Life is a journey, not a destination

“Since the dawn of recorded history, something like 110 billion human beings have been born into this world.  And not a single one of them made it. There are 6.8 billion people on the planet.  Roughly 60 million of them die every year. 60 million people. That comes out to about 160,000 per day. I read this quote once when I was a kid, “We live alone, we die alone.  Everything else is just an illusion. ” It used to keep me up at night. We all die alone. So, why am I supposed to spend my life working, sweating, struggling? For an illusion?  Because no amount of friends, no girl, no assignments about conjugating the pluperfect or determining the square root of the hypotenuse is gonna help me avoid my fate. I have better things to do with my time”

Tie no weights to your ankles, live for yourself. Accept the feeling of not knowing where you’re going, so you’re forced to fly. As when your wings are spread, the wind will take you.

Remember that predators prey on strength and beauty, whilst they hold the weakness that they bring out in you. And whilst you will live for today, they only have yesterday.

Fall in love, for where there is love there is life. For nobody has ever measured how much a heart can hold. But before you love, promise me you’ll love yourself. You’re braver than you believe and stronger than you seem. 

Maybe for you there’s tomorrow, or ten thousand tomorrows, or even just ten, but for some of us there is today. And the truth is, you just don’t really know.

Fresh, once more

For some reason I feel like I should apologise, apologise for promising a lot of blog posts over the summer and not writing a single one. But then reality hits me and I remember that I’m not one of those ‘famous bloggers’, with millions of subscribers all over the world and in fact, I’m just a 20 year old who has too much to say and knows where to put a comma, I think?

So where have I been, you ask? Well, I’ve just been so busy, managing 4-day jobs, 1 evening job and caring for my newborn and I just haven’t really had the time to blog. I hope you can all forgive and forget.

If only I really did have an excuse like that… Lets go back to an evening back in August, where I bumped into an old school friend, Ewan, who before conversation had barely begun, told me off for not blogging enough. Blog? Blogging? What’s that? And then it clicked. I’d clearly been enjoying summer too much that I had completely forgotten I had a blog. So thanks Ewan, for not only sparing a few minutes to read my blog every now and then but also for giving me a kick up the arse and getting me back to the keyboard.

Although, I do feel I deserve a little bit of a pat on the back for something. This summer I have been working my absolute bum off with University work and I’m feeling very prepared to begin my final year when I return back to Lincoln. Yet on the other hand, I do not feel ready to go back at all. I mean, how do you prepare yourself for 7 nights of solid drinking after having a summer consisting mainly of nights on the sofa with a handful of cats? Unfortunately, no matter how many Barocca’s I could drink, Pizza’s I could polish off at the end of a night and how much I could pretend I’m on Geordie Shore, I don’t think there’s anything I can do to avoid the next mornings hangover… and the 6 after that. But where’s the fun in thinking of the morning after? This is the last fresher’s of my life, I’m living with my boyfriend and two of my best friends and you only bloody live once! YOBLO. So no excuses, I’m going to make sure I’m out 7/7 nights and am going to make sure it’s the best week of my life to date.

I read something the other day that went:

If you have food in your fridge, clothes on your back, a roof over your head and a place to sleep you are richer than 75% of the world. If you have money in the bank, your wallet, and some spare change you are among the top 8% of the worlds wealthy. If you woke up this morning with more health than illness you are more blessed than the million people who will not survive this week. If you have never experience the danger of battle, the agony of imprisonment or torture, or the horrible pangs of starvation you are luckier than 500% million people alive and suffering. If you can read this message you are more fortunate than 3 billion people in the world who cannot read at all.

So whilst I sit here moaning about an upcoming hangover, praying for one more Pringle to appear in the bottom of the tube I realise just how lucky I really am, (Not just because I ate the whole tube and didn’t have to share.) This summer I’ve treasured every minute I can with my family and my very precious Bubble, I’ve made sure I’ve seen all 4 of my grandparents at least once a fortnight, I’ve got some of the best friends in the whole world, two of which I’ve got back after 4 years and some who I can’t wait to catch up with back at Uni. Lewis and me are as good as ever and I’m very grateful for his family who has made me feel so welcome. I’m healthy, I’m happy and for that, I’m very grateful. I’m going to go back to Uni and hopefully leave this year again with a 2:1, I’m going to dive into fresher’s like its my first one all over again and I’m not going to take anyone or anything for granted.

Look at me, rambling on again pretending to myself that there’s someone the other side of the screen absolutely engrossed. (If anyone is still reading, and remotely interested, top effort.) I promise my next post will be less deep, and more recent than in 4 months time.

I hope all of you have had a lovely summer, take care xxx

My little Bubble

Call me crazy, but when I typed ‘What do you call someone who loves their pet more than anything else in the world’ into Google I expected to find at least one word that would fill the  definition. Perhaps I didn’t word it correctly? Or maybe I do love my cat a little bit too much?

But lets be honest, who doesn’t want a best friend, of almost 15 years, who never argues with you, never moans, always listens and is always there for a cuddle?

A week before my 5th birthday in 1998, my parents took me to the RSPCA rescue centre where I was allowed to pick a kitten to take home. We were told there were only two kittens available and my choice was between, as my mum described, “one beautiful grey fluffy kitten, who wouldn’t stop licking me and asking for cuddles”, and “one tabby, angry cat, who kept hissing at us and wouldn’t even come over to say hello”. So I obviously picked the latter.

I named him Bubble, and here we are 14 years, and 364 days later, the best of friends. Bubble doesn’t really like people, or attention, unless it’s from me. And I know that’s a very conceited statement but if you don’t believe me, pop over for an afternoon and I’ll be very happy to prove it to you.

Bubble will greet me at the door and follow me wherever I go, whether it be to make my dinner or watch me have a wee. Obviously when he was younger he had a lot better things to do, pimping. But now he’s a bit of a granddad, would rather a night in front of the tele than chasing pussy.

Obviously being at University has proved difficult and I always worry that one day, because of his age, I’ll come home and he won’t remember who I am. But he continues to prove me wrong.

I could sit here for hours sharing my love for bubble, but I’m finding It’s hard to write about him without sounding like an absolute freak. Plus Lewis will get jealous if I write more about my cat than I wrote about him.

Tomorrow Bubble is 15, and I would loose an arm and a leg for him to live forever.

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