Tag Archives: music

#WhatWeLearn: Wireless Edition

I’m so sorry for my flakiness, I don’t know how long I can keep apologising for my own faults. I’m so grateful that you put up with my crap and come back to read whatever it is I have to say. I only blog when I have a story to tell and I have been action-less of late but nonetheless, I’m here. I love you, honestly. Real love.

I have to talk to you about my Wireless experience. It was my first ever musical festival and honestly, I was frightened about it. I didn’t know what could possibly happen, it seemed so daunting. It’s one thing to go to a concert as that’s more controlled and everyone there is there for the same reason as you but with festivals, everyone comes for someone different. I found myself encroached in social tensions, different levels of eyebrow fleekiness, the usual anxieties that entail major gatherings of human bodies. But as they say, see a lesson in everything you do so, here are 5.

1. Second-hand highs are real, I honestly felt slightly buzzed. The air was thick with smoke, saturated with it. I witnessed a transaction too: there was this short black guy, the kind of guy that bulks up and seems super touchy about his height and these three white girls, all kitted out in short shorts and blonde hair and all I could hear was the weed man screaming “so how much do you want then?” and it was right in the open, hundreds of people were just walking past this scene like it was nothing and it perplexed me. I guess the best way to do something dodgy is right in the open to remain inconspicuous, no?

2. I can rap pretty well. I don’t know what came over me but when Childish Gambino opened with Crawl, I found myself matching him word for word, my squeaky voice pitches above him and everyone else. I didn’t even realise what I was doing until this really pretty girl with a shroud of blonde curls tinged with green spray turned around and gave me a thumbs up during Sweatpants like ‘mama, I hail thee, you try.’

3. Boys don’t like it when you can rap better than them. Kendrick Lamar opened with Money Trees and everyone lost their shit, collectively. It was ethereal but as his set proceeded, I noticed this really tall dude who was in front of me kept turning back to give me the evils whenever his own mouth stopped moving but mine was still working. Who begged him not to binge read rapgenius.com beforehand? Not that I did but still.

4. A lot of white people are indeed insane. This group called Gorgon City performed and these bastard meth heads formed a mosh pit right behind us. I felt so sorry for the little Asian girl in front of me, she smacked her head against the metal railing so many times. Do you know what a mosh pit is? It is a conglomeration of bodies being slammed against each other for no reason whatsoever besides a beat drop. You would think they were trying to stomp their way down to the depths of hell. On top of their demonic displays of madness, this tattoo-ridden, sunburnt, alcohol infused, weed infested lumberjack of a fiend used the cramped conditions we were in to use my ass as his personal rubbing post. I could have died. He was against me, skin to skin. I turned around to look at my tormentor but he looked away. He knew what he was doing. I must have dazed him; my ass was probably the realest ass he had ever felt.

5. The power of music is parallel to juju. What else can make you stand on your feet in the blazing sun for over 7 hours, endure all kinds of bodies and bacteria crawl all over you, have water thrown at you in the name of keeping cool, be on the edge of actual exhaustion to only have someone come on stage and for a familiar beat to play and all your troubles just fly away? We were all transfixed and we were all united and as we told to jump, you could basically sense our minds going “how high?” It’s a force. It baffles me how one person and their music, their poetry, their art can have so much control over so many minds.

Just look at this video and you’ll see what I mean. It’s like all hell broke loose 20 seconds in. I apologise for my noises in advance, I’m sorry.

Either way, it was really amazing; I would do it all over again, minus the unsolicited ass rubs and choking weed smoke.

Also, I should have some news for you sooner rather than later. Be calm, all is well. Keep your eyes open.

Song of The Week

This song is so pretty.

Georgina ❤

New Year, New Me? I Don’t Think So.

Happy New Year, beautiful people!

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I’m really beginning to understand the lack of enthusiasm that a lot of adults seem to have when it comes to entering a new year. I transitioned into 2015 in the comfort of my living room, sipping on mimosas with my pops (my mum can’t stand alcohol and my brother is, well, underage). I would rather stay in my house than be surrounded by a bunch of people I probably don’t like, experiencing small bouts of social anxiety. Call me an old soul, I’ll take it.

Anyway, we are officially in 2015, fully grounded into it. Nothing like hopping on to a packed train at 9 a.m. to get you back into the swing of things. My anguish with public transport continues. I’ve been having a tonne of dreams lately though and I’ve been driving pretty well in all of them. Is this a sign?!

New year resolutions and myself are not a thing. We do not agree. I make a habit to not make them as I never keep them. You shouldn’t have to wait for a whole new Earth orbit to begin before you decide to sort yourself out, should you?

I hope some of you have noticed the new layout. Changing it got me thinking about what this blog is actually about. I did some contemplating and I put it down to ethnicity. Read on, it makes sense.

I’ve noticed there are around 3 types of Nigerians that I have been exposed to so far:

1. Nigerians who are only Nigerian because their parents are. Anyway, their blogs/social media outlets are just something else. Totally incomprehensible.

2. Nigerians who are cultured, educated, worldly, aware, who claim their Nigerianness and are not ashamed of it, whilst maintaining a degree of sensibility. Some may have blogs. Some may just sprout a lot of philosophical stuff on twitter. I call them the bourgeoisie Nigerians.

3. Lastly, we have the Nigerians who are Nigerian, proud and LOUD. These are the ones who have YouTube that teach you how to tie gele (pronounced ge-ley) one minute then tell you how to appease your husband in the next. Very versatile.

The elaborate head gear is the gele. The bigger, the better, methinks. Isn't she gorgeous though?

The elaborate head gear is the gele. The bigger, the better, methinks. Isn’t she gorgeous though?

The bourgeoisie Nigerians are cool, I think. Their blogs are all deep and moody and intellectually challenging (ish) and I was wondering if I was preaching the wrong kind of gospel on my own blog. I considered switching my posts from writing about chesticles to intense poetry reflecting the importance of the female body; from writing about wanting a boy friend to shoving the fact that I am a strong independent woman who doesn’t need male counterparts down your throats.

Don’t worry, I am so not doing that. I promised to be real and I feel the need to talk about all kinds of things all the time.  I’m not going to attempt to stick to the status quo (High School Musical was released 9 years ago. NINE.) I’m just going to sprinkle my confetti of quirky sass on all of you, hope you like it.

DO YOU FEEL OLD YET?

DO YOU FEEL OLD YET? BECAUSE I DO, I AM SHRIVELLING UP AS WE SPEAK.

Back to business. We (yes, you and I) need to address some things.

Guys, I’m upset with most of you. Every week, I post a song of the week and I know how many of you actually listen to them. This not only implies that you guys think my taste in music is shit but it also says you guys think my taste in music is SHIT.

So, let’s take a poll.

The results will be discussed thoroughly next week. You’re all in trouble.

Next on the list, my lovely blessing of a friend gave me an inspiration pot for Christmas.

My little pot of textual gold.

My little pot of textual gold.

As you can see, it is filled with quotes, heart-shatteringly necessary quotes. So, they will become the quote of the week, I’ll take a picture instead.

My mini rants will still exist, maybe not consistently. I’m still pissed off about something almost all the time so they will definitely still be around.

Oh, guys. Quick question. Let’s have another poll because these are fun. I’ll probably talk about it next week.

And, one more thing. I appreciate every single one of you who read this and continue to read this, who give me feedback and make me feel all mushy inside from your lovely words. But, guys, I want this blog to grow and I need your help. Please share this blog. Let other people be aware of my weekly gumdrops of fabulousity. Follow on me twitter and retweet stuff. Share posts that you find utterly thought-provoking. Tell your mums, dads, grandparents. Actually, no don’t do that. Do NOT tell your parents. I beg you. Please and thank you!

Until next week, mes amis,

Georgina ❤

If I Were A What?

I have an exam on Friday and now, university is really becoming real. I know what it’s like to sit in the library for 4 hours straight and read until your eyes feel sore. I know what it’s like to almost feel dependent on energy drinks (shout out to Red Bull, Monster and Relentless). I know what it’s like to not be able to sleep until 3 in the morning, knowing you have a deadline to meet and several topics to cover. I know how tempting and delighting it feels to want to binge watch The Walking Dead and How To Get Away With Murder, simply pushing your responsibilities out the window. I know what procrastination is. But hey, that’s life. Can I also point out that my university seems to be the only university in the whole world that is still open? Pray for me, for thou art this close to losing thou shit.

Anyway, that’s not what I’m here to talk about.

I was walking down one of the many stairwells in my university with my friend and out of the blue, she asked me if I had written this week’s blog post yet. The following transcript, more or less, sums up what came next:

A: “What would you do if you were a boy?”

G: “That’s so random, why would you ask me that?”

A: “That’s how I am, I’m random.”

G: “Well. I would bang my way through a bunch of girls. I’d have a million girls numbers saved on my phone as babe number 1, babe number 2…”

A: “Oh gosh.”

G: “Seriously.”

A: “That should be your blog post.”

Well, A, you got me thinking.

Before someone threatens to lynch me, I was JOKING. But then, I realised that I only said that because it’s a reality. A very possible and very real one. Too many boys like this exist, I can scream this from the rooftops and no one would bat an eyelid because it has been this way for, well, forever. It’s shitty, I know. Not all boys are like this, I’m aware of this but too many are like this. Do you know how many times I hear boys speculating over the body of a girl as she walks past? Or how many times, a fleet of boys turn their heads simultaneously as a girl walks by? I’m all for grabbing someone’s attention, I’m all for strutting what your mama gave you but what about personality? What about what she likes to do in her spare time, what her favourite colour is?

If I were a boy, I would be 6 feet tall (hopefully), I’d be that dark-skinned hunk that makes every single girl go weak at the knees. I’d be that guy because hello, who wouldn’t want to be that guy? But I wouldn’t ogle at girls (or at least, I’d try), I wouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable. I’d start conversations, I’d sit next to you or anyone who looked lonely and get to know you. I wouldn’t make you feel as if I wanted sex from you or was wondering how large your breasts were or how you looked naked, no. I would genuinely be interested in how your day went and how you were finding university and becoming your friend first. I wouldn’t make it my mission to nudge my boys as you walked by to make sure they were aware of how your ass moves as you walk. I might not even tell my boys about you because you’re not a conquest, you’re just a friend.

But then I remember that’s not going to happen because damn, who does that? I mean, I may be a boy but I’m not a freaking angel. I am Nigerian. It’s in the blood.

Why is Beyoncé the featured image? Why shouldn’t she be? Who doesn’t need to see Queen Bey grab her crotch? Hello?

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On my course, I have zero guy friends. I say hi to two of them regularly-ish. One of them is so timid, I feel I might send him into cardiac arrest whenever I smile at him. The other is totally on to me (this isn’t even a matter of wishful thinking or paranoia. He is on to me. Ask anyone) and it is beyond obvious that a friendship cannot exist without it inevitably leading to undesirable territory. I want a guy friend, okay? In fact, no. I just want a friend who happened to be a male. Who was my age, who went to university with me, who didn’t see me as anything but a friend, who I could have intellectual conversations with and send ugly snapchats to without feeling I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life. Who could come to Starbucks with me and my friends or who I could go to wherever he wanted to go with his friends without there being this unspoken sexual tension hovering over our heads. I want. I am wanting, deeply.

I know people like this exist, platonic relationships exist. They cannot all be extinct, surely?

To my future boy bestie who will not eventually become the love of my life, this is my message to you: I will look for you, I will find you and I will befriend you.

 

Mini Rant of the Week: PERSONAL SPACE. I don’t think I can stress this vital aspect of life enough. We all have a bubble and this bubble is fundamental. This bubble protects us from ghastly scents of B.O, Ebola-laced coughs, dangerously motile dandruff and just helps us keep a hold on sanity. What really and truly pisses me off are members of society who walk right into my bubble when they have absolutely no reason for doing so. I’m standing at a platform and you come and walk within millimetres of my body when there is ample space for you to walk. What is the meaning of that? Can’t you see? Are you asking me to trip you up because it would be beyond a dream come true to extend my foot a few inches more and send you flying, it really would. Don’t invade the bubble. You’ve been warned.

Song of the Week: More like, album of the week. J. Cole’s “2014 Forest Hill Drive” was released last week and it’s really good. I’m loving how albums nowadays tell stories. It reminds me of Kendrick Lamar’s “Good Kid M.A.A.D City”, not production wise but progression wise. Everything gels. Preview it here, it’s gooood – https://itunes.apple.com/gb/album/2014-forest-hills-drive/id940845223

LION BABE – Jump Hi (Feat. Childish Gambino) it’s really really good too (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHqsE2EOpJE)

Quote of the Week: “Don’t give ‘em too much you. Don’t let ‘em taint your soul.” – J. Cole

Georgina x

(P.S. 10 more days and it’s Jesus’ birthday, omg.)

(P.P.S. I got my second ear piercings on Thursday, am I a rebel or what?)

Starbucks Date with Myself.

Hello everyone 🙂

So I’m having one of those weeks where nothing has out-rightly struck me as blog-worthy or better yet, many wonderful things have happened but I’m not readily allowed to blog about them (I don’t want any trouble) so I turned to The Daily Post. They post these things called Daily Prompts which literally do what they claim: they prompt. This is the one I chose. Et voila.

Good Tidings

Present-day you meets 10-years-ago you for coffee. Share with your younger self the most challenging thing, the most rewarding thing, and the most fun thing they have to look forward to. (For the sake of simplicity, I’m talking to 10-year old me. 8 year old me wouldn’t be up to this, I’m sure.)

*I couldn’t find a picture of myself at 10, no joke. So, here is 6/7/8 year old me. Not entirely sure.

Hey, don’t you look tragically cute. I look a lot different, right? Not nearly what you expected to look like at 18. You thought you’d be skinny by now and well, so did I.

Next year, you’re definitely going to boarding school. Mummy and Daddy may be making you do all these exams for all these other schools over here but trust me, you’re ending up in Nigeria. For that exam, just remember BODMAS. It may seem like the stupidest acronym ever but it is a life-saver. Boarding school is nothing like what you’re thinking it could be. Every night is not one sleepover. You will cry every night for the first week. You will bathe with freezing cold water at 6 o’clock in the morning. You will eat things you never thought existed. You will be the victim of puberty. You will be on the receiving end of a collapsing bunk-bed. You will meet people who find your diary, read it and chase you, threatening to club you with a metal T-square because they couldn’t handle the truth. You will make a public fool of yourself (I know you will but don’t send a lovenote to the cute guy in your class. He’s kind of an ass, he’s only 11, he doesn’t know any better). You will become very thin and it doesn’t look good on you but it happens. You will get what the school doctor claims to be malaria almost every month but you know it’s worse than that. You will convince the parents to let you out of that school after the first year.

Somehow, you end up in a proper Nigerian school. Yes, those schools. Where they have even more canes and the teachers aren’t afraid to slap you for not greeting them properly. Sticking out like a sore thumb is the least of your problems. You will get typhoid, it is very unpleasant. On the plus-ish side, you will actually meet someone who you fall in love with years later and he loves you right back. I’m not even making this up, I couldn’t. I won’t give away too much but it’s a disastrous mess to begin with. You will sometimes regret knowing him but despite all of that, both of you find a way to function dysfunctionally. Hang in there, okay? I mean it, really hang in there. Think about it like this: he’s like a stray cat that won’t leave you alone but you feel almost anxious when he’s not wondering around.

Finally, you make it to the Promised Land of schools. This is where all the magic happens. You make friends for life. You will meet your soul sister but she’s Indian, that’s the only difference. The number of amazing memories that you’ll make will astound you. There’s a particular teacher who does library with you. He turns out to be pretty awesome and makes you read stuff you wouldn’t normally touch with a pole. He’s very cool. You will love that place, that’s all I can say.

You will come back here when you’re 16 and you are going to be chucked right into the deep end. People will find your accent – yes, it happens – a little funny but you’ll learn to do you. You’ll meet some people who you’ll wonder how you managed without them and others who you’ll totally regret looking upon. You do a lot of adaptive maturing in those 2 years of college.

Only thing left is university. You get in, that’s for sure. I’m still figuring out the rest.

Your life really begins the second you’re left to fend for yourself in boarding school. You become who you’re looking at right now. I know how bittersweet you feel about it. You’re scared about not making friends and all the friends you’re leaving behind. All the important things and people will stay put, that’s not an issue. Don’t worry about a lot of things, it’s all pretty trivial. Just stay focused and stay happy. Keep smiling. Keep writing. 8 years may not seem like that much but it is and it goes by quick so just go with it. Put your heart into it all, that’s what you do and always will do.

Coffee tastes pretty grim at 10 but just wait until you come back to Starbucks to buy things besides their cookies. Coffee is life-enhancing.

Do you still love Beyoncé? Love is an understatement.

No rant this week, I’m in a happy place.

Songs of the Week: Beyoncé – 7/11 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4YRWT_Aldo) & Sebastian – Embody (https://soundcloud.com/edbangerrecords/sebastian-embody)

Quote of the Week: “One thing I’ve learnt in uni, you’ve got to go and get it yourself. Whatever you want, probably won’t come to you.” – Laveen M

Georgina x

Do You Even Blog, Bro?

I was watching a vlog in the presence of someone who lives under a rock last week and this was the conversation that sparked up:

“What are you watching?”
“A vlog.”
“A what? A v-log?”
“It’s a video blog. Wow.”
“I don’t even understand how people blog let alone vlog or whatever you call it.”
“I blog.”
“Right.”

But that last comment wasn’t made with a straight face, it was made with the dirtiest side eye I have ever been on the receiving end of. It felt like a big stomp on my blogger’s glow. I’ve gotten this response a lot of times before. There’s always that semi-gasp and hand on chest/cheek/any other appropriate body part accompanied by “YOU BLOG? WHAT DO YOU BLOG ABOUT?” I mean, damn, is it because I don’t emit blogger pheromones? I’m guessing a lot of bloggers get this frequently. I’m also guessing this is why a lot of bloggers don’t openly say they are actually bloggers. People just don’t expect you to be a blogger. You yourself don’t feel the need to wear your blogger crown so proudly. There has to be some uniform or code of blogging conduct that I’m not aware of because I just don’t get it. I mean, what is a blogger supposed to look like? Is that even a politically correct statement? Will I ever stop asking so many rhetorical questions? The list goes on…

Despite how much I am against stereotyping people into specific archetypes based on what they do or how they appear (exhale), I do it all the time. I am such a hypocrite, I’m sure you are aware of this by now but hey, someone’s got to not practice what they preach. So, if not me, who else?

I am an epic self-proclaimed judger. Let that sink in. Whether I’ve known you for 2 seconds or 2 years, I am judging you on every little thing you do. I do it unconsciously. I do it anywhere, anytime. You name it, I’m judging. I know, “Only God can judge” but I seriously cannot help it. It is a genetic disorder found on my 22nd chromosome called judgetitis.

If I see that a person likes posting pictures of their God-given assets – also known as thirst traps  –  and they’ve got a lot of followers on social media platforms and they don’t have any meaningful reason to have such a large following, I’m thinking they’re a hoe, straight up. I don’t care if they are male or female (or even both, or even neither), no one is exempt from my watchful, judging gaze. Seconds later, I may come to the conclusion that they’re actually not a hoe but that is my automatic instinct. If I see someone on a train, frantically but delicately rolling out a cigarette, I’m thinking they’re an addict of some sorts. If I see someone with an eccentric fashion sense, nose piercing and considerably intriguing hairstyle, I’m assuming they are some sort of blogger or creative entity. If someone cannot tell the difference between their, there and they’re, I’m assuming there’s a problem. But, you get the idea.

If anyone saw me, I don’t even think I’d make a slight impact on their peripheral vision let alone their instinct to judge or their she must be a blogger impulse. “I don’t look like a blogger, I don’t behave like a blogger.” I’m half expected to have a hoop halfway through my nose, a bush full of natural hair and be constantly decked out in something made by a high street brand in conjunction with a high end fashion designer (no shade to the Alexander Wang x H&M collaboration. I just wouldn’t want to walk around with the word “Wang” emblazoned on my ass, you feel me?)

Well, I’ve come to say f*ck that. F*ck the boundaries and the so-called expectations of what many people in your certain skillset are doing. Come to conclusions on anyone and anything you see, assume as you wish, throw your shadeful judges out of your judging basket like you’re giving out free lollipops but don’t let that initial opinionated thought of yours indicate how you treat others (note to self) or how you perceive anything they do. Don’t care if anyone’s initial perception of you has any true indication of who you really are. Do you, honey boo-boo.

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P.S. The picture doesn’t have anything to do with the post, I just wanted to show off my new glasses. I apologise for the lack of creative integrity. It was the best I could do at the time. I tried taking a pretty decent selfie today but I had so many layers on, headphones, the weather wasn’t attractive so it just didn’t happen. K, bye x

Mini Rant of the Week: I cannot stand people who are rude to customer assistants. No one is entitled to be an asshole just because they are paying for a service. Yes, there can be some employees who seriously deserve a backhand slap but if they are genuinely just doing their job and trying to help you out, why would anyone repay that with utter rudeness? Carry your bad mood and your foul mouth and bang it out against a brick wall or something. That store assistant’s job description doesn’t say “Put up with some grumpy goat’s bad attitude”. They are not paid to cope with your crap. Shout out to all the trainees and floor workers of every McDonald’s, KFC, 99p Store and every other store out there who are faced with abuse on a daily basis. You’re not paid enough. You guys are the real MVPs.

Quote of the Week: “We might not change the world but we’re gonna manipulate it, I hope you’re participating.” – Ab-Soul

Song(s) of the Week: If you follow me on Twitter, I think you would have noticed my incessant tweeting about Broke With Expensive Taste, Azealia Banks’ debut album. It is audio crack cocaine. I have a rather different taste in music, let’s just say, so this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. But try something new. Listen to the previews on iTunes here – https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/broke-with-expensive-taste/id935819478
You can thank me later.

Also, this remix is life-enhancing and I don’t even like remixes. Make sure you either listen to it with good headphones or very loudly, you really need to hear this. You just have to: Bill$ Bill$ Bill$ (ARVFZ Remix)https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71mqTDfeJQg

Georgina x

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events

Fun fact: did you know it takes 6 weeks for a habit to form (my brother told me this so it must be true)? I’m bringing this up because this is the 6th post = 6th week of posting therefore you and I should have developed a habit: me posting every Monday and you coming back every Monday to read! But… come to think of it, I think you have to carry out the almost-habit every day for 6 weeks in order for the habit to form… never mind.

Just to clarify, I don’t write the actual posts on blog day. I write them as the week goes by and somehow, there always seems to be a general theme that crops up in almost every single one of those seven days. This week, the theme was really prominent but I wanted you guys to see how my “emotions” about said theme changed. It’s pretty magical. Here we go:

Tuesday: 6 weeks in and I’m already feeling suicidal. By suicidal, I mean in terms of my university life but in the academic aspect of it all. Not my life life, if you catch my drift. I truly felt like I was going to hurl myself off the nearest cliff today because nothing made sense. Lectures are one thing but actually applying that stuff is another thing. Has a lecturer ever stood over you and asked you to think of the biggest number you could think of and the first thing that came to mind was the number 10? I mean, what? The biggest number isn’t even a number, it’s a word (or a symbol if you’re fancy), it is infinity. I felt so inadequate, so small. The weight of that lecturer’s PhD was literally weighing down my soul, I swear. I felt like £27,000 was being flushed down the metaphorical toilet of wasted opportunities because there was no way I was going to make anything above a pass (which is 40%) and there was no way I was going to get a job with this noose of a degree around my neck and there was no way in hell that I could survive another day on this course. There is something about your lecturer looking you in the eye that completely disarms you. It doesn’t help if the know-it-alls surrounding you are spewing the answers out like they are simply expelling carbon dioxide from their lungs. I am just in above my head. And since we’re on the topic of life, in a way, I want to talk about the personal bit of life too. I wish I had a little more freedom. Now, I don’t want to be that girl going out every other night, shouting “squad” on Snapchat with a bunch of people I barely even know, waking up with a hangover from hell next to someone I don’t even know. No. But damn, can I live a little? I want to live alone, I want to be independent and all that jazz. But, in all honesty, I like knowing that when I come home from a crippling day at the office (haha), my mum has made dinner, I don’t have any flatmates who will piss me off even more than I already am and I’ll be surrounded by people who actually care about how my day went and who won’t ostracise me if I don’t want to partake in any of their gang-banging activities for the evening. It’s a big catch-22 (I don’t think that is the right contextual use of the phrase but I’ve been dying to use it so just act like it makes perfect sense).

Wednesday-Thursday: laying low, sleeping late, waking up early, as you do.

Friday Afternoon: So, I think I’ve found the answer to all my questions. The answer lies in Pharmacology. It is basically my course but a whole less chemistry and maths with a lot more biology. Where has this course been all my life? I am actually stoked about this, I feel like this will help me out and make my life a lot easier. Nothing is actually straightforward, so it seems. Everything is changing.

Friday Night: I ran the idea by my parents. Rather enthusiastically, they told me to really really really think about sticking with the course I am studying now. My dad gave me a nugget of wisdom that I will carry in my mind forever: “nothing in life is easy. If anything is actually easy, there’s a problem.” And boy, does that make me reconsider my whole existence. I want to have a bright future and I want to succeed and I just realised that I don’t want to be a cop-out. I don’t want to be a giver-upper. I need to realise that the tools for me to overcome the obstacles I face are within me. The only thing I need to do is continue to thank God for putting all these people in my life who keep tapping me on my shoulder saying “yoo-hoo, you’re going this way, girlfriend.”

And that, my friends, is how my problem was solved. Told you it was cool.

Mini Rant of the Week: I’ve been an iPhone user and Apple worshipper for like, ever, but I finally jumped off that train and got myself a Samsung. The phone is pretty amazing but it’s so big and because it’s so big, I’m losing my grammatical accuracy. I’m one of those annoying people who text with full words (with the occasional use of WTF, WTH, LOL, LMAO, TTYL and LMFAO) and proper punctuation including actual full stops at the end of each sentence. People know me for this. I was texting an old friend on the day I got my phone and they actually said “The only Georgina I know remembers to put full stops at the end of every sentence so this can’t be her.” It’s practically my trademark. So it makes my blood boil knowing that I physically cannot get my fingers to press that full stop button without feeling like I’m going to fracture a ligament in my thumb or something. Stress.

Song of the Week: I couldn’t bring myself to choose one song for this week because I’ve (re)discovered some good music in the oddest places (thanks, Shazam) so here’s a List of Mismatched Songs for the Week:

Lividup – Disclosure (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRYQ9lecKi8)

All I Need – Mediate (https://soundcloud.com/mediatemusic/all-i-need-1)

Resonance Feat. Talay Riley – Luvbug (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEfYMcmIils)

U KNOW – Prince (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GeHDFWKWjAE)

Ordinary People – John Legend (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIh07c_P4hc)

This Head I Hold – Electric Guest (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nVSiwMVaKe4)

Quote of the Week: My dad’s nugget of wisdom (see main post)

Georgina x