Apologies, it's been so long. So long, in fact, that I am beginning to worry that this blogging business was yet another short-lived fad, a notch on the belt of well-intentioned projects that inevitably disintegrate amongst the chaos of my life. It seems I should never underestimate my own disorganisation. But for regular readership (ie, my mother) I promise I will stick this one out.
Although, theoretically my recent absence from the blogging cyberspace can be attributed to a particularly ominous essay deadline, the reality is somewhat less admirable. Certainly, the intentions were honorable- setting aside my usual tasks to research with always unprecedented diligence- and yet, with three days to go until the looming hand in, I find myself in the usual conundrum. The blogging, the running, and what I like to term semi-constructive, semi-justifiable distractions have been sacrificed at the alter of a particularly scary word count, only to, yet again, be subordinated to those utterly pointless procrastination activities that seem to swallow up the day and suck up all those hours without my even realising.
But, my constant vows to "be much more organised next time" aside, I quite enjoy a little chaos in my life. To be certain, I run a very fine balance, and the bubble is often teetering dangerous close to a little too disorganised. But, despite my mother's valiant efforts to reform me, I will never be one of those rigidly organised people who files their notes, hands in work in advance, or schedules their life on a piece of paper. To be entirely honest, the thought of that life scares the shit out of me. I admire other people's organisation of course, and frequently bemoan the dissaray of my life amidst as I rifle desperately through mountains of loose paper, but simply, that is not me. If I write lists, I loose them; if I tidy my room, I still can't find anything. I'm all for cleanliness, but that clinical, perfectly organised, timetabled, ordered lifestyle not only unnerves me- I find it literally impossible to follow.
Over zealously perhaps, I like to embrace my slightly eclectic, wannabe-creative self. I've adorned my wall with fairy lights and so many photos that most people would find it distracting or "too busy." I fucking love busy. I love busy walls, busy colours, busy days where I rush from football practice to class to coffee with friends. Chanel's famous fashion advice was that, when accessorising, always take one thing off before you leave the house. I put something extra on. I don't do classic- I do big earrings, blue in my hair, op-shop bargains, bright colours, bold statements. Or at least that's my self-perceived image. Correct me if you wish.
|I love this outfit insanely.|
What I guess I'm really trying to say, in my typically round-about, ill-structured, non-concise sort of way is that no one should feel like they have to follow a "proper" prescribed way of life. Don't fit into a mould. Success does not necessarily derive from adhering completely to a strict schedule, or happiness making decisions according to pros and cons lists if you are not that sort of person. Don't let convention dictate how you live your life. Explore, and investigate what works for you, what makes you tick, what gives you the best result- whether it be in essay writing, sex, or choosing an outfit. And, if things don't work out as you had initially planned, go with the flow, experiment with new ideas, look for your very own niche. Find your own space and make it yours. After all, it may be a designer dress, or an expensive house- but it's less than worthless if it's "not you."
|I want rainbow hair stripes.|