days.

So while I’ve been away for the weekend, some cunt has stolen a large bottle of Smirnoff vodka from my cupboard. It makes me want to remove every single piece of food or drink from there and hoard it away in my room. I don’t know who it was- we generally keep the door locked- but it gets to me that it was only that they took. Why not take the TV, the Freeview box, the PlayStation? Why go through a cupboard to find something to take, and more importantly, why mine?

It sounds awful, but yes, I do suspect the people who also live in my flat slightly. After all, I’ve only known them for a month, and who else would have known that I was away for the weekend? If it’s not them, the only people who would have got in are their friends. Although it’s only a small (albeit, annoying- the bottle was almost full, not to mention a birthday gift from a now-absent friend) thing really, the fact that someone has been going through my stuff makes me feel a little… violated. Someone has gone through my stuff, someone has touched it all- some thief has touched it all. I’m a private person and the thought of that makes me want to throw out everything that was in there.

Basically, I’ve had a bad day, and this was the last thing I needed after a fairly long and expensive journey back. I haven’t done my Latin, I’m lonely, and all I want to do at the moment is shut myself away in my room and not emerge for a very long time.

Gone home. Brb.

Dramatic Headline!

How far away do I have to get for people to stop talking about me; more importantly, for people to stop talking shit about me? Evidently, one hundred miles just isn’t enough for some people. Evidently one hundred miles is just enough to fuel the rumours because I am not there to personally debunk them. Evidently one hundred miles isn’t far enough away so that I don’t hear them and therefore they can’t bother me.

For some reason that I don’t understand, I seem to attract rumours and nasty comments like few other people I know. Since senior school, I’ve gritted my teeth and got on with life, letting people know what is the truth, what is exaggerated truth, and what is totally false. I’ve made mistakes, just as everyone else has, and I don’t claim to be perfect- so why the emphasis on spreading any tiny little piece of information they might glean on me? Although the fact people are talking shit about me gets to me, it’s more when people I respect and call my friends believe it that it hurts.

I don’t see why I should exercise discretion any more- perhaps the fact that I have the ability to keep some things to myself is the motivation for this- so, I shall continue. There are two people who seem to have an irresistible urge to badmouth me, one more than the other, Ashleigh and George. Although I am somewhat digging up the past here, Ashleigh is still playing the game, apparently. While Michael and I were still in a relationship, Ashleigh took a disliking to me and decided that the obvious thing to do in such a situation was to spread as much information about me around as she could, and in the process attempt to turn people against me. Before this, she was a friend, but her attitude literally changed overnight.

In my view, I did nothing to cause this, except for being in a relationship with someone who she had a crush on, being better friends with her ex than her, and being friends with someone she was friends with. Indeed, throughout the whole malarkey, I was perfectly reasonable to her, refusing to lower myself to her level, or make things difficult for my boyfriend or my best friend. However, she felt it necessary to turn Michael’s friends away from me, and to spread rumours like there was no tomorrow. If this is dredging up the past, well that is what she did. One day, she announced to Michael; “did you know that Charlotte had a one-night stand?”. Now, quite where she dredged this information from, I’m not sure.

Her attempts to slander against me led to George, joining in, frequently asking questions such as “Why are you going out with Charlotte?” and so on. I sat through all of this, not challenging her, waiting for it to pass over. Pass over it did, with her ‘fall from grace’ and the realisation that she lied about a whole lot of things. However, her dislike of me still remained, and it was starting to get ridiculous. Eventually, I sent her a note over myspace, apologising for anything I may have done to offend her, telling her what I actually thought (albeit slight toned-down), and asking her to explain her reasons for what she’d done. Although I believe I asked her not to show it around to everyone, I suspected that she would. In fact, amongst certain people, it is still a topic of conversation. For the record, she never replied, George apologised, and I generally thought that everything had calmed down a lot.

However, I find today that people are still insisting on spreading around and exaggerating every little piece of information about me that they hear. I’m the one who is at fault in every situation, of course, especially regarding a certain one that happened recently. People make mistakes, and on the grand scale, this was a pretty stupid, easily forgettable one. I don’t know what degree of fault hangs on the shoulders of the other person involved on this, and what is their exaggeration, but it hurt me that people I care about are actually believing it.

I’m not sure where I was going with this rant, although I went to Tesco in the middle of it, but I think it is suffice to say that I’m sick to the back teeth of people bad-mouthing and rumour-spreading about me. And you know what? Have a field day with this if you read it, because at least this is the honest truth.

Retro

Homesickness and loneliness are harsh mistresses, as is insomnia. I’m considering flicking a coin to decide between vodka or a long, cold walk- because laying in bed, fitfully flicking through my fat paperback copy of ‘The Earthsea Quartet’ and watching my alarm clock glow slow hours at me isn’t particularly appealing.

I have dug up an old, unfinished blog entry that I evidently wrote looking for some kind of catharsis. I am tempted to complete it, tempted to post it as fiction, tempted to just lay it out in the open and say “here I am, here are my mistakes”. It’s a strange situation at university, how you can simply erase the moments you dislike from your past simply by not telling them. What might be common knowledge ‘at home’ is nothing here, where people don’t even know the existence of it. When I came here, it seemed like I was almost reinventing myself, and, as I started to write to a friend, becoming a better person for it. Then a single comment scared me, and I find myself falling back into all of my old habits, albeit privately. That’s not to say I haven’t been making an effort, but I feel like I’m wearing thin.

98

“London 98 miles” said the sign, as I excitedly pointed it out to a friend on the bus.

It feels a very long way at this moment.

Bodysnatchers

I’ve been enjoying Radiohead’s new album ‘In Rainbows’ over the past few days. It’s been a busy week, both emotionally and physically. My work load is increasing, and it has given me an excuse to keep to myself while I’ve had my little emotional crisis for the month. Things feel like they are evening themselves out now though, which seems to be a good start.

I think I may have woken my drunken flatmate…

by half screaming “oh, you fucking cunt” at the Cooperative Bank Website.

This is just the message I want to see at 01:23, when I don’t have enough credit to make an expensive call, and actually need to check my balance.
*** You have been de-registered from Internet Banking as the security details you have entered are not correct. Please call 0800 590483 or +448457 212212 from abroad to re-register. ***

And all because the idiot I had to phone to register can’t spell my last school. As you can imagine, I’m not exactly happy about this. I have to take £10 out of my mystery amount of money to top up my phone before I can even waste money setting it up again, where I will spell out every damn word this time, however patronising it might seem.

Seriously, the Cooperative bank has been less than cooperative towards me. Half their employees are incompetent, and throughout trying to set up this student account, I’ve had nothing but problems- being told incorrect information, being made to register twice, being forced to open up a current account just to tide the gap between being able to get a student account and having to shut down my children’s account, not having cards sent through on time… I like the bank, I like their ethical stance and I’ve never had problems before this point, but seriously, I am now pissed off thoroughly.

(Although I got to use my favourite combination of curse words.)

Without you, I’m nothing

(Listening to Placebo)

To be honest, at the moment I’m lonely. Or at least- I feel lonely. Although I try to fill up my time with going out, with socialising and with my studies, it isn’t enough. I know that I don’t have a monopoly on the feeling and I’m sure that so many people here probably feel exactly the same way, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about it, or myself. I rewrote my letter to Skyler today, and it was very different to the one I had composed in my first few days here. Perhaps this mood will pass, or perhaps I’ll just get used to it.

While they’re out, I’m sitting here with my Latin folders and dictionary in front of me, trying to work out a logical meaning of monstrat. Work is a good distraction, especially when it is translation. Your mind turns to conjugations and declensions, instead of petty problems and insecurities. I did the same thing last night, and there’s a big water drop smudge on one of the pages. Homesickness is an awful thing, both when it’s me and when it’s other people.

(I don’t want to feel like you’re only my friend because I’m the last thing from home near you.)

peccatum/ discidium

I’ve had this window open for a fairly long time, thinking about what to write and how to phrase it. I’ve also been intending to video blog about the fun/ humorous parts of university, but the thinness of the walls here makes me feel shy about babbling on, seemingly to myself, in my room.  The girl who shares my bathroom is away for the weekend though, so perhaps after my Latin class tomorrow, I’ll post.

In my last post, I wrote that I needed sleep and to clear my head, and I’ve been making attempts at both. Last night, I slept for eight hours, helped mostly by homoeopathic insomnia tablets and vodka, but I didn’t feel refreshed by it.  The tablets work, perhaps all too well- as a friend said earlier today when I was complaining, it’s ironic that I’m berating insomnia pills for making me feel too tired. I think my walk last night helped as well, although it initially made me feel more awake. Warwick Campus is a gorgeous place for a midnight walk, and if I was by myself, I could have continued to walk for ages longer.  I can’t wait until I get a tripod and can take some photographs.

The campus itself is amazing, with almost everything you could need onsite. I’m quite glad that I’m situated on the edge of it, though. Although I’m only a ten minute walk away from the Student’s Union, I’m also a stone’s throw away from the outside world. Too close, perhaps, to Tesco, as I’m far over budget for the past two weeks already, and I still have to pay for my course materials.  I’m happy with my accommodation and with the people I share it with. There are eight of us in total, and we all get on pretty well together. My course however, is not going as well. Due to my erratic sleep patterns over the past few days, I’ve managed to miss one lecture, and one language class, and have been late to the rest.  The lessons themselves are interesting, and my lecturers seem really enthusiastic and knowledgeable about their subjects. I haven’t really talked to any of the other students though. From first impressions, they all seem quite posh, and although not stuck-up, aware that they’re doing a traditionally ‘wealthy’ subject.

Also, in my last entry, I mentioned fucking things up. Missing the classes was a slight fuck up, although I’m going to make an effort to keep to my schedule for next week, mapping out in iCal where I have to be at what time and setting alarms on my phone.  The real fuck up, however, was a situation with a friend in which our friendship went too far, causing a fair bit of hurt along the line. You can easily assume what I’m talking about. He’s asked me not to write about it, and I respect that, although I may later on. Although the situation is largely resolved, things still don’t feel 100% right between us.

I think that’s just about all I had to write about. Check back tomorrow for a video containing tales of firebells, Tesco, partying and my abysmal timekeeping skills.

need

I’m really starting to fuck things up here.

I need sleep and to clear my head, but I can’t do one without the other.