Zilch

At this point there is nothing left for me to do.

All the plans have been made and all I can do now is just wait for things.  And hope that they all pan out the way that I want them to in my head. Which is almost too much pressure.

Maybe that’s where all of those bridezilla stories come from. Because there is just all this pressure on everything. Because you do everything that you need to do for the day but you have no way of really knowing if it will all work out on the day.

I know that I picked a date that would have the least risk of bloating or unexpected visitors, but hey sometimes my body is weird and shit happens. I don’t know what my face is going to do because hormones do weird things and I could wake up with a new constellation on my face. Maybe I’ll realise that I hate the colour scheme once I’ve had some space from it.

It’s unlikely, but maybe I will fall out with one of my best friends turned bridesmaids. I mean we made it through the whole process of planning the wedding relatively unscathed, but there could be something there the finally breaks it all down.

Maybe something terrible will happen with the catering and everyone will get food poisoning. Or the open bar will run out of booze. Maybe the venue will have lost our booking. Or I will split my dress when I put it on and have to get married in my slightly less show-stopping reception dress. Maybe the weather will just change drastically and a hurricane will sweep through.

Maybe I should just go back to accepting that I have nothing left to do in regards to the whole thing and just enjoy that fact. The whole thing is now completely out of my hands. I’ve planned all I can planned. Now I just have to do it.

Main sign off


Find me here:

Twitter Instagram Bloglovin’

 

Youngest

The shadow always seems to get bigger with each passing day at this rate, which is kind of unnerving to be honest. Because I didn’t really think that was actually possible anymore. I thought that they had reached their capacity. But apparently not.

There are just new things that they find to be proud of, even when what has actually happened if really not all that impressive in the grand scheme of things. They did well on a test. Or they got into another uni. I got into 5. All 5. Including THE two, which I only applied to because I felt this intense sense of pressure about it from them. Not that they knew it. I felt like I had to prove myself to them because otherwise what would be the point. They wouldn’t notice me otherwise if I didn’t shout about myself loud enough.

Not that they did when I got into them all anyway.

And not to be rude but I got into better unis than him anyway. Way better. You know like THE two. The one that everyone always seems to talk about at all times because they are the ultimate measure of success at the end of it all. But with him.

Every time that they declare that we need to have toast because another conditional offer came through or that we need to go and have a dinner and celebrate all the success I find myself wanting to just crawl into a corner and hide away from it all. I don’t need to celebrate that success it hasn’t happened yet. Or may never happen. I know him. Better than they do.

I know that he doesn’t even want to go beyond secondary school education but feels like he has to because of the pressure. I know that he wants to focus on other things. Feed the creative aspect of his interests. Just take a breath. Maybe finally recover from that football injury that he got nearly 10 years ago and has never really been able to get over because there is always someone needing him to complete their team because he’s just ‘the best’. I know that he can’t tell them that because if he does then they will either ignore him entirely or just stop talking to him. They really are either or.

They had one kid and loved her just fine. Then they had another and decided they couldn’t quite share the love between the two of them and so didn’t try. They focused all their time and energy on one of them and encouraged them to do everything that there heart desired and then when they found the thing that they enjoyed the most they encouraged that they stick with it. And they did. And they did everything they were supposed to do and even then they still knew that the attention was conditional.

It’s always conditional. It seems to work in the exact opposite to everything that you hear. And that’s the world that we grew up in. His shadow grows in size and overshadows me more and more each day but that means that I get to live just fine. I got to go the uni that I wanted and I get to do the job that I want and I get to basically be whoever the hell I want, which is mainly be his soundboard these days. I don’t mind all that much anymore.

It’s the least I can do.

Main sign off


Find me here:

Twitter Instagram Bloglovin’

Xpress

I still hate the name.

I told her that when she first suggested it to me. I told her that when she got the signs made up for the building. I told her again when they actually went up on the building. I don’t think I’ll ever stop telling her.

It’s become our thing.

Even now when I’m standing behind a bar watching people push and shove to get someone to notice them in the seas of people all congregating there, all chatting between themselves weirdly perfectly content with the fact that it’s taking ages for them to be served, I hate the name.

Clearly the flyers that I helped distribute around the city for weeks and the emails I sent out to ‘influencers’ and all the social media posts that I somehow found myself in charge of paid off.

Clearly I am the only one who kind of really hates the name.

Maybe it’s the English graduate in me that refused to use text speak for years because if you could type ‘U’ then you could type the world really it’s not much quicker. I’ve learned over the years that my largest pet peeve remains incorrect spellings and this is no exception. Even though I have heard all of the perfectly crafted ideas and thought processes behind it, that one missing letter still finds a way to creep under my skin and irritate me.

For some reason it reminds me of expresso when it should be espresso. It just scratches at me in a really hard to reach place. The letter in question isn’t even really pronounced. I’ve got into so many arguments these last few years over a silent letter because the spelling and grammar snob won’t quit.

Even now.

When I refuse to look into the mirror opposite this bar. It holds the reflection of the name brazenly plastered above the bar. Twice. Just in case you forget where you are. I’ve been assured more than once that one of them will cease to exist after the opening week.

I know that will be forgotten though and that it will be there indefinitely. I won’t be the one to remind her she said she would take on down. And I know she will find some reason for it stay. Like how she’s gotten used to it being there, or how shes all about the symmetry it provides and she can’t part with that any time soon. It will stay.

And I think I kind of want it to.

Even though I hate it.

She doesn’t.

This is the most excited I’ve ever seen her for anything. And ultimately, that’s all that matters.

Main sign off


Find me here:

Twitter Instagram Bloglovin’

Welcome

‘Welcome to Harvard…’

Reading those 3 letters on the top of the page through my blurry vision almost doesn’t feel real. I can’t get the letter to stop trembling slightly in my hands and so it’s hard to convince myself that I am reading the words correctly. It’s hard to believe that all the hard work actually appeared to pay off.

All the tears and late nights. All the endless cramming of numbers and words about books that I didn’t even like. All the stress induced panic attacks and sleepless nights worrying about what would and wouldn’t be on a test that I never had any hope of predicting anyway.

All of it paid off.

In the best possible way.

Harvard felt like a dream school.

Something that didn’t quite exist in the real world. Especially in my real world.

But there it is. In slightly blurry letters.

I almost can’t get quite past the first sentence. Right there below my name. ‘Welcome to Harvard…’ I keep re-reading it over and over again. Thinking that it might change suddenly if I blink often enough. I don’t know when the shock will wear off from seeing it. Or whether it will ever wear off.

Part of me hopes that it never will. But then part of me hopes that I can get over it so I can give it all that I’ve got.

For now though…

I got into Harvard.

Main sign off


Find me here:

Twitter Instagram Bloglovin’

Undone

It’s almost impressive the way that he still manages to have an affect on me.

How I know when he has entered a room because the energy just shifts for me.

Like it’s charged now. Thick. Heady.

Like I don’t really know what to do with my hands anymore. They just won’t settle anywhere comfortably except in the folds of the back of his shirt or in his hair, I imagine.

I can’t find out in this particular setting. Which I think he is doing on purpose. This is his thing. That I kind of have to be at because I’m supportive, but I knew it would prove to be a problem for me.

This is where he is in his element.

Something about that gets me going.

We both know it.

It’s like this unspoken thing between us.

A thing that developed over time and we never really spoke about it but at this point it’s been over a decade. We both know. There’s no hiding it.

It becomes a game between us.

It starts whenever the second one of us enters the room.

We don’t even really speak. Depending on the event some people don’t even know we’re together. That for some reason seems to make everything better. I don’t know why. It just does.

We just circle the room, mingle in our own groups. Talk about whatever to whoever. Sometimes I don’t even really remember what the hell I’m talking about but it’s all just part of this game. So it never really matters. Which may be a problem I guess for others.

Not for us.

It’s part of what we do.

 

Main sign off


Find me here:

Twitter Instagram Bloglovin’

Quit

Today is just not my day.

I think I kind of knew that when I woke up after my solid 3 hours of sleep despite spending 10 hours lying in my bed. It was confirmed when my boiler decided to pack it in mid shower and sputtered out freezing cold water in the middle of rinsing shampoo out of my hair leaving my skin goosebump-y and feeling a little bit like a deep chill has set into my bones and it won’t shake itself off despite the fact that it’s one of the hottest days of the year.

It was then confirmed further when the lid to my iced coffee decided to not be secure enough and when I tipped it forward to take a sip almost the whole thing upended itself onto my outfit, which for some reason was comprised of light colours only. Why I felt compelled to do that when I was shivering my way through getting dressed I will never know.

By that point I kind of lost track of all the tiny things that made the day a little bit shit, but they all piled up. Gradually. It’s the little things. Always the little things.

Although being locked out of your apartment block for no apparent reason except the fact that your key has just decided to not work is maybe the straw that broke the camel’s back.

I’m just sat here on the steps outside of my own building waiting for the landlord to show up who is never really all that reliable to be honest. And the fact that on the same day I have had to call him about the boiler and my faulty key I am thinking that I’m going to have to get used to having cold showers because I’m pushing my luck in hoping both issues will get fixed quickly.

At least I have ice cream. That I was going to eat while I binged watched Real Housewives but the universe had other plans and so I’m eating it with a stray plastic spoon that I found in my bag and letting people freely judge me as they walk past and pretend they don’t notice the girl sat outside by herself eating ice cream.

My phone is on its last legs as well and so I will soon no longer have that to keep me occupied which will probably make it look even weirder to the people walking past.

And then he shows up. Out of nowhere. As I watch him get out of the yellow taxi I feel my face scrunch up as I try to remember whether in the depths of my shitty day I had forgotten that he was supposed to come over. He looks just as confused as he sees me sitting outside of my own building. But he doesn’t say anything.

In fact he doesn’t even bat an eyelid. He just sits down next to me on the stairs and takes the spoon out of my hands scooping ice cream onto it and letting me rest my head on his shoulder.

Today was not my day, but at least it wasn’t a total bust and I have a shoulder to lean on.

 

Main sign off


Find me here:

Twitter Instagram Bloglovin’

Party

Some people might be kind of worried about getting a phone call from their sister at close to midnight on a Tuesday night. Especially when the person who starts speaking on the other end of the call is definitely not your sister. Bu for some reason I’m pretty calm about it.

Maybe it’s because it someone else on the other end of the phone who sounded like they had their shit together and so it felt like she was in safe hands for the time being.

Maybe I’m being naïve and it’s red herring or maybe I’m just so bored of not trusting people anymore and this guy had the sense to call me. I don’t know why he chose me of all people, it’s not like I asked that.

I just asked the important questions.

Like why he was calling me. Where he was. I told him when I’d get there. He told me he would stick around with her.

That was the extent of the conversation.

And now here I am.

Wading my way through a bunch of drunk people in their early 20s makes me so much older then I really am. I come in at 6 years older than my sister, but right now it might as well be 20. I both envy them the youthful energy they currently possess which feels like a distant memory to me and also wouldn’t wish to be in their shoes. People spill drinks on themselves, each other, the floor. They almost hit me, but apparently muscle memory is a powerful thing and I manage to swerve out of the way on multiple occasions.

I think it will be hard to find her in this mass of people and kind of curse myself for not remembering to agree on where to meet her. And him. Then just like that they appear.

Then the fear kicks in.

Her head is resting heavily on someone’s shoulder. He seems to become more alert once he sees me pushing through the crowd and for some reason that relaxes me. He’s on guard. She’s safe.

Or as safe as she can be given her surroundings.

I make the final push through the throngs of people and find myself in front of them, falling to my knees and trying to assess just how out of it she really is.

‘What happened?’

‘She drank something. I saw someone put it in her drink but couldn’t get to her before she drank it so this seemed like the next best thing.’ His response is logical and I know I shouldn’t be annoyed that he didn’t stop it from happening in the first place but this is maybe the next best thing.

‘How long ago?’

‘I called you almost as soon as it happened, so 20 minutes I guess.’

‘How long has she been like this?’

‘She hit my shoulder about 10 minutes ago, she’s been kind of babbling ever since.’ She still conscious, that’s a good thing.

‘How did you know to call me of all people?’ I don’t know why I ask him that and I regret it almost as soon as it leaves my mouth but I did and to cover it up I start trying to pull her upright.

‘I wasn’t about to call your parents and I dunno, I figured it would be best to get her out of the situation entirely, you don’t live on campus but you don’t live miles away. She is less likely to freak out if she wakes up at yours then someone else’s.’ I get her to stand and she falls onto me heavily, but easily. He stands up too to catch her as she slowly starts to lull backwards away from me.

‘How do you know where I live?’ I am pretty sure I’ve met this guy, or even ever heard of him, or any male friends that she might have, but honestly I can’t remember.

‘I’ve picked her up from your place before.’ He replies with ease and then just before she falls completely scoops her up into his arms and starts to carry her towards the door. I briefly start to wonder whether she has a boyfriend that she has either never told me about or I’ve forgotten existed. I hope it’s the former.

The crowds part a lot easier for him carrying her out then they did when I was trying to get to her.

But she’s safe.

She’ll be in my car soon and then in her bed and eventually she’ll be back to normal again. I’ll deal with all the questions I have later. In the morning.

When everything is calmer.

 

Main sign off


Find me here:

Twitter Instagram Bloglovin’