I wrote a blog post about friends and feelings a few posts back... and

Since then, I have gotten my foot stuck in a hole. A sizable hole, actually. A hole about the size of Antarctica. Which, in theory, means that I should be able to remove my foot quite easily... but I'm just stupid. 

A warning, at this point. This post is extremely personal, and I have a funny feeling that I may cry a few times while writing this. I hope that in trying to reach a point where I understand, you too may understand something. I hope you understanding helps you in some way too. Even if just by learning from my mistakes. It is gonna be a long read.

I have gotten myself into a strange state; both mentally and emotionally. I have found myself rather confused, and mostly irrational. I wonder how much sense I've been making to other people because I haven't been making much sense to myself, at all.

Maybe we should start at the beginning, in order to get closer to the end I seek so desperately.

Now, let's take it back... say, about two years and three months. Not quite the beginning, but most certainly the only definite point where we can begin (for, before this, there were merely insignificant crushes which really just blur together into a big mass of "I can't believe I did that"s)... I can't believe it was that long ago that I met the boy who was to become my first ever boyfriend. The first, and currently only, notch in that column of my bedpost. (Not that there are many notches elsewhere, of course.) Here began the blissful few months of awkward friendship becomes joined-at-the-hip friends set on fire. We were kids, fifteen and fearless. Looking back, that period had some of my fondest memories of times with that boy. There was really no pressure to make anything work, anything at all. It was simple and it was easy.

It was so very simple, that the next step was perhaps inevitable. We gave the relationship thing a shot. My first, not his. And that was fine. Slow, very hesitant. Like that first time riding a bike without training wheels. And there was that satisfying whoosh when we realised that we were, in fact, moving forward without our training wheels and somehow hadn't fallen over. Yet. But I was still a girl who had perimeter walls surrounding her heart, as most girls do... even girls who had no prior experience with relationships. (Instinct, maybe?) Opening up in a different way took time. Slowly, he became less of my best friend and more, but never entirely, my boyfriend. For he would still retain many of those "best friend" perks.

A relationship which grew and matured, struggled through and consequently overcame the silly trials of teenage relationships. Overcoming our parents, our friends, our fears, ourselves... we became a lot of things to each other. I cannot speak for him, but I know for a fact that he became one of my closest confidants; I stored in him things that had reached a point where they could no longer hold in only me without causing hurt, one of my best motivators; he challenged me to be better than what little I saw of myself, and eventually (and even now) better than what he saw of me too.

Teens don't always get enough credit. Teenage relationships aren't always awkward half men and half women fumbling around with each other's bodies, but sometimes are those same awkward half men and half women finding someone to help shape them into something amazing. My teenage relationship certainly pushed me towards maturity, towards accepting responsibility for a lot of things and the consequences of these very things. I learnt that things weren't always going to be great... actually, things were rarely going to be great. But that those rare moments of absolute greatness were worth all those moments of not-so-greatness.

Now, we certainly weren't always those mature teenagers who were trying to be great and shaping and all that lovely stuff... we were sometimes still just a half boy and a half girl who did stupid stuff which hurt ourselves and each other. The trick was learning to forgive each other and ourselves for those stupid little things. Or try to, at least. This bit is complicated and I don't think we ever truly got this part perfectly... but I don't think I've ever told him how much I appreciated the fact that he tried, we tried. I think our intentions were good, we just might not have been the best at execution. Good people do bad things, that doesn't make us bad people. Just kids. Who made mistakes.

Break-ups and make-ups, because sometimes things need to fall apart so they can fall back together in new ways. We fell apart many times, but it seemed like we'd always fall back together.

Until we didn't.

I won't try and fool myself into thinking that I don't miss that relationship, but maybe this falling apart is so that God can put together something different for both of us that needs to happen. It is that faith that has held me back from forcing the course of our current situation. I firmly believe that what is meant to happen, will.

Now, on a separate, but possibly related, path that appeared once I had reached the end of the previous one... There had been a boy that I had liked when I was twelve. With all the passion that a twelve year old can have... which basically means that I stayed far away and imagined what it could have been like instead. Before I had any sort of realistic expectations of relationships, boys, or even that highly debated "love".

I thought I had already wandered away from this path... but no, alas there I stood. Confused. It had been a text, I think. A text which followed a casual "buck up" at a mutual friend's house. Suddenly, there he was again... but closer, much closer. Dangerously close. And I was already wary.

We talked. We talked, a lot. And often. And about many, many things. I trusted, I told, I explained, I laughed, I listened.... and unfortunately, I fooled myself. Fooled myself into thinking that I held the cards of fate in my hand. For, when the time came for this path to merge into another, I was absolutely stubborn. He had come soooo close. Close enough for my fingers to brush, but never close enough to grasp. I felt cheated.

No matter how cheated I felt, however, I could not stop what was destined to happen. You may challenge the existence of "destiny" and "fate", but I don't. I believe that everything happens exactly the way it is supposed to, and we have very little control over the course of action that is set for us. For example, if he was just not meant to stay in my life, then there was very little I could do to convince him otherwise.

And so that path ended. I stood at a fork. Both roads were narrow, short, rocky and unpaved. On one side, there had been a boy who lived many miles away but had once been very close; a friend. A very good friend. And on the other, a boy I had only just met... with a very nice pair of eyes.

In hindsight, I doubt I was very interested in either road. Which, perhaps, explains why I didn't spend very long on either. I ambled down one, quickly determining that this was not desirable and not fair. I thought he should have a chance at finding a girl close enough to home to relate to. (Note: she's beautiful and they haven't been together long, but I'm very sure that he likes her very much and I do too. I'm very glad I didn't wander the entire way down the road.) And, after travelling a few feet down the second road, I discovered that I would rather rub a grater across my face than settle for a jerk anyways.

And now I stand facing a very wide lane. It is late at night. I can gather, from the light cast by the nearest streetlight, that the road is well maintained, paved in rich asphalt with generous sidewalks. But it is a fairly deserted street, and it is late at night and the lights are few and far between. I stand at the intersection, hesitant and unsure. One hesitant step, and then I pause. I'm scared to go any farther.

I know the road is very well maintained. I know that going down this road is simply a matter of walking from the circle cast by the glow of one light to another until I have traveled the length of the road. But still, I fear. I hesitate. And I overthink.

This road is my best friend. I have known him for as long as I can remember.

Hesitantly yours,
me.

I may or may not have consumed a third of my weight in Christmas dinner... and

Society is a bitch.

Pardon my language, but I think I've had enough. This is ridiculous. The endless, constant pressure to be something that we're not and we're not even capable of being- perfect.

This pressure to be a certain size, weight, look, social status, wealth, etc. Like there's some cookie cutter machine that churns out equal lumps of human to be baked at 350 degrees to become average height, skinny girls with flawless faces and long curly hair and straight As, loved by all.

It just isn't possible.

Perfection isn't an attainable goal. Not for people, anyways. We're flawed and constantly making mistakes and screwing up and doing stuff wrong. And I think that's how it's supposed to be.

I'm not trying to be perfect. I'm just trying to be the very best me.

I don't wear a pound of foundation every day, I don't have perfect hair, or perfect teeth, or perfect skin. I don't dress up often. I don't get perfect grades. I don't do everything right.

And I'm trying to be okay with all of that.

Because if my hair was different, or my eyes were different, or my skin was different... they wouldn't quite be mine.

So, society, go screw yourself.

(Just to point out here that this isn't me bashing "society" or anything, because we all are society and in order for there to be change, we sorta have to stop complaining about it and start doing something about it... changing the way we think and everything. But, y'know, I'm just saying that I'm trying to love who I am. Flaws and all.)

Happy holidays, all. Here's me sending love to you and your family and hoping you spent it with the people who meant the most to you... even if it was long distance, such as a very late Christmas greeting to a best friend in the States via Whatsapp. Let the people you love know how much you love them.

Most imperfectly,
me.

I think I want to be Marilyn Monroe in my next life... and

I'd love to live the life of a beautiful woman, desired by men and possessing a reputation I've been lucky enough to be blessed with. I'd be a lethal combination of brains and beauty. I'd change people's lives.

I think I'm going to go to the sixth form dinner as Marilyn Monroe. Now to convince my date to go as President Kennedy.

Yours clad in fake pearls and sipping on apple juice instead of champagne,
me.

I really really really want a huge hug... and

Loneliness (n.) - a complex and usually unpleasant feeling of emptiness and solitude with no established common cause, treatment and/or prevention.

I looked it up.

And then I took the UCLA Loneliness Test, out of curiosity. After scoring '33' which suggested extreme loneliness, I scrolled all the way down to the end of the page where I found a tiny, fine-print warning: This is not a diagnosis.

Loneliness as a social phenomenon isn't new to the world. It's as old as humans themselves are thought to be.

(I'm gonna go out on a limb here and assume that the Christian context is appropriate, but no offense to you if you're not a Christian, and that you're familiar with the creation theory of human existence.)

God made Adam. "And The Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living being." (Genesis 2:7)

And then Adam, in his awareness of all the things around him, found none to be his companion. "And Adam gave names to all cattle, and to the fowl of the air, and to every beast of the field; but for Adam there was not found an help meet for him." (Genesis 2:20) 

And then the Lord made him woman. "21 And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept: and He took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof; 22 and the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman and brought her unto the man." (Genesis 2: 21-22)

So not only is loneliness a social phenomena as old as the idea of socialization itself, but it is undesirable. So much so that the Lord saw it fit to create a whole being to satisfy the loneliness of one man; taking from him a rib, something so personal and dare I say necessary to create such a being.

Imagine being that first human. Imagine looking around at all the wonderful things that the Lord had made and noticing that you could relate to none of these things. Not to the flower, nor the fish. Not to the fowl of the air or the beast of the field. Despite the grandeur of all that he saw before him... there was something missing.

I promise that this post isn't about the story of creation, or even about Adam and Eve. This is about that something that's missing.

I'm not a super scholar or a genius. I'm not a psychologist or a sociologist. I know near to nothing of any incredible or notable depth on anything (except perhaps how much it sucks to be sixteen, how to procrastinate, how to complain a lot and how to need money while not having any). Because I can draw for a comparison from the Bible doesn't make me a credible researcher of any great degree.

But what makes me feel like I am capable of delving into the mystery that is human loneliness? Because I am lonely as f*#k.

I have 798 Facebook friends, I attend a school of almost 1800 students, I have a decent friend circle, I have a huge extended family which grows every single day and I have a cellular phone for which I paid more than it is worth.

And I'm still lonely.

It's a hunger, a deeper hunger than the hunger for food, that one has for companionship. For someone to understand them, to love them, to be with them.

You know that cliche idea that some people are so special that when they reach for your hand, they touch your heart? It's... kinda true. And it's such a cliche because people want that more than they want most things.

Like, for example, I really want a 32GB Product Red fifth generation iPod Touch. But I want someone to hold me really tightly and make me feel less alone more. No matter how many shiny toys you have to play with, nothing beats being loved by someone who seeks to give rather than to receive.

I just really need a hug.

Yours in loneliness,
me.

I am in need of a major paradigm shift... and

A vacation.

I really, really, really need a vacation.

I'm running on 15% battery life and the week hasn't started yet. Not to mention modular exams are right around the corner (December 3rd to be exact).

I think I'm just gonna cut off my hair, throw away any and all entertainment and social life I may have pretended to have and balance all my time between work and a convent.

Not like there are any jobs for this generation anyways.

Most exhaustedly,
me.

Parents like to pretend that if they don't talk about sex, their kids don't have it... and

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Sometimes I work myself into a right state just thinking about stuff... and

I need to stop overthinking. Really.

Have you ever just sat down and thought? Like, not thought. You're supposed to be doing that 24/7. I mean, just pondered everything from where do we come from to where are we going to who am I to why.

And then an endless number of whys just start to tumble down on you and you wonder why you started in the first place. But then that's another why and the cycle continues.

Overthinking is such a bitch. Pardon my language, of course.

But it really is.

It is the mother of insecurity and the cousin of depression. Gets you stuck in the prison of your own human inquisitiveness and then you're basically screwed.

I'm gonna go to sleep now though, because it's getting closer and closer to prime overthinking hours and I just can't manage tonight. 

Yours pensively,

me.

That moment when you lock eyes with someone you know like the back of your hand and learnt how to love like it was a skill... and

Then you both look away, hurry along the corridor and disappear quickly.

Sometimes I wonder... are we strangers now or were we always just strangers pretending to relate?

But alas, that's an ex for you.

Once upon a time you knew them like you knew yourself- what made them tick, how they loved, how they kissed, how they argued, how they slept. But now you stand at opposite ends of a corridor and one of you goes the other way. Now you buck up on the stairs and look down as you cross to the other side. Now you pass their classroom and suddenly become fascinated with the spots on the ground.

It's not easy, forgetting them. But remembering them is worse.

The memories. That's what kills.

Yours reflectively,
me.

We're all a little messed up... and

It's sad.

Welcome to Generation X.

Where instead of talking to people, we use pointless social media and condense our thoughts into 140 characters and send texts that don't follow the rules of grammar and prose. We don't tell our parents things. We take drugs like it's no big deal. We care more about the clothes we wear than what we put in our bodies.

Where we let our boyfriends, our girlfriends, our friends-with-benefitses touch our bodies, taste our tongues and probe our genitals... but don't ask them how their day went. Where we date for three weeks and then profess undying love, only then to scream and slander and hate when the relationship ends. Where we think knowing what someone looks like naked means knowing someone.

Where we hate ourselves; we wish we were skinnier, prettier, smarter, better... and care too much about what's on the outside as the inside rots away; like spraying perfume on a casket.

Where books don't get read. Where music demeans the woman. Where movies depict sexual relationships. Where art is obscure in all the wrong ways.

Welcome to Generation X. I hope you enjoy your stay.

Yours disappointedly,
me.

Can I just take tomorrow off... and

Stay home and watch Once Upon a Time and eat icecream and wear my PJs and wrap up in my blanket of misery and patheticness?

....no? Okay.

Seriously now.

I'm so freaking tired. Not sleepy. Just tired, exhausted, worn out... pap dung. I can't deal with stress. And I'm not even stressed out by schoolwork. I'm stressed out by myself. By my feelings.

That's not cute.

Yours pop-down-edly,
me.

Laying in bed writing up blog posts when I ought to be doing some sort of homework... and

My ambition tun up so loud the knob a guh pop off.

But there's something I wanted to discuss here. And it's this: Can guys and girls be just friends? So far, the only person I figured I coulda discussed this with seriously is now my exboyfriend and when I brought it up, got all upset.

So, okay.

Really though.

Can two people be just friends? Just BEST friends, to be exact. I'm not talking about those friends of the opposite sex who you just have on your bbm contact list and see once a month and hail up on the road and ting.

I mean, someone you'd consider your best friend.

Because I have, maybe, three current best friends of the opposite sex.

And lemme say: I've had or currently have feelings for every guy I would have considered my best friend. True story.

I'm not saying I'm in love with them all. But either romantic or sexual feelings... for all of them. And think about it with me. How many of your opposite sex friendships can you apply that to?

I think it's just the principle of attraction. You're attracted to people who possess certain qualities. And for you to consider someone your best friend, you must see something in them that you find makes you want to know them or be close to them. There must be something that attracts you.

Maybe it's one-sided, maybe it's mutual. Maybe it's purely sexual feelings to season and spice up friendship. Maybe it's friends with benefits. Or maybe friendship on fire (my favourite type, because it usually leads to some awesome relationships). Maybe some serious Taylor Swift, guitar-strumming, Teardrops on my Guitar, we-should-be-more-than-friends type of romantic attraction to your best friend.

Whatever it is.

I just don't believe that two people can be just friends. And that's just the way it is.

Friendly yours,
me.

Ben and Jerry are the only men I'll EVER need in my life... and

I'm too flawless for problems with men. 

No, but seriously. I'm not eager to jump into any relationship where I'm gonna have problems with guys. I have a chance to sort my shit out. And I want to enjoy this single time as much as possible. This is what I've missed for the last year and a half. I wanna enjoy every moment.

Sixth form is turning into quite a fun time. I mean, I'm settling nicely and whatnot. I don't feel like I belong, yet... but I definitely feel more comfortable. I know most of my classmates, I've made tonnes of new friends, I can roam the place and not get lost, I have a tie and I feel good.

Today, I spent a good two and a half hours sitting on the grass with a few of my bestest friends having a little chat about feelings. It got pretty deep a couple of times, including a few tears shed over things we couldn't change and aren't nearly old enough to be letting bother us... but y'know. It's twenty twelve. We're forty before we're eighteen.

I genuinely have had some of the most amazing friends in my life these past few years. It's perfect :D

Short blog post because I have Literature homework on the historical context of Othello to research and everything, so I'll be off in a minute.

But mek I seh this: a lie mi a tell. There's this boy and if he wanted, I'd deh wid him like a nuh ntn. Anyways. Homework time.

Yours dishonestly,
me.

By noticing that I hadn't noticed my ex, I jinxed it... and

I saw him today, for about half a minute. And it was the damn longest half a minute of my entire week. Not even funny. I was in the middle of a conversation about Laffy Taffy... and it ended up something like "This is my fourth one for th--..." and then "Uh, um?"

And so I've come to a conclusion. I'm an idiot.

Anyways.

Sixth form is ridiculously hard. And I'm sorta an emotional wreck who starts sobbing and heaving and shaking when I watch Jillian's X-Factor audition, or videos of soldiers returning home, or listening to music... or when my earphones stop working in one side.

It's like I'm on my period. Only, I'm not.

I'm just... miserable. And perpetually frustrated and upset and overwhelmed.


And I want a hug. A huuuuuuge hug. One of those warm, envelope hugs. I want a hug that makes me feel small, warm and safe. I want a hug from someone who isn't afraid to hold me when I cry.

I want icecream. I want sixth form to be easier. I want my parents to have more faith in me. I want icecream. I want closure. I want icecream. I don't want GMED. And have I mentioned that I want some icecream? ...yeah. Icecream helps.

So, currently seeking a hug giver who will appear with icecream and love and watch silly, stupid cartoons with me. A hug giver in particular. You know I'm talking about you.

Yours PMS-ingly,
me.

I think my least favourite flavour of icecream is pralines and pecans... and

Pralines and Pecans is currently the flavour of icecream in my cup. It's like a sick kind of torture; I hate it but I continue to shovel it down. And I know I'm gonna have the worst sort of rash or supm tomorrow. Worse so if I start sneezing down the place. Stupid nuts >.<"

Today was such a blissfully easy day that I think the universe is setting for me. I mean, I had three classes. Literature, Sociology and Communication Studies. All of which went smoothly and flawlessly. Had a couple of good laughs in all my classes, the teachers are cool, I have epic friends...

And I didn't see my exboyfriend even once.

It's sorta like he's... vanished. It's weird. Can't say I don't miss him, because I do. But it's complicated. It's good that I'm not seeing him all the time and whatnot. It's healthy.

I should really be catching up on the notes from the classes I've missed but it's almost midnight and I really just wanna read obscene poetry until I fall asleep.

Goodnight, sleepy world.

Most dairy-intoxicatedly,
me.

Prompt: "Booze."

How often do you drink?
Rarely. I never used to drink, but now I go overboard maybe once a month? And then sober up for about four weeks to get wasted again.. I firmly believe getting wasted every now and then is good for my mental and emotional health. Don't even argue with me.

How do you feel about people who drink for the hype?
To each, his own. If you think getting wasted at parties looks "cool" then by all means, gulp it down like it's going outta style. But you know what is cool? Self control. Think about that, bro. Peer pressure is a terrible thing to fall victim to. Only baby fish swim with the current; big fish swim against it.

Fake drunks.
Annoying, at worst. Usually harmless and fun to take the mickey outta. It's always funny when idiots at parties make asses out of themselves for attention. So, if you see a chick who's had two jello shots and a teaspoon of liquor stumbling around and spewing more sh*t than a backed-up toilet, then sit back and watch the show.

What's your favourite drink?
I had a Christmas martini minus the Vermouth once, and it knocked the socks offa me. Six parts vodka, (to one part dry Vermouth) and a teaspoon of peppermint Schnapps.. and then drop a candy cane in there. But that's for classy mofos only... I'm more of a green apple vodka and cranberry girl. And if you mix ting and vodka, I'd be about that life too.

Are there limitations to your alcohol lifestyle?
I really only drink at home... or at a friend's home. If I'm out with Daddy, then I'll drink only if he's drinking. And I never drink at big parties with people I don't know... especially if the drinks are being mixed where I can't see them and/or by someone I can't recognise/don't trust. For obvious reasons.

Would you consider yourself an alcholic? 
Me?! No way. I'm usually the sober stick in the mud to take away people's cups when it gets a little too out-of-hand. I'm all about that self control life.

What do you think about people who drink to kill feelings?
Hand. Me. A. Cup. No, seriously. If you're someone who drinks when you don't want to think sober, but only if the drink is good, then you and I could be great friends. It's so much easier to be honest with yourself when you're thinking with a drink in your hand and a straw in your mouth. Plus, the only warm fuzzy feeling I let influence my thinking is the buzz of booze in my blood.

Do your parents know about your drinking? 
My mother is beautifully and blissfully unaware, but my Dad buys me vodka when I behave, ask nicely and promise to be reasonable. He knows I drink, but he trusts my judgment enough not ask me to stop.

Have you ever been drunk and gone swimming/driven/thrown up/gotten into a fight/passed out/had sex?
The closest I've got to wild behaviour, under the influence was playing "I Never" and after a while, I was still sober enough to switch out the vodka for Sprite in everyone's shot glass. It pays to be the soberest one. Just... don't tell my friends about the switch out, okay? They all still swear they can play an hour of I Never without passing out.

I need the motivation to get off my ass and exercise more often... and

I don't understand why it's not okay to be emotionally withdrawn.

Why isn't it okay to just want to do what I need to do to get out of this place faster? To leave with fewer casualties of my grenade explosion. I'm a trainwreck. What's wrong with wanting to be an empty train?

On my list of priorities, jumping into another relationship falls somewhere between 'eating a raw egg' and 'reading Twilight backwards'. Getting married? Sounds like a bad idea. Having kids? I don't think so.

I don't want to need people. I don't want to want people. As a matter of fact, I need to learn to let go of people who don't want to be held on to. I need to grow a spine and stop behaving like a little child.

Emotions are messy and people are confusing. But books? Books never change their minds, books never sleep with the neighbour, books never get drunk and gamble away your lives together. But a book? A book is about as solid and as dependable as the very paper and the ink it's made from.

You can never have high expectations of a book. You can't think a book loves you more than it actually does. A book can't break up with you after twenty years. A book can't cheat on you. A book can't kill you in your sleep.

Sounds like books are the way to go.

Plus, I think I'm quite generous. It's a good thing that I like to pull away from people. I mean, I'm confusing and broken and damaged. I could write an entire post about how broken and damaged I am, but I won't. And those I don't hurt, I push away.

And I'm honest to God sick and tired of being that girl who hurts people.

Another thing I don't understand is this: the friendzone. These thirsty jerks who complain to me about "friendzoning" them don't seem to get it.

I've been approached many times by boys who complain very bitterly about being placed in the friendzone, either by me or by someone else. One had the audacity to say to me: "If yuh nuh waah be mi girl, mi nuh waah be your friend."

And I've heard the cliche: "Saying 'let's be friends' is the same as 'the dog died but you can still keep it'.." and I am calling it. Bullshit. See? I called it.

How is my (or anyone else's) friendship comparable to a dead dog? I assure you, it is not the same as rotting animal flesh marred with the stain of death and decay.

My friendship is not a consolation prize for my vagina. If I consider you a friend, despite your romantic interest in me, then why do you feel as though I'm giving you some sloppy, half-assed gift?

You best be grateful you ain't get a restraining order.

Yours withdrawnly,
me.

There are songs that never fail to break my heart... and

They're just generally so beautiful it hurts. They're not necessarily sad songs. Just, painfully beautiful. These are a few of my favourite ones...

• Bulletproof Weeks by Matt Nathanson
• Colorblind by Counting Crows
• Fast Car by Tracy Chapman
• How to Save a Life by the Fray
• To Build a Home by the Cinematic Orchestra
• Breathe Me by Sia
• Letting Cables Sleep by Bush
• Holocaust by Big Star
• Concrete Angel by Martina McBride
• Ruby's Arms by Tom Waits
• The Stable Song by Gregory Alan Isakov
• Who Said? by Pink
• Life After You by Daughtry
• Small Bump by Ed Sheeran
• Vienna by the Fray
• My Kind of Love by Emile Sande
• Broken Angel by Boyce Avenue

And these are just a few, but they never fail to get me into a wild state of emotion. 

My blog has been marked as spam...

And I'm not sure why, but I'd like the spam warning to go away :(

I'm not a spammer. Just an anonymous.

Yours unspammingly,
me.

When I don't reply to texts, he comes down two flights of stairs to pull my hair... and

I just can't seem to win.

Today, I was truant. Very truant. I skipped three session of GMED class, because the worksheet was hard and none of the four guys in that class that I'd consider my "friends" decided to explain the centroids, even though they knew I'd missed the class since I was stuck with the VP. Thanks, guys... again. Really. Thanks -_- (Also because one of my friends dropped GMED this morning, and decided to give me his worksheet and some pointers about the centroids before class, and we ended up discussing everything but that...)

And then my name just DIDN'T appear on the Communication Studies list, for either group. When we finally got to the class, we find out it's like a lecture session with dozens of kids and two teachers. We were grouped with two classes of about thirty lower sixers and about twenty upper sixers, including my super senior acquaintance. Imagine my horror. Distractions just tun up and buck today. I sat at a table with a group of friends who either slept, chatted, drew or daydreamed... Large classes require a maturity level we don't possess.

And then in Economics, I just wanted to sleep so badly that nothing about aggregation stuck and I could barely work out net incomes. Watch and see if mi nuh fail Economics this year.

Everyone also seemed to want to discuss my exboyfriend with me... including my exboyfriend. I... I... I don't know what to say.

Anyways. Tomorrow is another day, and it will be better. I only have one class tomorrow; Literature. Today was my full, back-to-back day and tomorrow is my mostly free day :D I promise myself that it will be amazing.

Yours optimistically,
me.

Prompt: What's it like going to school with boys after five years of all girls?

I think most of my challenge with coed school is the size... There are over twice the amount of kids here than there were at my previous school. And the hallways get packed easily.

But a couple things I've noticed:

• It's easy for your voice to get lost, when you're competing against boys who naturally have a deeper vocal range and can get louder much faster. I feel like I sorta just squeak while they bark and then the teacher forgets that I started to speak first.
• I'm a lot more conscious of what I look like. No, not applying lipgloss and curling eyelashes. But just making sure that the buttons on my shirt don't get misaligned and flash boobies, or my skirt isn't hanging awkwardly or sticking off. I just take a second more to ensure that I'm appropriate. 
• The teachers generalize. They assume that all boys are leaders of the class and the girls just fawn over the boys. They acknowledge that our passes are better, but it's never just because we are just as bright. Only because the boys are usually "busy" with things and don't focus enough or whatever. I feel like there's so much underlying sexism. 
• Sexual tension is definitely a theme now. It spices things up when you're in some sort of general assembly and notice that, "hey, that guy is cuuuuute" or something... but in a class? It's distracting. Of course.

It isn't all bad, however:

• The decent ones open doors, pull out chairs, escort you around, wait for you, offer you favours and can generally be charmed into doing your bidding just with a bat of the eyelashes. It's refreshing being thought of as delicate. Not weak, just delicate.
• The diversity among the opinions makes for an amazing class. I just can't wait until we start discussing gender roles and sexism and stuff. It won't be all "Yes, girl! I agree! Ladies rule!" but a little "Nooo stills, man to the ting!" to spice up a good debate.
• SFA dinner. Need I say more? (Of course I do.) Before, the idea of a dinner was a bunch of girls hanging out. Now it's a date. And hey, who knows? It could be amazing.

So yeah, all in all, I think it's gonna be an interesting experience getting to attend a coed school. I'm hoping to make the very best of it :D Good luck to my fellow past all girls or all boys' schoolers... or even coed schoolers. Good luck to us all!

I took a shower and all the black dye washed out of my hair... and

I had to learn how to work black rinse dye or semi-permanent dye, because that had to get sorted out before school tomorrow. Or, y'know, fire ketch fowl batty. Me being the fowl, my bleached hair being the batty and the disciplinary committee being the fiyah.

Today was the very first day of sixth form. And as such, there was an orientation session which is commonly referred to as "grubbin'".

Basically, it's the upper sixth formers or 6A students, humiliating the lower sixth formers (or upper fifth, as we were called by some clever super senior) or 6B students. They give you a crappy name, they make you yell mean stuff about yourself, partake in menial tasks which make you appear as though you're retarded- such as counting grains of sand like this: "One sand... two sand sand... three sand sand sand..." and so on and so forth.

But it DOESN'T have to suck for you.

Here is what I'd recommend to any potential grubs: Fix your attitude.

Sounds simple, huh?

Because it is.

What grubbing exists to do is to level the playing field by making everybody equals. If you go into grubbing thinking that you're too good to be humiliated, then you're gonna get it. If you go in there and segregate yourself or refuse to exit your bubble of comfort... you're gonna get it baaaad.

So open your mind to do doing silly stupid stuff, calling the seniors stupidness like 'Super amazing super senior high excellency the super' or trying to blow out the Sun or kissing a yellow balloon with a sad face drawn on until it smiles; i.e., until they tell you that you look stupid enough and pass you onto another to be grubbed.

Here's the trick though- IT ENDS. Grubbing was a good two hours, maybe. If suh much. It didn't go on forever either. Time flew by. And now it's over. We've earned our places and next year, we get to do it to the next batch. It's supposed to be embarrassing. But it's not supposed to be bullying or harassment. Just some good ole humbling fun. Also, note, they're not allowed to touch you, they have to plan in advance and write it all down and present to the supervisors (nothing can be done to you unless it has the go ahead from the supervisors) and it is completely supervised by teachers. They can't make you do anything religious, sexual, degrading, can't make you eat anything, etc. 

But let it be said that I got off hella easy. I held an umbrella and fanned a super senior for most of the grubbing session. He came to be my hero. And he was ridiculously cute. And the other U6ers, for whatever reason, did not give me the hell I had anticipated simply because I kept my little smart mouth shut (or tried my hardest to- a few snide remarks mighta slipped out).

All in all, it was a decent experience.

Except that the Dean of Discipline thinks my granny uniform skirt is way too short and I am now being faced with the choice of lengthening it for tomorrow, not going to school until it is longer... or taking the one day's suspension like a man.

I think I might just sit tomorrow out. I mean, who needs to meet their teachers and get their schedule sorted out and learn? ...right?

Yours screwed-ly,
me.

I have a huge crush on a guy... and

I don't remember how to flirt.

Yep, you read that right. I don't remember how to flirt.

After being in a solid, committed relationship for over a year, some skills become so dormant that it takes a little while to wake them up.

How many people in a long term relationship actively utilize their flirting ability though? I know I'm not the only one who has this problem.

You get that cute, sweet or sexy flirty message and then... and then... and then nothing. It's like my brain chokes. What exactly should I reply?! Or not reply, as the case may be.

And how seriously should I take this? Maybe it's just a little joke. Or maybe this is serious and I might fling weh a chance here, just by not knowing what to reply.

What if I take too long to reply and make the conversation forced and awkward. Or if I reply to quickly and seem to eager or too easy?

Ugh.

But bigger issues: I haven't used my kissing skills (or perhaps lack thereof?) in a while either... maybe those are dormant too...

Yours inexperiencedly,
me.

There's toothpaste on my face... and

I have spotted my exboyfriend a grand total of four times since we broke up.

Seriously now. Why is this damn town so small? It is like he's everywhere. How am I supposed to cope?

Unfortunately, as I now don the uniform of his school, I am... to put it liberally... quite fucked.

I guess I'd better get used to walking with my head down and eyes on the ground.

but I will say, isn't it possible that this could have ended differently? What if we'd tried to be friends?

And I've heard it said over and over and over again, that past lovers cannot return to being acquaintances. But we're so very familiar with each other. It's hard to think that someone who knows you like the back of his hand... just doesn't have a place in your life anymore.

Someone who once knew a personal, private part of yourself that few others know exist.

How do you cut someone like that out of your life?

...or, y'know, at least convince them to move to a different parish. (Joking.)

Yours most cowardly,
me.