→I had my driving test last Thursday. My first driving test, I should say. I did not pass. It was a horrible experience. I was so nervous that I couldn’t react properly. I could mostly drive- I made very few minor mistakes- but nerves made it hard to think and made me panicky and quick to overreact. So I made too many big mistakes to do with awareness and planning. Truthfully, I failed right at the beginning. I swung out the parking space, right on collision course for another car. It only went down hill from there. I could feel myself failing, and on top of that I knew I had messed up right at the beginning and had few chances left to improve. Afterwards I just wanted to cry. I can drive! I could easily drive myself to work and back, which is one of the few reasons I am learning, I could drive to the hospital if need be, which is the other. But I cannot drive under test conditions. Where to go from here? I know I need to carry on, try again, get an instructor in my new city and try it here, but I feel helpless. My main problem is anxiety and that isn’t something an instructor can fix. I have been learning to drive for a long time, but I am as skittish as a new driver. It is quite frankly embarassing. And frustrating. I always try to think that if I work hard enough, nothing will stand in my way. Sometimes I think I only got through university through sheer force of will, from stubborn determination. That was certainly how I got into university, that’s for sure. But here is something where hard work means nothing. Where it is quite simply down to luck and managing your emotions. I am not very good at the latter, and I don’t seem to have a lot of the former when it comes to this.
→ I moved to my new city on Friday. My father hired a van to take me. One big van fully loaded, one long journey, a lot of exhausting heavy lifting (up two flights of stairs!) to empty said van, and then I was begging my father not to leave. Even though I have been itching to get out from living with my parents, I was still conscious of being left to fend for myself, all alone in a big new city. Moving also made the fact I am going to have go start work soon feel more imminent and more real. I phoned my mother up, seeking comfort. But there is no sugar coating it. I have to grow up now. I have got be independent, look after myself (and my finances), live the 9-5 life to earn a living just like everyone else. “Aren’t you excited to have a nice new flat?” My father asked. I thought about it a moment. “Yes, but I am also aware of the cost of it,” I replied, and added “that I am going to have to earn it now. And try not to get fired to keep it.” My father smiled, indulgent. “That’s what everyone else has to do.” Yes but, it’s overwhelming how much is changing right now- new city, new job, driving, and all the people around me too. I know what I need to do but….
→ I am definitely playing the “if I just pretend it isn’t happening, then it isn’t” , the “if I just will it enough, if I just wish hard enough for time to stop, then it will” game right now. When we brought our cat inside our house for the first time she immediately darted under the kitchen cupboards, where she mostly stayed for about two weeks. I want to burrow myself somewhere where I cannot be reached, somewhere where the whole world disappears. I am terrified.
→ I am somewhat embarrassed to say I’ve not done a lot since moving in, and there are still boxes and bubble wrap and stuff everywhere. It’s a mess. It feels weird, and uncomfortable. I keep meaning to go to one room, and ending up in another. I keep having to scratch through boxes to find things, have to substitute if I fail to do so. I am living off ready meals and tinned food, my kitchen usable, but too unfamiliar. I find myself with a full sized kitchen, but missing my old tiny kitchen, the setup of it, how I knew where everything was and could move around my kitchen with ease. I’m not ready to cook in an environment so unfamiliar. Its a similar story in other rooms to be honest. I am taking each task, every familiar everyday thing now rendered strange and different, and taking them one at time, trying to ease into it. Trying to settle in slowly, so it becomes less scary and overwhelming. Tomorrow, maybe I will be ready to face my kitchen tomorrow. I have already just about conquered my bedroom, my bathroom and my study. Just the kitchen and living room to go, so I’ll have to face one or both sooner or later.
→ Yes, I have all this space. I have: a landing, a kitchen, a study and spare bedroom, a bedroom, a lounge and dining room combo. To be honest, with all my stuff the individual rooms don’t feel that big, but there sure are a lot of rooms. It’s quite amazing. I walked out my study earlier and realised how little space I took up this evening, how much black, empty space was around me. It’s amazing that it’s mine.
My sister bought her boyfriend a curry subscription from 
The Mustard did not turn out well. It was gloopy and bland. This may have been a fault on my part, I’m not sure. The rest of the meal was great though. It was fun assembling the hot dogs, and nothing was too spicy. My father vastly enjoyed the combination of the Chilli, sweet corn relish and hot dog, although he found the Potato Salad bland. My mother had just a hot dog with Chilli and relish and liked it, but loved the Potato Salad. I liked the hot dogs but also found the Potato Salad bland. There was food for Africa, and it was a little overwhelming. My father was a little surprised when I told him to leave room for dessert. “Dessert as well?!” was his general reaction. 
His tune changed once I revealed the Cobbler. The dough had gone golden brown and the blueberries had turned the fruit layer a rich purple. My father remarked that it smelt like spiced wine. We dug in and it was really good. My mix up with the spices hadn’t affected it, neither had the substitutions I made. It was delicious. 
I was cleaning my room at my parents’ house when I stumbled upon two old photo albums, and even more interesting, two old disposable cameras which had not had their contents developed. I flicked through the photo albums and it was amusing, seeing my clunky captions in my big, shaky childs hand writing, seeing photos from when we went on safari for the first time, when digital cameras and zooms were not common, were expensive, so all we’ve got is these terrible pictures from a disposable. (My father actually had a better film camera, but he never carried it around so disposables it was.) “Spot the giraffes” the one picture says. You have to bring the photo close, squint, and there in the distance you can just about make out the shapes of two giraffes. It makes you realise how weird it is that people obsess over vintage filters when really it’s amazing and we are very lucky to have moved to an age where we can get crisp, clear photos for nothing at all, with a decent zoom also being affordable. Still, it was interesting seeing those old pictures. The other album was slightly more recent – 2004 – and by this point we had an OK digital camera. My current phone camera is about triple the resolution of this at the time very expensive, very basic digital, but still, at the time it was great, and the photos are certainly an improvement from the disposables. The album wasn’t finished, so I trawled through our old photos on the computer, picked out the ones I wanted and printed them off to finish it off. Creating an album from about 2004 to 2011, when I started university. It’s fun to have photos in a “real” format, something tangible to hold on to for the future.