Pencil in your thoughts

Things I am learning

2012-01-07T22:32:00.000Z

The other day I had a pretty drastic medical emergency. Well, I thought it was drastic. The reality is that I won’t be sitting you down and telling you in hushed tones that, “I’m not feeling very well lately.” and “I’m going to have to go away for a little while.” Anyway, I noticed something wasn’t very right when I woke up to go to the toilet at 7:30am* and I made a couple of panicked phone calls. I was told it wasn’t enough of an emergency to go in very quickly, so I calmed myself down by having a bath. That stopped me from crying uncontrollably, because I have this irritating female instinct of falling to pieces whenever something a little pressuring or upsetting happens. This worked out well because I was phoned back up and asked to go in, just to check it wasn’t drastically urgent and that I wouldn’t have to start practising my hushed tones at any point.

I got dressed and went to town, which also meant that I was unfortunately hopping into the surgery because I had to give up a limb in order to be able to afford what they mockingly call public transport. I opted for my left leg, just below the knee. It was a neat cut. So I hop in, wave hello to my aunty, who was one of the people that I made panicked calls to and who was probably surprised to see my cheery demeanour, what with my medical emergency and missing leg and all, and hop up the stairs. The reason I was so cheery is because I’ve decided to be happy lately, as a new year’s resolution. That’s it: Be Happy. Although there are always going to be days where it is rainy and your bus is late and you didn’t sleep well and your hair didn’t go right and so you feel you’ve earned the right to scowl at everyone who looks vaguely cheery, a lot of happiness is choice. So I have decided to Be Happy and although I had a medical emergency which meant I had to lose my left, lower leg in order to fix what was originally wrong and it was rainy, I was still Happy because it was being seen to and this all happened while I was home from university, so I had support from my family and it was Okay.

I got seen to and given antibiotics, which were the seriously hardcore ones you couldn’t drink with and my medical emergency has slowly, slowly slid down the scale. I would say it’s now amber, bordering on green. I finished my course yesterday and today I have felt like I have been living underwater, which is not a pleasant sensation. Nor, I decided, was it urgent so I have dealt with it by lying in bed and practising Being Happy while ill and it’s fortunately gone away. Dad said it might have been a reaction to finishing the antibiotics, which I sure hope so, because I couldn’t face crawling into the surgery after another bus ride, (I opted to hop home in the rain rather than pay for a return and I did so with great cheer. This Happiness is a great thing!) and be given more medicines.

Lesson I have learned from this: My medical emergency was one that was, in part, caused by being run-down and stressed, because your body misplaces your immune system in those times. (Has anyone seen my keys?) If I had to describe my feelings towards last semester, ‘run-down’ and ‘stressed’ would definitely be high up on the list, and ‘my fantastically healthy diet’ would not be seen anywhere. So it’s a simple lesson, but I have realised that my health is important. So being silly and frivolous and unemployed will help with part of that because I won’t be rushing everywhere, and becoming a super-fit muscle man (another resolution. well, not quite.) is another. So I should be Okay from now on, un-stressed, healthy and happy.

It’s amazing how much it takes for that realisation to sink in.

In unrelated news, I read somewhere that someone placed ‘amazing’ in their top ten list of words to eradicate from the English Language. My vocabulary would be dramatically injured as a result. I should probably find some new words.

*Editing is a wonderful thing. I re-read this part and realised I make it sound like my medical emergency is part of my going to the toilet! It is, in fact, NOT. It is something that was dealt with while I was fully clothed, with no alterations of any clothing whatsoever. I’m just being mysterious because I’m quite proud about my health. The going-to-the-toilet was the reason I was awake at 7:30am, although that got waylaid somewhat.

Materialism

2011-12-23T10:53:00.000Z

Yesterday, I bought this bag in a charity shop:

I just stumbled across it while last-minute present shopping and, at £4, even my student budget could stretch to this wonderful purchase. Inside my bag is a red notebook, and a dark blue purse, both patterned:

The red notebook is full of Potential. I also love how pretty all of these things are (pretty notebooks are my achilles heel), and I can’t wait to showcase this bag today.

Some would say that makes me material. I guess I would agree.

But then, I am currently wearing a black polka dot 50’s style dress that you can see me modelling here, aged 15 and talking about here. I was so eager to buy that dress, and so excited when I found it again, on sale.

There’s a picture of me modelling it in my bedroom, because I bought it, never even considering I could wear it in public. I didn’t have the confidence to think I could pull it off.

Now: Here I am. Dressed for public consumption, entirely happy with the way that I look, wearing a polka-dot dress I had once never dreamed would see public eyes. Confidence is one major difference between 15 year old me, and 20 year old me.

So this is where materialism become symbolism. Where a dress stands for much more than a stretch of fabric and buttons.

And where a bag that makes me happy is for something a little less superficial than it originally seems.

The year when a lot happened

2011-12-19T16:06:00.000Z

My internal organs are all black. My intestines have knotted themselves up, my, my liver has slid all the way next to my lungs. They’ve moved themselves around in a puzzle gone wrong, and I can only hope it rights itself while I sleep.

Nothing will come of nothing.

I need to be more patient with people. More patent. Shiny leather, copyright. Be kinder, like children. Wordplay across nations.

“Sometimes I take things too seriously.”

Hereon in, I write. (Wrote I.)

When I was 17…

2011-12-19T01:00:00.000Z

It occurred to Rosy, sipping drink number five, that she was standing on a precipice. Not literally, she giggled, checking to make sure her painted toes were most definitely planted against the threadbare carpet. Nor, she determined, was it a reference to the teetering heels that lay abandoned beside her bare feet. No, compulsory education - which Rosy had finished with long ago – had finally finished with her. Twelve long years of regurgitating facts, black leather shoes and high prison walls, and she had completed every level. Game over. Thank God. High school was done with and she was shedding infancy, flushing it out with every drink.

The beat and alcohol mingled in her system, infecting her soul with rhythm. Over in the distance - just where the world turned soft focus - her friends beckoned, moving her attention to a pack of males in the corner but Rosy just nodded. She was in no hurry to get up at all. Her entire life stretched out far in front of her, brimming with possibilities and she had all the time in the world at her feet. After exchanging her final exam paper with the key for her shackles earlier, the freedom was dizzying. Her uniform had lain in a pathetic puddle of her bedroom floor, grabbing at her heels for one last chance but Rosy – Queen of her own fate now - kicked it away, sentencing it to a lifetime in the attic. It seemed like just yesterday that she had donned it for the first time, unaware of the contractual slavery she had been assigned under. Well look at her now, Rosy grinned, imagining how grown up she must look compared to even a day ago and began searching for her shoes. Her friends had grown insistent, and the dance floor looked so inviting. If they asked her to fly, she might. She could do anything, now, if she tried.

In the beginning, the room they had entered had seemed a little frayed around the edges. Having navigated their way round the bouncers, walking as if the world owed them everything, it was a little more than a disappointment to be greeted with little more than a glorified pub. Even the patrons seemed a little faded. One old man, perhaps witness to the fall in their faces, let out a hearty laugh. What they were to expect from an establishment that would allow these fresh faced, doe eye girls past the door was a wonder. One could almost see their expectations – plush lounge, leather seats, glamorous adults – evaporate, their oasis of cool a mirage.

Rosy, now fumbling for her shoes, – she swore they kept moving – didn't know why she'd cared earlier. The room had taken on a softer shade now, smiling as she leaned down. She was happy and what did the décor matter? In her mind's eye, the cracked leather had transformed to a smooth neon blue, the cheap laminate of the dance floor were tiles of marble, flecked with the essence of life and the bare bristled carpet was luxurious and soft to the touch. And she was beautiful and graceful and... so adult. She wouldn't think so flicking through the pictures her friends were slyly taking later, which did not gloss over the bra strap that had slipped from her shoulder, or the effect gravity was having on her hair, as she blindly reached for her heels. The floor lurched, she reached a hand out, steadied herself. A bottle bounced, somewhere. It echoed a distance outside of Rosy's bubble of sound. Her head moved sharply, looking at the other tables for its location. It was with glee, and only when she reached down again, that she realised the bottle came from her table. She looked at her hand with amazement, grinning, before swooping it down once more. Heels finally on, she extended her legs to admire them, almost hitting Jen.

Jen sat down with a plop, giggling a little at the bounce of the fabric; “You're drunk.” Rosy's head shook, once, twice, and a third time just to feel her hair hit her cheek once more. Jen grinned knowingly and Rosy laughed. In the past, she'd laughed at her friends while they drunk themselves stupid. How naïve she'd been. How fun this was. How adult she was. How, how, how... how had her bladder filled up so quickly once more?

The world moved as she stood up. It wasn't long after before she was sitting again, legs outstretched, head thrown back in laughter. All five bottles had stored as potential energy, defying gravity and hitting her hard as she left the seat. Jen patted Rosy's leg, wise with past experience. It seemed she was about to beat Rosy's attempt before gravity took hold and both girls were consumed with giggles. For a flash, they were twelve, passing notes at the back of a classroom. Controlling herself, Rosy stood again and, defeating the evils of gravitational pull, did a little dance:

“I need a wee.” She danced once more, something reminiscent of childhood. Had the old man from before seen this, he'd have roared with inexplicable joy. Maybe he had; the music had gradually sneaked upon them, until they found themselves shouting and their heads thumped. Or maybe, maybe, maybe, Rosy sung to herself, stumbling against Jen, it was his bedtime and the old man had gone to bed and bumped his head. She repeated that bit to Jen, whose face had crumpled into a question mark at Rosy's mumblings, and whose laughter gave the impression that Rosy was Wit Himself, gracing their evening.

The bathroom was bright and quiet. Still, the music had padded their ears thickly and it was standard etiquette to shout over stalls as if they were brick. Alone in the private room of the toilet, Rosy allowed the ebb and flow of this world take her, lolling her head side to side and grinning silently. Laughing aloud would give the game away. Once she'd finished, her face assumed that serious look of a child simulating hard work, summoning as much sobriety as possible and assuring no embarrassing moments once the stall opened, a magician's box, revealing Rosy once more with no change. Magic.

She didn't know what she expected, but her face in the mirror was hers. Beyond the mask of make up, inebriation and her new found freedom, Rosy's blue eyes looked out, as young and vulnerable as before. There was still a small zit nestled by her earlobe that had cultivated itself into fruition a few days before – French Listening Day. Le Jour du Stress. How long ago that seemed. Her left front tooth still overlapped her right slightly, giving her whole mouth a crooked feel. There was a change... perhaps, though, it was internal, a shift in her organs or a new rhythm to her heart. Rosy couldn't put her finger on it but she'd escaped high school that day... and that can't have left her as untouched as she looked. Shaking off her musings, Jen and her clasped hands and made their way to the dancefloor.

When they were fresh to the school and childhood still held onto the roundness of their faces, Rosy and Jen shuffled into the sports hall with the rest of their PE class to be greeted with a dance troupe. Their costumes glinted cheaply in the unnatural brightness of the room as they danced, and Rosy and Jen had giggled at the unnatural orange tints in their skin, unaware of the similarities in make up choice they would later rely on especially - most pertinently - on the evening of their last GCSE. Rosy still had spots in her vision when the two groups dispersed, singular dancers merging with pairs of giggling school girls. The steps they prescribed were, apparently, simple. The basics of dancing. Rosy hated lying and liars and she shortly decided she hated these dancers the most out of the millions of people she'd encountered in her 12 long years. By the end of the session, the barbie doll that had taken her and Jen had smiled condescendingly and said, “It could be worse... you could have no left feet.” leaving Rosy's confidence bruised for the rest of her incarceration.

Five years on, and completely inebriated, Rosy couldn't work out what the dancer meant at all. If she could call herself a dancer, compared to the expertise the alcohol had fuelled within Rosy. Her and Jen danced again in perfect synchronisation, with steps choreographed from the heart. Pictures later would show far too much of her underwear and plenty of unappealing poses... But Rosy was in a place beyond reality and continued, oblivious. A couple in the pack in the corner caught her eye and Rosy felt... sexy. She bit her lip at them, the way that they did in the movies and one of them made his way towards her. The alpha male. Jen grabbed her wrist but Rosy shook it off.

The thing with Jen – the trouble, and the wonder – is that she was beautiful. Beauty rainbowed out in arcs from her, brightening the world around. Puberty had defined her features at a young age, attracting attention from everybody, particularly from the opposite sex. However, there was nothing particularly striking about her. She didn't have bright eyes or flawless skin. The beauty about Jen – one thing you'd notice if you watched her walk or dance – is that she wasn't a slave to her limbs. She did not show her lowest thoughts in the way she held herself, like most are prone to do. Her soul was a core of pure confidence, radiating out and pulling in admirers of all sorts. A girl like Rosy could only have been friends with a girl like Jen through a shared history. Shared toys, shared schools... but not tonight. This boy wanted Rosy, the forgotten child. The friend left behind and it was her time to shine.

The instant her and the male were sharing space, reality kicked in. He was not her knight in shining armour or, even better, some handsome film star. His breath was rank on her face, a hangover from beer consumed, and there was no escape from the cage of his hands. She felt dirty wherever he touched, sliding his hands up and down her nylon dress. Pushing only increased his grip. His movements were sporadic, not reflected by the music at all and Rosy had a sharp thought, fighting through the mist in her brain, that it probably would reflect his response of rejection. Yet, she squirmed, feeling bile rise up. This was not how her vision of adulthood was. This was not how things were meant to go. He was to dance and to flirt and, if things went well, they'd kiss and exchange numbers and perhaps spend the next few months in a giggly euphoria of learning things about each other. After then, well, it depended on who the stranger turned out to be but this lewd drunk who kept leaning in was not it.

Rosy didn't know how she got to the toilets, or where her left shoe was. All she knew was that Jen was holding her hair – which, as pictures would later show, had deteriorated rapidly since the hours spend styling it – and rubbing her back as she cried, muttering incoherent babble in a soothing tone. Nobody had warned of this helpless feeling, of the lack of control. Being drunk was all about having fun, this wasn't how it was to be. True, she had always been warned about bad guys, but they only existed in stories.... didn't they? In the midst of her confusion, squeezed into a toilet cubicle of a dingy little club with Jen and feeling the effects of the sudden loss of control... the vague notion niggled at her mind that this was adulthood... this was life... unexpected and not very friendly at all. And, huddled in Jen's arms, make up smeared like war paint, Rosy wished for high school.

Now I am 20

2011-12-18T15:12:00.001Z

Yesterday I was on a Kind Train. The kind of train where strangers struck up conversation, and a conductor elicited relief at our patience when our solitary carriage refused to couple with another. So we continued, single and happy, kindly making our way through the country.

There just one bubble of tension on this journey. A disconnection of feelings, thoughts, and emotions between me and my shipmate, cabin-fevered together for five hours. Interest was given too freely and pay-back rates were low.

Then I thought of myself, and the interest I give to freely to others, opening myself up like a present at Christmas,

forgetting that all the fun is in the unwrapping

and curiosity killed the cat.

Resigned to Life

2011-11-25T21:55:00.001Z

I handed in my (actual real-life) resignation letter to work today and what followed could only be described as an anti-interview. The supervisor hoped it wasn’t because of anything to do with the company and that I have learned things that I can use later on in life, and I would emphatically agree, giving him examples and thinking of that glowing reference to come. I cracked a few jokes, using shared knowledge, and left, relieved, that my employment had come to an end.

In other news, I’m still incredibly ill. It’s boring and dull and not very interesting. My tea was really filling this evening and it made me feel sleepy. My sleep has been so few and far between that I just crawled into bed at 7pm to grab whatever sleep I could before my coughing-alarm-clock cough-cough-coughed me awake. It meant I sacrificed a party. Currently, I don’t mind that. Parties will come and go. My health needs to stay.

coughcough coughcoughcough cough

2011-11-17T23:57:00.000Z

I have a tickly cough and it is so much fun! For starters, I have always wanted to know what the hours between 3am – 5am looked while I was sober (dark.) and speaking to people interspersed with coughs (an interesting experience in a call centre situation.) is just a new way of punctuating. Example:

“Hello, is Mr. Customer there… hello, my name is Maura, and I’m calling from coughcoughcough, about recent cover you’ve bought on your coughcough? Well because of that, you now have a cough of coughcoughcough…”

I have already taken too many days off, but I think I’ll have to take tomorrow off, because being red-faced and spluttering in front of a computer screen is not beneficial to either me or my employers. Somehow I’ll have to fit in, “OhbythewaycanIhavewednesdayofftoo?” Maybe in the small print… I am waiting for the time where they get sick of this, but it’s not too bad, because I am so ready to leave that job. I have already started a mental list of things I want to do next Semester with all my free time. University is, after all, about doing completely new things, and I want to take advantage of that in a way I didn’t in first year. It is not dashing to Uni for a seminar, to town for work, back to uni for this/that/the other and maybe going out (because without a social life, I think I would crack under the weight of my routine.) My list so far:

Become part of Livewire (University Radio Show) and get a slot for a show.
Learn how to play guitar at a basic level.
Write more, submit to more competitions and magazines online.

It’s a short list, but I think it’ll be enough. I appeared as a guest co-host on a friend’s radio show the other week, because he was left without a co-host. It was so easygoing and fun, just basically chatting with a friend interspersed with music. Me, him and Kate are planning on getting a slot next year, which I think will be great. It’s something completely different, fun and I think my CV will be friendly to it as well.

As for guitar, well I decided I can always improve on clarinet for life now, I have that skill pretty much embedded and it’ll be an open opportunity whenever. However I think it’d be realllly nice to pick something up from scratch so that improvements are visibly noticeable. Acoustic guitars can be pretty cheap, so it’s no massive deal if it all falls through. I think it’s nice to just have completely new goals and aim for something different.

The writing thing isn’t different but leads back to that CV thing again – I write/think about writing/edit pretty much constantly, but it’s nothing that can quantitively be proven on a CV so submissions will boost that up!

Apart from that, a focus much more on my course will do me an incredible amount of good. I spend too much time at my job sat in front of the computer, speaking to nobody, thinking about all the work that I am not doing because I’m too busy sitting in front of the computer, speaking to nobody. And, currently, coughing.

cough.

The Big Hum

2011-11-15T20:24:00.000Z

I was woken last night at about 3am, by a low-frequency noise. I thought, “Police helicopter?” I knew that noise from a time when a woman smashed our (parked) car outside our house into a lamppost, and had apparently stashed drugs down by our front door. But that was at home, which is a (relatively) dangerous place compared to my current city, which is number 1 safest in the UK. I opened the window. Silence. (Not even cars on the road.)

What, then?

This wasn’t the first time I’d heard this noise. The previous morning, it followed me around the house until the gradual kick-starting of the day kick-started it out of my head. I remembered this. Click, click, whirrr… maybe it was a low-frequency version of tinnitus, replacing the ringing of bells with a hum. I couldn’t sleep with all the noise, it was in my head, so I Googled it…

Apparently it’s a ‘Hum.’, a low-frequency noise like an engine idling outside, which can become intrusive into daily life and even lead to desperation because only some people can hear it. I must be one of the some. I got Tina and Kerry to stand in my room and listen. They heard nothing. I could hear it rattling the back of my skull! I always knew I was a sensitive person, but this is a little bit silly. There’s even a Low-Frequency Noise Sufferers’ Association, which has a helpline. I don’t think I’m at that stage, just yet… apparently most people who ring to the helpline are generally over 50 and female, so maybe it’ll degenerate reaaaaally slowly for me.

There are also lots of conspiracy theories surrounding it, which probably doesn’t help the view that people who suffer from it are a bit crackers. I don’t know, conspiracy theories are too much energy for me… I just want to sleep. In order for that to happen though, seems like I’ll need low-level music on constantly and to just accept the hum, instead of getting frustrated. Here goes:

Huuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Resignation letter

2011-11-13T01:26:00.000Z

Life is complicated, so I’m going to talk about something silly: my job. To be entirely fair, my employers probably wouldn’t be too impressed with that summation, but then I’m not planning on them finding this blog because I’m definitely not planning on impressing them with anything else I say from here on out.

I work in a call centre. This admission tends to have the “Oh god WHY?” response in people. (My 11 year old sister said: “Does this mean you’re one of the bad guys now?”) I can totally understand that, although my job involves ringing up existing customers of a company so on a scale of 1 - ‘evil’, it’s low to mid. I do enjoy my job, actually. (Now that’s a confession!) The company are really lovely and give me far more flexibility than I feel I deserve - I work 17 hours a week where everyone else works 24 and I’ve had quite a few holidays/sick days in the short time I’ve been there due to other commitments.

The only problem is (and I fear this is a problem with most other areas of life) people. I hear a lot of stupid stuff on the phone. Don’t get me wrong, if someone says something silly and it’s just them, I don’t tend to mock them. But when the entire population repeats the same stupid stuff, this is when I get scathing.

My first problem comes before I even speak to people: Answer phones. I hear quite a lot of answer phones on a daily basis, which doesn’t bother me - speaking to people interrupts my essay planning for Uni coursework -, it’s just one answer phone that I have a real problem with. The system that we uses beeps when a phone call connects. Most answer phones kick-start pretty quickly so I know to hang up the call and continue my essay plan. There is just one particular type of answer phone which takes just that bit longer than the rest. It goes something like this:

*Beep*
Me: Hello, can I speak to Mr/Mrs Jones/Smith, please?
Bastard phone: Hello! Sorry we’re not available curr-
Me: [Explicit word that results in me being fired because they actually do record calls]

You may think I’m being completely ridiculous, but I can get a whole sentence in before this answer phone removes the superman glasses and cries, “GOTCHA!” This process involves me sitting up from the comfortable position where I’ve slipped down in boredom waiting to speak to a real person and translating the name from letters into recognisable sense. The name appears only as the phone connects (which is incredibly difficult when speaking to people with funny names), so if I’ve just struggled through difficult Polish consonants, the last thing I want to hear is “Hello! Sorr-” ARGH. Throw this in several times an hour, and it can get pretty tiring.

Answer phones aside, let’s talk about people. Oh god. My job has something to do with electrical appliances, mostly kitchen ones. I have to search around the house for things to sell to them, so I often say things like:

Me: Do you perhaps have a dishwasher at home?

Most normal people reply, as the convention is with closed questions, a “Yes,” or a “No.” Occasionally, though, I get:

“No, I am the dishwasher!” (hahahahahahahahahahahaha.)

The first time I heard that, it took me by surprise and I laughed, genuinely. I have heard it approximately a million-gazillion times now and, each time, I wish I worked with physical customers because I would get so fist-happy in their direction. One woman got original, once, and said:

“Yeah, my dishwasher’s called Brian!”

I thought she was totally loony, naming her kitchen appliances but I thought, hey, people do it for musical instruments. She might just be house-proud… I was in the middle of going, “Great! So how old is Br-”, when she suddenly affixed the words, “my husband.” on the end of this statement. Points for originality, but please stay off the stage. (Names changed for because I genuinely don’t want to breach these people’s privacy, no matter how much they irritate me.)

I feel this list will be an ever-growing one. Most of the other things that irritate me are specific to my job. I will tell you one thing though:

If you buy an appliance and you decline a five-year warranty at stupidly-cheap price and decide to wait for when you can only get a year’s cover at a time at ridiculous-price, then you deserve broken appliances.

Job rage.

Alive-lines

2011-11-11T03:06:00.000Z

Second blog post in a row. Calm down, fellas, this still doesn’t mean anything. (I’m a total commitmentphobe when it comes to recording my life, as it happens. You’ve hit me deep) Today – if we’re judging days by sleeping patterns – was a fairly busy day. I gave up on the coursework at around 2am last night and woke up at 7am to finalise it. That gave me a two hour nap (a rareity!) before I dashed around, tidying my room and getting ready for the day.

My room has been a pit of total despair for several weeks now. Megan told me that her and Kerry stood at my bedroom door earlier (not in a creepy way, it’s adjacent to the stairs and the front door) and Kerry gasped, “It’s so tidy!”
Megan said she just shrugged and went, “Maura’s handed in her coursework.”
I don’t know if I mentioned earlier, but myself, Megan, Kay and Tina all lived together in a flat with six other (male) people last year, and so we know each other’s living habits inside out. Kerry moved in with us only a few months ago, so she’s got some catching up to do. Her lesson learned today:
Maura’s room is hideously messy running up to deadlines. After deadlines, I will go on a total purge and suddenly everything is spotless. It’s a response to the deadline stress I have, and I physically cannot focus on anything but work, and the whole world descends into chaos around me. Tidying my room just feels like some sort of cathartic completion, one massive big whopping symbol of ‘I’ve handed work in and I deserve to celebrate in a tidy room!’ I’m not sure symbol is the right word (my story had a lot to do with symbolism actually), and my language isn’t behaving too well either, but I’m all clever-worded out, so deaaaaaaal with it.

I might post my story on here. I’m a little wary about posting it anywhere online while it’s being assessed, but I think a grand total of one person knows that this blog is live and kicking again (well, I mentioned it to the housemates), but my housemates don’t have the link and the other person doesn’t even go to my university, so maybe I will. You’re clearly not going to get wordy satisfaction from this post!

Anyway, to celebrate this deadline success, I invited people over to my house. It’s the first time I’ve invited my group of mates (outside the house ones) into my humble abode, and it’s really lovely just having a group of people over to chat. It’s also the first time the group of friends that I regularly go to the pub with met my housemates properly, all of them chatting and chilling out together.

Fuck this. One problem of doing a degree where you write critically and creatively, is that I’m far too damn critical of anything of mine that isn’t creative (or that is creative for that matter!) My prose is dying. Have a story instead:

Interlude

2011-11-11T02:33:00.000Z

Anna had never had the chance to wear those red shoes before. They were an impulse buy (sale – 50% off!) and her rush of bravado at the till, exchanging tender for something much more brash, had waned by the time she had got home. They had hidden uncharacteristically out of the limelight (under her bed) until today, where they now stood challenging her from the mantelpiece. Still – the red shoes were the only thing that matched and today was, Anna conceded, a special occasion.

They were beautiful. They were terrifying. The two characteristics were intrinsically linked in all areas of life - she thought of swans - so it was only logical that it was no different with the shoes. Look at me, they said, unashamed. Just look. They waited patently for admiration, like a painting on the wall. Did either exist without an audience? (Anna was aiming for beautiful today.)

Later, Anna would walk in those shoes, feeling that even her gait had been elevated into something wonderful, as if she floated above the ground. The only reminder of her earthly existence was click-after-self-important-click, signalling to all that she (click) had (click) arrived (click.) They walked her past some business event at the gallery, swiftly moving her away from the flat leather soles of a girl stood alone, offering wine (excitement filled her bones with enough intoxication - she didn't need any more help with this).

Later, Anna would wish back to the time with the wine, desperately dreaming of the help it would bring. Maybe it would give her an excuse. (Maybe it would have fuelled her on.) Maybe they would have been more sympathetic if she wasn't entirely in control. (Maybe they would have judged her more. Maybe they didn't think she was in control anyway.) She would look down with the horror of 'What Have I Done?'; with the red of sin flashing belated warnings catching her eyes. She would try to click her heels and wish for home, but they had melted into puddles, burning with shame. They would lose all beauty for her and all that remained would be terror.

Now: With the shoes overseeing operations, it was time to choose the dress. The whole wardrobe opened itself up to Anna, offering her all the pleasures from within. What went with red? Her nails, painted perfectly for the tone of the whole ensemble, tapped a pattern into the wood as she considered. There was always black. Black went with red. Black went with everything. It would be cheating to consider black with shoes like those. (This was a celebration, not a funeral.) She flicked through the hangers, fabric swaying to her command beneath her fingertips. A blue dress (another impulse buy) slipped from her grasp, falling at her feet. She turned to the shoes. They nodded in affirmation. The Gods had spoken.

God, how she would wish they hadn't. Later that would be a half-prayer in her mind, cursing fate for the perfect coordination of two impulse-buy items, spurring impulsive behaviour on her part. She would forget the weighty amount of consideration that had come before, and curse herself for a silliness she hadn't thought through - though she'd thought this eventuality through too! She had decided it all in his company, each step imagined and re-imagined on every day since. A receipt, carefully filed, smugly announced proof of a murder weapon and intention much prior the event, but god, god, god how she would curse her impulsiveness. Sometimes she was so spur-of-the-moment, sometimes she even bought stupid red shoes without thinking.

Before that, she would slowly and purposefully walk through the gallery. The dress would sway with each step, boldly calling out to be noticed. (Look at us.) This was an outfit with which to conquer the world. (This was an outfit to fall in love in.) Her hands would shake lightly – she imagined lipstick across her cheek, knocked by this unsteadiness -, and she'd begin to breathe, slowly, purposefully. That wasn't the image she was aiming for, she must be calmer. It would seem she had borrowed a hummingbird's heart, vibrating the cavity of her ribs, reverberating through her. She was a group of closely packed sound waves, jittering across the page with rapid terror. She was a 'seven' on the Richter Scale, about to knock the earth off-axis. She was just a girl in red shoes and a blue dress. What power did she have?

He had talked about the power of symbolism, she remembered that. She remembered most things he said, but that stuck in her mind. He was hopelessly romantic (an art professor) on that front. He would never buy a girl flowers, because of the death that followed the beauty. He had made a joke here about la petite mort (wrapping a naked arm around her) and she had giggled, hopelessly. Giggled! Here was an educated man making an educated joke, and she had acted like she was still in compulsory education, laughing only from compulsion to impress rather than understanding. Oh, she understood. She would stand before the place that they had met in the gallery, understanding completely. He had talked about the power of symbolism. She was a girl in red heels and a blue dress. What power did she have? Well... this was an outfit with which to conquer the world. Symbolically, she could. She would.

They had been stood separately before this painting, strangers to each other. The picture itself was a modern thing, a portrait of a man's face. The canvas was big, stretched far across the small gallery's wall, and the man was sideways, forcing an intimacy as if you were lying down next to him (or the artist were). Each eyelash; each skin dimple; every inflection within his iris was replicated so that if the man were to walk in right then, you would just need to count his freckles for a definite identification. (Later, she imagined that's how the police had created her e-fit, imagined the policemen counting the constellation of freckles across the bridge of her nose before letting her go – mistake with the picture; they'd missed two out.) There had been a lot of fuss about the painting in the paper - rave reviews! - but it just made Anna feel uncomfortable. She was stood before a stranger, sharing an intimate moment with them that they'd never be able to share back. Moments like that weren't down to the placement of an eyebrow hair, or the gleam of a tooth between slightly parted lips. They were about the soft-focussed blur of intimacy, the feeling of total security for brief moments in life.

“I just don't get it,” she had said to the man in the painting, slightly sorry she was forsaking their beautiful moment together. That's all it really was - a single moment - stretched across time, across canvas, perfect and whole. That's what he said to her, the art professor. He had leaned over and, forgive the intrusion, but may I ask about your confusion? She had explained and he nodded. Looking at this painting seemed to invite you into someone's life for a brief moment, allowing you into a snapshot of intimacy, though never for long enough that reality would seep in to ruin it. It wasn't about the romance, it was a celebration of the reality of this brevity in all areas of life.

Much later, she realised she had fallen for this hook, line and stupid, stupid, stupid sinker. It was humiliating. At the time, though, she had imagined him as a perfect, brief moment in her life. He had been respectful and knowledgeable and oh-so-very-handsome and, for eight hours, entirely hers. She had left, head ringing with symbolism and sweet sorrow (as parting often is). She had left, knowing she'd never see him again. She had imagined the whole thing like a whale momentarily disembodied from the body of water in which it belongs - out of place and all the more glorious for it. That image would make her laugh loudly in disbelief later, so aware of her ridiculousness. That would be much, much later though. Long after the red shoes had been abandoned.

For now, she stood before her mirror, dressed in red shoes and a blue dress. Her hair had been curled softly, falling beneath her shoulders, and her eyes had carefully been underlined with foundation creating a blank canvas of her face. In her hand was the murder weapon, for it would be Anna Sealey in the Contemporary Room, with the red lipstick. She was fuelled by the symbolism of a night spent with a man who believed heavily in it. Symbolism for the love of the painting (because of him), love of him (or the snapshot of him in her mind) and these dual moments represented in the stretch of fabric and splash of paint that she'd later stand in front of. Slowly, calmly, she would paint her own lips in red, sharing that intimate moment with the man whose lips were painted only, who couldn't look back at her. Then, ignoring all security measures and alarms, she would lean forwards, and kiss the canvas.

But for now – she stood before the mirror, surveying her appearance. She was a girl in red shoes and a blue dress... and she looked good.

Some things never change.

2011-11-09T21:49:00.000Z

Well, hello! The last time I posted on this blog, I was 17 years old. I’m now 19, but age is just a number, right? I have tried other blogs over the years (I even tried a diary!) but none fit me quite so well as this one always did. A friend of mine starting blogging lately and I got thinking about this here patch of the internet where I used to graze, and so here I am.

I’m not reliable, though, so if the post above is from my 21 year old self, then… I wish I could say ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you’, but the chronology of posts means the warning would be a little belated. Also, we’ve got to start getting to know each other all over again. The main cast of my life has changed dramatically since the last post… in fact, my entire life has changed dramatically. Just a few posts ago I was talking about starting to do my English Literature A Level course in the space of a year in order to study English Literature with Creative Writing at the University of East Anglia…
Well here’s a happy conclusion already! I completely my A Levels, including the English Lit course, with decent grades and I am currently studying… English Literature with Creative Writing at the University of East Anglia!

In fact, this blog post is currently creative procrastination from my Creative Writing part of the coursework, which is due in tomorrow. It’s quite funny to find a post like that, where I can compare Life Then to Life Now. It’s useful especially at times like these where things can be a little stressful, and I just need something to remind me of how much hard work I did to get here, and just to sit back and appreciate how good life is. I completely adore UEA - You’ll get to understand that pretty quickly – which is incredibly fortunate considering I went there with blinkers on, focussed on the course alone, not caring much about night life or social activity. 17-year-old-me was quite naive really, but it all worked out pretty well!

I say this like 19 year old me is any better. She’s not in any way, she's just better at hiding these things!

I mentioned cast members - that’s my casual way of insulting my friends, just mere background to the leading-role of my life – I did actually start to give you a list, but I think we’ll just list people as they appear and you’ll soon learn about the people in my life. Currently (physically, temporally), there’s nobody. I’m sat in the lounge of my (student) house, alone (but not too cold, considering it’s a student house.)

I spoke too soon – Megan and Kay came home and Kerry came downstairs. These are my lovely housemates, who I rent my student house with. Tina, housemate number four, is elsewhere doing drama things (you’ll hear this often.) Kerry just went back upstairs to go to sleep, but Kay and Megan are now faffing around in the kitchen, making packed lunches for the following day. None of this describes how they, or living with them, really is. Although this might, slightly:

Me: Kay, you’ve got a text from Tina. It says you’re a wanker gayface. Yep… yep, definitely says that… wanker gayface. wanker.
Megan: Really?
Me: yep, it definitely doesn’t say you’re a good friend or anything… wanker gay face.
Kay: Jealousy is an illness. Get better soon.

Actually, that portrays Kay as the sharp, witty one… scrap that! Here’s another one:

Megan: Do you remember the other day when Kay asked if I wanted squash… and she asked if I wanted water with it?

That’s more like it! Adios!

Time passes…

2011-11-09T00:13:00.000Z

(expect more of this from now on.)

at the end of the day

2009-07-31T22:16:00.003Z

How do you fit four elephants into a mini?

Two in the front, two in the back.

I've been told I need more faith in myself, especially when it comes to playing the clarinet. I did my grade 5 a few weeks ago and made so many stupid mistakes that I expected to scrape a pass. I found out yesterday I got a merit, which I pretty much exploded with happiness at.
(Pass = okay, merit = very good, distinction = ridiculously good.)

How can you tell if there's an elephant in your fridge?

There are footprints in your butter.

Yet a part of me keeps thinking over all the bits I messed up just because I let the nerves get to me and thinking about the mark I could have got. Because I know I could have got much higher.

How can you tell if there are two elephants in your fridge?

They giggle when the lights go out.

I also went on this orchestra course last week and I really don't know what I was panicking about. All the people there were so awesome and nice. The phrase 'orchestra course' probably doesn't spring to mind any interesting images but it was such an enjoyable week. I've not had that much fun in a while, and I felt myself improve so much day by day.

How can you tell if there are three elephants in your fridge?

You have difficulty shutting the door.

At the beginning, they shunted me down near the very end of the second clarinets (sat next to most annoying boy of the year) and I joked to Robbie that I was that bad, but it didn't bother me. Even when the second clarinets would have to repeat things over and over cause the rhythm wasn't quite right, I didn't panic or think that I was awful. The pieces were hard and nobody's perfect.

How can you tell if there are four elephants in your fridge?

As for the concert... I'm kinda disappointed. I know I could play better.

But yeah, maybe I should be easier on myself. I've come so far in the past few months... and I didn't need the support from Robbie that I thought I would over the past week (other than one evening where I misplaced some music, got extremely stressed and cried a bit into his hoody, and then laughed at how stupid I was being and his stupid jokes, and then cried a bit more cause that was just the kind of pathetic mood I was in.)

There's a mini parked outside.

I should get some sleep. Off to the best place in the world (Montpellier) for two weeks avec ma famille.

Which is good. I need a holiday.

Plastic wind??

2009-07-16T23:41:00.002Z

After spending hours whining in my last post about how panicky I was, I had a good rehearsal at the orchestra. Right at the beginning, they were tuning the instruments up and my clarinet was majorly flat. After about ten minutes of it being passed around and scrutinised, it was decided for definite that it was only a wood effect, plastic clarinet and I was given my cousin's real wood clarinet, obvs keeping my mouthpiece on, - and I'd like to take this chance to point out that my cousin was playing bass clarinet and didn't need his normal one - yet that was still flat. It was only after all this faffing around that Hannah - here's where I name the ex who deserves more than to be referred to as that :D - got her tuner out it was realised that she was sharp the entire time. She's the kind of person who can play out of tune and make everyone else seem in the wrong. I'm not jealous anymore, she's too nice for that.

But this rehearsal, I just kinda realised that I was panicking over nothing. I have known this all along but there's a lot of difference between knowing that a thought is irrational and dealing with it. I had two other people on the same part as me this time and I think the wood clarinet helped a lot; my sound was completely different with it and I (kinda, as much as my shy self will let me) wanted to be heard. I've had my wood-effect clarinet for about seven years now and it's done me a good service but I asked dad about getting a proper decent wooden one and he said he'd expected this for a while now, which sounded a lot like a yes.

We also sorted rooms out and got leaflets on the local area for when we go on this week-long course and I actually started to look forward to it a teensy bit. I'm going to borrow my cousin's clarinet for the course so I should sound good and provided I DON'T PANIC, all shall be well. Although there is a bari sax part which I have been asked to play and I glanced at itanditdidn'tlookparticularlyeasyandnobodyelsewillbeonmypiecewithmeandandand.... yeah, I'd feel sorry for Robbie if I were you. He deals with all this far more than he should do.

Speaking of Robbie, though, that's another thing I am looking forward to on the course. He went away with college to Australia a few weeks ago and four days after touching down in England, jetted off to Menorca with his family, where he shall remain until next Wednesday. Until his phone broke, I didn't miss him too much when he was in Aus; I had college to go to and my clarinet grade to practise/panic for. The missing thing upped a little when he suddenly stopped texting because the 4, 5, 6 keys broke on his phone (his unlock code starts with 6, haha.) but it's nothing compared to RIGHT NOW, when I'm on my summer holidays with NOTHING TO DO. Rachael's gone away and Jade's dying and I have absolutely no plans (otherthanseeHarryPotterin3DonSaturday) until he comes back. Which is quite sad. But yeah, once he does come back, we'll have three days until the orchestra course, after which I jet straight off to France for two weeks. Suffice to say, this has not been a summer of love. So I'm looking forward to spending that week with him and doing all sorts of fun things. Of course, it's not like we'll get any time together but it's better than just him being on the course as I sit around at home and die of boredom and then don't see him until the end of August because he's away again when I come back from France...

Bad timing on both our parts I think. Especially his.
But the moral of the story is: Stop whining, you're not going to die from learning how to be better at clarinet.
Yeah.

Good afternoon!

2009-07-13T12:13:00.000Z

It's Monday the 13th of July and the first official day of the summer holidays. Well, I say that but I haven't actually been to college since last Wednesday - they dedicated the last week to doing fun activities, and I dedicated that non-compulsory college time to practising for my clarinet grade, which was last Friday. It would have been time well spent had I not succumbed to the pressure of the exam situation. Such is life.

They dragged us back to college for the past four weeks and I can't say it's been of much worth, except that I started my English Lit course and got all my books for that. I have much reading to do and I am much looking forward to it. Also in the past few weeks, I've attended three creative writing courses. The first was at the most beautiful place. It's an Adult Education place that's not far from here, and I only noticed, as mum and I were already on our way there bright and early at 8.30am, that my course only started at 11. So I found myself a bench overlooking the Ribble Valley and read to the background music of birds and sheep. It was pretty awesome. And, once the course started, I turned out to be the youngest person there by a long shot. I don't know why it surprised me - I was at an Adult Education Centre after all! - but it did. One woman there was even BECOMING A GRANDMOTHER as we spoke. Her son lives in Berlin so she had nowhere to rush off to so instead focussed her efforts on describing how my bag was going to CONSUME ME AS I SLEPT and laughing at how she couldn't say these things on business courses, for people would think she was crazy. We were on our lunch break at the time (this was not a writing exercise) so I just laughed along and tried not to make it obvious that I was inching away.

The second course was at my local library, which was full of even older people, including an old lady named Betty who cried at the beauty of another woman's poem. Fortunately, the final course was at college, so I was surrounded by people of my own age and got a day off lessons. Either way, all of them were fun and interesting and informative and helped in different ways.

Anyways, I'm going to move the topic on swiftly because I found out about this list of 18 things to do before you're 18. Apparently it can be found on some american cereal packet but, with five months until my eighteenth, I thought I'd see how I'm doing:

1. Ride the ~~world's~~ (cough) England's biggest rollercoaster: ;) Tick

2. Bungee jump: Not a chance in hell.

3. Score the winning goal/basket: No.

4. Win an award, trophy or prize: I'm sure I must have won something at some point. Tick... :P

5. Learn to play an instrument: Tick.

6. Go backstage at a gig: Tick. I was only walking through but it counts!

7. Meet your idol: My idol is in a band that has yet to come to England.

8. Play a part in your favorite TV show: CSI is shot in America. Damnit...

9. Meet someone with your own name: ...my name is Maura.

10. Make a discovery: I discovered that I'm in today's paper...

11. Get away with the perfect practical joke: Joking that you're pregnant is funny, right? ;)

12. Own a pointless collection: Tick ;D

13. Invent a word that makes it into the dictionary: Urban dictionary?

14. Conquer your biggest fear: I'm getting there. (Read on!)

15. Raise money for charity: Tick.

16. Pass your driving test the first time: Seven months into seventeen and I'm yet to have my first lesson. My parents suck, I could have passed by now!

17. Complete a road trip coast to coast: Er...

18. Reach 18 years of age: Wait! You can't do that before you're 18! That's impossible!

Seven out of eighteen isn't so bad... especially not when this list seems to have been compiled by a bunch of out of touch fourty year olds. 'Invent a word that makes it into the dictionary'?!? That involves creating a word that the media will use often, therefore moving onto the entire population when you're about 13 if you want any chance of ticking it off before you're 18! Think about how many people you know that have created words that have made it into the dictionary... I don't know about you but William Shakespeare is the only person that I can think of and he's hardly a friend of mine.

Anyway, number 14 brings up another point that I've been meaning to write about for a while and it's to do with (sigh) instruments and playing new things in front of new people. I know that this isn't a new topic for me, so bear with me. I'm trying. Although this time it's a completely new thing - we played some new pieces in jazz band a few weeks ago and that didn't scare me at all. I am improving myself... slowly... it'd just be nice to be able to skip out the initial terror...

So Robbie and my cousin go to the same orchestra. I discovered this a few months back when I went to add my cousin on facebook and found out that we had one mutual friend and I rang Robbie up asking how the hell they both know each other. Robbie understands now I have cousins everywhere (I once watched a Dylan Moran stand up DVD, filmed in Dublin in 2005 and one of my cousins was in the audience!) They both play clarinet and I play clarinet and Robbie's ex also goes to the same orchestra and she plays clarinet. I think this serves to prove that clarinet is an awesome instrument. Anyway, a few months after adding my cousin, I was chatting to him and he suggested that I go to his orchestra sometime; he wouldn't mind picking me up. At this point, I was still helping out at drama on Wednesdays so I passed up the offer, but mentioned it to Robbie. To which Robbie suggested I go on their summer course at the end of July. So I thought why not? It'd be something to do in the summer and I'd get better.

A few weeks after deciding this, drama wasn't on. So to see what I was getting myself into, I asked my cousin for a lift to one of the sessions. Panic hit as soon as I'd asked. What had I got myself in to? But I managed to calm myself. I'd never actually heard Robbie play clarinet but I assumed he would be as decent I was. As for his ex, well that just made me nervous in itself. I expected her to be horrible to me (Robbie and I started going out two weeks after they broke up, though they were hardly serious) and to be not that good looking and about as good as me on clarinet. I did not expect to be shoved on a part alone straight away; for Robbie to be so good and for his ex to be so friendly, pretty, intelligent and... amazing at clarinet. Like recordable standard. I think, just to help my ego along, I imagine all of Robbie's exes to be subpar compared to me, and that I'm the best looking (and best in other catagories) girl he's been out with. So to meet his last one in the flesh and find out that seemingly there is nothing wrong with her hit me quite hard. Especially seeing as I was in an extremely vulnerable position as it was, with the whole instrument, new people thing... My thoughts that session pretty much alternated between pure terror of having to play and wondering why Robbie ever had a reason to break up with her?! I was hit with, and I'll admit it, pangs of jealousy for the first time in our (six month!) relationship and it wasn't nice.

The only thing worse than the first session was the second session, which I'd been coerced into attending. That one terrified me more, I think for the combined reason that I already knew what I was getting into and that I wasn't new anymore. I'd had my first session, so it's not like I could blame those first time nerves. They tuned the instruments up at first and as Robbie's ex (I should probably name her; she's most likely over it by now and not wanting to be labelled as such) and Robbie tuned, I had a mind blank and couldn't even remember how to play my tuning note. I narrowed it down to one of two, and quickly moved my finger when I played and it was wrong. I've only been playing for nine years, you see, these things are difficult... I was joined halfway through by a girl who is almost as unconfident in her playing as I was and we buoyed each other up slightly, but even still, I could have easily cried about ten times in that session.

The only thing worse than the second session, is the third. Which is this Wednesday coming. You see, I received all the information about the Summer course (a week long residential which I'm looking forward to... apart from the six hour rehearsals each day.) and mum rang up to check up on a few things. She then said that I'd be there on Wednesday to hand everything in. I think I would look forward to bungee jumping (see no.2 of the list) with more excitement. Robbie is not even going to be there, being away in Menorca until the 22nd. My cousin will be there, so it's not like I'll be entirely alone and he's beginning to understand just the pure terror playing in front of new people induces in me, but it won't be the same. Robbie's helped since the start of Jazz Band in September, helped me get through that and even just having him there is a comfort. I try and hide my fears by being mean to him and he sees through it and understands and... ARGH.

I know, I know, I know that by doing this it'll help me. It's the sole reason I started Jazz Band at college, and why I begged to be moved up from Swing Band. By putting myself into these terrifying situations, I will eventually work myself out of this irrational fear... well at least in the individual situation. But this is possibly my hardest challenge, and I'm not sure why. It's the hardest music I've played in a musical group situation for the clarinet - having missed my local orchestra auditions two years in a row - and I think the main problem for me is the course, where I'll have no chance to go home and cry. And I'll be stuck in the rehearsal situation for hours on end...

Robbie and my cousin both say that these courses are loads of fun, and everyone's standard of playing improves so much…

I just need to overcome this fear. And tick it off that damn list!

er, aren’t you supposed to…

2009-05-26T21:26:00.001Z

I read this book once - Eve Green by Susan Fletcher - and I completely fell in love. It was so poetic in its description and it didn't surprise me at all to find that the author completely loved poetry. There was an interview with her in the final few pages which revealed that she went to the world renowned Creative Writing and English Literature course at the University of East Anglia, to which I just thought... 'I could go there!'

That was in the middle of year 11, my last year in high school, so University was far from my mind. I was too busy focussing on getting into the college I wanted. I didn't even have any idea what I wanted to do when I was older - as if I could write for a living, how's that going to keep me afloat financially? It was only once we got into college and the emphasis on deciding what we wanted to do in university early on became apparent that I really thought about it. At first, I considered doing something like English Language with Media Studies. There is basically no way I'm not doing English and I thought that course would help with job prospects. But then I heard more about how degrees don't directly affect your job or something and I did me some thinking. Because how many people do you reckon sit around and regret the life decisions they made because they didn't follow their hearts? And I know I know, I know I know, that if I didn't do a creative writing course, it would follow me. I'd stay awake at night, wondering why. I'd finish books and think about if I could have done something like that. True, I could write without the help of the course. But I might as well.

Besides, as soon as I do this Media exam on Monday, there's no way I'm wasting my time with that subject any longer.

So I looked again at this course at UEA and thought about it some more. Unfortunately, as the UEA course name suggests, one needs a full A Level in English Literature. You'd think I'd've worked that out pretty quickly but it wasn't until my PT pointed it out that I realised. As you may have surmised, I don't do English Lit. I thought English Language was enough English for me - it was the one I marginally liked more, due to my lifelong disagreement with poetry.

So I went to my English teacher and asked about doing a course in a year. I'd heard people talking about doing other courses in a year and wondered if it was possible for Lit. And she told me it was.

She took me then to the head of English who talked down to me for the next five minutes, saying how it wouldn't be easy - oh shit, really? -; I'd have to be in an AS class (the year I'm in now) as well as an A2 class (the year I'll be in as of September); and how the University might not accept me because I didn't take the course at the start of the two years. I did think maybe doing it in half the time would show more commitment but still. She also warned me to think of why I didn't take Lit in the first place and that if I didn't like reading, not to bother.

I didn't even try telling her that if it'd be a bit backward if wanted to write but hated reading.

Anyway, after a while of mulling it over, I told my English teacher that I wanted to do it for sure; informed my PT and asked a friend about what class she was in so I could join it - after these exams, we go back for four weeks to start our courses for next year so it'll be worthwhile for me to start then. As it happens, her class is when my Media class is. Perfect.
Besides the way I see it is:

Scenario 1: Everything works out perfectly, I enjoy Lit, get the grades, get into the university and all is well.

Scenario 2: I don't get onto the course - English Literature will help me with writing anyway, wherever I go.

Scenario 3: I hate it - I'll know not to go on the course and do a creative writing one without English Literature. Even if I do hate it, English Lit is bound to help me in some way or another.

And if I spend a hellish year devoting double the normal time to a lesson I end up hating, at the end of the day, it'll be over quickly and I'll have an idea about what course I want to do. It's winful, whichever way I look at it.

The best thing about taking up a full subject in half the allotted time is that I can drop two in its place. It's standard procedure to drop a subject at the end of the first college year. Sometimes people don't, sometimes they take up half of a new course in its place. But seeing as I'm still going to end up with the minimum (for my college) 3 A Levels anyway at the end of the two years, it's alright for me to drop two. Which means I can drop my lowest grade - French, definitely - and the one I dislike - need I say? - in one fell swoop. I love French but you've got to be economical. Especially when the Uni I want requires an AAB. I could do it... just, but not without a certain amount of stress.

The great thing about accepting this in my mind for sure is that people around me have been helping me so much. Mum looked out for courses in Mslexia - she says she would have done something like a creative writing course in another life - and booked me onto a one day 'Develop Yourself as a Writer' course in June. They usually don't take people under 19 onto the course but she explained how it'll help me get into Uni and hey presto, I got a place.

Me and Maeve also made a trip to the library today and I got chatting to the librarian, who hadn't seen me properly since I was about 12, so she was asking all about my future plans. I mentioned how I was wanting to do Creative Writing and she told me of a poetry course they had at the end of June. Now me and Poetry have never been friends in any way - writing or analysing - but I guess this would look good to the Uni and help me break down my barriers for it. It's not that I hate it, I just don't understand it.

The only problem is... well, the writing bit. er... well, I don't know if you've worked it out but... I've not exactly been doing it a lot lately. Of any genre - my life or otherwise. It's just not happened and every time I've got an idea for a blog, apathy just filled me as soon as I sat down. Or Facebook or YouTube or FML or Twitter called my name. Twitter actually, has a lot of blame on its little shoulders. I guess if I want to write in the future, I'd better start put some time aside for it. I have been trying, I've been meaning to but life and exams get in the way… I do have an idea that's just growing nicely in my head at the moment. But I need to give it some room soon or it'll disappear into the dark.

Actually… that's not the only problem. The other problem is my future. Because, most likely, I'll be stuck in a scrubby tiny little flat, doing menial jobs to keep myself afloat and trying to find time to write and live my life. Writing is hardly a solid career to go into and it wouldn’t surprise me if I found a partner who could keep me going whilst I wrote. My future will be uncertain and there’s no way I can be sure I’ll ever be published. In fact, it’s a lot more certain I’ll be stuck in a job I dislike.

Is it weird that I kind of look forward to that uncertainty with a certain amount of excitement?

Trust me

2009-05-08T18:30:00.001Z

Click
(:

This time last year… [1]

2009-05-08T14:41:00.001Z

On this day last year, I had my high school Leaver's do and got drunk for the first time ever. (:

I also had already done my Spanish Speaking and completed my Drama GCSE. How it feels like a million years ago.

Snapshots and stuff.

2009-05-07T20:08:00.001Z

Dad: “A monk joined a monastery and was told that he'd have to spend the first 20 years of training in complete silence and only able to say a single sentence once every three years. So he went to his room and noticed that the window wouldn’t shut properly, letting in a big draft all the time. So after 3 years of keeping the vow, he was summoned before the Abbot and asked if he had anything to say. To which, he replied, "My window won’t shut properly; could you please fix it?" So they fixed the window, but there was still a huge draft from it. Three more years went by when he was again summoned before the Abbot. "Well, do you have anything to say now," the monk was asked. "My window still lets a draft through.” was the answer. After three more years the Abbot summoned him once more and asked if he'd like to speak. "I don’t think I’m cut out to be a monk!" he replied. "Well, I'm not surprised," replied the Abbott. "You've done nothing but complain since you arrived.”

(Pause.)

Luke: “…what I don’t get about that joke is, right… they should have just got a piece paper and…” (Slowly tapers out.)

(Pause.)

“You really don’t get humour sometimes, do you?”

YES. That’s really the best I can offer right now. Psychology and English exams are in 8 days; French, 11 and Media is somewhere there in the distant future.
Goodnight. (:

Not dead

2009-04-30T20:06:00.003Z

and with nothing special to say.
Clickez-moi et ecoutez.

I didn't fail my French Oral.
I'm sorting out taking up English Literature next year. The entire two year course in one.
In two weeks, I face three of my four big exams.
I'll be doing my clarinet grade sometime after that.
I can't finish my food. It's just slowly growing cold in front of me.
I've been writing a bit lately.
My laptop battery's about to die.
At the moment, I really dislike myself.

Easter

2009-04-12T00:25:00.000Z

There was an Easter, once, that we spent in Dublin. My Gran is from the south of Ireland and we tend to go every October, staying in the little bungalow that her mum used to live in. It’s a tiny place in a tiny village – with 50% of the houses reserved only for those who speak Gaelic, so as to keep the culture alive – and the rooms seem to be stuck quite comfortably in the 70s. It’s wonderful.
This one Easter though, I don’t know if we stayed in the cottage but I do recall that we stayed one night in hotel in Dublin. I must have been about five? six? and I don’t remember much other than the bed I was in reminded me of a huge envelope, which dwarfed me, and I felt like I was about to be sealed in and sent off on a big adventure. And the next morning, even though I was a million miles away in Ireland, the Easter Bunny still delivered.

and it was like magic. truly (:

rien

2009-04-09T17:51:00.001Z

I have nothing to say. Rachael’s in the middle of the ocean somewhere (hopefully on a cruise ship, and not just bobbing about, and hopefully on her way to New York.), Robbie’s in Peru… Beth, Jess and Jade are in the country but all of us except Jess have mountains of revision to get through. Whether Beth and Jade are getting down to it, I’m not quite sure of, but I’ve been busy.

I made a 450 French vocab list yesterday from all of the topics we’ve covered.

I need to do some psychology. And answer an English essay.

French Oral on the 23rd of April. I need to get my accent sorted and quick.

I bought some confectionary today, on the theme of stationary. Chocolate crayons and strawberry pencils. Equally delicious in their own right.

Anyway, nothing interesting is happening to me so I have nothing interesting to say. Unless you wanted to read an essay about me in French? Because I could totally do that.

I’ve also rediscovered a story I started a month ago. and I refuse to let this one die. I’ve said that before but I mean it this time.

duped

2009-04-07T00:37:00.001Z

Duplicity is a good film. It has nice shots, good theme tune and transitions nicely from shot to shot, with a few decent effects. In fact, I could go on for ages about the beauty of the cinematography… because the plot lost me. Completely and totally; cutting from past to present, twisting and turning until it tied itself into knots. It was too complicated. Too... I don’t know. Some things that made sense during scenes were then revealed to be a sham and didn’t make sense in retrospect. What’s more, it started off too slow - with an entire five minute slow motion scene of two men fighting that only relates to the end… but by the time you’re there, you can’t even remember it anymore because your mind has just been frazzled – and there was no chemistry at all between the two lead characters; it just kinda made me feel cold.

Jade has been in Spain with college all last week and Rachael leaves on Wednesday to go to New York so us girls – Rachael, Jade, Jess, Beth and myself – decided to meet up to go to the cinema, just so we could all see each other at least once this holiday. We were going to see Knowing because it promised to be quite good, but then Jess’s parents said that the ending would let us down and that they feel cheated.

I would rather have had the comfort of understanding what was going on at that precise moment than sitting there in confusion the entire time, à la Duplicity. It was just far too pretentious and flashy and couldn’t live up to the expectation it had created for itself. Actually, I just checked out the reviews for Knowing and they seem to be worse than those for Duplicity. But most of the good reviews on the latter were people raving about how ‘clever’ it all was… so I guess they mistook their confusion for being down to having watched a super intelligent film.

And that… that makes me worried about the human race.

Timing

2009-04-03T16:36:00.001Z

I meant to have a nap. Most afternoon lessons were cancelled due to a teachers’ meeting that coincided nicely with the last day before our Easter holidays. College decided, for some reason, that it wouldn’t be a good idea to change the bus schedules so two bus loads of people squeezed onto one bus home at lunch. Elbows and nips aside, I got a seat and was home by 2pm. And severely looking forward to a long nap.

My parents are deceptive in the way that the drive is reserved for dad’s car and mum’s motorbike… and then mum uses her car (parked by the roadside) and dad his pushbike to get around. I assumed mum would be home as she’s off for Easter too, but no. The first hint of there being nobody in were the dark windows that greeted me as I walked up. I sighed, knowing my nap would only be a dream from now on. Of course I didn’t have my keys with me. They’ve gone walkies since France; most likely buried underneath the mountains of crap piled up in my room. It’s hard enough as it is to catch up on college work and keep my room tidy all at the same time. That said, my room is probably on the ridiculous side of messy and will be the first thing I tackle this holiday.

I decided to try waiting first. My house is built in such a way that there’s no door at the front, instead there’s a path at the far end of the driveway that leads to the door at the left side. The door is elevated, with a thick front step that’s ideal for sitting on. Especially if you’re set to wait a while and don’t want to be seen.

I got bored after five minutes. One day, Mark accidentally got locked out of his house and recounted to us in college how he broke in, using pure wit and random stuff he had in his bag. I remember laughing so hard at that and a conversation followed about how we could break into our own houses. I had come to the conclusion that, without breaking any windows, my house was impenetrable. There’s a good reason for that:

I tried scaling the gate first. It’s a tall, red metal one with a circle in the centre and (for some reason) there’s a pencil and rubber design in the middle of that circle. As kids, we used to have so much fun squeezing through the circle and getting into the house through the conservatory. I’m fairly skinny; I don’t think I would have had much more of a problem getting through it now…if Dad hadn’t decided recently to put a board of wood behind it.

Okay, okay… I’m not that heavy and trusted it would take my weight. If I got over the gate, the lock on the conservatory door was gone; the door leading to the kitchen was constantly locked but I could at least sit on one of the settees in the conservatory and wait for mum in comfort. Even better yet, there was a chance of giving her a fright if she caught me sitting there. There was no way of throwing my bag over so I slung it on my shoulder and attempted to climb over my gate.

Getting up wasn’t that bad. There weren’t many foot rests but if I placed everything in the right place, I could grab for the top bit of the wooden fence surrounding the gate. That felt a bit flimsy so I tried again, moving my hands further apart to be closer to the wooden supports. It was around my fifth go that I realised that, even though dad had got rid of the vines starting from beside the path towards the door and leading to the garden, he’d still left a huge tangle of them above the garden path beyond the gate. Climbing over it involved a fight with those and I didn’t fancy that. Call me lazy… I also didn’t fancy resting my entire weight on the flimsy wood. So I gave up. Quitter, I know.

I had no chance of a nap now, so I sat down on my step and got my book out. That would have happily busied me until Mum came home, had I not already greedily consumed the book during the week and reached the end quickly. It was 2:30pm when I turned over the final page; after everything I had still only passed half an hour. I scrabbled in my pockets and found £1.05 so decided I’d take a trek to the centre of Standish. One bag of popcorn, two chocolates and half an hour later, I bumped into Bethany on my way home and begged her to look after me until it was certain that somebody would be home. Being the amazing friend that she is, she took me in and fed me Smarties until half three.

I decided to head home the back way, through dirt tracks surrounded by trees and overgrown plants rather than the main road. On that route, I happened upon Luke walking Maeve home. Maeve was scrabbling through her bag for something and Luke looked up to see me. They were at the bottom of a huge dip in the path – like an inverted hill – and I motioned to Luke to not say anything to Maeve. In a rare act of sibling unity, he moved so she couldn’t see me and kept her talking as I snuck down the hill and ran up to scare her. She says she didn’t but she jumped out of her skin. Honest.

As Luke, Maeve and I made our way home, Patrick ran up to us.
"Can I join this family reunion?” he asked, completing our gathering of siblings. We had fun on the short return home, depicting evolution by arranging ourselves in height order and gradually stooping more and more. We must have looked crazy but there you go. Mum’s car was parked on the main road and, as she opened the door, we sung “So long, farewell.” from the Sound of Music. She actually looked terrified and ran into the kitchen. It was the scariest thing she’d seen in a long while and I don’t blame her for thinking so.

This blog killed me. I need to go get ready for this party or I’ll be more than just fashionably late…

Wordcount: 1083. Sorry for wasting your time and my energy. Sincerely. (1097 now. Sorry.)

…as public as the stars in the sky…

2009-03-28T23:10:00.000Z

Andrew was going to have a birthday party on Friday, he explained to me on our last night in France, but his friend was also throwing a party on that day and got the word around before him (unintentionally). He didn’t know what to do and already had everything planned, so he decided he would throw a party for people who went on the french trip and an actual birthday party for his friends on the following Friday.

I have never danced so much in my life. I don’t even dance; I’ve been told so many times that I lack moves and rhythm that I don’t tend to give anybody the opportunity to point it out. But I danced with everyone and loved it. It didn’t help that Andrew kept telling me I’ve got moves, which made me bring them more. Whether he was lying or not, we’ll never know but I had fun.

The following morning, I woke early with everyone else and, like every single morning-after in France, I felt fantastic. Even when totally wasted, I make a point of drinking many, many glasses of water before I sleep and I wake feeling so freaking alive. Actually, I felt kinda blissed out as I made my way to Robbie’s. The weather was freezing but I had a jumper, a hoody and my coat on. My hood of the hoody was up, with my straightened hair spilling out of the sides, and I had my massive holdall with sleeping bag in. It must have looked like I was running away or something.

If people looked at me strangely, I didn’t notice; I was lost in daydreams as I walked round Liverpool, searching for the train station. It felt kinda like my brain was in a protective bubble; ignoring the cold and any worries that had plagued me over the past week. I kept coming out of daydreams and being constantly surprised that I was nowhere near where I was before. I vaguely wondered if somebody had slipped something into my drink that night. I just felt so calm and unaffected by anything and when I rang Robbie, it felt like I hadn’t spoken at all in forever. I didn’t need to, I was lost in my own head. Call it crazy…

Robbie’s family took part in Earth Hour (although they still watched a film. It’s the thought that counts, clearly!) so his house was plunged into darkness for an hour. It was like being in a powercut but an intentional one, which was rather awesome. We took torches into the garden and lay under blankets on the trampoline, looking up at the stars – which were brighter than usual and looked strangely like small bulbs screwed into the sky. I guess nobody up there got the memo about Earth Hour. When they were covered by a blanket of clouds, we made shapes out of those and lay there, laughing and chatting about anything and everything.

It’s just moments like those, y’know.

Malheuresement

2009-03-24T23:07:00.001Z

Je suis home from France. I’ve been home since Sunday actually but I’ve not blogged because I’ve been trying to deny the fact that I am. Either that or I was knackered on Sunday and out til 9pm on Monday… actually, it’s all of the above. Deceptive.

A group of around ten of us formed on this French trip to become quite good friends. On the coach ride home, we all swapped phones and wrote in numbers and, at home, I got my little booklet out with the itinerary and information to add them all on facebook. We all hate the weather and wish we were back. And every single one of us is now fluent in franglais, which won’t help for our mock oral exams this week…

On the last day, we stayed in a hotel. Grace and Catherine had a huge, apartment-like room far away from anyone in the complex and we decided to have a party. All was good and dandy as we made our way through 15 litres of cheap wine… until Odile (the latter half of the Flodile team, comprised of our two French teachers, Flo and Odile) came in, yelling at us that we were all babies and the whole hotel could hear us, ladidadida.
I ran away to my room, yanked my skinny jeans off, scattering change everywhere, and alternated between lying in bed; peeking through the windows – half-expecting to see the full force of the Flodile team coming up the path; drinking water and making friends with the toilet. We all faced the fateful ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ speech in the morning (I was still tipsy at this point and unable to take it seriously. I stood with my hand over my mouth, undecided between laughter and tears.) mais, surtout, c’etait bon temps. Bien sur.

For the main part of the week, we stayed with families. Liz and I stayed with Madame Mislej, an art gallery owner. On the first day, she was dressed in an eclectic mix of bright blue skinny jeans and a big woollen jumper. We should have really poured compliments on her about her outfit because within an hour of introducing us to her apartment (a beautifully modern place with an artsy cluttered-but-not-messy feel, set in the heart of an old, continental building in the centre of Montpellier), she was sunbathing naked for all eyes to see. And mine did. Merde.
At one point, she also fried up potato wedges in the same frying pan as beef.
“Ce n’est pas la viande.” She assured me, pouring them on to my plate. I felt like going, yeah… but that is… je suis tres unimpressed.

However, I found wine is very good for cleansing out your insides. Especially seeing as after every meal (usually mostly made up of bread) Madame Mislej would ask Liz and I if we were going out… and, oh, wasn’t that a coincidence! She was going out too! See you tomorrow!… but with our big group of 10 or so people and many bars to enjoy, it wasn’t too bad. In fact, it was fucking brilliant.

I didn’t even like wine when I set off for Carcassonne Airport the Sunday before last… now I’m finding myself having trouble sleeping without it!

There are also many temps I just couldn’t describe in detail here: our afternoon sunbathing by a river; the petanque tournament that my team (les boulistes) came second in; the ‘friendly’ people of Montpellier; the mix and match day filled with a trip to the beach, ice skating, a meal out and some drama in between… et cetera, et cetera…

Malheuresement, it’s all memories now and we’re all slowly, begrudgingly, adjusting back to England. Torrential rain and 26 promised weeks of roadworks… mais, we’ve all got new friends, bon temps to look back and smile at and even a little bit of a tan going on! Werhay.

Je sais good times can’t last forever. J’espere they would mais… c’est la vie.

;)

c'est la vie, c'est ma vie, ce n'est pas votre vie

2009-03-18T11:24:00.003Z

i dont think im going to come home, sorry.
i was so drunk off wine last night, i almost fell off my ladder getting into my loft bed (a piece of perspex with two mattresses supported by NOTHING) because i forgot to hold on.
and, still, every morning, Ive gotten up feeling GREAT. apart from this cold (and my teacher keeps correcting my french accent and im like er love, i cant do an ENGLISH accent properly)
good times
(:

sunshine, lollipops...

2009-03-16T18:58:00.003Z

My dad sent me a text asking if i could receive texts (a redundant question in texts) and how everything was going, casually slipping in that they had nice weather. My reply:

You dont know the meaning of nice weather. Locals very self assured, saw our host sunbathing naked within an hour of meeting her. She feeds us bread then kicks us out but the bars are good here.

I almost wish i could say i was exaggerating. But I have so many stories to tell for when i come home. But my time is running out on this computer so I have to go.
au reviorr xx

and all that I have is all that I want

2009-03-13T15:24:00.001Z

Results day are bittersweet affairs. With some people crying from happiness, there are always others that are crying from pure disappointment. Whether everyone earned the marks they got or not doesn’t matter, you have your marks and all you need to do now is look forward, whether that means looking forward to resits in June or not. As it happens, I got 100% in my psychology module but that’s neither here nor there (I hated saying that to people I know who do psychology, especially in my class, but I am hugely proud of myself . And, instead of allowing myself to be complacent , I’ve been working hard on the current module cause I have a mark I can’t even beat… but getting close to equalling it would be amazing.)

That was yesterday and most people are over it all. Right now I’m sat in the computers at college, wasting away my afternoon off. I didn’t go home because of Jazz Band at lunch meant I missed my bus and I’m not doing work right now because of Jazz Band exhausting me out. One of my earphones isn’t working but I managed to alter the settings on the computer enough to make it sound like it was working. It was an act of pure genius, seriously.

I was walking to the bus stop today, with my bari sax because it’s a Friday and therefore Jazz Band day… Maeve was running off somewhere in front of me and I moved my shoulder slightly, I don’t even know why. My baritone chose that moment to slip off my shoulder and fall to the floor, colliding with the back of my calf as it did so. I sat down on the bari case, yelling after Maeve and trying to act as classy as possible without showing myself up too much (a coach load of Bolton School kids was parked on the other side of the road and, no doubt, I was being watched. It’s not the most conspicuous of things to carry.) My natural painkillers kicked in but they’ve worn off now and my leg vaguely hurts every so often. It promises to bruise quite satisfactorily.

I go to Montpellier, France on Sunday with college. We’ve been paired off to stay with French families in and around Montpellier (mine has a 17 year old daughter and live dead in the centre of the city.) and there are set things planned for each day. It’ll be like my summer trip, but with more people I know and less chance of it being like a plane crash (and totally killing my self esteem, which I’ve only just got back.)

Good times.

“You should stick to prose.”

2009-03-10T23:36:00.001Z

So I started Big Band yesterday. It’s the one up from Swing Band, with harder tunes and, even worse, a couple of my cousins and several people I know of (but am not friends with) from other musical things and who I know to be much better than me.

“Are you okay?” Kirsty asked me, to which I replied that yes, yes I was. She wasn’t convinced; “You look worried.”

Of course I was worried. Anything I do in life is pretty much undermined by my low confidence and negative thoughts. Most of those for most things, I’ve managed to banish apart from the one thing I seem to do most nowadays: music. New bands, new music (especially with the bari sax) just causes a panicky reaction in me. I’m a shy baritone saxophonist, just one of my many contradictory traits.

The band already has a bari saxophonist and it turns out he’s almost as like-minded as I am.

“I’m joining you today.” I told him and he seemed very friendly. We we both agreed that the baritone should be in the bassline and doesn’t belong in solos and other such things that I’ve always privately thought. Actually it was nice to chat to someone who played the bloody big instrument other than me. I’m guessing he gets a lift in on a cushy car and doesn’t have to deal with public transport the way I do but, still, he’s one of us… me? I don’t know.

So yeah, they got a new tune out that nobody had ever played and Andy counted us in… and, seriously, I fell in love. This band is so much my level than the simple, simple tunes of the Swing Band. Andy said himself it’s a big jump between Big Band baritone parts and Swing Band ones but I didn’t mind. They weren’t any harder than those of the college Jazz Band and, with the other Baritone there, I completely skipped out the part where I panic and don’t play for ages. Of course, it may be a while til I can do it alone so I hope he doesn’t miss a session for a good few months yet.

Yeah, sleepytime. Re-reading through this reminds me of Frankenstein’s monster. My sentences seem disjointed and out of place. I haven’t the energy to change them so it’ll do.

PS: I was HAPPY today. With nothing weighing on my mind at all. We had sun and I seriously think it has something to do with it.

Disappeared off the face of the earth?

2009-03-08T23:46:00.003Z

I wish. I’m caught between a mixture of being incredibly productive or just uncaring and apathetic lately. It’s funny, though, as soon as I started typing this into Windows Live Writer, I felt like my head was clearing a little. But I can’t write a full scale blog today, I have an analysis for English to write for first thing tomorrow and I also have to be up early to walk a mile with the Bari sax.

I’m starting the Big Band tomorrow. It’s a step up from Swing Band, which I’m still going to attend, but I had a word with the big musical boss men and had it arranged for me to move up, despite there already being another bari saxophonist.
I’m cacking it. But the deep end is the best way to learn after all.

One my cats got run over. We now have one lonely little kitten (Archie), who has never been apart from his sister (Pepper). Mum and I also analysed the tire tracks by the scene, as close to the tree where she was found as they could possibly get, and deduced that it was possibly murder. It’s actually heartbreaking. Archie keeps sniffing everything, searching for her and meowing at us, as if we’re keeping her from him purposely. You can’t exactly explain to a cat the foreverness of death.

I decided that there’s nothing more counterproductive than the sound of the wind battering against a house, especially when the morning brings promise of a long walk with a big instrument. It’s getting to the stage where I have to sit back and list reasons why I can’t miss college that day. It usually starts with a list of people’s names before the more seemingly important stuff, like getting test results back or having a homework to hand in.

It doesn’t help that my imagination is taunting me, with incredibly realistic dreams of the many things I really really want right now.
Waking up, on top of it being the cruellest thing that could ever happen to me, is actually a big disappointment right now.

Stop this! LIFE IS GOOD.

A HAPPY STORY: Robbie's hockey team played in Wigan on Saturday so I went to watch them. I was sat on a bench that was missing two of its three slats, and huddled against the cold. (The one time I decided not to bring my coat was the one time I really needed it. I got told to nab a jacket so I did.) Despite this, I had fun. Aggressive is not a word I'd pair with Robbie, but there were times when he certainly was. I laughed at this (because he's a HUGE softie) and at many other things, including the unbalanced goalie for Wigan, and nobody looked at me like I was crazy because I was the only person watching. There were a few remarks aimed my way, a few wolf whistles and, of course, "That's not how you warm up, Rob!" one of them yelled as he coincided putting his pads on with talking to me. But yeah, they won and I managed to avoid several hockey balls hurtling at top speed towards my ankles so it was good times all round, I think. Except, maybe, for the other goalie. Him and gravity really didn't agree.

Goodnight. (:

because the rules of the box say so

2009-03-02T22:00:00.001Z

When there is genius such as this, I simply have no words of my own:

and then I woke up, and it was all a dream…

2009-03-01T21:41:00.002Z

In an act of amity and curiosity, I asked Sam – saxophonist and my friend at woodwind – to buy me a ticket for the play that he was in. He had been chatting on for weeks about it and bits that made him laugh and that he enjoyed, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take an evening out to support my friend.

Oh dear me.

Now, I know that sounds harsh but hindsight has hindered my view. I mean, for an amateur dramatic performance, it was good. The scenes ran smoothly and, other than a few fluffed or too quiet lines (which are too be expected), it came across as well rehearsed. The script wasn’t the tightest thing ever and the songs had me slightly confused as to their relevance BUT overall, it was good.

Until it got to 9:30pm. Now, that was the time Sam had told me it had finished the night before so my thinking was: with them having done it twice before, it would run quicker, or at least around the same time. I was due at Rachael’s at 10pm so it suited me just fine and I told mum to pick me up then. Except they were nowhere near finishing by half past nine. That wouldn’t have bothered me too much; I would have slipped out quite easily… had my allocated seat not been on the other side of the room as the bloody door.

Jesus Christ. I think the phrase is ‘in between a rock and a hard place.’ Because I had two options… standing up before the performance is over and risk looking incredibly rude to a hall full of people and any of the performers who may have seen me leave… or have mum wait for me for however long. I had no texts and could hardly ring her for the exact same reason that I couldn’t walk out. It was in this state of ambivalence and stress that I remained for twenty minutes until my breaking point came.

You see, the play was titled Bluebird and was about four poor, miserable northern children who were sent on a quest by a fairy to look for the Bluebird of Happiness, voyaging through many lands such as the Land of the Future and the Land of the Night etc. After several complications, and mild mortal peril that would have given it a PG rating, they finally arrived at the Garden of Happiness (clearly, they didn’t have enough wit to go there in the first place, which would have saved the audience two hours and many songs of their time.) whereby they discover that the fucking bluebird of happiness… was with them all along. They just needed a bloody big adventure to get some perspective and appreciate what they have.

I actually sat there and thought, “Are you taking the fucking piss?!” However, that thought didn’t stay with me long because swiftly, I gathered my belongings and, not even waiting for the cover of darkness during a scene change, I walked out. I’d remained in turmoil for long enough and I wasn’t going to stick around for another bloody song and dance about appreciation and lalalala while mum waited outside for me for yet another million years. By that point, I didn’t even bloody care if I looked like the rudest person on the planet. I needed to leave.

What a bloody cop out! Mum was frustrated when I finally reached the car but I think, once I finished venting, she understood my situation. After all that palava, I managed to turn up to Rachael’s on time and a good time was had by all. Which was good because my evening was in great need of being salvaged.

-mutters- bluebird of happiness... what's wrong with something like the crow of doom or raven of depression? stupid bloody happy people... spreading joy... as if!

open minded

2009-02-26T22:18:00.002Z

The mean nurse jabbed my arm with a big needle. She’s not mean really… in fact I think she was the nurse who immunised me as a wee baba. Nor was the needle that big (and even if it was, it wouldn’t worry me; I have given blood… nothing can scare me now!) My arm has just begun to ache slightly and I feel like being sulky about it.
At least now, I won’t get cancer of a cervical nature. Well, that is the plan…

I helped out in the psychology department at the college open evening tonight. It was quite funny, what with the one girl that we seemed to scar for life; the ignorant people who refused to maintain eye contact and kept walking away as I reeled off my big speil (which I refused to finish prematurely just because of their ignorance!) and free soft drinks. You can’t say no to free drinks. It was good times, definitely, especially seeing as it gave me some perspective and time to reflect, even amidst the madness. This time last year, I was one of them… I was that shy girl, quietly looking at all the displays and surveying my surroundings with wide eyes. Now I’m… so different. and so much better. Plus, by being on the other side of things, it allowed me to step back and look at my college almost as if through new eyes again and appreciate why I like being there. Other than when I’m around people, I haven’t been feeling really positive about anything so to be able to stand back and go OHYEAH, that’s what it’s all about was good.

In an afterthought, you should all read this book: ----------------->
It has some fairly black humour (which is my love, alongside irony); is very well written and, above all, has helped me to get out of my head when that was the worst place to be. It’s not a difficult read – my dad, who failed his English O Level seven times, read it in a few days – but that doesn’t mean that it’s simplistic in any way. Just… read it! That’s all I’m saying.

Goodnight. (:

…

2009-02-25T21:50:00.001Z

I’m so TIRED. I really can’t be bothered. I’m so negative and grumpy lately. I WANT to write a blog, I DO. The words just won’t work and there’s nothing I feel excited to write about. GARGH.

Life is good, honestly. I’m just not feeling it right now.

Saxed out

2009-02-22T23:08:00.000Z

I like my comfort zone. It’s kind of self explanatory why. But on Friday I was projected well out of that place and left feeling stripped and vulnerable. Just thinking about it makes me feel uneasy.

Few people turned up to Jazz Band so we started a new piece and that comfortable place I had begun to be in was gone. The feeling of being able to do it and of pride from my last few gigs evaporated and I was left feeling like I did at the beginning of the year; stupid, silly and shy. Not suitable at all for an instrument that dwarfed me like the baritone did.

Not only that, I was playing a part one alto piece, which had a solo halfway through it. Chris, the only trumpet that turned up, had the solo too but everyone was dying for a baritone solo. I think Paul saw the uneasiness in my eyes and made Chris do the solo… or at least I thought that until he decided there were few enough people for everyone to do a solo, ending on me.

Any trace of my comfort zone (if there was any to begin with) evaporated. Gone.

Shit.

Naturally, everyone who soloed before me were amazingly talented and sounded great (not that I didn’t already know that) and I was practically having palpitations waiting for my go. I started off on two bars rest. Brilliant. And then partway through, my Baritone decided to stop cooperating. Resulting in another few bars rest. Fantastic. I actually ended with tears in my eyes but I decided to let them fall would be overly dramatic and unnecessary.

Chris was so hyped up afterwards that he persuaded Robbie and Kirsty to skip their lessons and for us all to have a jamming session in one of the practise rooms. Fridays are my afternoons off and Robbie was coming to my house afterwards so it was hardly like I could throw up some excuse as to why I couldn’t join them. So, unwillingly, I followed.

Trying to put things off slightly, I went to the toilet. And when I came back, they had all the keys sorted out and started playing and it sounded really… amazing… and good… andIdidn’tknowanythingandjustsatthereandpanickedand…

I’m not saying it was entirely awful. I learnt Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star on the bass faster than Kirsty and tinkled a bit on the piano but I’m not supposed to be good at those instruments. Nobody’s judging how shit I am because I’m supposed to be shit. Also, the company was good… but in a way, having friends who ~~are better~~ I think are better than me, that’s a whole lot worse.

I just… I really thought I’d got over the whole comparing myself to other people shit. The whole being insecure about playing in front of other people and sight reading and… I know that everyone’s in exactly the same situation as I am… and I know that panicking won’t help me sight read better… Sometimes, though, I just can’t get out of my head quick enough to shake those stupid, stupid thoughts off.

I’m such a contradiction. Someone as shy and insecure as I am shouldn’t play an instrument as immense as the bari sax… but, without it, I would be doubly as shy and even more unwilling to play out in front of people. Without it, I wouldn’t have half the confidence I have now. Crossing emotional barriers like this with it just makes me more attached. I’m stuck fast with it… which makes me more determined to get out of this mindset and just fucking play. And play good.

Easier said than done. And the thought of it scares me to death.
But it’ll happen.

It will.

Practise makes…

2009-02-18T23:02:00.002Z

~~I’ve been abandoned~~ My family have been gone for six days so far and in that time, I have emptied the dishwasher, filled it and emptied it again and it’s halfway through being filled again; unloaded the dryer, moved washing up into the dryer and put on another load that is yet to come out; taken the rubbish out of the kitchen bin and moved it outside where it was collected today.

I have been such a Little Miss House-proud, my parents wouldn’t believe. I have no idea where this has come from but it’s been kinda nice. I also would have done the ironing but I ached too much this evening (Exercise is bad for you!) and, as of tomorrow, I’m having people stay over until my family come back. Despite this, I’m determined for my family to come back, exhausted, to a calm, clean house.

However, if they think this is going to carry on then they can think again. There is only one area of the house that hasn’t remained tidy and that is my bedroom. Clutter covers every area. I tidied it a week ago on Monday but, already, I’ve got files and papers scattered everywhere, mingled in with overflowing jewellery boxes and eyeliner pencils. Mess is in my genetic make up, I’m afraid, and the house is only staying tidy to win points from my family. It’s definitely one to save for persuasion later.

“Can I go out tonight?”
”Er…”
”…I kept the house tidy when you were in Switzerland!”
”Sure, okay Maura! Stay out for as long as you want! Don’t come back til next Tuesday if you wish! Here, have £100 while you’re at it!”

Well… I can dream!

chat du jour

2009-02-16T23:15:00.002Z

I found a new, fun game to play. To start off with, I lure the cats into the conservatory, swiftly shutting the door behind them. It’s about this point that they realise it was all a mean, mean TRAP and start mewling in their kittenish way, pawing gently at the glass and stretching up towards the keyhole. They realise that the keyhole plays some part in their freedom and think that - in case we hadn’t guessed by the way they sit expectantly at the other side of the glass, looking longingly through the pane and meowing - stretching up towards it will help. And sometimes it does, but not when I’m playing my game.

Next, I get a tin of cat food. It’s especially fun if I’ve already opened a tin and I get to take it straight from the fridge. The fridge is nestled next to the sliding doors leading into the conservatory, so the poor little cats get to watch (heads moving simultaneously) as I tauntingly walk past with food. This food gets put in their bowls before I walk back into the kitchen, binning the tin and shutting the kitchen door slightly… but not fully. Just enough so they can smell their food.

Basically: If the cats can open the door, they can eat. It’s funny cause at one point yesterday, Archie (the fat one) opened the door a little bit and then came to try his original tactic of rubbing up against my legs and tripping me up. He could have so easily opened the door fully if he wanted but, no. I guess this could possibly be expecting too much from my cats… and, yes, most of the times they have eaten because I’ve forgotten all about it and left the room.

It may sound cruel to you but it’s all about give and take. They’re loving the free rule on the house they have at the moment. Just a few minutes ago, they tumbled down the stairs and stalked through the lounge, hiding from each other. It’s more entertaining than the TV that’s babbling away in the kitchen. So a few minutes’ taunting before they get to stuff themselves is only fair.

Goodnight.

Wish I was there…

2009-02-15T16:42:00.003Z

That’s my brother and my mama (the raspberry. She said she was going for more of a tellytubby look but I disagree.) on the lake in Schwarzsee. They were with my other sibs and they did jump up and down in front of the webcam, waving their arms for me but it only updated once every two minutes so I missed that.

And I miss them… although this weekend has been amazing without them.

I also have college tomorrow, after having a week off. So, of course this day is reserved for the obligatory last minute rushing to do all my holiday work before tomorrow. Naturally, if I was in Switzerland right now, I wouldn’t have to do that… but I would miss far too much in college.

Sigh. C’est la vie.

PS: he said he loves me. ♥

Disagreeing with skiing

2009-02-14T16:32:00.001Z

The first time ever I strapped a few planks of wood to my feet all in the name of fun, I was around the age of 5 at at place called Ski Rossendale. Rather than faking snow, they have a plastic bristle slope. A toothbrush. I don't remember much of it, just that I was dressed in one of those thick, all body suits and I was with mum and one of her old work colleagues (whose hands I kept gripped tightly in mine.)

The next time was last October and we went to the Chill Factor^e - which is basically a proper ski slope that's been abducted and housed inside what looks like a giant eraser on heavy supports. My parents, who had skied on their honeymoon, were toying with the idea of a skiing holiday in February so took us for a first lesson to see how we felt.
Our instructor was named Lenny and he had us running up the slope in our boots, leaving the skis at the bottom; walking round in a big circle on one ski... then the other... then with both... By the end of the session, we had all managed to ski from halfway up the nursery slope whilst touching our head, shoulders, knees and toes. (Luckily, we didn’t have to sing at the same time as that or I’m not so sure of my chances of making it.)

But I did make it! Unlike my brothers, I managed to stay upright all the way through. Me and the ground had managed to come to an agreement whereby we remained in our rightful places and all was good.

The next time I skied, it was around a month later and, to save on money (fake snow is expensive y’know!) we went back to Ski Rossendale. Oh dear God, the toothbrush. I was cursing those bristles the instant I stepped onto the nursery slope. It didn’t help that my instructor had already established herself as a patronising bitch early on, siding with my parents in a jocular, arrogant manner and making me feel like I was five again, trying the slopes for the first time.

On these slopes, instead of sidling sidewards up the slope, we had a conveyer belt type ski lift to help us get to top. How my thighs sighed in relief at that.
Single good point of the slope over: it was AWFUL. With a capital A, W and just about everything else. I couldn’t turn… left, right or any other way. Stopping involved the barrier at the bottom of the slope. I hated it.

But I endured it, holding back the tears that I refused to spill over bloody skiing. Until our instructor (cunt) moved us to the next slope over, despite there being men at the bottom, clearing up the water gathered there with a big, sucky machine. Bad, bad skiing instructor, that was so against the rules.

So our next exercise involved her standing directly in front of us as we started off, then moving over to the side as we moved down the slope. The whole point was for us to continue heading towards her, curving nicely so we ended perpendicular to how we began. HA.

I wasn’t looking forward to this at all. As I watched other members of our group (two of whom were warring siblings, which added nicely to my foul mood) curve perfectly, I ran through all that I had been told thus far. Bending of legs, shifting of weight… Okay, I will do this, I resolved despite never having gotten close to turn just yet.

And I did it! I did turn! Unfortunately, it was no perfect curve. Instead, I turned to face my instructor just as she had begun to move, aligning myself with one of the men stood working at the bottom of the slope.

“SORRYSORRYSORRYSORRYSORRYSORRY!” I yelled to my unintentional target as I zoomed towards him, unable to do anything. Next thing I know, I was sitting on my skis and the man, well, he was sitting right on top of me. I don’t think he was too impressed. I’m not quite sure what gave it away, it was more of a hunch really. Luckily, he didn’t focus his anger on me, saving it for my instructor (whore) who was at fault here.

I managed to shuffle towards the stupid conveyer belt and was just positioning myself on it when one of my skis decided it would go up ahead of me and meet me up there, okay? And, simultaneously, the ground and gravity decided I would be better sitting down. Sat haphazardly on the ground, watching my ski slowly make its way up towards the rest of the group, - who were stood, open mouthed in shock – I lost all control and began to sob like a baby.

I only managed to stop crying twenty minutes or so later, after downing an entire coke to get my blood sugar levels up. Mum, who had rushed over to me immediately after the incident, had taken me up to the cafe where one of her current work colleagues happened to be. They chatted as I watched on, interested, feeling my mood elevate slightly.

“It’s funny when you bump into people isn’t it?” I said, after her colleague had gone. Mum, thinking I was over my incident and misunderstanding my use of metaphorical English, grinned at me:

“Yes it is! I’m glad you see the funny side! I’ve had one or two mishaps myself on the slopes…”

Realising we weren’t talking about the same things, I did what any self-respecting human being could do after such a horrific and scarring experience… I started to sob. Again. And continued to do so for the rest of the day.

I didn’t let this enormous knock on my confidence ruin my skiing career of course. Well, more my parents refused to let it… they were all for ‘getting back on the horse’ and such… so I went to a few more sessions. About two, I reckon. And I did manage to learn how to turn and I did manage to learn how to stop. And I fell over many more times but learnt how to take it all in my stride, laughing as I got up.

By that time, I had already discovered that my half term was different to my family’s and forced to choose my education (and being home alone for a week) over skiing… and I’m all for stopping while you’re ahead so I didn’t attend any more sessions.

Moral of the story: If you want to try something new, try skydiving or something. Strapping planks to your feet is not natural… Falling out of the sky? A much more sensible option, methinks.

The End.

2009-02-13T22:59:00.000Z

...

I cried when my family left.

They've arrived safely.

But a week without them in the house? This is going to be weird.

I was looking forward to it... now it just feels wrong.

OHCRAP. Need to feed the fish!

CHiao

2009-02-12T23:27:00.001Z

My family leave for Switzerland tomorrow. On account of my week off differing from all the other schools in the world (practically), I was forced to choose my education over strapping two planks of wood to my feet and using them to make my way down a sheer mountain face… fortunately - especially after all of the fun times I’ve had learning to ski (I’m still not over the scarring from my first ever lesson. Maybe I’ll share the story once I’m over it… if that ever happens…)

As well as the perks not going on holiday with my family brings (a week home alone? partay!) there are some downfalls. Well, not downfalls exactly but my parents are taking this responsibility of being home alone very seriously… as dad proved whilst talking to me in the car:

“Okay, Maura, I know you don’t want to hear this but if the plane should happen to fall out of the sky…”

Okay… WHAT? WHAT?! I had been innocently admiring the scenery (of which there is an abundance in my town, oh yes) flash by but his words made me sit up. And for the next five minutes, I sat, face composed into something that conveyed a mixture of distress, concern and anxiety (synonyms ftw) as he explained, extensively, what would happen in the event of my family’s death.

Financially, it would be fantastic! But… his words left me begging my family not to die please. I did like having them around, however much I pretended not to.

On the upside, later on I got handed a seemingly innocent wooden ornament of a house that I’d seen practically every day since conception and informed that there was hundreds of pounds worth of money stashed in there. Basically: that money was for emergencies, the key was hidden very cleverly inside the little house and if I could find my way to the money without forcing entry I could therefore survive according to Darwin (who is 200 today. hip hip hooray!) I got in and natural selection means I win.

But yeah, my parents’ over cautiousness (which is understandable; I really appreciate how meticulous they are when it comes to holidays now) has had me slightly worried. Good job I’m not superstitious or I’d be crapping one about them flying tomorrow (check the date) …although I really didn’t need another thing to add to the little niggles at the back of my mind.

No worries, it’ll be fine… and I know all their secrets now, especially their secret stashes of dosh!

Ciao familia! Salut nouvelle richesse!

Stranger danger

2009-02-10T16:26:00.000Z

“What instrument is that?”

It’s amazing how a simple question like that can open you up to a complete stranger. The person posing the question was a man in his mid 70s, I would guess, whose curiosity had been piqued after getting onto the same bus as me and the Baritone. I had taken advantage of the three fold up seats reserved for prams and placed the baritone in the small seating area. The middle section of the case, which was slightly more raised where the main body and bell coincided, rendered the middle seat useless to sit on but, with slight manoeuvring on my behalf, I managed to vacate the seat at the opposite end for this guy to sit down.

“Baritone Saxophone.” I replied, smiling at his simple voiced curiosity. It was nice, for once, to have somebody actually talk to me when I had the instrument. Usually, I just get looks. Curiosity for what this huge thing was that I was carrying or how such a small girl came to be carrying such a thing. And when I’ve walked over a mile with it, it’s just lovely for someone to start a gentle conversation just like they did yesterday. (Of course my true dream is for someone to once offer to carry it for a short while, whilst continuing the conversation. Just to have someone to reach out to me in such a way would be a nice reminder of the hope humanity can offer.)

Although, as we continued to talk, I still got looks. A girl not much older than I was, child in her lap, kept glancing over; seemingly uneasy at this impromptu friendliness. I ignored her. Too much is emphasised on the danger of strangers that we have no idea what kind of stories they could possibly have to tell us. And this guy had a lot:

He told me of the time he tried to learn the trumpet and spent a weekend (unsuccessfully) trying to make a note out of it; he told me of how he saw Count Basie live and the band was on before and as soon Count Basie arrived onstage, they all blasted out and it was like instant surround sound; he told me of the Wigan International Jazz Festival and how he was impressed that our town had something like that to offer. There were other things but I couldn’t possibly recall it all.

And in return, I told him of the two bands I was in (Jazz Band at college and Swing Band outside of college) and the opportunities those gave me (Appearances at Wigan Jazz Club; regular performances and chances to play at the Albert Hall and, of course, playing at the Jazz Festival) He asked if I did this for my parents and I laughed, saying how I wouldn’t carry an instrument so large just for my parents. It was purely out of love. We both agreed that live music was best and we were blessed with the opportunities our town offered us.

I never found out his name.

I don’t know of anything substantial about him – whether he had a wife, children… – other than vaguely where he lives.

I don’t even know if, once he left that bus, we would ever meet again.

But all that didn’t matter, for twenty short minutes, as we talked and laughed, despite our age gap. We were two strangers on a bus with something in common and that was all.

It was nice.

Cracking

2009-02-08T23:14:00.001Z

I didn’t turn on my laptop yesterday. Instead, I enjoyed a long, hot bath; read quite a bit of Eclipse (the third book in the Twilight series. It seems that I’ve been every bit as sucked into it as most other people at the moment); tidied my room; watched a little trash TV (which you’ve got to love, really); straightened my hair; changed into a dress I’ve not worn since summer and started to practise my clarinet when Robbie turned up at mine. (It’s Granddad’s birthday this week so my family, with Robbie, celebrated at a nearby restaurant. It was entirely lovely.)

I haven’t been able to avoid my addiction today (I’m not just referring to the computer itself; blogging itself is an itch that needs scratching) but yesterday was great. Other than when Robbie was around, my time didn’t disappear for no apparent reason. I didn’t feel like my day had been entirely wasted; lazily draining into the night without much instance.

Speaking of addictions, Maeve found a cigarette in a drawer in Luke’s bedside table. She wasn’t supposed to be rooting in Luke’s drawer but she’s eight and innocent and what she found overrides her invasion of personal privacy. Sometime last year, I caught wind of his smoking habits and, naturally, passed it on to my parents. We weren’t exactly as… friendly as we are at the moment. And friendly is hardly the word to describe our relationship but there’s no bitterness any more. Just natural avoidance, talking if we have to. Anyway, I passed it on and he assured them that it was one or two puffs and that’s all. So this has been forgotten until today.

It’ll be interesting to see how this plays out. My familial disputes are always fun.

pressing flowers – the life version

2009-02-07T00:56:00.001Z

The oven makes an awesome bassline to the song I’m listening to. Toilets generally flush in e flat so I’m wondering what note it’s happily humming along to. If I cared enough, I’d get the tuner out. No matter now, the TV’s on and music has been paused, all in the name of Stephen Fry.

I got a rose today. Because we’re not in college on the day before Valentine’s day (Friday the 13th, ooh) my college got festive a week early. Hearts have been strung everywhere and the dinnerladies got a little saucy with messages on heart placards today (“Hey, big boy.”, “Gotcha.” and, “Hug me.” to name a few.) There has also been the chance for people to slip a specified amount of money into a red shoe box decorated with hearts in order for the owner of the swipe number written on the envelope to receive a rose.

And, regardless of my strictest instructions to Robert, I received an email yesterday telling me that I had a rose waiting for me at student reception. Despite my protestations, I’ll admit that I was fairly delighted to get a rose. The last time anyone gave me a rose was the 24th of October, at my Grandma’s funeral, and I had tried, unsuccessfully, to press that. It turned black and withered. So to receive a red, living rose for a reason other than sympathy was lovely.

Yeah, four weeks today.

lightly sprinkled

2009-02-05T23:03:00.001Z

If I were an Inuit, I would probably be able to say in a single word the type of snowfall we had today. As it happens, I am not Inuit and neither are you (or so I presume) so that’s slightly redundant. But walking to the bus stop this morning in the snow felt like I was walking atop a Victoria sponge. The snow was falling lightly as icing sugar would through a sieve. It had all but disappeared by second break but to walk along early that morning, quietly singing songs about snowing (and being chided for singing Christmassy songs but since when did Winter Wonderland ever mention Christmas?) was quite nice. If a bit nippy.

This week has been such that I’ve cursed the days as they intruded onto my consciousness. I’ve said it all, from, “Ah, shit… Monday.” to, “Bollocks… Wednesday.” No doubt I’ll thank fuck it’s Friday within moments of waking tomorrow. And thank fuck for a week off next week. Other than skipping Media on Monday to go home and sledge instead (when my teacher asked, I told him that I had been ill without so much of a giveaway hesitation.), I haven’t missed any lessons; haven’t even considered it. That doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve cared. I’ve just kind of let everything wash over me. And I think I’ve failed my French mock.

Such is life. None of these matter in the grand scheme of things. I’m just going to welcome my week off with open arms and hope to see things from a different perspective once college starts again.

Goodnight. (:

brrrrr

2009-02-03T20:13:00.006Z

banana you glad I didn’t say orange?

2009-02-02T19:25:00.001Z

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Orange.”

“Orange who?”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Orange.”

“Orange who?”

“…I’m saying this wrong aren’t I?”

Rachael, Jade and I skipped last lesson to sled down the hill behind my house and drink hot chocolates, trying to nurse feeling back into our frozen hands. I’ve already skipped too many media lessons but, to be honest, I don’t care much. I’m only going to get this chance once whereas media lessons are ongoing and tedious.

I don’t think that blizzard promised for tomorrow is going to deliver either so I’m glad I took my chances when I could. It’s not often a day like this happens, so it’s best to appreciate it.

"It's so weird being quoted."

2009-01-29T22:18:00.003Z

Final gig of the two today and I got the shakes yet again. Midway through the first song, adrenaline kicked in and, instead of giving me that buzz, it made my little legs shake instead. And, when you're the smallest saxophonist (at 5'5") with the biggest saxophone (which weighs in at 13-14 pounds or 6.5 kg according to Wikipedia. That's an eighth of my body weight!), shaking is not a good idea. Luckily, nobody noticed, and I continued to blast out like nobody's business.

And once I got off that stage, having owned all three songs, that buzz kicked in.
(:

&all that jazz...

2009-01-27T20:58:00.003Z

For the next two evenings, I'm taking part in a Jazz, Soul, Blues and Reggae Review at college. It's a pretty random mix of music and means that I'll be in there until 10pm for both nights. Tonight, I had the rehearsal and... I'm not quite sure what to say about it.

The set that we played was a good bad set. I don't think I've ever had a good bad set before. And, by that, I mean that we all played really badly - missing out on cues; playing at different times... it was generally a shambles. Despite this, we still managed to sound good! I'm still not sure how that works! Chris, the only trumpet out of a usual five, managed to successfully sight read quite well and filled in at parts when the saxophones didn't play. I thought I did quite well, blasting out nicely and bringing the tune back to a repeat when the two tenors didn't play (or didn't play loudly enough, which is just as bad!) I did miss out a few parts but I was happy generally so I didn't mind too much. But according to Chris&Robbie, I knew where I was when everyone else didn't and helped move everything along.

Which is a complete turnaround from the beginning of the year where I was too scared to even play.

And, even with it being the shambles that it was, it still beat Winbalm...

"Were you a tiger in a previous life...?"

2009-01-25T20:29:00.002Z

I can't focus enough to get my english coursework done. I have enough ideas, just constructing the whole thing is proving difficult.

Ah well. it'll happen.
(:

get that friday feeling!

2009-01-23T14:57:00.001Z

Friday afternoons are my afternoon off. Because of Jazz Band, I miss my only bus home and the usual plan is to stay in and complete all my homework for the weekend. But today I thought ‘screw it!’ I didn’t think that straight away, mind. I got my psychology booklet and read an exam question that was talking about the validity of laboratory experiments and decided it wasn’t for me. My plans have fallen through over the weekend so it’s not like I’m going to be short of spare time to do it.
This is totally not my fault. I know that it’s great to get onto the bus home on Fridays, knowing that I’ve got all my work done but Jazz Band has totally knocked any ounce of concentration from my mind.

Wanna know why?

Wanna know why?

Cause I OWNED THEM ALL.

The end. (:

Apparently

2009-01-22T23:33:00.001Z

males blink half the amount of times than females.

Why have I wasted so much time playing staring games with them? I feel cheated!

Balloon Rescue Service

2009-01-21T19:02:00.001Z

Lately, I have found myself in the extraordinary position of having an abundance of blog titles and nothing - well, nothing of real interest - for me to blog about. Except, due to the fact that I am currently evading doing English Coursework, I seem to have miraculously found a reason to post. The coursework will get done before the deadline tomorrow but not before I go through my ridiculous routine of leaving it until last minute, when it stresses me out incredibly.

Today a double decker bus tried to go under a low hanging tree. The tree decided that a huge branch deserved no longer to be a part of it, and so the branch tried its chances with a car that had been innocently passing by. Unfortunately, we were about ten cars behind and, whilst they could squeeze in the space to the right of the stationary bus and car, my bus couldn’t. So after twenty minutes of faffing around, my bus driver finally hopped back into his little cab and headed towards the collision site, only to turn left at the high school we’d conveniently stopped near and use their turning circle to turn back and go towards college on the motorway. Buses don’t belong on the motorway. It was fairly odd.

After all that, we turned up twenty minutes after lessons had begun. I was meant to have media but Greg, my teacher, had set group work on Monday to be completed over the duration of the week’s lessons. My group finished their work on Monday and we had decided not to go in. Luckily, the bus thing provided a legitimate excuse for when I received an email from my group, telling me that they had gone in and asking where the hell I was. Greg also caught me in the corridor and I explained about the crazy happenings whilst I was en route this morning and he said that he would see me tomorrow. I hadn’t planned on going in, but now I have to. And now my group won’t be in tomorrow (having done all their work!) so I’ll be alone in media. Yet again.

I keep skipping media far too much. Rachael thinks it’s because Robbie is free at the same time. I’ll admit, that is a bonus but whether he was there or not, I’d skip anyway. The entire last term, I worked on creating a radio news bulletin alone. Everyone else had their own groups and I was isolated from them all. It was awful and I hated it. And it wasn’t like I didn’t try to fit in but when everyone’s working on separate projects, it’s a little difficult. We’re done with coursework now so I’ll be able to become a part of the group again. But last week, we spent the entire week viewing other people’s coursework. I think it was to aid people who were doing their evaluations but I had finished that by last Tuesday so it was pointless to me. I figured wasting time in the canteen was an equal use of my time. And this week, we were given a task to do that would in no way take us a week to complete. But a week we were given for it.

I don’t know, I’m finding it hard to shake the resentment from last term. But I’ve made a promise to myself to skip no more lessons. I think Greg’s beginning to notice. And Rachael is threatening to tell him that it’s because of Robbie. Hating the lessons does not come into it apparently.

So Barack Obama is America’s new president now. I don’t pretend to take an interest in American politics but, in conjunction with this, my college has set up a new site for equality and diversity in the college. To advertise this, the college was up to the rafters with balloons (helium balloons; they didn’t span from floor to ceiling!) I don’t know about you but the general thought processes of most people in my college went:

Floating balloons = helium = sucking the air out to make everyone sound like chipmunks.

Luckily, some balloons escaped the grasp of these tyrannous college kids, smugly bobbing to the high ceiling of the canteen. Unfortunately, some remained with their strings on, which spelled their doom when Mike constructed a balloon trap. He tied many balloon strings together onto one balloon that hadn’t escaped, to make a very long lead. At the top of this, he formed a loop that tightened once gently pulled. The balloon loop was carefully manoeuvred until it had captured the string of an escapee and tugged on gently, slowly bringing both balloons down with it. It was an act of pure genius.

Wow. this is what we call a proper blog. This feels good!

score (:

2009-01-19T22:21:00.001Z

So I’ve had a boyfriend now for… ~~nine?~~ ten days now. And I’m going to pretend that he’s not reading this (and laughing at me!), which is one reason why it’s taken me so long to say anything about it.

I don’t know what to say really other than it’s really nice. And… normal. Which sounds like an odd thing to say but we’ve been friends since September(ish), I’ve always liked him and since we admitted we liked each other (which was a little more complicated than I’m letting on!), it’s not really been awkward at all. Which is good.

Ohh, so you’re wanting specifics? argh, well… he’s called Robbie (you can find the link to his blog to the right. Yesss, he’s another I got to jump onto the blogging bandwagon. Win); he plays tenor sax in Jazz Band and is lovely and evil to me in equal measure.

An example of this is was on the afternoon we started going out. Friday afternoons are my afternoons off at college but I stay in because Jazz Band means I miss the single bus home and, that week, his afternoon lesson was cancelled because he had an exam in the same subject until 2pm. And we walked down the reservoir, where the water was frozen into an thick, flat layer on top of the lake. And, in the midst of all the cute couple-y stuff, the whole asking out thing and holding hands and… yeah, well, in the midst of all that, I got called a muppet about a million times (amongst other insults that I’ve blanked from my memory, no doubt); received threats about being thrown into the lake (some were outright, others were more ponderings about whether the ice would take my weight) and all sorts of other kinds of abuse.

It’s just how we roll, see.

And, now, it’s ten days in and he still doesn’t seem like he wants to get rid of me yet. So it’s all good!

Win. Definitely.

It all started with a blouse.

2009-01-18T19:56:00.000Z

I walked into my room earlier to find some items of clothing on my bed. Some were interesting (like the pink trousers); some weren't so much (like the random white tee in there) but all I had never seen before. Something tells me (i.e. Maeve walking in after being at Gran's, her hands full of bags and boxes) that they had originated from Gran's house.

And, amidst the pile, was a nice blue blouse with a white pattern running along the buttons and puffed sleeves that are brought in at the wrist, all shakespeare like. Words don't do it justice, but trust me; it's nice. So I tried it on. And you know how blouses are, they're fussy. So initially, this blouse was ill-fitting, stopping at my stomach and it just didn't look right; the bottom button was missing. In short it was awkward. And highlighted a ~~major~~ minor ~~problem~~ insecurity… but nothing that socks couldn’t solve! That sorted, I got some black thread out and filled out the space below the row of buttons with the spare button found on the label. And, with a bit of tugging here and there, it seemed to fit right enough.

Sorted. But it was hardly a top to be worn with jeans. And my shorts would never do, even with black tights. Sigh. Here’s where being female wins all: I reached into the back of one of my shelves, moved things around a bit until the perfect pair of trousers just fell into my hand. Genius.

Before I knew it, I was dressed up in one of the dresses I got late last year in preperation for going out drinking at Wigan (something which still hasn’t happened yet!) and trying out different accessories and belts and such with it.

…I’m not even a girly girl! And yet this simple blouse sparked something so intherently femenine within me, I had no chance of stopping it. It was so infuriatingly frustrating (especially now my room looks like a small clothes shop exploded in there overnight) and entirely lovely. Ah, sweet contradiction.

sssh

2009-01-18T17:01:00.002Z

I was reading postsecret again today, which is generally my usual sunday activity. There was one postcard up there this week that I really related to and I was so close to joining the forums, because of this. I don't know why I didn't, but I did stick around and browse for quite a while and looked at secrets I hadn't seen for a while or at all.
There's something about postsecret that makes me look into myself and just really think about life and such. And it's amazing just how by reading 20 secrets a week makes me re-evaluate my life and realise how lucky I am.

and I am lucky. and so are you.

Happy Sunday. Tomorrow's a new week. Enjoy it!

Forks

2009-01-15T20:36:00.004Z

On Wednesday, me and the besties went to an all you can eat chinese. And, in the spirit of the thing, we set ourselves a competition to see who could eat the most. With two and a half plates of food and two desserts, I lost by far and Rachael and Jade (with their millions of ice creams!) wayyyyy in front.

I think we also may have annoyed one or two of the staff there. or amused them. Jess was telling us how a friend of hers wanted to send pictures of, er... ahem, himself and Jade pondered very loudly how you could be friends with someone who wanted to show you pictures of their penis... as one of the waiters was clearing up our plates. I'm pretty sure he kept giving us looks for the rest of the night (and who can blame him?).

Another waiter was hanging round nearby when Rachael and Jade were plotting how to 'fall' into the chocolate fountain (because there was nothing good to dip in it!) and Jade decided to emulate how the fall would accidentally happen. The little bowl she had in her hand slipped out at that moment, clattering onto the floor. He came over minutes later and confiscated all the bowls on the table as we died from laughter.

And, if that wasn't enough, a waitress came along as Rachael and Jade were tucking into their thirty millionth ice cream, with two more sat smugly in front of them. They just ducked their heads into their bowls, hoping the woman had temporary blindness, until she left.

This blog makes Rachael and Jade sound like the main perpertrators but Beth, Jess and myself had equal parts in annoying everyone, with our loud laughter and many, many inappropriate conversations. We can only imagine what the staff were saying about us in the staffroom but, in the end, we gave them a good tip, and that's all that matters.

(And when I say good tip, I'm talking about money here. Although being wary about booking a table with any of us again should have been another good tip... one that I think they may have worked out for themselves!)

(:

2009-01-13T22:46:00.001Z

my ear feels exposed without a phone to decorate it.

sweet innocence

2009-01-11T21:12:00.001Z

“Maura? You know that naughty thing… erm, sex? Do like the amount of times you do it means the amount of children you have?”
”No, Maeve.”
A few minutes later, her cute little voice piped up again:
“What’s a condom?”
I looked up (“erm…”) before starting to laugh, “I stops you from having children.”
She pulled a face, “I don’t want a condom.” she said, like it was a flu jab or something.

It was really very sweet, although there’s always something wrong about listening to children say words like ‘condom’ and ‘sex’. It also reminded me how it’s been a long time since those words were actually taboo for me. Living in the town that I do, with the highest teen pregnancy rate in England/Britain/Europe (depending on who you choose to believe) generally means that you grow up talking about these things casually. It doesn’t mean that everybody’s doing ‘it’ but talking about it, we are.

Having that conversation with my sister also brought me back down to earth after the day that I’ve had. Which wasn’t filled with sex and condoms by the way, but it definitely was not on a par with the innocence of an eight year old. And, for that, I’m glad. I’ve had my years of childhood innocence and this is so much better.

Things are

2009-01-10T22:34:00.001Z

just lovely. Absolutely really brilliantly lovely.

"Maura's boy situation has now moved up a level."

2009-01-08T18:23:00.002Z

I guess that's all I want to say really. Except that it's really kinda nice. And I'm happy.
(:

I kinda wish

2009-01-07T18:38:00.002Z

so many people I know didn't read this. It would make for more open blogging.
Ah well, at least I know what's going on in my life at the moment. Maybe sometime I will share. but for now, revision.
(:

ah, sweet revision

2009-01-06T18:24:00.001Z

My tights have blood on them. Something tells me it's going to take a while before I can face rushing up the stairs to psychology again. I don't think I've had a grazed knee since childhood.
(:

i got a letter today

2009-01-05T19:10:00.003Z

My middle name was spelled right on it and there was a suspicious black mark decorating the back - it looks like a tyre print partly because it is a tyre print. And, a main problem with using letters themselves, is that there were many things that I disagreed with but had to go and use MSN to convey.
Still, I got a letter. I like getting letters. (:

hello 2009

2009-01-01T20:09:00.002Z

I'm not actually in the mood for reminiscing, but I'll tell you this much:

2008 was the best year of my life so far. True, the lows it had were the lowest I've ever had. But the same can be said for the highs. Intense is definitely the word for it. I've had so many new experiences and met so many new people. I lost people along the way as well but as is life and the people and circles I keep are better than ever, making the bad times worth it.

I sound so cheesy here so I'll leave it.
Here's to 2009 topping that.

new years eve

2008-12-31T18:42:00.002Z

The whole world has been iced, like a lovely little frosted cake. The trees and hedges are all outlined in white and any words spoken outside are crystalised in a chilly haze. It's lovely and pretty and, when I walked to the bus stop, the light of the lamposts caught what looked like little icy shards in the orange glow.

When I got to town, the church bells were ringing and it rung around the buildings as I raced to catch my train. People from pubs called and wolf whistled as I walked swiftly past but I ignored them, caught too much up in my childish wondering at the sight of the chilly evening. I made the train with a minute to spare and Alistair and I are about to catch a bus with a box of 25 fireworks and three bottles of alcohol. We can't hide the fireworks sufficiently enough with a bag so we're going to wrap them up like a belated christmas present.

Happy new year.

cause that's exactly what a catastrophe is; ignoring warnings, thinking kids will be kids.

2008-12-29T23:21:00.003Z

I am awful at advice. Just absolutely terrible. The instant you mention a problem to me, those grey cells in my skull just implode and I'm left with nothing but a, "Oh, that's bad." and, at best, "What a bastard."

Someone I care about immensely rang me up crying today with the biggest potential problem of her life. Where normal people shift into caring, practical mode, I panic. My words die. In fact, they don't even pretend to try to form in my mind. People deserve better; I should have a warning sign before they make friends with me. I mean all is okay at first. But then it gets serious, you confide in each other and problems are needed to be faced. And sometimes, "That sucks." just doesn't cut it.

I did my best. But that's in no way close to being good enough. she deserves so much more.

Did you know that, even though you deleted that post, it was still a new post? That means I still get a link to the (now non-existant) post and a preview of the first paragraph or so. And that was more than enough to get a vague idea of things. I'm so, so sorry. Please, please don't beat yourself up. If you find this and if you would like to ignore all that I've said above and I could try to help? I feel like this is my fault in some way.

=/

tip: don't tell people if you put hidden messages in your blog

2008-12-29T16:42:00.003Z

My parents are home. I had a party the other day and was slowly tidying things up. They hadn't rang me to tell me when they were arriving so there were still two bin bags full of bottles in my kitchen and a dishwasher of cups and glasses that needed to be emptied. I was ever so slightly on edge (so much so that I offered to take the bin bags to the bin, despite being in my pyjamas at 4pm and living on a main road. I realised how retarded I was halfway down my path.) so when mum yelled, "MAURA! WHY IS THE TOILET CISTERN HANGING OFF THE WALL?!", I pretty much had a heart attack.

As it turns out, the cistern had been like that for days and there seems to be no other circumstantial evidence of me having a wild party. Other than, of course, the cans of cheap cider that somebody (not so) cleverly put into our bin for can recycling. And the two bin bags sat smugly at the end of my drive.

At least I remembered to hide my WKDs. They could have very nearly been left in the fridge, rubbing shoulders with the milk bottles and in clear view for anyone who wants a cup of tea.
My parents love tea.

Another one?

2008-12-28T23:16:00.004Z

RULE #1 People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blogs and replace any question that they dislike with a new question formulated by themselves
RULE #2 Tag 6 people to do this quiz and those who are tagged cannot refuse. These people must state who they were tagged by and cannot tag the person whom they were tagged by. Continue this game by sending it to other people.

1) If your lover betrayed you, what would your reaction be?
I'd be pretty hurt to be honest. But I guess I would sit them down, talk it through with them and if that fails, byebyebaby. (=

2) If you could have one dream come true what would it be? to be an established and accomplished author.
to see relient k live (=

3) Whose butt would you like to kick?
yo mamas.

4) What would you do with a billion dollars?
Give quite a lot away. There's needing money and then there's being quite ridiculous and there are plenty more people that would deserve much of that. I'd keep enough to give to my parents to sort themselves out, enough to put away to keep myself sorted for the rest of my life and most likely my children too. I'd take my friends on a holiday and then i'd put it away and keep it hush, hush.

5) Will you fall in love with your best friend?
That would be incredibly cute. And then we could sing along (badly) to track three of Jason Mraz's album We Sing. We Dance. We Steal Things. (Lucky i'm in love with my best friend.) Right now, though, all those I consider to be my best friends don't swing that way. Merde. But I also have my whole life ahead of me.

6) Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?
That's a hard question. I have to say being loved because loving is reciprocal. If someone loves me I am bound to love them back. <- Zirelda said that. I 100% agree.

7) How long would you wait for someone you love?
Say I was sat at a train station or something, waiting for them to turn up to a date then an hour max. Say we both were deeply in love and they moved away.... I have no idea. I'm awful at answering questions. Why am I doing this?

8) If the person you like is secretly attached, what would you do?
Secrecy is a silly thing. I'd think that they were ashamed and just wouldn't want to go there really. Or that they were untrustworthy for keeping secrets like that.

9) If you could root for one social cause what would it be?
Homelessness. I buy The Big Issue.

10) What takes you down the fastest?
My own lack of self confidence and people adding to it by saying silly, throwaway comments that mean nothing to them. But I'm totally working on that and it's harder than ever now to do that. Still fairly easy but getting harder.

11) What was the last film you watched?
Mamma Mia is paused right now. I paused it to hoover. The hoover is still under the stairs and I got distracted by doing inane quizzes on my blog that nobody will ever read. =D

12) What is your fear?
I'm not going to go deep here. I'm terrified of slugs and snails. Yes.

13) What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
Zirelda didn't tag me. She didn't tag anybody! I'm doing this by choice. But I think she's really awesome, I love reading her blog.

14) Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?
Married and poor. Out of my besties, I seem to be the only one that gets tangled up in romantacisms rather than superficiality. Ooh, long words. But yeah, I'm a huge, soft romantic at heart.

15) What is the first thing you do when you wake up?
Quite often I swear actually. "Shit." is a good one. So's "fuck." Sometimes I go all out and say "Fucking shit." Ooh. And then I look at the time.
Sometimes, to spice things up, I wait until after I look at the time before swearing. (=

16) If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who would you pick?
I don't know. I just can't see me ever doing that. Love is something that's reciprocated, right? So in order for me to fall in love, I'd have to spend some time with them and to have them fall in love me too. To do that with two people would be cheating in some way, or just greedy. I could probably fall in lust with two people simultaneously. And I would most likely choose the one to make the first move. Yeah.

17) Would you give all in a relationship?
I'm not sure. I would eventually. But at first, I think I'd be tentative just because of past experience and stuff. And the fact that when it comes to me and relationships, some part of me just panics.

18) What's eating you now?
The fact that I haven't touched my psychology revision or English coursework and this holiday is rapidly disappearing. I put deteriorating then but that was the wrong word.

19) Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?
I used to be an ugly duckling; I've never had a proper relationship. Or improper one really for that matter. So it would be nice to give that a shot.
(=

I'm going to be a rebel like Zirelda and not tag anybody. Oooh.

honesty IS the best policy

2008-12-28T19:39:00.002Z

Zirelda tagged me with fours. Which is good, because I have so many thoughts whirling round my head, I have been having trouble knowing where to start. Here is a good place:

Four places I go over and over again:

College. Needing to be there for most days on most weekdays tends to keep me going back. There are some mornings when I wake up and wonder if I can be bothered (and, with college, I have the liberty on acting on this laziness if I so wish) but my love of learning, my love of high results and the people keep me going back where others have dropped out because college is 'not for them.' It's a learning atmosphere, I'm doing (mostly) what I want and I'm happy. Win.
Home. I live here. And, despite appearances sometimes, I do love being here. My family drive me crazy and sometimes I just hide in my room, music up loud. But what are family for really?
The centre of Standish. Standish being the suburb of the town I live in and the centre of it being the place of the local supermarket; my bus stop to college; Maeve's childminder and I have to go via the centre to get to drama (which is held at my old high school) and most of my mates' houses. Well, the ones that live here. Since moving from Standish High School to a college on the other side of the town, my friendship circles have widened considerably from mainly Standish to other towns as well. Despite this, I still get to see the sights and sounds pretty often. Awesome.
Public transport. Before college, I walked everywhere. Now, it's an hour bus ride to college, an hour bus ride back on the double decker. That's two hours per day and doesn't even take into consideration the buses I take to swing band, the buses I take to woodwind and the trains I seem to be constantly on if I wish to see Alistair (or other college friends). I like public transport. It may seem like a weird thing to say and sometimes it does wind me up but my parents drive me to places less and less as I get older and more independant and I like how I can get public transport to pretty much anywhere.

Four people who mail me regularly:

I'm taking mail to mean MSN. Because the number one culprit for my emails is Facebook but that hardly counts (number two is Blogger.)

Alistair. He's my best friend and he lives in another town, which means I can go for up to a month without seeing him, because we's both busy people. Usually texting satiates us but for moments like now where I am without credit, MSN will do for us. I did see him yesterday at my party, but there were many people there and the only common factor between them was me. So I was slightly busy making sure people were okay (and they were. good times.) I think sometime soon we're going to go out for a meal together. We need an evening to re-establish our love.
Chris. He's one of Alistair's friends that I friendstole and, apart from when he's playing World of Warcraft (yes.) we tend to be talking for most of the time on MSN. I stole him so well that Alistair calls him my Chris. As in 'your Chris' to my face, because he belongs to me, clearly. My hand smells of cat food.
Jen. She's a girl that's in my English and is one of the people from college that, somehow, I've gained as a good friend and I have no idea how I attracted her or deserved it. I just realised that this list is going to be extended into a five. Is that cheating? Ah. If so then I'll throw Robbie in here too. cause he just won't go away.
Daniella. On New Years day at about 2am, about two years ago, she added me randomly on MSN. We met up once this summer. I don't know how but somehow, she's turned out to be, in some ways, closer than Rachael, Jade, Beth and Jess. The other day, when she was having relationship problems, it was little ole me from the north west trying to help on the phone. I'm bad in bad situations but I did my best to not say something stupid and I think I did well.

Four of my favorite places to eat, (apart from home):

Alistair's House. I swear, they eat like kings every time i'm there and, most likely, when i'm not. Okay, well I'm not sure kings would usually eat warmed bread rolls, garlic mayonnaise with hula hoops. But I so would, had I been crowned royalty.
La Mama in Standish. It's good food, freshly cooked, and such a good atmosphere. None of the usual rush, rush and out you go. You're given time to talk and have a good time. Besides, the last time I was there, they gave us crackers.
Zeferrelis. It's a vegetarian restaurant in the lake district, which has an independant cinema and jazz club attatched to it. Heaven. Seriously, just heaven.
Rachael's/Jade's/Jess's/Beth's. Basically any of those places where we get a takeaway and hang out with people I love.

Four places I'd rather be now:

In bed. But I'm home alone so like I'm going to not take advantage of that by having an early night.
Somewhere really nice and warm. Like Portugal in the summertime, sat by the poolside. I realise my answers are getting shorter and shorter.
An amazing concert, preferably at the Manchester Academy or Liverpool Barfly and meeting amazing people.
Hanging round with more amazing people, wherever that may be.

Four favorite TV shows:

CSI: NY. It is my one true love.
The Simpsons. They went to Tokyo today, it's true!
Doctor Who. And it will continue to be my favourite show, even once David Tennant has left.
Have I Got News For You. Satirical quiz show about the weekly news. Lovely stuff.

Four movies I could watch over and over again:

Mamma Mia. Don't knock it until you try it, seriously. I think I may put it on. It's better than you could ever imagine.
Donnie Darko. Favourite film of all time. You just pick up more and more things out each time. It's a work of genius and with such a good soundtrack.
I think possibly Twilight. I only saw it the other day though and have yet to see it again to know whether the magic was only in the first viewing.
The Snowman. I count that. Just pure love, indeed.

Four people I would like to tag:
I'm glad I'm at this bit. My answers got progressively lazier!

Alistair
Beth
Rachael
Robbie

Post number 301

2008-12-24T21:34:00.003Z

santa baby

2008-12-22T14:56:00.003Z

AA?

2008-12-21T01:44:00.000Z

I'm tipsy for the second night in a row. the only difference between last night and tonight is that I was in safe hands, with it being our self defence christmas meal and all. Mum was with me, although was slightly disapproving of my vodka and cokes. At the start of the night, she goes:
"What drink do you want?"
To which I replied: "What am I allowed to have?"
She didn't answer me, allowing the straight coke she brought to me five minutes later to answer for her. But then Chris - one of the instructors - and Fiona - my aunt - came in useful for supplying the alcohol.
I also saw several people I know, who know me as the person I was in high school. So I was glad that I looked good and was enjoying myself. Ooh, I better go to bed. the alcohol keeps hitting me more and more. I'm sat here giggling, which is never a good sign!

yesterday

2008-12-20T17:21:00.002Z

I hardly think getting two buses home whilst tipsy was the cleverest idea I've ever had. But it was entertaining and I didn't get raped. At one point, I rang mum from a payphone and, once I'd put the receiver down, it gave me 50p for no reason.
The guy on the phone next to mine turned to me, "Do you have change for a quid?"
"Yeah, I do!" I replied cheerily and, whilst counting the change added, "The phone just gave me 50p!"
He didn't look impressed. But I found it funny.

Your SMITHteens Six-Word Memoir is a Book Finalist!‏

2008-12-18T23:51:00.002Z

I got this email on the 3rd of December. I think I did actually explode with excitement. And, yes, I managed to hold out for two entire weeks before telling anybody. Win.

Dear Six-Word Memoirist,

If you're getting this email, it means that one of the six-word memoirs you submitted at www.SMITHteens.com is one of our favorites. Congratulations! You are a finalist for publication in Six-Word Memoirs by Teens Famous and Obscure, a new book coming out from HarperTeen next fall. Our first book, Not Quite What I Was Planning, was a big hit, and we know with your help, this one can touch even more people!

We're thrilled to have you involved, and are hoping you can help us out with three things:

1) We'd like to credit everyone's story to their first name and last initial (like: Rachel F., Larry S., Barack O., etc). Lots of you only submitted your first names. Please reply and give us your last name or initial.

2) Art! We're planning to illustrate some of the memoirs with work that, like your stories, comes right from you. Drawings, doodles, comics, photos, etc are all great. Please keep in mind that you can't turn in an image that belongs to someone else, that it must be sent as a high resolution file, and that the book will be printed in black and white, so it'll look better if your art is too.

3) What else do we need to know? Does your memoir have an amazing backstory? Did you hear about this project in an unusual way? Have six-word memoirs already had an impact on your life? Have you used the form in your church or school or support group for people obsessed with knitting tutus for their German Shepards?

This book is all about you, and the more we know, the more we can share with the world when we blog about it or do interviews on TV. Maybe we can bring some of you with us! Of course, everyone who is published will get a free book and contributor kit when the book comes out next year.

If you don't remember your memoir, or need to know which one of yours is a finalist, just write back and ask. When the book is finished, we'll let you know for sure which ones will be printed.

Thanks for being such amazing storytellers, and let us know if you have any questions.

Yours in six,
Rachel and Larry
www.SMITHteens.com

V is for...

2008-12-17T21:45:00.002Z

I was going to do a vlog instead of a blog today. I was seriously going to talk to a camera about my day for various reasons. I actually did it earlier but my mic wasn't connected and then I had to leave.

but now my dad made me cry and I want to empty my stomach somewhere, despite how nice the meal was tonight. Which does not for a nice vlog make.

Fail.

hippos

2008-12-16T21:59:00.003Z

There is this girl at college that went to my uncle's wedding a few years ago. Her mother had introduced her to blatantly the best looking guy there (though I decided he was obviously related to me in some round-a-bout way that nobody ever informed me of. He's not. but still...) whilst I spent the entire reception dancing with relatives or looking after the children.

Question: Skip forward a few months and who do you think is happier with themselves?
Answer: Most likely her. But not for the reasons listed above. No, because she most likely doesn't spent most of her time questioning every move she makes or listening to those little niggles or comparing her life to those of other people. If she wears something different, she probably doesn't spend most of the day tugging at it anxiously. She probably accompanies it with a smile and makes it look good. She probably doesn't go red ever, let alone talking to people she has talked to since September (It's pathetic.)

But I don't know her. I'm making a whole load of assumptions that could be entirely false for all I know. She could be equally, or even more, as insecure as I am. I've exchanged no more than a few sentances with her; it's not the firm basis for a psychological analysis now is it?

So I decided to look at it this way: I saw her today. Just by chance, one of those things. And her hair looked really nice. It's just one of those things that, as a girl, I noticed. Her hair is curly and always seems to be really nice. Actual curls that fall, not hair that progressively gets bigger as the day goes through (see? With the comparisons already and I'm trying to be objective here.)

I thought all this, right, but how often do people give her compliments? Again, I have no real idea but you tend to give compliments one time for every ten times you think of something nice, right? So just because nobody says something to me whenever I'm feeling particularly vulnerable, doesn't mean they're thinking it?

If this made no sense to you, it's because it's all in my mind.

Interesting

2008-12-16T09:59:00.002Z

Sitting on the late bus, listening to two of my ex-best friends bicker behind me. One was lecturing the other in her self-important tone about how she watches films that are scary but if she thinks a film is going to be scary, she doesn't watch it. It didn't make sense to me either. And the other was whining back miserable answers in a muffled tone.
And, as I was listening in, some odd feeling tugged at my stomach. I think it was nausea, actually.

Also interesting is sitting here, trying not to attract the attention of the guy who noticed I was free via facebook. He came over to strike up a conversation but I was as non-commital as possible and he left. One thing he doesn't need is encouragement.

Mornings should be outlawed.

you lose, I winbalm.

2008-12-15T17:19:00.004Z

When you build up to things in life, they tend to either be so incredibly amazing that the build up was so, so worth it... or they just weren't. Today was the latter. Most of my day had been geared towards this gig at lunchtime... and it just died. We were missing several people from the band (including Andrew who had left his saxophone at home!) and the audience was barely bigger than the band itself. The first song decided to curl up and die somewhere without even telling us and I felt like apologising to Rachael and Jade for wasting part of their lunch. The second song was an improvement, though we perform better at your average rehearsal.

"How did you do?" Martin (Twin two!) asked me afterwards as we packed our instruments away.
"Erm... It could have been worse!" I replied, to which he laughed. I think that sums the entire performance up to be honest.

I don't mind about the performance dying. It happens, it was amusing and the gig today didn't matter. But, with all my energies being focussed on this one event meant that I died at the end of lunch. I was aiming to do so many things tonight but it's just not practical. Tonight, I will give myself a decent night's sleep and tomorrow brings a new day.

In other news, my cat just farted. But the joke's on her because I put a sly clip in her fur, which she still hasn't noticed.
Win.
(=

nutville

2008-12-14T19:02:00.002Z

My papa emptied the Wii/Music room and, somehow, my saxophone ended up hidden behind some chairs at the bottom of the stairs. So I had to stand on top of one of those chairs and reach down to get it. As far as manoevres go, it wasn't a very ladylike one. But then, I'm wearing a dress for once so I get bonus points for that? (Even if my tights do have a ladder in them but ssh...)

I have spent my day watching Love Actually on youtube and tidying my room. Simultaneiously. The only good thing about really hating my media lessons is that I have fallen in love with the wonder that is youtube because it helps me through those godawful lessons. Of course, I used it before and people always link stuff to me but now, as far as I'm concerned, it's the answer to my problems. Including wanting to watch Love Actually but not owning the DVD. Genius. And my room is almost looking presentable.... and I realised why I love Thomas Sangster.

As for the reason I am playing my saxophone... every Monday lunchtime, my college has a thing called 'Winbalm.' (Winstanley Bands and Live Music) It's a place for live acts to showcase their talents in front of fellow students. And, in a break from the usual tradition of acoutic guitars, rock bands and the like (as good as they are), Jazz Band is playing. It'll be interesting cause Winbalm is usually packed out as it is and the band takes up about half of the room. It'll also be interesting because, well, my friends haven't seen me play anything ever, let alone on the baritone.
So I need to impress... But I'm feeling quietly confident about it. So no worries!

02:32

2008-12-13T02:32:00.002Z

It's late. I've broken off ties with one friend today but, as a result, strengthened ties with another. I'm getting up in five or so hours to go christmas shopping in the rain but listening to Ludovico Einaudi is much better than sleep at the moment. Whether I'll agree in the morning is yet to be seen.

I'm feeling good.

I miss the way I used to blog.

2008-12-12T18:47:00.002Z

I walked almost a mile with the baritone today to catch the early bus... but managed to leave my music at home. I was sat in psychology, daydreaming but not even thinking about music, when the image of 'Walk Don't Run' sat smugly on my music stand popped up into my mind.
"Oh poo!" I said aloud, managing quite smartly to censor myself without even realising before explaining to my table what an idiot I was. I ended up sharing music with the twins, playing the alto part instead. I also managed to accidentally take a chunk out of Simon's finger (surprise, surprise, the twins actually do have names!) It was totally not my fault the zip on my baritone case kept stopping at a certain point and that somehow it managed to take part of his finger when he tried to fix it. It did cause me some giggles, though I had to be extra appreciative about him unzipping the case for me.

and I kicked ass. Well, kicking ass by my standards. I thought I did well today and the music really got to me today. I was still tapping and humming by the time I got onto the bus, an hour and a half later.

not squeaky

2008-12-11T21:15:00.002Z

For my clarinet lesson today, we were in the Drama Hall for some reason. It was directly after woodwind, and in the room next door so I felt slightly under pressure. I was in a big hall and people who are used to hearing me play incredibly simple pieces were about to unintentionally hear me play grade 5 music.
So I took a deep breath and filled every space of the room. From corner to corner. There were mistakes, of course, but most were rhythmic and I was blasting it in a way that made any other mistakes sound intentional.
Yeah, I was happy.

double entendre

2008-12-09T22:26:00.002Z

5'5" isn't that small, really. 65 inches; 165 centimetres. Other people are taller but that's just the way things go.

So why am I still feeling like I never measure up?

.

2008-12-07T23:10:00.002Z

I need to stop comparing my life to those of other people. It helps nobody.

aint that grand

2008-12-06T01:44:00.003Z

I bumped into Gran in the bus station as I was making my way home yesterday. She had just missed her bus but that meant we could sit and wait for the bus, then get on one together and have a little catch up. I liked that; it was a little company on what was a fairly lonely birthday (what with everyone but me being at work or school and all my college friends doing their own thing.) Plus I don't ever see Gran enough anymore.

Then, when Dad came home from his three day trip in Switzerland (usually, that's a stressful time for me because I have to step up to help mum but not this time, so that was nice) we went to visit Granddad. Despite Dad's daily reminders, he thought that it was Maeve's birthday and got a card suitable for her age. He hadn't put a name in and could have got away with it but he wasn't thinking like that. We all laughed it off though and it wasn't too bad.
It's amazing that he remembered to buy a card at all. I appreciated it.

When I think of Granddad at the moment, I get the feeling of pathos. I really doworry for him. Sigh.

But my birthday was good. I'm now officially in the money.
Although, I have just realised that tomorrow, I'm going skiing before watching a play at Stonyhurst then sleeping over at Rachael's to spend Sunday at the clothes show. I have no idea when I have time to wash my hair, let alone do the analytical essay set for English and test set for Psychology, both due in on Monday. With having two days off, it seems I have even less time for work...

Things to do today:

2008-12-05T11:37:00.000Z

Go to the bank and change my bank account from a childrens' one to a big, big adults' one complete with debit card.
Get the bus to town and pick up my coat which I left at woodwind last week.
Whilst in town, buy number two alto saxophone reeds and number three clarinet reeds.
Get the bus back home and make sure everything's tidy for when my parents come home.

Thrilling stuff to be doing on my first day of being 17! But I decided, I'm going to make myself look immense, using as many as my birthday presents as possible. People will be falling over themselves to help me, I decided. Oh yes, if I've got to be dull, I might as well make it as exciting as possible on my birthday!

=D

2008-12-04T18:11:00.002Z

Today was a good day. It's my last day of being 16 and a Consultation Day in college (where the teachers spend two days talking to parents about their children and we have the day off!) so I invited people round to celebrate these things. Between me and my besties, we have a thing for birthdays called The Box. We all chip in £15 and buy loads of presents between us. The presents are numbered and you have to open them in order. I was one step ahead and got all the presents out and lay them on the carpet in order so I got kicked out of the room as they hid the parcels all around. After that, we got the cards out and played Spoons and Mafia and generally pigged out on sweets and unnaturally coloured fizzy drinks.
Oh, it was good.
&Tomorrow is another consultation day so lie in for me!

let's talk about the weather

2008-12-02T23:20:00.003Z

On Saturday, it was foggy and cold. The fog was thick, thick, thick and I found myself walking in it several times that day, going here, there and everywhere. It was right lovely; I had lots of layers on so I was lovely, snuggly. You could just see the glow of lights and it would have been lovely in three weeks' time when all the christmas lights are out and all you would have been able to see is that muted warm glow of christmassy colours. The cold was really crisp, a fantastic wintry chill with no wind and all the spiderwebs were crystalised in the bushes. It was right nice.

And when I woke up today, there was snow all around! True, it was barely scraping an inch but it was an inch more than previous years! I had on my black dress which is really actually quite thick and woolly without seeming thick and woolly and three pairs of tights so I was nice and snug again. and I like to think I looked good too. The buses were all disrupted; many people didn't turn up to college and classes were empty! The snow melted during the day, which was disappointing. Until I came home to my little part of town at the opposite side of the borough to college and there was still snow all around and it still looked incredibly pretty.
Again, three weeks early - there aren't enough christmas lights around to fully appreciate it yet!

the last post - or not

2008-11-28T17:38:00.003Z

I never blog when I'm happy so I thought I'd change that! My bus ride home was immense!
Generally, they usually are. We get a double decker and the seats at the very back at the top belong to us. We get very protective over them! Recently, however, the double decker has been consistantly late and they haven't been so good cause we're all pissed offand cold!
BUT today one of the other buses broke down so we had a million other people on. I couldn't handle the noise all the time but for one bus ride, it was okay. And everyone was in good spirits and the bus wasn't even that late. And Chris got his trumpet out and played the last post which everyone cheered at - an unusual response to that tune! And we all just had a good laugh and a good time.
and now, i am so hyper!
and hungry. I think it's time to scavenge!

thinking of good titles is the hardest thing

2008-11-24T16:50:00.003Z

After the ceremony at Grandma's funeral, the undertakers came out to the official car and handed a single, red rose to each of us sat in the car. Once I finally got home, I decided I would press the flower to keep it as a memento. I even looked it up on the internet to make sure I didn't mess up but it seemed easy.

I checked on it yesterday. The stem is withered, the petals black with bruised marks. In short, it's pathetic. More like a memento mori than anything.

>.<

2008-11-23T14:36:00.002Z

My mother and my brother had an argument over mango. Except it wasn't an argument over mango, it was an argument about how all my brother does is wake up, eat all the food in the house and never thinks of anyone else and how Mum works so hard all day and then comes home and provides so much for us and how my brother takes that for granted. Everyone got that. Everyone, of course, except him. And even when mum smashed two plates in anger and ran upstairs, screaming, he didn't understand how it was his fault.

Because it's never his fault.

After Mum had gone, Maeve and I picked up the plate pieces into the teatowel it was on and threw the shards away. I continued putting the shopping away and Maeve took over unloading the dishwasher, which Mum had been doing.

My brother just stood, staring at a spot on the table. A stare that said more 'omg, my mum is psychotic' more than 'What have I pushed my mother to?' I said nothing until I was leaving the room and advised him to stay in his room and keep out of mum's way.

When I walked upstairs, mum was dumping his clothes in the hallway. Her face was like thunder. I didn't say anything and she disappeared back into her room. The next time I saw her, she was lying in her bed and my bro was walking out of her room, bowl of mango in hand. He just doesn't get it.

Dad's not here, he's with Granddad spreading Grandma's ashes. Another thing my bro doesn't get; the emotional fault lines that he seems to revel dancing upon are in major disruption at the moment. That also means, being the eldest, I have the responsibility to do... something. And I guess hiding in my room isn't it.
And offering tea or a hug, my usual failsafe, won't work either.
Shit.

the ski's the limit

2008-11-22T19:35:00.000Z

I skiied! and I skiied well and I turned and I did all sorts. And if I fell over, it tended to follow a really amazing turn that I had just done so it all cancelled out!
I'm happy. But I'm ill and very dizzy so it's bedtime for me again.

fatigue

2008-11-21T21:12:00.002Z

I got in today and collapsed in bed. After an hour, I woke to have tea and I woke an hour after that for reasons I can't remember. Both times, I crawled back there not long after. Now, I'm slightly more awake and it's bedtime so, using hot chocolates, hot bath and dim lighting, I'm trying to combat that.
I was in bed a minute ago. I would have most likely been in there sooner and asleep by now except some hobbit-like creature sat on it and asked me about three times tables. Which I found I can still do, despite being half dead and not doing them for a million years. Although I had some minor problems:
"Is 7x3 21?"
"No."
"No? Is it 22?"
"No, wait, ignore me, it's 21."
"23?"
"No, no, 21, I was wrong!"
I found myself back under the covers not long after that so no worries.

NFG!

2008-11-20T20:19:00.002Z

I went to see New Found Glory last night. In the queue outside, there were these people from New Zealand who were in a band and selling their CDs. They had CD players for people to listen to their tracks and little cards with messages on for people listening to the CDs, which was cute. Jade and Beth were first to listen so I chatted to them and I listened for about two seconds before noticing that one of the guys had a Relient K badge and chatting to them about that (he's been to see them several times, in both NZ and the US. sighhh) Beth bought their CD and they gave us permission to share it between the three of us.
Once inside, we befriended a fit guy who was alone. I thought that was pretty immense, I would never have the bollocks to go to a show alone. Not only that, my parents would never allow it. I tend to end up alone in shows anyway - I get right in the middle of the big squash. At the last show I went to, I was a bit more chill with my friends, sitting at the railings at the back and watching from afar. So yesterday, I went crazy. Offering my sincerest apologies to Beth and Jade, I departed and squeezed right into the front at the middle. I got kicked in the head so many times and, of course, there's the obligatory guy who takes pity on me being alone and decides that because I'm a 'vulnerable' girl, I need help in pushing people away and keeping stray feet from crowdsurfers away from my head. Actually, it was nice to have protection from the crowdsurfers; I had a few feet to the face at some points and it quite hurt. He also helped me yell MY FRIENDS OVER YOU over and over because once they played that was the point I decided I would join my friends. Naturally, they would play the one song I want to hear last, but I found Beth and Jade easily, talking to the fit guy.
I got home at midnight and peeled off my soaking clothes straight away. Everything was wet, it was sick. But, six hours later when Anberlin suddenly burst out of my speakers (not literally, though, that would scare me to death), I woke up feeling alive.
Quality-wise, this blog is crap. And I'm yet to post any indepth, heart exposed blogs like I promised. I'm also yet to experience any indepth, heart exposing experiences that I wouldn't mind sharing. My reasons for crying for all of Saturday are neither indepth nor heart exposed and today doesn't count. Many apologies, should you care enough to need them.

claptrap

2008-11-18T21:32:00.003Z

I was walking Jade to her lesson today when we were accosted by a nurse who had been hovering in a doorway. She was a nice lady, really pretty and standing in front of a big sign announcing drop ins to talk about sex and contraception and STIs so we weren't too surprised when she said:

"Have you had a chlamydia screening test? They take a few minutes and you get freebies at the end." I glanced at the time; there was a few minutes before lesson yet.

I giggled, "Should we do it for the laughs?" There was no harm in it and, besides, freebies meant free condoms which are always fun to get. Never say no to free condoms; I'm not one to get caught short, if you know what I mean... you never know when an impromtu waterfight may occur. ;)

The nurse grabbed two blue plastic bags and shoved them into our arms, all the while talking through the procedure we needed to go through. I'd repeat what she said to you but I was too busy laughing to listen properly. It was safe to say our morning had taken a turn for the random. We headed for the toilet doors, just opposite where the nurses had decided to squat, to do some squatting of our own.

The first piece of equipment we needed was a pot. That much I had managed to gather from the nurse through my laughter. Okay. Inside my cubicle, I hung my coat and bag up, set the bag onto the high windowsill and got the pot out. The primary problem was aim - not just for me, it was something we discussed on the bus later. I guess that's where being male would come in handy. Nonetheless, that problem was quickly solved and we moved onto the next hurdle...

"What do we do now??" I called out from my cubicle. There were many people in the toilet itself but that didn't stop us.

"Get it up through the pippette and put it into the tube." ...pippette?? Placing the pot down, I rummaged through the blue bag until I came across an opened bag meant for sterile equipment. The tube - marked nicely where we needed to fill it up until - fell out and rolled across the window sill. I ripped the bag open further and there, previously concealed by damn transparancy, lay the pippete. I reached for the tube.

Minutes later, after several serious scrubs of our hands, we walked out of the toilet, blue bags concealed by coats, and found ourselves handing the tubes over to the nurse, Jade first.

"Oh, you pierced the foil?" she said, glancing at the lid where there was a foil top. I looked down, biting my lip in a guilty giggle. From over the top of the stalls, we had discussed the possible ways of getting the, erm, pippette's contents into the tube. After both piercing the lids and failing to be able to get the end of the pippette down the tiny hole, we realised individually that the tube had a screw top. Duh.

Taking it all in her stride, the nurse grabbed an empty tube and, crouching over the bin, began transferring the contents of the full tube to the empty tube. It was only once I had handed my tube to her that she realised she could just put a new top onto the original tube, without all the rigmorale of trying to delicately pour the liquids from one to the other. I think she was kicking herself pretty hard for not realising sooner. Luckily for her, it didn't really sink in for us until we were on the bus and recounting our adventure to Chris and Adam. After realising though, I had trouble breathing and tears were rolling down my cheeks. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard as at the image of the poor nurse crouching by the bin, tubes in hand.

With all the unnecessaries completed, we were handed our freebies: a flask, pen and pad of post it notes all with the words 'Sex Matters' in bold on and an exclamation mark in the form of a condom and sperm (as the dot.); a packet of lube and several condoms complete with instruction guide (seriously!). I had to be all awkward, throwing the allergy card out there (along with the condoms on the table) and ask for some non latex ones but the new college nurse - who had been the one to grab us in the hallway - is allergic too and we had a good bond over that. She said to come to her if I ever needed any more. I'm currently resisting the temptation of going tomorrow, especially since she slipped two extra ones into my pack!

Jade missed her lesson and I can't really say there was a true purpose to our little misadventure, other than it provided us with sore stomachs and a happy feeling that lasted for the rest of the day. We'll get the results soon enough which will reveal, surprisingly enough, that neither of us have Chlamydia but we already knew that.
It has to be the best thing I've ever done to get freebies!

feeling cross.

2008-11-17T21:13:00.008Z

I went skiing on Saturday. It was my second skiing lesson, but the first was inside, on snow. This was on bristles outside and it is so much harder. I'm not even over the full events of Saturday but I tell you, when I'm ready for it, it'll make a damn good story. However, I spent most of the day just sobbing and feeling really pathetic so it's safe to say I need some time to get over it.

I keep bloody sneezing!

One step forward and...

2008-11-14T15:42:00.001Z

Jazz Band today. New piece. And, from me, pretty much silence.
It wasn't a hard piece. I just can't play out. I get so scared.
I am getting better, though, I know it.
It just takes time.