Why Blogging Is A Waste Of Time

There was a time when I blogged every week. Every single week. I look back at that now and lol too hard because recently I’ve taken a spontaneous month break and before that I was posting anywhere between 0 and 3 times a week. Essentially, I’ve become the unorganised blogger which I vowed I would never be. But then I realised that having a break was actually really nice, because sometimes- for me anyway- blogging is a waste of time. Here’s why:

I have to spend ages online: Whether it’s scheduling tweets to promote myself or hyping up posts about palettes I don’t really care about with heart eye emojis or even just gramming photos for the sake of staying relevant in the algorithm, everything involves the internet. When I’m blogging, I turn my laptop off at the end of the night and my eyes burn because I’ve spent so long staring at a screen. During my blogging breaks life is the opposite- I’m outside working on my tan lines or seeing friends that I’ve neglected, I don’t have to worry about spending an hour in a twitter chat because instead I’m having an actual conversation with the barman in Wetherspoons who’s trying to tell me that they’ve run out of Sourz cherry and so can’t make me yet another pitcher of Purple Rain. Don’t get me wrong, I love connecting with people online but spending hours of my day trying to grow my brand only to find out they haven’t clicked on my links in return makes it a huge Zeitverschwendung. (Yes that’s German for waste of time and yes I’m trying to make use of my German A-level before I forget it all, just roll with it.) 

Do We Choose Insecurity?

I’m of the (slightly controversial) opinion that people choose to be insecure. Obviously there will be exceptions like if you’re bullied you have insecurity projected onto you or if you have severe body dysmorphia you can’t help but see your body as fundamentally different to what it really looks like, but as a rule of thumb, insecurity is a choice.

In some senses, it isn’t a conscious choice. After all no one would choose to feel shit about themselves, but it other ways, it is a conscious decision as people choose to do nothing about it. They stay insecure and they stay complaining about being insecure and yet they do nothing to make themselves more confident. For a long time, I fell into this category too.

 

When I was younger I hated how I looked and the people I went to school with seemed to agree (why are kids so mean? Anyone?) so I would skip meals to get thinner- spoiler alert this technique doesn’t have the desired effect and only makes your stomach rumble reallllly loudly so it sounds like a miniature thunderstorm mid-maths test- and research different plastic surgeries to save for. I was miserable.

 

And then one day, after watching the Katy Perry movie (I’m convinced all the best mental breakdowns happen during the credits of this film) I cried to my mum about how sad it was making me, and after much emotional support she said: there’s nothing wrong with you, and even if there was, why would it matter?

Period Perks

I feel like everyone hates periods. And this makes me really sad because, although they’re messy, painful, inconvenient, expensive, and considered taboo pretty much everywhere, I’m a big fan. Often it seems people overlook the joys of menstruating, so here’s a cheeky reminder of the period perks.

Period Boobs: Are the bomb. For 25 days of the month I’m looking in the mirror wondering how there are falafels bigger than my boobs and then bam my period hits and I have five days of feeling like Emily Ratajkowski in the Blurred Lines music video. Obviously the transformation isn’t that huge, but to me it feels like the Kylie Jenner boob job drama all over again. Who needs surgery when you can just menstruate instead?

Having An Excuse Not To Do Anything: Fuck all those articles that are like studies show that women who exercise for 62 hours a day whilst menstruating reduce their PMS symptoms by 3% (we all know that sociologists are probably just meninists in disguise anyway) because periods are the perfect excuse to sit on the sofa eating Ben and Jerry’s and catching up on the box set that you’ve managed to become two seasons behind on- cough cough Game of Thrones. Plus it means that every time you’re asked to contribute to housework or homework you can just clutch your stomach and maybe dramatically let a menstrual cup fall out your pocket and soon people will get the hint that you’re out of action for the next few days. Or weeks, depending on how long you milk it. 

A Girl’s Guide to Giving Blood

A few weeks ago I donated blood for the first time. In April I turned 17, the age you can start donating, and thought ‘why not go save some lives for the bant’ so I signed up. After donating (and plastering it all over social media just to prove that I’m a better human being than you) I had lots of people asking me questions about the process so I thought I’d answer them all in a post.

(Note: Obviously, this post isn’t exclusive to girls, so a huge winky emoji to any lads out there, I just enjoy the alliteration too much to be all-inclusive rn) (Another note: I will probs sound super preachy and tell you to give blood multiple times throughout this piece, obvs if you physically cannot give blood then don’t be like FML JESS I CAN’T OKAY because I get it, I’m just pulling my Debbie Downer face on everyone who can but hasn’t lol)

Does it hurt?

Forget Kylie’s lip kits because this answer seems to be the new thing everyone wants to get their hands on. It’s pretty much the default question that I’ve found after donating (except my dad who asked ‘did you get your free biscuit?’ but more on that later ffs Dad stop indirectly spoiling it). While it doesn’t feel like the ‘sharp scratch’ that they promise- although tbh nurses always describe injections like that and I’ve never understood why because a sharp scratch is what happens when I stroke the neighbour’s cat not when I’ve got a needle in my arm- it doesn’t hurt either. You might make an ‘ooh’ noise as it goes in (cheeky) but once it’s in I couldn’t stop laughing because it tickled so much. The most painful bit is probably taking the plaster off two days later… arm wax anyone?

How long does the blood-taking take?

Panic Monster Abroad (part 2)

Teamales, I made it. This time last week I was in New York City, despite what felt like hundreds of nights made sleepness by my level of worrying, I went, I conquered and I blady loved it. In the part one of this post I discussed all my travelling fears (you can find that bad boy here– although if you work for border control and/or are an angsty flyer, I would recommend giving it a miss) so now I’m going to return to that piece, re-evaluate whether those things were worth worrying about and what thoughts I actually should’ve been prioritising.

But firstly, the winner of my Blogiversary Giveaway is……… the darling Victoria from Viicreative (it’s in the post as we speak)

Thank you to everyone who entered, tweeted about it, sent links to friends and were just generally lovely- hopefully things will be even bigger if I can make it to year 2!