Thursday, 11 December 2014

Struggling Yet Smiling

For what may be the first time this week, I'm lost for words. All squiggly letters and articulately worded definitions have faded from my memory like a light being switched on, or in this case, off into a pool of pure darkness.

Whilst words run riot like a freed prisoner, the rest of me remains glued to this very spot that, as inspiration fails to come, becomes more and more like a prison. Trapped is perhaps the only word that my powers are capable of conjuring right now, a thought of which saddens me - above everything else, I yearn to have no realms when it comes to my freedom.

Unlike the en-suite that my brother constantly borrows, it is mine and cannot be touched by anybody else unless I invite them. Regardless of what state of mind I'm in, would I go to the lengths of depriving myself of a dictionary that I refer to as my brain? Without sparing you the humility of figuring that answer out, the two letter word is dancing on the tip of my tongue, awaiting to be spat out: no.

Although I am many things (fabulous being the greatest among them), tongue-tied is the least likely to be listed on my future Wikipedia (or, if I truly hit the big time, on the leading page of my very own Wiki) - especially when I'm in wanna-emulate-J.K-Rowling mode. Having no sense of direction in my language just doesn't work for me. No doubt about it.

Anyway, today's problem mainly lies with the fact that, after nearly completing my first full week at la nouvelle ├ęcole, I'm dog-tired. Oh yes, my little Literacy Darlings - dog-tired is now listed in my vocabulary! Even though I neither own nor particularly like dogs, and probably don't feel as exhausted as a chihuahua being carried in Paris Hilton's handbag all day. Hm. Doesn't that sentence alone justify a squirt of inspiration?

Before I lose myself on the path towards losing my word-mad mind, I've thrown myself into settling in my new school, from proving myself in lessons to practising for a house singing competition that I'll take part in next Tuesday. However, I didn't realize that participating would involve missing one of my lessons which, to my horror, is English: had the competition been held a day later, I would have escaped an hour of equations hell in Maths! Besides, I've knocked myself out from sitting a Maths test earlier today which, despite revising like crazy (translation: learning how to solve equations from scratch last night whilst reliving my fantasies of being an 80s darling as I sang along to Into the Groove), I probably didn't pass, so I'm constantly flitting from relief for having completed it and fear of drowning in papers of red ink when I receive the result tomorrow afternoon in my final period. So, the agony of failure won't exactly be washed away as the weekend begins!

Compared to my old school, my new one is a slice of heaven - as long as I'm able to taste it, I'll eat and savour every single bite that passes through my lips! Yet settling in robs you of more energy than the excitement creates for you, which I'm trying to spread out to various things: Christmas, the weekend, schoolwork, coursework (right now, words beginning with 'W' must be avoided, including the one I just uttered) and moving on from the past. Within a week and a half, I've forgotten how going to my old school used to feel because I've since become so wrapped up in my new one, whose spectacular buildings, standard of education and atmosphere are a thousand times brighter and better. That sense of dread which would define my Sunday evenings finally stopped haunting me last week, which was instead replaced with excitement: though my two mornings of lie-ins would be coming to an end, I was literally bouncing up and down with impatience to get on the road to my delightful destination!

What a difference a week makes. And what beauty and happiness that have been created because of giving up the past for the present, which I take more pride in than any One Direction perfume which most of my former classmates would have risked their lives to get in a crowded Boots store. Though I have to keep reminding myself that Christmas is now only a fortnight away from our reach, one thing that I haven't forgotten is that, in a sense, it has come early: in the form of my wish being granted. That wish? I don't see why I ought to repeat the past when the present is casting more sunshine than I've ever seen before. All that is required now is a bit of time, some patience (as I get used to the slower internet speeds) and plenty of effort until my Tired Thursdays become a thing of the past.

Still, despite resisting the urge to curl into a tight ball and fall into a deep sleep, I'm smiling. Like the mad, word-crazed teenager that I truly am!

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