Tag Archives: resolutions

Happy New Year Ya Filthy Animals. 


So I survived 2016…we all survived 2016 (unless you are some weird ghost/corpse/zombie who has somehow obtained my URL, or you are from an alternate universe where silly things like time has no meaning, in which case: Welcome!) 

Welcome to 2017, people. All that has happened is the calendar has reset itself in a supposedly significant way, the 6 is now a 7 and the 12 is now a 1 and we can all continue living the debaucherous and immoral lives we’ve been cultivating this entire time. Go humanity!

I am pleased, however, that I have managed to survive yet another routine trip around the sun, especially since this year I started driving, which has significantly increased my sense of mortality. 

My sense of morality however is still, I admit, a little shoddy. 

I spent the last few seconds of 2016 outside in the cold, walking along the streets of the Spanish town Moraira, listening to the people inside scream “Happy New Year” at each other. It was nice to feel like I was watching everybody else get on with their new year whilst mine stood still for a bit. Then I had to watch a very loud and disorganised fireworks display because NYE is full of cliches.

My first few moments of 2017 were spent in a club I have actively avoided for about a year and a half, because the last excursion ended in me puking my guts out over the side of a Catamaran into the Mediterranean Sea (holiday life is soooo hard). This time I was smart enough not to puke, and therefore I spent the night dancing awkwardly with people who were a lot more inebriated than I was. Happy New Year. 

I got a taxi home before everyone else did (because I’m old and need time for my wrinkles to reset before the sun comes up), snuck back into my dad’s house and sat on his kitchen counter eating ham by myself. We’re off to a good start if my first meal of the year was ham. 

At this point I had enough clarity of mind to consider my resolutions, or “very relaxed guidelines for the year ahead” as I like to call them, because then I feel less ashamed if I don’t achieve them. 

My guidelines for last year were as follows: 

1. Stop getting drunk on my own emotions and sending psycho messages to unsuspecting victims. 

I like to think I achieved this. I no longer send messages, I just write blogposts of subversive intent, and maybe I subtweet a little. In terms of embarrassing texts, 2016 blessed me with a few incoherent voice notes to my friends and one failed attempt at a sort of booty call in July, although I don’t think he got what I was talking about because I just kept sending weird winky faces. (Note to self: try the eggplant emoji next time). 

This success may be due to the fact that I now have a Whatsapp group with 2 other emotional individuals, so all my angst has been channelled into them (sorry gals). 

2. Actually read all my English setworks. 

I am proud to say that I read 70% of the subscribed reading material this year. I no longer skim through study guides, I actually lugged around the tombs prescribed by the English department and became that nerd who did her homework at music festivals. 

3. Write more. 

I need to stop thinking I have the diligence or the time to churn out a blog post every week. It’s just not going to happen. 

4. Actually save my money because I need a car. 

I’m really freaking proud of myself for doing this. To be fair, the fact that I turned 21 and I have a really nice and generous grandmother paid off. But at least 26% of my car came from me carrying hot plates of food to fancy rich people and heavy beer steins to sloppy drunk people. A lot of carrying for a lot of people went into paying for 26% of my car, and his name is Slartibartfast because that’s what he sounds like when he starts up, plus Douggy A is my ultimate home boy. 

5. Get my license so I can drive the car I’m sacrificing so much disposable income for
3 failed tests, 2 driving instructors, 50 hours of lessons, thousands of rands, so many panic attacks and almost a year later, I finally have that stupid piece of paper that confirms that I can, in fact, drive by myself. 

Now I really hate driving. 

6. Focus on nothing but myself because I get a little distracted and forget to look out for number 1.

I’ve done a lot of weird shit this year. I jumped about 50 metres into an old mine that was filled with water, played pool volleyball with my friends in my underpants, declared war on the neighbourhood watch because they’re self-righteous dicks who do nothing, told someone I really cared about to buzz off, hosted some really good parties, passed out in a flower bed, climbed a few campus buildings, high fived a pope, and kissed a lot of people on the forehead. 

And I did all of it, pretty much, for myself. 

Which brings us to this year. The big one-seven. Here are my very relaxed guidelines for 2017:

1. Stay away from Dangerous White Men (DWMs)

Source: Disney


My best friend Su has figured out that pretty much all the angst in my life stems from my weird interest in Dangerous White Men. The ones who are clearly up to no good and will probably tear down your land in search of gold (it’s just a reference to Pocahontas, but take it as a euphemism if you will). 

2. Get better at driving. 

It’s self-explainatory.

3. Learn to walk in heels before my graduation. 

Despite my freakish height, I really want to be one of those girls with nice calves in nice heels in her nice graduation get up. I want to look fancy and tower over everyone when I take my cliched cap and gown photographs in front of a fountain. 

4. Figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. 

Like I said “relaxed guidelines”.

5. Probably go to the gym more. 

At least I can now drive myself 600 metres to gym instead of walking all that way. 

I should probably also do more things like stop procrastinating, eat less junk food and drink less gin and tonic. But I’ll take the year as it comes. 

I hope everyone reading this has a good year. I hope you fill it with mistakes and hugs and the people you love. I hope you dance a little in parking lots and that you learn to love yourselves a little more every time you do something shameful. May you call people out if they’re being ableist, sexist, racist, ageist, bigoted or insensitive. 

Just be decent, flawed, majestic human beings. 

I love you all, 

Stay interesting. 

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Vulnerability is not how I was brought up.

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Source: weheartit.com

The one thing I’ve learnt in the past month or so is how easy it is to learn how to be happy.

It’s something I’ve always been weary of- showing emotion other than happiness, especially around people I’m not close with. Sadness is a weakness, crying is not likeable, showing vulnerability isn’t how I was brought up.

When I was 16 years old my first boyfriend ever decided to break up with me, I saw it coming- we were too young and too silly to carry on much longer. Before I went to go see him for the last time, the end of his affection darkening my sunny doorstep, my very independent, brilliant mother stared into my eyes and told me that under no circumstances was this boy allowed to see me cry.

“You walk away Harriet, you keep your head up and you accept it with grace. Don’t you dare let him see you cry.”

I took her advice, I cried in the car- dented heart and bruised ego trailing behind me.

It was the start of an era- I remained steadfast and stoic until 18 when my heart was smashed into fragments by someone who didn’t deserve it and I went a little nuts. I cried into the phone, I begged him to reconsider his lack of affection, I stayed in bed for a week in a state of decline, I stopped eating. I tried to squeeze myself into every single mould he wanted me to fit into until I gave up and broke down the box he tried to keep me in.

Since then I take my mother’s advice. I cry when it’s necessary, when I can’t hold it in any longer. Sometimes I slip up and I’m forced to peel myself off the floor- I’ll scoop myself together bucket by bucket, piece by piece until I’m a little less misshapen. It’s a routine I have become adept at and the last time I left a piece of myself behind it’s because I gave it away freely, I desperately wanted him to hold it close and keep it safe.

Since the removal of this vital piece I’ve learnt how to cope. I get up in the morning, I read books that make me think and spend afternoons drinking coffee in soft shorts and messy buns.

Grasping happiness is easier in soft shorts and messy buns, grasping happiness is also easier when it’s dependent solely on myself.

I could cry into the phone, I could stop eating and get drunk and kiss strangers- trying to find some comfort in their empty sentences. But I think it would end in too many pieces of me being stolen by too many careless people.

I’ve learnt how to be happy. I’ve learnt how to tightly hold each delicate piece of me together, I’ve learnt how to be whole.

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January 14, 2016 · 7:28 pm

Another year, another 366 days worth of poor decisions.

mugI wrote a post like this last year, when 2015 was still but an infant. I was sitting at my aunt and uncle’s toasty kitchen table, trying to be all dramatic about the hardships of 2014. It was great, I enjoyed it far better than a sloppy kiss in a crowd of strangers, and who wouldn’t? I’d rather reflect on all the first world problems the universe has thrust upon me for the past 365 days than actually BE a first world problem by jumping on the generic bandwagon. The public will see none of Tequila Harriet tonight and that is my New Years gift to all of you.

Last year, like the boring human being I am, I wrote myself resolutions that were destined to be broken by January 2nd. You can read them here , or you can peruse this very condensed recap:

2014 Harriet’s New Years Resolutions for 2015, a recap:

  1. To have fewer hangovers and less junk food. This one was broken at by week one of University. I even closed down a bar on a Monday AFTER walking 2 blocks just for a large Double Whopper meal. I’m clearly a disgrace.
  2. Blog more. We did okay in 2015. I wrote 21 new posts, which is just under 2 a month. I also rediscovered my obsession with Twitter, which is a badly punctuated, less pretentious form of blogging, I guess.
  3. Learn the guitar. LO-Fucking-L. I learnt the D chord (insert stupid “she wants the D” joke here) and then I gave up and subsequently forgot the D chord. I was not the douchey guitar guy at parties, I was clearly, according to resolution 1, the girl slurping Stroh Rum off counters on a Monday and washing it down with double cheeseburgers and extra large fries, classy.
  4. Stay single until July. I had a pact with my dear friend Richard that we would remain solitary and soul-searching until July. I am still relatively solitary and soul-searching. Around April I discovered the joys of sweatpants, Chinese food and series and decided to dedicate all my pent-up love energy towards pigging out in my underpants. I am clearly very good at being single. This is a skill I’ve decided to list on my CV.
  5. Learn how to say ‘no’. I’m so proud of this. I actually discovered the joys of telling people when I don’t want to do something, and surprisingly, no one disappeared from my life just because I told them so. “No” is my new favourite word next to “Tom-foolery’.
  6. Learn how to be angry. Meek 2014 Harriet was WAY too chilled. She didn’t get why anger was sometimes required and she was often too scared to actually tell people when she was. This year I told several sexists off, chastised a few line-cutters and kicked my house mate out of my room when he said something offensive. Anger is good and necessary sometimes. I like the notion that I am capable of such an emotion.
  7. Be happy. Despite what my relatively piney and depressing blog posts may convey, I am so happy. In the midst of all the human waste and misery, all the spilled tequila shots and the tears and the lying on my bedroom floor listening to The Cranberries- I came out content.

5/7 is a pretty decent score.

I don’t think I’ll be able to beat a 71% pass rate. That’s a solid B, I’m proud of my B.

I haven’t reflected much on what I want for this year, maybe to stop talking about myself so much and to cut down on the selfie taking (note to self: staring constantly at your own selfies is concerning and probably an indication that you’re a shameless narcissist, Harriet.)

Right so my resolutions/goals/meaningless attempts to self-improve (please improve!) are:

  1. Stop getting drunk on my own emotions and sending psycho messages to unsuspecting victims. As my mom likes to remind me “you’re not crazy- stop acting crazy.” Turns out not everyone wants to hear about how my heart feels like it’s going to fall out of my chest, it gets tedious and receiving multiple texts about my feelings probably makes people scared of me.
  2. Actually read all my English setworks. I must not rely solely on Sparknotes, I must not rely solely on Sparknotes, I must not rely solely on Sparknotes.
  3. Write more. Ugh. Every year.
  4. Actually save my money. You do not NEED that back-scratcher Harriet, nor do you NEED 15 different black eyeliners. You NEED a car.
  5. Get my license so I can drive the car I’m sacrificing so much disposable income for. 21 years old and unable to make it to 3rd gear is not a good look.
  6. Focus on nothing but myself. I get a little distracted, I forget what matters, I perceive other people in my life as being more important than myself. I am the hero of my own story, I can’t keep on tearing myself apart for people who are only looking out for themselves. Sometimes you gotta be your own little hero and save your own little soul.

That being said I hope everyone has a good year and you learn to kiss the people you love more often on the forehead.

Forehead kisses are the way of the future.

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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