I can be really sentimental and nostalgic with certain things and, despite believing that time is a social construct and that it doesn’t really mean anything, I especially feel it at the end of the year. When it hits midnight on New Year’s Eve, I feel this big drop in my stomach. I think it’s because I feel like I’ve lost something, or there’s something out there that I won’t get back. When the New Year gets into swing I tend to hate January. I feel like I’m already behind with things and the thought of a blank page terrifies me. Which again, I know is silly because it doesn’t…
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Feminists Don’t Wear Pink and Other Lies and my own feminist lie
If I’m to be honest, I haven’t been keeping up with my goal of reading more. I have read the occasional book, but so far I’m yet to be in a constant cycle of picking up a new read as soon as I’ve finished with one. In an attempt to start this routine, it’s about time that I tell everyone about one of the only books I have truly loved in the past year. This blog is long overdue. After dropping dozens of hints to my boyfriend, I received Feminists Don’t Wear Pink (and other lies): Amazing women on what the F-word means to them for my birthday last year.…
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Learning to love [books] again
There are people out there who are 100% the definition of a book worm. They read 8 books a month, know the names of all the authors in WHSmith’s top 10 and have a library-like book shelf at home. I on the other hand, never have been and I don’t think I ever will be a fully committed book worm, no matter how hard I try. However, I did love reading as a teenager. I would read classics on my commute to internships (it’s where I fell in love with Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles), I wrote my A-Level essay assignment on The Catcher In The Rye (I thought…
