Hot cheeks and freezing fingers: This is My Winter

What to say?

I haven't been doing well, not at all. I had a long bloody weekend. On Saturday had to sort through numerous CDs because of fucked admin, and now I get a crunching sound from left shoulder when I move it sometimes. Went to Islington, Children's Express. More notes, more prepping for my training this! saturday. I don't feel prepared at all, to tell you the truth. I'm just expecting brats and for cameras to break and just so so many things to go wrong. This week I've also had two pieces of coursework and a 1500 word essay on Liberal Social Reforms. Ooh. Je suis tres, tres, exhausted. On Sunday I cracked in the evening. I moved to my motel and got all cloaked up in my depression. Overdosed on alcohol and medicine; simply because I had no one to talk to, which keeps happening when I need people. Then again I'm most depressed just before I'm going to bed, and when you're tired, your wits are no longer about you, and you're just impatient. So brought up a cup to my room, and drank. Then the room began to spin...

When I awoke the next morning. The room was still spinning...slower. I was still in my clothes the day before and I had slept on top of the covers. I was surprised I was capable. I had a vague recollection of clawing my way up the bed...the room was a tip. Cushions, clothes and books and all sorts of other things had strung itself into a tight ball and shoved itself against the door. There was blood everywhere. I'm not exaggerating. All over the bed, my clothes, the radiator, the floor, my mobile - all splashed with my own blood. I could barely get up. Then I felt stinging. All over my thighs, and both arms where I had cut. Wincing, I got up gingerly to go to the bathroom, then remembered that my cyan coloured top and my white trousers was going to fool nobody. I got cleaned up. Returned to my room, and put most of my things away, and washed the blood away from the floor and my mobile. Changed my clothes. Then trotted downstairs to complete my classics coursework. God.

Monday...how was Monday...well I remember reading, I remember tiredness, the never-evil-always-wacky-Nancy asked how I was. I looked tired enough. On the way home, both trains were delayed, the piccadilly was packed and I had to walk from my stop because of a drink-drive fatality on my street and the police had cut off the road. I remember trying to write an essay whilst my mind had been going, going gone for ages now. I know I cut quite a bit again. I feel like a self-inflicted grenade. It hurts to walk because of all my scars there, it hurts to take off or put on my bag cos it irritates my scars there, and last week I was dominated by darts of pain on my left temple because I had punched myself there. I hit myself there like two weeks ago...I'm falling apart and I'm blogging about it.

I tried to sleep in today, but of course Dad doesn't understand that working at full tilt for the last week and a half has left me exhausted. He doesn't know about my long bloody weekend either, so he drove me to college instead.

Oh, the critics!

My classics essay was slaughtered. It was diabolical...really terrible. I had missed out facts and wrote too little on some things, written too little on others. My grammar was warped, the structure was non existent and I managed to turn my Classics into a gabbling mess of distaste. It was so deceptive. When she came for my session, she seemed so happy an enthusiastic. Smiling, and just being cheerful. Then I saw that she had four pages of corrections. Most people only get one. The hope started to wane in little bits from then. At the end, I had tears in my eyes. It was unrelentingly bad. There's no word for it. I can't even spell "distinguish". Oh wait, I just did. Aaargh! It was the fact that it was all constructive, all so correct of her and that there was so much of it. Myself and my essay, which I had laboured on so long for, was completed slaughtered. Gore unprecedented since the grim war of Troy.

After a few tears alone in the girls bathroom, I met up in the biting, dry cold with Nathan. He's cool, he can play music and he's just this lovely normal guy. He would make an interesting one month boyfriend, if I was straight. I kept thinking he fancied me. Maybe because he sought me out to walk to the train station, or just polish whatever pride I had left. I can't even wear my gorgeous, bargain white coat because Dad (Prison Warden. Damn him. I can't even answer the door after 7pm now.) said it was too dirty. "Shoulda gotten the grey one." he says. I bought it because it was beautiful and I didn't feel like blending into the winter. I wanted to be the White Fluffy Gorgeous Thing of Joy. Now I'm just frumpy navy blue Deloris. (sorry, Delorises. It's just so fifties...). The day has been Okay from then. Got my story critiqued. It ain't that bad! Yes, something I haven't turned to shit. Now I'm afraid to touch it, hehe.

The day wasn't all bad. I bunked off tutor (BLOC PARTY: HERE WE ARE. my song). Went to this Tsunami karaoke thing. Boring, so I gave £2 and a hug (some of my James and Dan were there.) and went to buy cookies. Ashley was there. He's like a pixie, I swear. Today, the 25th of January, its about 5 celsius, tops. Ashley was in his thin green jacket thing. His hair looked as if he styled it then went outside for the cold to melt it. It wouldn't even shiver. I met up with his friend Amy the 2nd (he knows ten.) Who was exactly like me. I didn't feel any silly year 10 jealousy, we all got on just fine. We travelled across the plains of the fester fields (the dope and shag park behind college) to M&S, and the cake shop, where I saw him eat cake for the first time. He's been eating healthily and has put on weight, which made me happier than I thought it would.

He's really happy here, I thought to myself. Left him complaining though. He just, made me feel...he gave me...a smile that wasn't artificial. It was the happiest I felt for the last couple of weeks. The skinny bear hug queen. Wow, I've got him in one. I love him. He has a link to this, does he read (this blog, words, anything at all)? But then, of course I had to go to Classics. Every smiles turns to tears soon enough, right? But thats enough. I've written enough. Too much for casual readers to indulge. Sorry. Its the way I write. But here;s the lyrics to Bloc Party's Here We Are, which I've been replaying and replaying. It's my modern classique...and has so far defined winter: Dark, deep, lonely, and lovely, love-ly.

And you, the "Fools" Who Read This Crap, why?? Why do you read my blog? I can't finish this in other way than to present you with lyrics I promised...52 words ago and my fangirly scream "Woo-hooo!!! O.C on E4 tonight, baby!"

Ahem.

Bloc Party : Here We Are

I caught a glimpse
But its been forgotten
Cos here we are
Again

I made a vow
To carry the one hope
I really tried
To want your want?
Now all youranggro?
Again

I made a vow
To carry the one
If you can’t see it
If you pass out

Aaaaaah
Oh Oh

I think it’s enough
I think it’s enough
I think it’s enough
I think it’s enough

I can see it through
I can see it through
I can see it through

I can sing it again
I can sing it again
I can sing it again
I can sing it again
I can sing it again

Listen to it. I dare you. And tell me: Are the lyrics right? Cos I can't find them anywhere on the net. Strange.