Today...

Today I bought marshmallows.
To put in my hot chocolates.
Maybe the wisest $2.50 I've ever spent.

Hmmm...

I'm not even entirely sure how to interpret this one!
Rebeca?
I think it might be a case of the old, 'oh I'm too lazy to really properly finish off that c and a that aren't even necessary on this particular coffee cup because clearly she's a Rebekah and not a Rebecca, but I'll kind of only half do the last two (wrong) letters anyway'.
Her exact thought process, perhaps?
:)

The whole point..

So getting the infamous coffee cups is proving to be a little more difficult than anticipated.

Turns out only one little coffee shop does it on campus.

But! I did go to 'our nations capital' for my darling friends birthday this weekend, and caught up with Miss Esther. We coffeed. And muffined. And made a downright mess of the table we were sitting on. We came up with plans to annoy the staff of the book store we were in, and we laughed harder. We talked and caught up and it was amazing. I miss my friends every day.

But that's not the point.

The whole point of this is showing you my name, by others, on coffee cups.

This isn't a coffee cup- its a computer screen affirming that people just have no idea.

I said Rebekah,

He says...

I despise being called Becca.
Unless its from Mum.
And even then, it's got to be Bekkah.

Just sayin'

This hasn't much to do with the whole name inventory thing, but it's still a bit prevalent to the hot beverage bit.

I've got a stuffy nose.
Thus, I am a snuffaluffagus.
Which I don't mind.
The mucous block off my nasal cavity and I find the change in my voice fascinating.

But tonight, the psychology essay sitting in front of me on velocardiofacial syndrome and a mix of yuckies in my head has made my head feel a bit heavy.

But I made a mug of hot chocolate in my simplest and second favouritest mug ever (my first favouritest was given to me by my Mummy a long old time ago, and had sketches of Winnie-The-Pooh and Christopher Robin going up stairs on side, and down on the other. I was 17 when I was swinging it a little too carelessly in my joy of going home when Mummy and family had picked me up from boarding school after term a few years ago, and I bawled like nothing else. My second favouritest (the one I've got now) was also gien to me by Mummy Darling. It's just got dashed lines in some mundane colours. But Mum gave it to me for uni, and I love it. It makes me think of a pattern boring old men who have boundless knowledge might have on their mugs, or on their ties, and when I drink from it it's almost like I'm a bit smarter. Ridiculous, I know).

I think hot chocolate on wintery nights must have magical properties.
I've had my nose in a tub of Vicks VapoRub since I got back from my lecture this afternoon.
That, my hot chocolate in my second favouritest mug and a bit of Megan Washington playing in the background has given me a whole psychology introduction. :)

Now for the hard part...

... which I think calls for a refill.

Let's start this one from the beginning...

I have a peculiar name.

It's a nice name; sure.

I love it.

It's different and special to me and I love the way it looks.

Rebekah.

I think it is a nicer name than it's more popular counterpart.

Rebecca.

Once, I got drunk.

I started saying my name was

"Like a cool breeze, on a summers day... Rebek-aahhhh."

This was largely in response to another girl we were living with who I didn't like.

Her name was Rebec-urgh.

You see, my name clearly wins.

Although, the peculiar thing is, that most everywhere I go, there are Rebecca's.

In year 7 there were three of us (Rebecca H, Rebecca B and Yours Truly). It was a small year, in a small school. All 3 of us were in the same homeroom.

This was incredibly confusing.

Eventually the other Rebecca's dropped out and I was the last one standing.

People still felt the need, however, to affix my surname when calling on me or to me.

And so it has been for most of my life.

Some times I'll get Bek 'K' because of my spelling, despite my last inital being 'J'.

All round it is a beautiful, unusual, unseen, unheard of, completely uncommon Rebekah.

And I notice this. Mostly on takeaway coffee cups.

"And can I get a name for that one?"

"Rebekah. :)" (Yes I smile- it changes peoples days, you know)

Time passes, my coffee of choice (normally a latte, but if its cold it's a hot chocolate) gets made...

"Order for Rebecca."

Yes, Rebecca.

Never Rebekah.

Okay, that's not true.

Once I had a girl spell it Rebekah.

It was one of the greatest moments of my life.

I was going to rinse the cardboard cup out and keep it until it got mouldy and small creatures started living in it, but my scatterbrain forgot the revelation that was sitting in front of me, and it casually went into the bin with the brown paper bag from my apple and cinnamon slice of bread.

And so, it brings us here.

I've decided to document how my name gets spelt by everyone and anyone else.

Primarily coffee cups, but it happens elsewhere.

I can be standing in front of a person spelling out my name and it will come back Rebeckah Rebekkah, Rebeccah, or any other variation that still does not truly represent me.

And because I don't have anyone where I'm living to share this with, and I share too much on facebook already and I think people have started hiding my posts from their news feed because I just pop up So Darn Much I'm sharing it with you, bloggers, and indeed any poor body who has nothing else to do with their time and feels like reading a small portion of my life which you know, might be silly, it might not make a change to anyone's day- but it's me.

It's my name.

In a weird way, it defines me.

It's my name, by others, on takeaway coffee cups.

x