A4: S9 - The Sunshine Perspective

So I'm in the library at University.

I usually love being in here. I find it much more of a constructive environment to work in, and it's bright, airy and spacious with big potted plants dotted everywhere. I don't know why, but there seems to some kind of ongoing association with potted vegetation and working harder.

Anyway, it's four stories high and the main room where I'm sat right now is open to all four of these floors, closed in by one giant quadruple height pure glass wall at the far end. Architecturally, it's pretty damn impressive. But today, I am awfully resentful for it.

A4: S8 - Tempting The Future

I've been spending so much time in The City lately.

I feel like it soothes my soul. For some reason I love the sounds of the traffic, the bricks, mortar and pavement, the architecture and buildings, the rush of people and fast pace of everything. I guess it's because The City has purpose. On a daily basis I feel myself reciting Perfect Future in my head, I even went ahead and made a mood board of how I imagine my city apartment to be. 

It's becoming an ever-closer reality.

The other day, before we were set to attend the Cosmopolitan Magazine Social Media Masterclass, Ariella and I decided to go to London and look for flats. Together with Florentine and Monika, a fellow blogger who writes for the same online magazine that I do, we decided that before 2015 we would be living together in The City. Come hell or high water, we knew were we all belonged.

The Actress, The Writer, The Playwright and The Fashion Blogger. It was a match made in heaven.

A4 : S7 - The Boy With the Crossed Palm

He'd caught me off guard.

"What... what are you dong here?" I said, completely astounded at not only his perseverance in tracking me down, but also his courage to just show up out of the blue. Perhaps I'd found a worthy adversary.

"I text you but I wasn't sure if it was the right number..." He said showing me his smudged hand.

"I'll catch up with you later, okay." Florentine said with a knowing grin, before heading off to locate her wandering family.

I looked at Marcus pleadingly. A tiny alarm bell sounded in my head. There's strangerism and then there's just plain dangersim. (Forgive the pun but you know that did sound just a little bit cool) I did not know anything about this boy and to be honest I was a little afraid. There'd been a power shift.

Marcus looked from me, to the boy, to me again, smiled and said,

"Well, I'm off to catch my train. I've got work early tomorrow. See ya."

Damn. I knew exactly what Marcus was thinking. I'd got myself into this, it was I who had to get myself out.

The boy with the crossed palm and I were left alone in the lobby of the theatre.

"Well," I said with a resolve, deciding that I was going to make the most out of the night, regardless. "Shall we?" I motioned toward the door and my fear started to ebb away. As we walked toward the exit, I was filled with a quiet, dancing excitement.

The other side of that door could hold absolutely anything. In a metaphorical sense, clearly. Really, it just held a dingy backstreet and maybe a few bins. But as soon as I put my hand on that door to leave the theatre, the adventure would begin, and I could only dream of what was going to happen. One thing I knew, was that it wasn't going to be normal.

A4 : S6 - 'Faces' by Florentine

To be honest, I think Florentine and Ariella are the only people I actually miss when I'm at University. Everyone else I can just catch up with here and there, but with them it just never seems to be enough.

Because there's something that the three of us share, something which I have not seen in anyone at University, or really in anyone aside from them .

And this is discontentment.

The frustration, annoyance, irritation and just plain exasperation of being trapped in a mundane and average life, gliding through day by day, without direction or purpose. The absolute earth-shattering need to adventure, escape and break free from the grey, only dulled by the repeated slog of the daily routine.

A4 : S5 - The Wonder Crew

I guess to be able to explain this story, I'll first have to describe my best friend, Pistol.

I'm not even entirely sure as to why I haven't mentioned him before. I think it's partly because I know that the story surrounding him is so complex and inter-linked to bizarre connections here and there, that I've been putting off trying to explain it. Also partly because I don't want to give him the smug gratification of him knowing I blogged about him.

Because the thing is, Pistol and I have a friendship that next to no-one understands. 

Everyone always says "Well you clearly like each other" or "Everyone knows that they're sleeping with each other", and it just makes us laugh. But it's not because we have this 'spiritual connection of kindred spirits above normal friendships' or anything like that, in fact, its hilariously quite the opposite. 

It's because we absolutely hate each other. 

A4: S4 - Close Book, Open Door

I put one hand on the knee to my left, and one hand on the knee to my right.

My mother gave a small, sharp gasp, muffled by a soft sob, and I heard my sister sniff loudly and reach for another tissue. I clenched my jaw together hard and breathed slowly and carefully, trying to ignore the small persistent lump in my throat. Two hands on either side of me found mine.

It was... okay.

So far, it hadn't nearly been as bad as I'd imagined. In fact, it had been quite lovely.

But as a small balding man in an ill-fitting suit finished his painstakingly emotional poem, put his fist against his heart and in a cracked whisper, sobbed "My Matty..." before breaking down and being helped off the pulpit, it felt it like a cold hard punch right in the sternum.

I choked and bit my lip, squeezing my eyes shut, desperately trying not to cry out.

And then, something happened which cause a flurry of muffled commotion, disconcert and confusion, as family and friends turned their heads in intrigued whispers and obscure sounds, not knowing quite how to react.

For me, it ended up being a kind of half-laugh, half-wail which probably sounded like a poltergeist being tickled, as the guy sat directly in front of me jumped quite spectacularly, fumbling in his pockets as his phone shrieked, echoing unbearably loudly around the church.

Not entirely unexpected I guess, but oh no, it just got better.

Because right in the critical moment of the service, when human emotions were as tightly strung as they could possibly be, so precariously dangling between just about being okay and completely losing one's shit in a howling mess, the entire church was fully assaulted by shrill sound of;

"SCOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBY DOOOOOOOOOBY DOOOOOOOO!"

A4: S3 - Death, confronted

"I don't think I can... I'm just not strong enough. I'm sorry."

Even as I said these words and heard my Mother telling me it was okay, that everyone would understand, I felt the guilt weigh heavy and damp on my heart.

Because it wasn't okay. I knew it wasn't okay.

As soon as the conversation over I thought about what I could do to make up for my absence. I'd write a letter, yes, I'm good with words,  I could fill a few A4 sides with some heartfelt words and it'd be fine.

I bit my nails, because it wasn't fine. I knew it wasn't fine.

I tried to think of a way I could reassure my mind - perhaps I could write a blog post about why it is okay, why people don't have to feel bad about doing it. But I couldn't in all honesty do that, because how was anyone else meant to believe me, when I could not even convince myself?

It was only when I spoke with Oscar, that I realised that there simply was no way I could actually justify it to myself.

If you are able to go, it's simply unavoidably, inexcusably not okay to miss someone's funeral.