My rent has gone up and I can no longer live in my current apartment. My flatmate has decided to move to a suburb I'd rather avoid (I've heard those stories of syringes in cinema seats) so I'm on my own. I would love to live alone, I've been fantasizing about it for quite a while now, but I just can't afford it. I know I sound like a brat, but I'm not used to knowing what I want and simply not being able to have it. But, I suppose I've never wanted anything quite so expensive before.
As well as having to find a new abode I'm also starting a new course at uni: Secondary Teaching. That's right folks, here's a huge shocking twist - the girl who studied history at university is going to become a history teacher. I'm actually really happy about my decision to get a proper teaching qualification, although we'll see how I feel three weeks into the course when I start doing pracs and remember what little shitfaces teenagers can be.
My 25th Birthday is coming up. The older I get the more I am convinced that age is just a number. Writing that I am 25....25....25....it just doesn't seem correct. It doesn't look real. Gosh, I even struggle with being 24. It's not that I feel old, I don't, it's that I've grown up with notions of what it means to be 18, 21, 25, 30...etc. and as I reach (and pass) these ages I'm realising that although I become wiser, age doesn't dictate when you should have achieved something or when you should act a particular way. You change as you get older but age is not an accurate marker of when significant life events should occur. Yeah, I'm aware that probably doesn't make much sense, that's because I'm not planning on becoming coherent until I'm thirty. Suck it, bitches.
Well, that's just a bit of an update. Time to go shopping in the 35 degree heat. Leaving you with a couple of photos of my dream homes.
Photos: The Selby
