You should read this, provided that you are who should be reading this

So, what happens now?

1. We get over it and treat the last five months like another funny-yet-embarrassing anecdote, along with Hamish, "yaw", the drunk texting, Annalise's bathroom, Scrabble, gin-cherryade cocktails at ten in the morning, our attempt at a spliff and all the other incidents that we compile every time we have too much to drink. But funnily enough, I don't want to be considered a funny story to bring out at parties in ten years, just as I don't appreciate the niggling paranoia telling me that I was just a novelty to you.
2. We continue to not speak. While this is the most appealing option from my perspective right now, it can't be a permanent thing if we ever want to break through this awkward barrier of absolute silence. (Helpful hint. You don't want to speak to me because you're afraid I'll lash out at you. Yeah, I probably will - but I will not make the first move for you, because it's what I did for every single motherfucking step of what we had, and it's time you took your turn.)
3. We pretend nothing is different and act the way we did when we first met. While I have no doubt that this is what would be great for you; just as the sun doesn't rise from the west, it isn't going to happen. You understand.

And I'm writing this here because there is just every chance you'll actually read it. You never do! I know for a fact that he's asked you many times to read his blog and you don't, despite it being a perfect insight into his mind, ideal especially considering all the times we've agreed that we never know what he's thinking. It's the same with me! You're confused? You don't know why I'm pissed, why I don't want to speak? Take a fucking interest.

I didn't even realise until now how much of what I am is influenced by you. The progress I've made since September, since meeting you, isn't a coincidence. It's because of you. Something simple like the music on my playlists, to the complexities of what I want to achieve, who I want to appeal to, who I am now and what I have to do to reach the person I want to be. Even my appearance, the clothes I wear! We're nothing alike and yet I see more and more of you in everything I say, do and interpret! It is an endless source of frustration!

You've taken everything and made it yours. What was mine doesn't fit me anymore, and I don't know yet if I merely resent or completely hate you for it.

Fuck the Green Glass Door.

As annoying as my friends are when they lord their knowledge over me, as has happened twice in as many days (first with the door, then earlier with the numbers), it is particularly helpful for distracting me from other stuff, as opposed to being allowed to wallow in said stuff. So, lording or no, thank you, guys.

Today's not been particularly good. I wonder if there was any significance in the rainbow dress she wore. The one she bought with me when I got my duck dress, that time we were in town a few weeks ago. I get the impression that our friend thinks I'm being paranoid and immature. Who knows, maybe I am. Or, maybe I'm avoiding eye contact and conversation because I know the resulting mess will take forever to sort out. The exact nature of the mess, I don't know. An argument, a fight, tears, maybe. Who knows. Increasingly, I don't care.

It's been far too long since I've seen my Northants family. I miss them. 

Is it true, what you said, about her being... what was it... dull? Empty? I don't know if you were just saying that to comfort me, or if it's true and I've been blinded by the colours she wears and the precepts she lives by. I'm confused and a little broken and I don't know.

Herman Dune on repeat.

PS - Your testicles are dangling between the blades of a pair of enormous, serrated, tetanus-riddled scissors. I hardly need explain the procedure, should you fuck up. (You know who you are.)

I'm okay

I promise. Just frustrated.

It's the anger that's mostly getting me. Stopping me from making eye contact with her. I see her in my peripheral and I'm resisting the urge to harm her or, worse, break down and demand to know why I wasn't enough.

I returned her shirt. It never suited me anyway. I hope I get my purple hoodie back.

Been having this on repeat. The ultimate Beardies. French, lanky Beardies.

Rectangles

If you swap every "bless" with "fuck", the song becomes even more endearing.

Colchester open day today! I picked up a free bag. It was great. Mum's threatened to disown me if I ever adopt the accent.

And I am not a cockblock.

Making mistakes

Been playing this song on repeat nonstop for days.

Um, yeah, the party was a little bit of a disaster. I didn't get around to making amends with the girl because the eye contact we mutually refused to make all night was a little bit indicative of not wanting anything to do with one another. That's fine. Well. No it's not, it's fucking annoying, but there's nothing I can do about it. But that really is the least of my worries. Long story short, I turned up in a bad mood and, slightly tipsy, thought it was a wonderful idea to get as shitfaced as possible in as short a time as I could, coming to a climax when I threw up in the back of my friend's car on the way home. 

Classy. I know.

I'd say I'm never touching alcohol again but I'd blatantly be lying. As a compromise, I promise to not drink to drown my sorrows again. Just... urgh. Not cool. Not cool. Fucking stupid.

I've apologised to everyone who I remember needing to apologise to, but I worry that they're being nice about it to humour me. The guilt is unreal. But the resignation is what stings most. It's as if, in response to the magnificent cockup I made of Saturday night, my brain's sighed and gone "You fool"as opposed to the full-on, hammering around in my head, screaming "YOU ABSOLUTE TIT" into my hangover and making me feel ill with remorse and regret and all other negative emotions associated with the night before that I know I deserve. It's like I've done this kind of thing too often for my conscience to respond anymore. Like it's desensitised to my class A idiocy because it's something I practice so often. 

In short: alcohol bad. Drugs: bad. Everything else that's remotely fun: bad. Bummer.

What hasn't been weakened, though, is the self-loathing I feel when I know I've hurt someone else. Not the puking in the car. I don't know if she's hurt, or how much, if she is, and if nothing else, that's the cause of lost sleep for Katherine.

I don't mean to completely disregard everything I've just written, but I'm going to tell you what I have adopted as my new motto:

"Life is too important to be taken seriously." - Oscar Wilde

It's okay. It's going to be okay.

Making amends

A while ago I wrote about hatred, and I've decided that I'm sick of it.

Tomorrow evening I'm seeing one of the cited three in the context of a party, and by putting it online I'm making it official that I intend to apologise. My reasons for wanting to put right this loathing I feel aren't clear, even to myself, but I think I'm just tired of being bitter. Over the last couple of days I've been thinking long and hard about the kind of person I want to be, and it struck me that "angry, resentful and poisonous" aren't adjectives that I want attributed to myself. I want to be laid back, and I can't be while I'm still balling my hands into fists whenever any of the aforementioned three are brought up in conversation.

Another reason is guilt. This girl I'm seeing tomorrow, we have two mutual friends, one being the party's host and the other being the cause of my guilt. I can't justify it anymore, to myself or to him, that I have a good reason to hate her. Everything that happened was, admittedly, ages ago. And I know it's awkward for him - or, no, he's actually taken it upon himself to feel stuck in the middle when he doesn't have to be, but that's just him and the resulting guilt tripping is the same regardless. But I get it. I'm closer to him than she is. I'm not at the same school as them. I'm easier to handle anyway. It doesn't mean that I don't resent that he's always saying that I should get over it. I don't know, maybe he says the same to her. Maybe I'm being really unfair. I'm not trying to pick a fight, but it bothers me. The only conceivable way to end the guilt is to stop slagging her off, and stop her slagging me off, so there's nothing for him to be stuck in the middle of, and no need to lecture me on letting go and growing up. 

So. The plan is as follows: wait until she's drunk and mellow enough to not bite my head off, try and talk to her, and then... And then what? This is where my vision of a beautiful makeup, sunshine and roses and golden happiness, is flawed. "Hi, sorry I hated you for ages. Let's stop bitching and be fwiends." Any way I think of it, everything I say comes out sounding completely inane. And what if she rejects me! What if she turns other people there against me and ostracises me! What if she gets aggressive! What if I get aggressive? The guilt-friend is going to be there too and I'll just feel worse if he has to pick a side. And that'll just start more arguments because, regardless of whose side he does pick, the other will tear him to pieces because we're bitches.

I've just realised that I am exactly the same as this girl I've spent a year hating. That's demoralising.

Oh, man. Now it's up here, I really hope I don't chicken out.

Liiiiittle bit tipsy

Saw a guy earlier standing beside the brass band as they played God Save The Queen, with one hand on his heart and the other around a beer, and I thought, "how wonderful".

Rule Britannia!

Have some emotion

Ugh! Damn constraints of ability! Why oh why oh why can't I inject the emotion I want, the emotion I can feel but can't put into words, into this story I'm working on? Nothing frustrates me more than my own inarticulate idiocy. This is a really tender, heartbreaking climax, and I can't write it. Yet. I will, though. It's the first story I've worked on with what I'd call an unsatisfying ending - because it's not always about giving the reader what they want. Example. I find everything about Atonement enraging because it's unsatisfying - but it's stuck with me, and not for all the wrong reasons. Well, I don't like Ian McEwan, I think everything he writes is bollocks - sentimental, idealistic, pathetic bollocks - but Atonement as a plot is clever because it doesn't go down in a delightful way with a spoonful of sugar. It jars somewhere between the reader or viewer's heart and conscience and fucking stays there. So as annoying as his writing is, I have taken heed his pretentious, long-winded message, and I am experimenting with a genre of fiction I don't think has a name yet, other than "annoying, pretentious, long-winded and unsatisfying". In a good way.

Here's a song: Darling Nikki, Prince. Filth. A song about a female sex fiend-dominatrix with special toys. Astonishing. [You probably can't find it on Youtube because Prince is an artist who refuses to be taken advantage of, so none of his stuff is available for free, but there are various covers which are worth checking out.]

Finished watching Sherlock earlier. Reichenbach Fall, OH MY GOODNESS tears everywhere. Have I mentioned yet that filming for series three begins in January next year? So it won't even be aired for at least another eighteen months? More tears. So many questions. How! How did you do it! Why are you letting John sink in his own grief! How come you're wearing the same clothes you died in! Why does the insignificance I feel in comparison to just your collarbones keep me awake at night! What did you need Molly to do! When are you going to fall in love! Pretty please can it be with me! Ohh.

Keeping in touch

This features in Dark Shadows, and I nearly screamed when it came on because it's just such a wonderful song. My heart breaks every time I hear it. Please take a listen.

So yeah, keeping in touch. I'm pretty bad at it. Moving away from everyone I knew, from a town I'd lived in my whole life, at age fourteen was at once an incredible opportunity and a cause for an annoying amount of self-pity. On the one hand, I was meeting new people, having the chance to make new friends and start again, as it were. On the other, it took fucking ages to make the new friends because I was a neurotic, society-hating loner with the social skills of a beetle. And then because I initially made friends with awkward people, and then because I dated a cretin, and since then I've realised - I just don't make friends very easily. Probably because I'm always going to be a bit of the neurotic, society-hating loner that my first secondary school made me into.

Almost three years since moving to Suffolk, I can appreciate and resent the move with the wisdom that comes with retrospect, and I definitely appreciate it more than I first did. Yeah, I've lost a lot of friends from where I used to live - but I've found who the real ones are, and I've kept them. Fuck knows I have no intention of letting them go. I've had a chance to see people for who they really are, lose the friends who aren't really, before I leave home and find out then that I'd wasted the best parts of teenage life spending time with - well - bitches. Being friendless for the first year made me consider the person I want to be, and therefore the kind of qualities I look for in friends - because it's said that you are the people you spend time with, and I think it's true. Being alone was the hardest time to endure, and the best thing to happen to me. On top of learning to appreciate my own company, I've learned [remember the retrospect?] that good things come to those who wait. I am so fucking happy, now! I've found friends! People I like! Who tolerate me! Who I can rely on! Who aren't going to make me vulnerable and abruptly sever contact after months of messing me around with a text in which they quote New Moon and hand me a one-way ticket to self-hatred and distrust! [There is a specific person in mind, by the way, I'm not just thinking this through too much.] And it hurts, but not seeing any of my friends in Northamptonshire very often has made me appreciate them for the incredible, beautiful people that they've grown to be. The family in my first home.

When I go back to visit, there's one friend who I'll probably always go to, because she's wonderful. She is my best friend, and I'm lost without her, despite us rarely talking other than face-to-face - meaning that we rarely talk fullstop. But that's cool. That's how we work. I send her a postcard in the first few days of every month and, other than the times we meet, that's probably the only contact we have. And that's fine! It's great! We'd probably get sick of each other otherwise! But I do miss her. 

On a different topic, there's a singer I'd like to add to the list I made a few posts ago. Tom Milsom. Look him up if you want. I've been following him on tumblr, and he seems like an undeniably, superlatively interesting person. With blue hair.

I feel nostalgic...

Since the last time...

EXAMS. DONE. YES. 

My lovely mother treated me for surviving them. In case you can't read backwards, it says "SHERLOCK" and then "COMPLETE SERIES ONE & TWO". Victory is mine. 

See the happiness.

OH MY, THEY'RE DONE. I could not be more grateful. Though whenever I tell people that exams are over they'll always ask if I'm done with school forever and then I have to admit that, actually, I have to go back in a week. But a week of guiltless arsing around! Priceless. Celebrated with a Sherlock evening with mum. I have concluded that Benedict Cumberbatch is the cause of my unreasonable expectations of men.
Went to the doctor yesterday. Dr L, cool guy. Quite good looking for an older man. I talked to him about some stuff, and what he diagnosed was at once hugely reassuring and a cause of immense stress. On the one hand, I haven't been acting like a drama queen for years. There is an actual reason. On the other - oh, fuck, there's something wrong with me. I don't know whether to be relieved or even more anxious. 
Anonymous and Alien and I celebrated the end of exams today. It was wonderful to be encompassed by two people I love being around, lazing around in her bedroom and eating enough crap to halve each of our life expectancies. [Difference between "half" and "halve"; the latter is the verb, the process by which an amount is reduced by 50%, and the former is the 50% that remains. Yes, I looked it up.] It's interesting that what is said and done between the three of us is largely guarded. I hadn't thought about it at the time. Anonymous began to crave sugary crap around four, and after that gorging sesh I've decided to try and refrain from eating excessive amounts of said crap from now on.
My brother turned thirty yesterday! He's so fucking old! Well, no he's not, a person isn't old until they've hit the sixty to seventy bracket, roughly, but all the same - thirty! The big three oh! Only thirteen years until that's me. Life is just passing me by.  

Moving swiftly on, I found a thing. Try it. You'll get the hang of it. Name twenty people. Answer questions. Hardest part is coming up with enough people that you know.

1. Alien

2. Anonymous

3. Sophie

4. Chicken Tits

5. Mac

6. Zilla

7. Ben

8. Rory

9. Fran

10. Luke

11. Charlotte

12. Cousin E

13. le Brother

14. le Sister

15. Jon Snow [I ran out of real friends about here]

16. Sherlock Holmes

17. George Weasley

18. Tim Canterbury [The Office]

19. Benjamin [the most intriguing character in Animal Farm]

20. Earl Hickey

THE QUESTIONS:

• How did you meet number 10?

In my first year at my first secondary school. It’s so strange to think back to then, now. 

• What would you do if 20 and 17 dated?

Earl and George... Y'know, somehow I just don't see it.

• If you could marry between 6 or 18 who would it be?

That is actually a very difficult choice...

• Have you ever seen 4 cry?

I don't believe I have

• Would number 1 and 2 make a good couple?

She has explicitly stated on many occasions that she would hate it :P Not that she hates Anonymous, just because it really would be undeniably weird

• Describe 8:

An enormous $#!†. Nah. He's cool. Clever in a way I don't know how to describe. Hugely pretentious, but it's justified so that's okay. I like his quiff. And that his ears move when he drops his face. 

• Do you like 12?

Of course I do. 12 is family. It hurts that I'm not nearer to be the irresponsible big cousin/sister figure, if she wants me to be one.

• Tell me something about 17:

The best character in the entire Harry Potter universe, who should be with Luna Lovegood.

• What's 7's favorite color?

Electric green. The colour of the Borat mankini from which he draws all inspiration.

• What would you do if 1 just confessed they liked you?

Ha!

• When was the last time you talked to number 19?

Never have done, because he's a fictional donkey, but I'd like to. He comes out with some good stuff. Rather have no tail and no flies, all that. Makes you think. In the face of corruption I like to think I can be like him - cynical, clever, maintaining priorities. And all.

• How do you think 15 feels about you?

I know how I want him to feel about me, but that's X rated and not for your mind to picture. And not for the eyes of anyone at school, if their internet blocker is anything to go by. Forbidding Jon Snow! Heresy!

• What language does 13 speak?

Ah, my fucking ancient dorky brother. English, a smattering of Arabic and broken Korean. 

• What year is 16 in?

I'm confident in saying that Sherlock Holmes has left school.

• What is 5's favorite music?

Oh, goodness me. I have no idea. Last I knew she liked Taylor Swift but that was a fair while ago. Lying on a shingle beach, sharing earphones and screaming "I had the time of my life fighting dragons with youuuu" at the sky and beginning to wonder where our parents had got to. It was pleasant. 

• Would you ever date 3?

No. She's my little Sophie :)

• Is 10 single?

I don't believe so

• What is 11s last name?

She shares it with the lady-man invigilator who guarded our psychology exam.

• Would you ever want to be in a serious relationship with 7?

There was nothing serious about it :P We came to the conclusion that our relationship was based on tolerance

• Where does 18 live?

Slough!

• What do you think about 20?

He's cool. I like his attitude. He's a very tolerant guy.

•What is the best thing about 4?

Her general ability to be wonderful

• What would you like to tell 14 right now?

Your son is the cutest baby ever and I am so proud of you. Thank you for putting up with me

• How did you meet 9?

I met her in English on my first day at a new school for GCSE, and I was hugely intimidated because she's stunning and good looks are frightening.

• What is the best and worst thing about 2?

Best: His pathological skulking.

Worst: The fact that every time he turns his head, his enormous Jewish nose knocks objects sitting on the mantlepiece on the other side of the room.

• Are you going to know 3 forever?

Yes! Always!

•Would you lick number 15?

I told you - not for your mind to picture.

• Would you drink number 18s saliva?

Uh... no

• Have you rode a roller coaster with number 7?

I don't believe I have. He'd be the worst person to go on one of those things with anyway. He'd act all macho and then shit himself when it started to get scary. Exactly the same with Woman in Black.

•What word comes into your head when you think of number 9?

Spoon, naturally

I have a really good quote for you. It's from the mind of Dylan Moran, one of my favourite comedians: "Apparently, nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. But skinny tastes like celery, and not skinny tastes like cake." 

Well. I'm knackered. Spent a couple of hours last night writing, for the first time in weeks, and I can't describe to you just how wonderful it felt. It's probably the best feeling in my world, working on a story in the early hours of the morning when I feel most alive, and actually progressing. I'm beginning to get the hang of this writing lark, I think. Hope. Anyway, I'm going to use tonight to sleep because I neglected to do so last night and my body's been crying out for rest for the best part of twenty four hours. 
Today I realised something. Even if life goes tits up, even if everyone I love decides to leave, even if I'm left bruised and battered and bitter and ugly by the things that happen to me, it's okay, because I found a pair of socks with the Union Jack on them. Life doesn't get better than this.