Reflections on 2014

To my dearest darling reader,

 So another year draws to a close and we begin the old drill of looking back on the memories of this trip around the sun.

A selection of my favourite disposables from this year

 Rereading last year's equivalent post I find myself confronted with the fact that despite so much happening and changing in 2014, my feelings about how the year has gone has changed little from how I felt 2013 went. 2014 has been wonderful, but mainly because 17 has been wonderful (although, yes, it does bring a second puberty).

This year marks my last year where legally I am not an adult, and the future seems beautiful fluid and uncertain. But next year I shall (hopefully) get a place at University and leave school and do all those other things that I will do but as of yet I do not know what they are, which will all contribute to the overall direction of my life. And that's ok.

2014 was the year that I:

• Reacquired a fringe
• Applied to University
• Fell in love with German literature (after I had applied to University rather annoyingly)
• Did most of the (limited number of) teenagery stuff that has happened to me
• Gained some truly wonderful friends
• Came out as bisexual/Was attracted to a girl for the first time, despite knowing I could be since year 5/Had a breakthrough when I found out about grey-sexuality
• Co-founded a Feminist Society in a boys' school
• Didn't post enough on here 
• Was told my flower crowns were 'well random' by Carol Ann Duffy

As of yet I don't have any resolutions (but I did do generally well with last year's ones) however if any pop up over the next day or so I shall let you all know

Have a wonderful year sweetpeas!

Gwendolen

"I'm not eccentric, I'm just more alive than most people"

Hey Readers!

 I wish I had something interesting to say but I really don't.

 My time as usual has been stocked full of stuff and as ever I am amazed that I manage to do everything and potentially even do it to reasonable quality. I had the chance to speak in Canterbury Cathedral last week in my school's Christmas Carol Concert which was pretty rad. Even though religion is not really my bag.

 I've had a dip in self-perception over the last few weeks but I've realised that after 17 years there is no point in allowing myself to wallow in it as it will suddenly go and be of no consequence. Oddly, I am ready (dare I say excited) to turn 18 in two weeks and a day, despite the fact I'm teetotal. But hey, being autonomous in the eyes of law is pretty rad state to be in.

I'm doing a poetry competition in mid-January. My friend signed me up for it and I am torn between really pissed off with him because I don't have the time to commit to it, and loving the chance to perform a feminist call to arms*, Sylvia Plath, and this rather gorgeous poem by Edith Sitwell (who is responsible for the title of this blog post):

The Dancers

The floors are slippery with blood:

The world gyrates too. God is good

That while His wind blows out the light

For those who hourly die for us –

We still can dance, each night.

The music has grown numb with death –

But we will suck their dying breath,

The whispered name they breathed to chance,

To swell our music, make it loud

That we may dance, – may dance.

We are the dull blind carrion-fly

That dance and batten. Though God die

Mad from the horror of the light –

The light is mad, too, flecked with blood, –

We dance, we dance, each night.

Gwendolen

*ish. The ending confuses me slightly but I think essentially fits with what I think. But it was written in the late 1700s, so perhaps the differing context would explain why I don't feel totally comfortable with the point of  view of the writer.

September/October/November Disposables