The Magic Black Book

Student. 21. London. Get Stable or Die Trying.

Now I have touched the autumn of my mind…

My youth was a dark storm,
Crossed here and there by brilliant suns;
Thunder and rain have caused such quick ravage
That there remain in my garden very few red fruits.


“Your final degree classification has been confirmed as Upper Second Class Honours (2:1) Congratulations.”

I am not sure how I feel about this. Will post thoughts later. But just had to let my followers know my final result since you’ve been with me through the ups and downs of my university journey. The blogosphere knows my result before my parents do. Ha! But yes, I can now update my CV and write BA Hons after my name. How funny.

Much love from Cyprus.


Today is my last full day at university.

I am moving back to north London tomorrow morning.

Quick question… WHERE THE FUCK DID THREE YEARS GO?!?!!?!??!?!!

This is horrible. My meagre possessions stuffed into supermarket plastic bags. 200 books rammed into a broken suitcase. One box of kitchen stuff and one box of bathroom stuff. A bin-bag with my pillows and duvet in (had to throw away the actual bedding, covered in blood stains and cigarette burns).

Is this what my life amounts to? These bags? These boxes? My world packed up.

I don’t like this one bit. Today, I have to do all the admin shit. Tying up loose ends as it were. Currently sending emails trying to wangle my way out of paying my library fines- I just can’t afford it. Need to drop a couple of ‘thank you’ cards into the Health Card for S, the nurses S and P and the CPN. Dr T is NOT getting a card. Need to email some of the academics in the English department and thank them for everything. Need to return library books. Need to rent graduation gown. Need to see J and C for a final goodbye drink. Still haven’t seen O.C so need to see him before I go. Need to say goodbye to all the staff in the college shop who have been serving me cigarettes for three years. Need to do online check-in and print off boarding passes for my flight on Tuesday since nobody in my family owns a printer and I still have printer credits on my card. Need to send off a couple of job applications. Need to find out about alumni funding. JESUS CHRIST, SO MUCH TO DO, SO LITTLE TIME.

This is weird, I don’t like it.

Promising your friends that you’ll see each other soon and visit each other all over the country, but knowing full well that you will never see each other again. It’s a weird feeling, all the lies, and false hope, and broken promises.

I am looking out of my window. I will miss this view so much. The view of the forest that I walk through once, twice, three times a day.

Luckily, I got given 2 MONTHS OF MEDS!! By some miracle, I can’t believe they actually agreed to it, that they actually trust me. They didn’t trust me with diazepam obviously, so only gave me two weeks worth. But it’s better than nothing!

Priadel 200mg modified-release (56) tablets, 1 daily
Priadel 400mg modified-release (56) tablets, 1 daily
Venlafaxine 150mg modified-release (112) tablets, 2 daily
Venlafaxine 75mg modified-release (56) tablets, 1 daily
Propranolol 40mg (168) tablets, 3 daily
Diazepam 5mg (28) tablets, 2 daily

Wow I didn’t realise I take 10 tabs a day, it seems like less than that. Guess I’m used to it. After all, I have been on meds for 8 years. So, tomorrow I’m going to the biggest pharmacy in north London and I’m gonna clear them out. They definitely won’t have everything in stock so I’ll have to wait a day or two, but I should have them by Monday, before I leave for Cyprus.

So, 476 tablets all in all. It’s like the Health Centre have picked up an Overdose and placed it into my hands. And I’m holding it, reluctantly, and looking down at it like, ‘Hey…… Erm……. It’s not gonna happen, mate. Sorry. Me and you.. We’re just… Not meant to be. I’m sorry. Maybe some other time.’ And so I drop Overdose onto the floor and walk away. That is what I have done, what I am doing. I am taking one month of meds with me to Cyprus (I am there for 28 days) and leaving the rest under the care of my mother.

Okay I’d better crack on. So much to do, so little time.

The end of an era.

*throws up*

love comes back.


So damn relevant, it hurts.

Originally posted on Young & Twenty:

The hardest part about loving someone is that when they’re packing their boxes, you’re forced to pack your own. We hate when people change our plans. When life is taken from our control. When walking away is all there’s left to do.

But sometimes people turn around. Sometimes love comes back, and this time you’ll hold them tighter. You’ll listen longer. You’ll love them better. Love is many things. It’s flawed in many forms. But love is when they forgive who you were in order to love who you are.

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Mon Dieu

It is so sad; everything is just so, so sad. Myself and everything around me. I’m drowning again. I don’t have time to be sad.

I know that in my last post, I said that I’d be back to blogging full-time again, since exams are over. So, I started writing a piece called ‘House of Cards.’ Rather than just posting any old shit, I wanted it to be a really thoughtful composition, a powerful and poignant piece, a strong return to the blogosphere, re-establishing my place as a writer. I know that you have all been waiting so patiently and so long for my posts, and many of you have expressed concern for my well-being. I wanted ‘House of Cards’ to show you that I’m back to what I do best.

It was extremely difficult for me to write in terms of the subject matter (and in terms of confidence after my severe bout of writer’s block last month). I wasn’t happy with the first draft: it lacked the je ne sais quoi that I was aiming for. So I worked on it for a few more days, editing and deleting and rewriting. It was almost ready to be published. Then something happened. I received a message which changed my life as I know it. Or rather, as I knew it. This message effectively destroyed the ‘House of Cards’ that I was building through language in my blog post. Before receiving this message, my ‘House of Cards’ piece was nostalgic, hopeful, sentimental and insightful, a preservation of all that is beautiful in love. Now, the ‘House of Cards’ post that is loitering in my drafts seems bitter, stubborn, childish, even obsessive. The innocent and treasured memory of a girl in love can be twisted into being read as the snide remark of a jealous ex-girlfriend. That will not be me. That is not me.

Perhaps I will publish ‘House of Cards’ when the time is right. But that time is not now.

I don’t have time to be sad.

More Than Alot

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner
Breathing in your dust
I wanna be your Ford Cortina
I won’t ever rust
If you like your coffee hot
Let me be your coffee pot
You call the shots babe
I just wanna be yours.


Basically, the letters e, d, and c, and numbers 3 and 4 on my laptop keyboard aren’t working so great. They are very much misbehaving, so typing pretty much anything on this laptop (from blog posts, to basic emails, to Facebook statuses, to my bloody log-in password; I have the same password for everything and it contains 4 out of the 5 keys which keep getting jammed) is proving problematic. A LOT of copy and pasting is going on. I tend to type things out the best I can. Then right-click for spell check suggestions. Then copy an ‘e’ from somewhere and paste it wherever it is needed i.e. in every other word. Then repeat process for letters ‘c’ and ‘d.’ By then, I’ve usually lost interest in what I’m doing and/or just can’t be bothered anymore. HOWEVER… I am going to try my best to get back to daily blogging as of tomorrow because I have a lot to get out of my system. Lots of things are confusing me and annoying me and scaring me and I just need to write it out before my mind entirely consumes me.

At the moment, during the day, I am reading Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du mal et oeuvres choisies. Of course, his poetry is just mindblowingly brilliant. But it’s great to finally read it in the original French! In the copy that I bought, the introduction by Wallace Fowlie is so wonderfully written, his words have given me a lot to think about regarding my attitudes to poetry (my own poetry, and the way in which I read the works of others). The book also includes some of Baudelaire’s critical writings on a variety of topics (music, literature, art, criticism in general), journal entries and letters to his mother and his lovers. At the moment I am still focusing on reading and re-reading and absorbing his poetry in Les Fleurs du mal but I look forward to reading his prose.

Before I go to sleep in the late evening/early hours of the morning, I read Daily Rituals: How Great Minds Make Time, Find Inspiration, and Get to Work, compiled by Mason Currey. It’s very much “easy reading”: short sections, ranging from one paragraph to perhaps a couple of pages, documenting the daily creative processes and routines of the greatest 19th and 20th century writers, artists, philosophers, composers, directors, et al. It is absolutely fascinating. I sense a recurring theme amongst the great novelists and poets: coffee, cigarettes, going for walks, sporadic bursts of creativity, creative droughts, turbulent relationships, getting drunk in the evenings… Looks like I’ve already got the writer’s lifestyle covered, I just need to put myself out there!

I’m not sure where I was going with this post. I accidentally-on-purpose took more diazepam than I should have done, so should probably go and lie down now.

But basically… I’m back to blogging.



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