief for humanity, but don’t you dare do it at my expense.”

On what they never taught me in school:

“In 5th grade English class they told us to write down everything with as much detail as possible. They told us that parts of speech were imperative, adjectives meant something.

They never told us that, in reality, adjectives are just as superficial as their intentions. And some people will say anything just to gain a piece of your soul.”

On how much can change over several months:

“I am not the person I was last November. I am nowhere near the girl who blushed electric at your empty cosmic promises.

I am not who I was last November. I got ripped from that body by circumstance and change. I got pummeled into this shape by disappointment. I am not who I was last November.

I am not last November. I haven’t written poetry in months. I don’t believe in shutting out the world any more, I let the cold seep in to wake me up and chill my bones.

I am not who I was last November. I am not a Mississippi sunset, I am not burning up as I race down a wooden dock towards you. I am not superlunary, I am not yours.

I am not who I was last November. I have run out of time; you wasted it. You, and all those after you. I have run out of time and sand and clock hands.

I am not who I was last November. I have an iron soul that can’t be thawed and eyes that flash sunlight. I will burn you up. I will make you miss me. I will drive you insane, kiss you catatonic and then leave you to combust.

Because I am not who I was last November. I am not who you pretended to love. I am not even myself.”

On how much better everything has turned out to be:

“If I end up living a life that is anything short of vibrant, I won’t survive. Tonight I braided a man’s hair whilst sitting on the floor of a bar. I drove around my neighbourhood yelling promises at strangers, I kissed my friends goodnight and flopped onto my bed. I am blissfully surprised at how wonderful everything has turned out to be.”

The bit about festival toilets:

“There’s nothing more carnal or cathartic than finally having a poo in a festival porter-loo.”

And despite all these ridiculous metaphors, here is my final WTF moment:

“Squeaky swings sound like children screaming.”

(What the fuck, Harriet?)

Think of this as a farewell to all the moody posts about something that is now a nothing.

There you have it. The sneakiest peak into my drafts folder.

Not much else to say, except goodbye.

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You are so much more than this.

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Source: weheartit.com

Friendships are complicated webs. Two people decide they like each other slightly more than they like other people and therefore they entangle their lives in joint memories, shared secrets and a blur of complimentary character traits. As soon as the web is spun, glistening and dewy in the morning light, it’s difficult for it to unravel without someone getting trapped in the chaos of cut strings and unpleasant emotions.

Relationships are slightly trickier. They are more fragile, require more maintenance. Relationships, at least the ones I’ve been in, are made of a more brittle kind of silk than friendship, they’re tenuous and devastating.

Both kinds of interaction are as disastrously beautiful as they are lovingly crushing. They represent the pleasure and pain of what it means to be truly human, I’ve been hurt by both.

The worst thing to deal with, besides for the fall out, is when friendship and relationship blend in a delicate and confusing emotional masterpiece. Especially when circumstances allow for only friendship to grow, where does the lust stop and the platonic begin?

Yesterday I had a leisurely post-lecture, pre-devastation chat with my friend Su. We discussed the positive traits we see in each other and how important they are to our lives, a bit of an uplifting tête-à-tête before exams crush our souls. She told me the one thing I willingly and selflessly give to people, is my time.

I’ve always understood that time for another person is the best thing to give them. I’ve never been the type of person to buy affection – I don’t demand attention with sad stories or gifts. I’m not exactly rolling in cash money. I could be eating 2-minute-noods out of a rusty tin can, or trying to diabolically take over the world with lab rats and soggy cheese rolls and I’d still take 10 minutes out of my day to remind the people I truly love that I am still a happy presence in their lives.

That’s the thing. That’s the snare in the web of friendship/ relationship/ weird hybrid of emotions, I give and I give and I give my time sometimes to people who don’t have a minute to reciprocate it.

That’s the hamartia of this whole thing. The fatal flaw in an otherwise devastating fuck up of fate. My love language is time and the people I waste it on don’t understand that they’re taking the most precious thing I can give them, for granted.

 

I tried to type out the story of why I’m writing this blog post, why I was angry crying at 7 o clock this morning, why it feels like a scalding ball of rage and disappointment has settled in my chest – but I still deeply care for the person this is about, regardless of the imbalance of energy we invest in each other, so I won’t.

I’ll leave it at this. I’ve waited months for a phone call, and the one I got wasn’t nearly as wonderful as I thought it would be. I did a happy dance in the middle of a crowded bar when I found out it was going to happen. I clutched my phone to my chest and beamed around the room whilst assuring the people I was with that I wasn’t getting in too deep, that we’re just friends, that my emotions were not dangling on the promise of a ringtone.

Then everyone around me got to see the heartbreaking plummet of my emotions from ecstatic to disappointed. There was no more happy jigs, my heart stopped clawing its way out of my chest, I stopped beaming and got angry. I’ve never been so angry at someone I care about so much. I never expected to be hurt by someone I put so much faith in.

Su sent me a message about it. She has a wonderful way with words and what she wrote to get me to stop crying made me weep like a small child. I’m talking big fat ugly tears, foetal position, howling.

Forgive her if it does the same to you.

You are so much.

Not too much, but so much.

You are light and rambunctiousness and serendipity with dashes of serenity. You are more than a horny slur at night when someone is too lazy to be decent any other time.

You are a muse. Worth more than dirty words in dark hours and worth more than just a thought.

You deserve the love of legions. And one man who has behaved so cruelly (it is cruel) does not deserve that honour. He doesn’t get to make you feel this way and then let you down so hard.

Darling, you’re more than this and even if he forgets, everyone else remembers. You need to remember that also.

I am so much. I give my time to the people I love. I would spare 10 minutes in the busiest of days if it meant I could add value to my favourite humans on this planet.

I have recieved an apology, it’s going to take time for me to sift through the carnage of the web I got caught in. I’m going to have to figure out how I expect people to treat me and the minutes I give them.

I am complex and caring and a light-stained street of emotions. I can’t afford to settle for less than I deserve.

Neither do any of you.

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I promise this time will be different.

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source: weheartit.com

I am not going to cry when you leave.

I know that’s what you’re expecting, I don’t blame you. All my actions leading up to this point have been emotionally raw. The last time you left we sat at the train station for 45 minutes with my head on your chest, trying to pull ourselves together.

I promise this time will be different.

When you leave, when I finally stop smelling your sweater, stop running my hands through your hair, stop leaning over to kiss you gently on the cheek; I will allow myself one minute to let despair catch up with me. I will clench my fists, breathe deeply and then choose to be happy.

I am going to miss you, my god, I am going to miss you. But as I’ve learnt, my dear, I can not afford to burden you with the responsibility of my happiness. You are a small part of my joy, but you are not the force holding me together. I am my own little hero, I am saving my own little heart.

When you leave, when I stop living in the golden haze that comes with you, I am going to continue studying for my test tomorrow. I am going to wake up early for class, celebrate my birthday with the people I love and read books that I will clutch to my chest, laughing until my breath stops.

When you leave I am still going to sprint down boulevards, yelling after all the devils I’m chasing. I am still going to dance around my bedroom to aggressive banjo solos and obscure bands. I am still going to grin maniacally at absurdities.

I am my happiness, darling. There may be a place for you in my ribcage, but I own my soul.

And my soul has decided to be euphoric.

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Filed under Romance or something like it

My god, please stay.

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My head’s a little fuzzy from all the positive reassurances I’ve been feeding myself since 11 last night. They’ve managed to fill my cranium with white noise, bumping into each other every few seconds, trying to squeeze themselves into tight spaces to make room for the demons who are hosting them.

Hello. It’s been a while. I’ve been busy, trying to fill my days with as much thought-numbing joy as possible before all the monstrous thoughts come back. I’ve been happy, so happy. I’ve shaken my fists at gremlins and run down stormy avenues in rain boots – shaking poetry out of my hair and out-sprinting every anxious pang I’ve ever held captive in my chest.

But happiness has a nasty bite. It roars and shakes it’s dreadful mane, daring me to beg it to stay.

My god, please stay.

I don’t want to be left alone with this terrible wave inside me, let me cling to you for a little longer.

I’ve had this pounding ache since 11 pm, a precariously explosive bubble of emotions that I’ve weighed down with an iron anchor.

Don’t you dare escape, do you want to expose us? Stay still and quiet, don’t erupt, don’t scream, don’t show him or anyone else how much you’re hurting. Shut up.

“I am spectacular, I am smart, I have worth, I am not falling apart, I am going to tackle this with the tenacity and stubbornness of a mother-freaking grizzly bear.”

No matter how this turns out, whether the raging winds and torrential rain tear me apart or leave me just a little battered- there is still life within my veins. I will rise, I will eventually thrive, I will guard my heart with an iron casket next time something like this happens because I can not afford to let hurricane emotions whisk me away again.

If you’re going to go, then go. But if you want to stay then please, please do.

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Filed under Brain Poetry

Maybe we’re celestially compatible.

http://weheartit.com/entry/183135411/via/AreYouInLove?context_type=inspirations&inspiration_id=7

I swear you could break my heart with just a flick of your wrist. You could kiss my forehead, stroke the back of my neck and tell me I mean nothing to you but some attention and an ego boost.

How magnetic am I? Am I enough for you to swing your arrow around to point in my direction? Can I pull you in with a simple charge or is it less? Do I tug even remotely on those anxious heart strings? If I were to turn negative would we push each other away? Not quite touching, always attracting; your positive and my negative, my tears and your grin, my insecurities and your surety.

You step on flowers when you walk. And each petaled step you take towards me forces me to be a little more vulnerable, a little less careful, a lot more caring.

You scare me.

You scare me silent. I’m never silent. I’m loud and passionate. I run down boulevards shouting poetry and I tell people to kiss like they’re tasting the stars and I inhale summer breezes like I’ll die if I don’t. I’m desperate. Desperate for midnight adventures, for blankets, for stars and screams and magnetism.

Magnetism! I don’t think you know how happy that made me when you called me that. How badly I wanted to sink into my mattress and sob golden tears from the ball of fire you light in my chest.

You scare me.

You’re so right and good and lovely. You’re lovely!

I don’t get right and good and lovely. I get dark and controlling and destructive. I get unanswered phone calls and middle fingers. No Halloween kiss, no starlight cuddle, no celestial compatibility can stop the possibility of this eventually ending; for me to resume my spot on the floor, for this superlunary brief reality to get a little darker.

Maybe you’re just like him. Maybe you’re the worst person on the planet, maybe you’ve figured out exactly how to make me tick. Hold my hair, kiss me insane, call me cosmic. Maybe I’m your worst nightmare, maybe I make you tick and lose control and feel weird. Maybe our hearts are the wrong kind of magnets. Maybe we don’t stick and you break me and I’m forced to rip apart my own still soul.

But maybe we fit. Maybe you kiss me like I’m the most important person in your world and you hold my hands like they’re coated with gold. Maybe you tuck my hair behind my ears, whisper “I adore you” and sink me into my mattress only with the intention of appreciating ferociously every part of my broken being.

Maybe we fit.

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Filed under Brain Poetry, Romance or something like it

Lost in Transit…and then found.

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Johannesburg: Sitting in OR Tambo International Airport by myself and I’m terrified. I have a 10 hour flight to Frankfurt ahead of me plus a connection to Valencia. I’m on my way to see my dad and the last time I did this I was 12 years old with a broken arm, a sibling on either side of me and an air hostess escort leading the way. Now I’m 20, with only my rainbow shoelaces, wooden tiki pendant and this push further into adulthood to keep me going. I’m scared of losing my passport, I’m scared of getting lost in-transit and when I hugged my mom goodbye, I swear I almost didn’t let go. 20 years old, cooking my own meals, buying my own toothpaste and doing my own laundry, and I don’t want to let go of my mommy?

That’s the strange thing about growing up; you’re so keen for it to happen, yet the minute you’re on the cusp of adultish oblivion you suddenly feel so desperately homesick.

The nicest thing about this is there was this cute little french man whom I kept passing in the queue. He had the kind of soft blue eyes that constantly look wet and a moustache that made his face look permanently whimsical. If this were a fairy tale, I am certain he would have appeared before me with a baguette and announced himself as my fairy french-man. He was just that sweet-looking.

So, here I am, boarding gate A09 to independence, about to prove my ability to navigate international airports sans a fairy french-man.

The words of Walt Whitman are on repeat in my head:

“I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.”

I am traveller, hear me yawp.

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Frankfurt: I survived. 10 hours later and I’ve come to realise that things come in threes. I watched 3 movies, read 3 chapters of “A Passage To India”, got 3 hours sleep and am currently sitting in a German restaurant on Cappuccino number 3. My mother would be proud of my growing caffeine addiction.

If anyone reading this is ever worried about grabbing connection flights, trust me on this: if you know how to read and how to move in a forward motion, it is easy. I didn’t know this when I stepped off the plane, I found out my gate number to Valencia and could hear my feet tapping along to the rhythm of the phrase I was trying so desperately to commit to memory: “Ay-twenty-two, Ay-twenty-two, Ay-twenty-two.” A22 has been added to my list of lifelines next to my passports and boarding pass.

I’m also desperate to commit to memory the way Germany looked peeking over the wing from my plane window. I’ve never seen so much green and so many trees. It’s almost like the forests sucked in the little pockets of civilisation and then the universe declared it to be art.

One day I am going to live in a log cabin in the middle of a forest in Germany. I will become a tree connoisseur and then probably go crazy from the lack of human contact.

For now I’ll have to stick with collecting German Airport cappuccinos. I am about to vibrate into two people.

Despite this, I managed to dunk my earphones into cappuccino number 3. This is either from confusing exhaustion, or because I’m a born spaz who regularly pulls stunts like this because I just can’t function like a human-being.

I may be an over-tired spaz, but I’m still yawping!

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Filed under Adventures

Saying Goodbye To A Truly Crappy Year

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I have half an hour left to say goodbye to the worst year of my life.

What a statement. The fact that I’ve taken into consideration the year my parents got divorced, the year I was bullied and ostracised to the point where I didn’t want to go to school and last year when I was so broken by the end it felt like my heart was about to fall out of my chest, the fact that I can still say this has been the worst year is significant. I hated 2014.

I don’t want to make this post a reflection on everything that has been thrown at me these past 12 months. Damages have been done and friendships have been destroyed, I’ve been stupid and humanity has lost my faith a little, but at least I have come out of this year kicking like crazy trying to break the surface.

It’s stupid to think that at midnight I’ll magically punch through the crappy year barrier into the slightly-less crappy one, but at least for now I can write about how much better I hope 2015 might be.

We’re already off to a nice start in terms of how I’m spending New Years: sitting in my aunt and uncle’s warm kitchen in Cambridgeshire, writing this post. Last year I spent my night third wheeling for my best friend at my ex boyfriend’s best friend’s house.

“Happy 2014 Harriet, here, have a dose of loneliness and inadequacy, the universe loves you!”

In comparison, I welcome 2015’s sober kitchen table.

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I’m spending New Years Morning on a plane to Spain, seeing my Dad is another positive change 2015 has to offer. It’s also a lot more comfortable than a raging hangover.

That should probably be one of my resolutions: a lot less hangovers and a lot less junk food to go with the hangovers, especially hot wings- that’s a good example of a bad decision to be left behind with last year.

Resolution number 2 is to post more onto this here website. Even if I think it’s crap, someone might love what I’ve written-probably my mom. I have too many drafts clogging up my dashboard because I’ve written the post halfway and hated where it was going. I also want to write more about what makes me feel uncomfortable, or more about scenarios where I’m not the hero of my own story, where I make mistakes and judgements and act foolishly- I have a problem with portraying my side of the story as unfavourable.

I also have to stay single until July this year. I made a pact.

I want to learn to play the guitar and sing, I want to be the guitar douchebag at parties, plus if I write about it I’ll complete my “not being the hero” resolution because no one likes a guitar douche.

This year I also want to learn to say “no” and how to yell and be angry. I think most of 2014’s mistakes were made because I wasn’t angry enough.

Lastly I want to keep all of my friends, only the worthwhile ones who won’t judge me once I’ve tried out my whole “being angry” thing.

In a nutshell I hope 2015 has a lot less headaches, more music, less drama, solid friendships and happiness.

My New Years resolution is to be happy.

Happy 2015 to you, readers of this little blog in the corner of the Internet, I hope this next year is psycho-free and filled with endorphins.

I hate this post, so I’m putting it out to the world.

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Filed under Brain Poetry