August: Mid-Lothian County

So, I didn't update for the whole of August. You may have suspected that not a lot was happening in my life, but you'd actually have been wrong: the same thing was happening on repeat. I'd wake up, go to work, see a fringe show/meet up with a friend, then go home and sleep. Repeat ad Mensum.
I considered posting reviews of Fringe shows up on this site, but that's not really what I wanted to use my blog for; it's meant to act more as a diary. Also, someone tried to use me as a shill, asking me to promote their show on here, which creeped me out to an inordinate degree (and also made me laugh at their massive overestimation of my readership).
But now there have been developments which must be documented for posterity, and so we're back.

First, I'm gonna deliver the bad news, so the post can end on a more positive note: Esmond and Poppy have left. Poppy departed for London last Wednesday, and Esmond returned to his native Macclesfield two days later. I got to say proper goodbyes to both of them, and I'm fairly certain I'll see them again, but I still feel this void inside. Esmond was the first real friend I made in Edinburgh; Poppy, the last. I know that sounds needlessly poetic and oversimplified, but I feel it's true. I met Esmond on the second day of Freshers' week and kept in consistent contact with him throughout the next four years- he was my first port of call during a lot of tough situations, and one of my favourite sparring partners in debates of taste, culture, philosophy and ethics.

Unfortunately, his ears were also preternaturally sharp.

A couple of nights before he left, Esmond and I returned to our old haunt, Debate corner- the place where we would part ways to go home in First year, so named because we would often stand there for hours on end, continuing our evening's argument, neither side willing to acquiesce to the other's view. We tried to have a scintillating confab, just as in the old days, but found that there was very little we now disagreed on (excepting the correct pronunciation of 'Rabid'); over the years, we've both influenced the other to the degree that our philosophies are no longer so diametrically opposed. Though, I will confess that I think I've gravitated towards Esmond's point of view more than the other way around.
For the majority of my time in Edinburgh, Esmond was my best friend- I already know that our amity can withstand vast distances and long periods of incommunication, so I hope we'll keep in touch. My uni experience would've been very different without him and I can only hope he doesn't become a stranger.

I actually met Poppy not long after Esmond- she was in one of my tutorials during first year- however, we didn't become friends until October of fourth year, and even then it took a shared assignment and a lot of weedling from Esmond before we could admit our true feelings for one another. She contributed greatly to me actually passing my course, as we became study buddies and I doubt I would've done half the revision I did without her help. I don't think I've met any other true bosom buddies since October, so Poppy gets the accolade of being the last friend I made in this city (unless someone new pops up over the next eleven days). She was a good one to finish on, as well: effervescent, witty, insightful and quirky. I expressed a wish that we had become friends sooner to her, and she responded very wisely that we only truly meet people when we are ready for them- as I explained in the paragraph above, I've changed a lot since first year, and maybe Poppy wouldn't have like the preachy, angry, loud person I was back then. And, besides, at least I got a couple of months with her, which is more than most people will ever get. More's the pity for them.

In one final bit of moping, there's a university open day on right now and I can't believe that the people here haven't even chosen their unis yet; in fact, they won't be starting for another year at least and I'm already done with tertiary education for the time being, how did that happen? I can even still remember the open day when I visited this place. How time flies.

But now onto happy news! Yay! Henriette's back! YAY!

And flexible as ever!

And she got onto the MSc she wanted! YAY!!!!! And that means she'll be in Edinburgh for the next two years and I can come visit her and the city and not have to try and navigate Norway! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I've already written about how much I love and admire Henriette, so she just gets the funky picture and the excessive exclamation marks. Next.

I finished working for EUSA. My feet are very happy: standing up for eight hours every day is apparently very good for you, but I can tell you first hand that it does not feel it. My feet feel alien now: they're weird and misshapen and I'm sure this is definitely what you wanted to read about when you clicked on this link. Anyway, I'm hoping that eventually my feet will return to normal; I handed in my fob today, which is the EUSA equivalent of a doctor hanging up their stethoscope for the last time. I got £20 in tips from Festival, though, which works out as less than £1 a day, but I'm trying not to focus on that. I may, in the future, write a longer post about working during the festival and working for EUSA in general, but at the moment I'm just happy to have some time to myself again.

I've moved once more: I'm beginning to think that packing and shifting my stuff might be the only exercise I get these days, but that's fine because I feel like I do it once a week. I've moved from Joe's to Jari's, where I will pass my final few days in Scotland before returning to Shropshire.
My parents came to pick up my stuff on Thursday (I've just got a bag and some pillows with me at Jari's), and took me to lunch and were generally very pleasant and complimentary about my ability to look after myself (which is unusual). I got a bit teary when my mother couldn't figure out Scottish money because it reminded me that my time in this country is coming to an end and also that there was a time when I was the same and now look at me, I've gone all native. I haven't cried in a while, but I had to have a bit of a dab at my eyes after that.
My mother also revealed that she plans for me to not really return to Britain (after France) until I'm in my early Thirties, which would be fine, except that she's refusing to help me buy any new bedding until then (I'm proud to say I still have all my sheets, duvets, duvet covers, pillows and pillow cases from First year. Yeah, that's right. I'm responsible).

I went to an end of Fringe party at Bedlam, and got very drunk and celebrated a lot- not because the festival was over, but because I'd gone the whole month and only gotten depressed once. I don't like talking about this illness, but I was first diagnosed during Fringe 2011, and so I feel it's pertinent (and quite relieving) to say that I only had one bout during August, and even then it didn't last very long. I'm proud of myself (although I know it was also a lot down to luck) for averting this possible downward spiral.
The party was also the best I'd been to in ages, possibly even my favourite Bedlam party ever- I was just the right amount of intoxicated: I did things I normally wouldn't do (like take my shirt off during 'Africa') but I didn't regret any of them the next day; I was courteous to folks I don't normally get on with but didn't waste time trying to woo them; I danced a lot, with a lot of different people; and even dispensed some sound advice to an old friend in need of comfort. I was at my best at that party, and so I'm both happy and sad to know that it's my last one (seeing as I'll miss Refreshers on the 14th).

Speaking of the Old Fat Cat, I have a couple more shows coming up at Bedlam and I'm actually acting in both of them and I know you're all tired of hearing 'this is the last character I'll play in Bedlam' but eventually I promise it will be true. Anyway, we couldn't really rehearse either of these shows over the festival and so are now frantically trying to make a cohesive piece of art and well, come see the results during Freshers' Week: EGM at 1pm on Monday the 8th September 2014 and Candlewasters (specifically, The Cosmic Corkscrew) at 7.30 on Wednesday the 10th.

Peace out, homies. Happy September.

Sonny

Apparently some people thought that this blog had run its course; that, having made it through a year since my time down under, I no longer needed the shoulder of this blog to lean on and thus could go out into the world, once more footloose and blog-free.
Since you're reading this, you might have guessed that this is not the case.
It's certainly true that I had originally intended this blog more to document the effects of reverse homesickness and the challenges presented by returning from a year living abroad, so that it might be deployed by future people in a similar situation. However, I found that I settled back into my old routine so unnervingly easily that this site quickly became just a broad-strokes substitute for my old one, the title of which no longer seemed appropriate.
Anyway, the sum of the above paragraph is that no, I do not intend to stop blogging just yet.

That being said, I was finding myself with a dearth of topics on which to discourse; I have done so little of note lately that it seemed like admitting defeat to blog about it, if you see what I mean. I didn't want to admit to you guys how much life had stalled for me recently. But then I was taking an evening constitutional and the song below came up on my randomised music player, and a blogpost planned itself out before my eyes, including this incredibly wordy preamble.

Now, if you clicked on the video above, you'll be aware that that is possibly the saddest song ever written, and may now be fearful of the content to come, but I assure you, I was inspired by the title and nothing more. Fun fact: I very often pick a title first and let my writing flow from that, even though Mrs. Weatherill always used to tell me off for doing it. Some small insights into both my writing process and my attitude towards being told what do do there.

The main reason this post is called 'Sonny' is because the main piece of news it will relate is that I have (temporarily) moved in with Joseph, my once and future heir. Joseph was in both my debate club at Sixth Form and my Freshers' Play group in 2011, and thus is the young mind I have helped to nurture most fully and thus the closest thing I have to a son. 
This latest abode is the first I will be paying for entirely with my own money, instead of my parents footing the bill. This is annoying because obviously it takes a big chunk out of my finances ('finances' is my new least favourite word), but is also a blessing because for once I will not have to put up with my mother insulting my sense of decor, my choice of accommodation/flatmates or my housekeeping abilities. I have informed both my parents quite clearly that, since I now no longer live under their thumb, there are new ground rules for their visiting:

1. There are to be no criticisms, no matter how veiled, of my lifestyle.
2. My mother may not start cleaning up without asking. I don't care how bad it is.
3. They only enter rooms that I say they can, and do not poke around in said rooms.
4. They will be limited to three questions per hour, unless otherwise explicitly stated, and these may not relate to:

• My love live (or lack thereof)
• My hygeine
• What I plan to do next

My mother did not see the need for these rules, but then my mother also doesn't believe she's a critical person, so I guess she'll just have to deal.

My fortress of criticism immunity is sadly not going to last very long, as I plan to leave Edinburgh shortly after the Fringe, as I imagine I'll be sick of it by then, especially having worked Full Time as a waiter during the Festival. Yep, I start, for the first time, full time work on Thursday (technically, I start tomorrow, but Wednesdays are my days off, so I start with a doss): I am terrified by this prospect, because I can only imagine that it will render me exhausted, grumpy and creatively dead inside.
I've recently started writing a new play, partially to honour those of my friends who have recently left or will do so soon, and also to test this hypothesis: if I can get back from working for eight hours and then motivate myself to write something, I know that I may still be able to pursue my dreams even while making my way in the world. Here's to hoping.

Also, Esmond said a while ago that he was feeling neglected on the blog, so here is an entire paragraph about him.

One Year Later

Today is the one year anniversary of my return from Australia and thus the beginning of this blog. Rereading that first post, one can tell how nervous I was about crashing and burning emotionally after what is still the best year of my life (sorry, year that's just happened). I'm glad to report that that didn't really happen: I found I was still crying up til about October, mainly when I was on public transport and certain songs came on, but even then, I never fell into actual depression. As previously stated, most of this is due to my mother, who even remembered that today was my returniversary, despite her inability to remember anything at all. We spoke on the phone, and she checked that I was doing OK.
And I am, I'm happy to report; although, I must confess I still see doppelgangers of lots of my Australian mates when out and about. There's a Charlotte look-a-like who lives in or around Blackford and always elicits stares of uncontained amazement whenever I see her (I had to restrain myself from poking her the first time we crossed paths). I think about Australia alike, and probably talk about it more, due to my propensity for speaking without actually engaging my brain; sometimes people ask me about it, or it comes up organically, but often I'll just shoe-horn it in like Cinderella's desperate stepsister, not to make myself seem more interesting (well not JUST for that), but also to remind myself that it happened. Because it'd be easy to forget. Not literally, obviously, but to forget the impact that it had on me- to lose the memories of the events and the people and the changes that I underwent. I don't want this to happen. I NEED for this not to happen. This is partly why I'm so happy I kept the other blog- it now functions like a diary, but one with hyperlinks and inbuilt videos. I can just click on the 'October 2012' section and see what I was doing at that time: working a job I hate, complaining about the heat, critiquing films...what's actually changed?

I was going to detail what's changed in the past year here, but honestly you can read the other posts in this blog if you want to know that. I'm not going to pretend that the year since I came back has been a complete bust or a complete triumph- as with most years, it's been mixed-to-very-positive (incidentally, I consider my year in Melbourne an almost-untainted triumph). But I think that this year was always going to pale in comparison to its predecessor, so I'm glad I can look on it with even this amount of enthusiasm. It was hard not to feel like this year was a bit of a step backward, to be honest, since I mostly resumed habits from first and second years, except with fewer people that I knew here; like a greatest hits tour after some of the members of the band have died. Still, those habits weren't entirely unenjoyable, so I don't have too much to complain about.

When I first came back, I was on a real I-must-go-back-as-soon-as-possible kick, but now that the emotions have had time to simmer, I see that really that's probably not a good idea. Or, at least, going back to Australia is no better an idea than going anywhere else exotic: none of my friends are in the same place as when I left them, and probably aren't all that close to one another geographically anymore either. Yarra, where most of my memories are based, probably wouldn't allow me on the grounds for fear I was an escaped inmate from the asylum next door (yes, that was actually a thing). I miss everyone so much, but I wouldn't be able to see them all anyway, they're so disparate now- Jason's back in the US, Will's in Canada, I think Daryl's returned to Malaysia and evidently Charlotte's moved in just down the road. I can't go back to Melbourne in July 2012 and resume my life, and I just have to accept that.

Back when I started writing this blog, I would randomly insert mentions of my friends back in Australia, just so that they would know I was thinking about them. Now, I find this practice kind of disingenuous, and I'm hoping my friends across the world will take it as read that I think about them a great deal (this also goes for my Edinburgh friends who've left recently). I won't forget my year abroad for as long as I can ensure that I don't; it improved me as a person, allowed me some incomparable life experiences and was just a whole load of fun.

Graduation

I was originally planning not to write about this, because academics have really not been the focus of my uni career and also I find the entire process quite tedious. However, I've reasoned that, in the future, I'll want to remember what happened around this time, and so for posterity's sake, here we go.

I didn't actually attend my graduation ceremony, because it cost a lot of money to rent the robe and also aforementioned tedium. I was given the option to stream the ceremony online, which I opted not to do and instead spent the morning entertaining a ten-month-old baby. Later, I went to the after-graduation party, where I got to meet the parents of people whom I know only very slightly and failed to speak to any of my professors, because, once again, I wasn't the most academic of students. It was a swelteringly hot day, most of the students were dressed in all black and they were handing out free alcohol; lightheadedness ensued. There were some boring speeches from heads of subjects whiched seemed to be entirely about them and when they graduated and I refused to clap at the end because I will not be an enabler to narcissism. Ahem.
The event was really more for families and I was there alone: I managed to make some of my classmates' parents jealous because I have an offer of 'proper work' (their phrase, not mine) starting soon. My family weren't there, and I wasn't wearing a robe so a fair few people presumed I hadn't passed the course; I took some photos with my classmates and then left.

The graduation ball was last night, and yet again I didn't attend due to monetary issues, however, at the last minute a shift working in Amphion that night opened up, so I took it and managed to taste whatever of the dinner got on my hands and see whatever of the various activities got in my way as I was carrying boxes.
The ball was also the last time I got to see Rose, which is a great shame because she's the originator of one of the most popular Quotes of the Year that I've ever documented.

We're currently pitching around a talk show based on the catchphrase 'You're Not Human'.

In all seriousness, though, she was funny, charming and I'm so glad Becky could pick up the courage to talk to her, so I could become her friend by proxy. I'll miss you, Rose; it was so much fun knowing you.

Another person to whom I said my final farewell this week was Grace. We went to get ice cream together, and I may have eaten too much, but it was still so much fun. Grace doesn't like photos, so just imagine the cup below was her, and that this photo is in fact heartwarming.

Yes, it was full of ice cream and yes, I ate the entire thing and yes, I am single.

 

Grace is another friend who I met through someone else- in this case, her flatmates. But, yet again, she became very important to me, not least because she coached me for my British Council interview. Goodbye, Grace; you'll always be my little Salt Girl.

A friend who I made all on my own was Emma, who hasn't left yet but it's very unlikely that I will see again for a long time. We had lunch this afternoon, along with Rik, and it was delightful- Emma and I, despite having known each other since Panto in second year, didn't really become friends until Panto this year, but I'm still going to feel it when she leaves. She was one of the title characters in Rob and Roberta, and thrived in what was a very thankless role. She's one of my favourite performers that I know and also just a good friend; goodbye, Emma.

And, finally, I've just come back from saying goodbye to Henriette. I've known Henriette since first year, and I actually cannot put into words how much she has helped me, and how responsible she is for the person I am now. I know that sounds gushing, but she talked some sense into me at a point in my life when I genuinely believe I could've spiralled into anger and become a much worse human being. She guided me, even when I resisted the change and tried to claim I was fine the way I was; she was never smug or condescending, she merely showed me that I was only hurting myself with my ways. I have thus bestowed upon her the title of 'Guru'. Thank you, Henriette; thank you so much.

This has been a rather sappy post with a lot of emotions and gushing, and I'm afraid the next post won't be much better, as it'll most likely be on the anniversary of my leaving Australia (and the beginning of this blog). I'll try and balance it out now with a most shocking announcement: due to the number of folk leaving my life for an indeterminate and probably quite lengthy amount of time, I've decided to start following select friends on Facebook again.
Dun dun dun.

It Happened One Night

I went down to Cambridge to visit my sister Moira this week; mom and dad were already planning to go down themselves to see Moi's graduation, and Orla decided to bite the bullet and join us, making it a royal flush of my nuclear family. We don't normally all meet unless it's Christmas, so this was slightly unfamiliar territory- it was also only for an evening, because Orla had to return to London. We all went out to this Thai restaurant in Cambridge which was amazing and actually made me like broccoli, so is obviously lacing the food with crack or something.
But you guys don't care about the food- you all want to hear about the crazy family dynamics! Well, I found out that I am by far the member of the family who sees the other members the least, despite being by far the least financially independent. In a small way this makes me quite proud because it means that I'm my own man and have successfully flown the nest, but it also makes me kind of sad because they all have a much stronger bond with one another than with me. Case in point: there were three separate in-jokes between the rest of my family of which I had no idea and didn't really understand; they tried to explain them but obviously something got lost in the telling, because I didn't really see the humor. When I expressed some regret at my relative (in both senses of the word) alienation, they were all very quick to point out that, at both points that I was given a chance to get away from them, I chose the furthest possible destination (Edinburgh and Melbourne). Indeed, when I was initially choosing my uni, I made no qualms about the fact that I wanted to be very removed from my parents at least, so I wouldn't have to see them.
If I could go back to that time now, I'd slap myself for saying that.
Not that I regret going to Ediburgh, but I really didn't appreciate my parents, or my sisters, until recently. Being reminded of that comment provided me with a very powerful reminder of how much I've changed over the past four years, as well as highlighting how my previous petulence has cost me- I feel somewhat removed from my family, especially when we all gather together.

While we were together, an interesting point of which I myself have made note several times: there are no photos of us as children after the time that I turn five (which is when the last of us stopped being cute). My parents, never the sentimental type, had not seen this as a problem, until they went to my mother's university reunion and all the attendees decided to pass the time by showing each other pictures of their offspring and my progenitors realised that they were indeed in the minority in being quite so blaise about capturing their children's likeness. My father tried to rectify this oversight while in Cambridge and take as many photos as possible; sadly, his photographic technique is to keep the camera in the same place and move his head around, hoping this will chane the angle of the picture being taken. Shockingly, this does not work, so I'm not hopeful about the quality of these images, but it's nice to know that there will be some documentation of the Kelly siblings coexisting for the future.

To get to Cambridge, I had to take an overnight coach to London- I was looking forward to Clark Gable style shenanigans, involving spontaneous singing, the walls of Jericho and lessons on how to hitch-hike.

How to stop a car.

Instead, I got a supposedly former alcoholic (his words, not mine) who downed a bottle of cider in front of me, kept saying how he was going to London to get smashed, and then treated me to a diatribe about how allowing Muslims to remain in Britain was a clear example of 'political madness gone wrong'.
However, going through London did mean that I got to see two West End shows: Let the Right One in, which was beautiful, haunting and innovative, and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, which was fine, but criminally wasted Samantha Bond, which soured me against it somewhat.

In other news, I went to the Highland Show with Grace and Carolyn the other week, and it was amazing. There were sheep, and birds of prey and coos, which are distinct from cows by merit of their accent.

There were more photos from this event, but sadly they were on a phone which I lost. I'm beginning to think that maybe my family isn't meant to take photos.
On top of the animals, there were free samples of deliciously organic food, a harrier jet flight simulator, a burger that came with a side of steak and a cute guy (sadly, pictures were lost again) who told me all about various medieval weapons, whom I later met again outisde HMV, which I'm ofiicially taking as our meet cute.Yes, the Show was awesome, and that awesomeness squared by the fact that it was probably one of the last times I'll hang out with Carolyn, who left Edinburgh over the weekend.
More and more fourth years are leaving by the week, for obvious reasons- this week is also when  graduations take place, so that number is only going to grow from now on. I'm trying to see everyone before they depart, but I know that some of them are going to slip through my fingers; I just have to hope that in forty years, I can see them again at a reunion and fail to show them pictures of my offspring.

The Godfather

Travis, my pseudo-Godson-not-quite-nephew, is four years old today. I can't quite believe this- I can't concieve that the little tree frog that I once wasn't allowed to hold because I might break him in half with a pinch has grown into an actual, real life human with thoughts, feelings and plans all his own. I can't quite process that four years has passed since Mel had him- so much has happened, I know, but it doesn't seem that long ago, and yet I can't imagine my life without him, even though I see him very little.
So very little, in fact, that Travis has no idea who I am: for a while he thought I was a big CGI racing car due to a shared name; then for a time he knew a 'Rory' was something important to his mother but didn't quite grasp that it was a person (at this time he called me 'Jojo'); and then, for a lovely brief period, he called me 'Uncle Rory' unprompted and spontaneously and it was lovely and special. But now, after an interval of six months of separation, he answered Mel's relayed message of "Rory says 'Happy Birthday'" with "Who's Rory?". A little while ago, she showed him this picture:

He immediately recognised himself (even though he was half the age he is now when this was taken) but refued to recognise the smiling idiot in the background.
This sounds a lot like I'm blaming Travis, which I realise is unbelievably unfair, but it does make me slightly sad that pretty much every time I've seen him, I've had to reintroduce myself. Those of you proficient in maths will be able to calculate that he was born just before I went to uni, and so I've only really seen him at Christmas and during the summer. This doesn't look to be changing with my recent job offers, but I hope that, at some point, I'll regain that magic feeling I had that one singular time that Travis saw me and said 'Hi, Uncle Rory!'.

In other news, because I'm a fool, I forgot that I do actually have another friend in France that I can visit when I go over: Gregoire! We were in Improv Mob and Aussie Rules together back in Melbourne, so I can relive the glory days with him. Like Dani, he's in Paris, so won't be a million miles away. I knew that visit to Australia wasn't all for nothing.
In other news, I've started using this blog as a means of telling people that I'm apparently coming to visit them in October, so hi, Greg!

I got my grade back for Uni and it wasn't as bad as I was expecting, which I'm chalking up to a win, especially considering I had food poisoning during my final exam. With this grade, I could feasibly continue my education, and although at the moment that isn't on my radar it's nice to have the option.

I had dinner with Emily, Daniel and Amanda the other day, and they said I was pretentious: this was one of those times that a truth I had held about myself was shattered. I had always thought I had evaded pretension- they explained that I like to use big words because I like to sound intelligent and that's true, but I thought that was mere arrogance, not pretension. I always make sure I know what the words mean before I use them, so I'm not pretending to be something I'm not; I just like etymology and having a varied vocabulary- I feel it allows me to express myself more clearly.
However, my friends have apparently construed this as pretense, so I guess I'll have to endeavour in the future to make my speech sound more natural- but then, this will mean I'm more self-conscious about my speech, which surely will only make me more pretentious? Good lord, but socialising is a minefield.

Slow Boat to China

June is a boring month in Edinburgh. In Australia, it was exciting because I went to New Zealand, and saw lots of theatre and most people stayed in Melbourne even if they weren't from there because their summer holidays were so short; back in Shropshire, I usually didn't notice because I'd have school or whatever. But when in Edinburgh, well, most of my friends have returned home, especially now that lots of my friends are fourth years and are thus expected to fend for themselves.
On top of this, everyone just seems to be treading water before Fringe: I don't know what people in cities without the biggest Arts Festival in the world during August talk about in the summer, but I admire their conversational capacity because we here in Edinburgh evidently lack it.

I've been trying to think of ways to counteract this ennui at the moment, and mostly coming up blank: I've actually been working everyday this week except for Tuesday, but I'm still at a loose end most evenings. I've tried to get back into taking long walks for pleasure, but working always leaves my feet sore and also makes me extremely tired, even though I very rarely work for longer than three hours (I'm hoping this will fade when I have more experience being on my feet so often). As such, my sleeping pattern has become incredibly jacked up, since I nearly always sleep for at least two hours during the evening, around seven, obviously leading me to go to bed a lot later. As such, I'm awake at really odd hours and have seen a LOT of disturbing things on BBC 3. It saddens me that I am supposedly part of the intended audience for that channel.

In other news, I was waiting for an important email that would decide my future and was extremely, extremely anxious about its contents- I got a stabbing feeling in my stomach, felt weak in the knees and dizzy in my head when I thought about how this email might come back negative and dash my hopes for the future. It made me scared to go online in case an answer was waiting in my inbox, deadly and dismissive and so very, very final. Then the email arrived and everything was fine and I was once again reminded how pointless it is to stress about things over which you have no control and how thinking about them just wastes valuable brain space. If the email had not worked out the way it did, I would just have had to figure out something else to do with my future, and work around it: the sun would still rise and set, I would still be able to smile about things and continue to live.

Sadly, the email I am talking about is not the one containing my final grade for uni, which should be coming any day now and which I am absolutely terrified- like the symptoms described above, but on steroids. I am so happy to check my uni inbox everyday and find it merely brimming with spam and not with a very seminal communication about my education; I'm so happy not knowing, I'd almost be fine if they never gave me a grade and I could just go through life saying I'd graduated from Edinburgh without having to qualify it. And I know it is disingenuous if not downright precious to write that after having just soliloquised about not agonising over things I can no longer influence, but I am just so scared of what could be revealed. Everyone keep their fingers crossed for me.