Twenty years

[Post deleted due to personal matters.]

Edit: I don’t want anything more to do with this situation, apart from to say; he’s not to blame, and I’m genuinely sorry if anything I’ve said may have upset you. It was not my right to comment upon a situation that did not concern me, although those were my feelings at the time, and a public blog, remains, public.

Here’s some nice Placebo lyrics for you from what i’m listening to at the moment.

Twenty years

There are twenty years to go
Twenty ways to know
Who’ll wear
Who’ll wear the hat

 

There are twenty years to go
The best of all I hope
Enjoy the ride
The medicine show

 

Thems the breaks
For we designer fakes
We need to concentrate on more than meets the eye

 

There are twenty years to go
The faithful and the low
The best of starts, the broken heart, the stone

 

There are twenty years to go
The punch drunk and the blow
The worst of starts, the mercy part, the phone

 

And thems the breaks
For we designer fakes
We need to concentrate on more than meets the eye

 

Thems the breaks
For we designer fakes
But it’s you I take ’cause you’re the truth not I

 

There are twenty years to go
A golden age I know
But all will pass will end too fast, you know

 

There are twenty years to go
And many friends I hope
Though some may hold the rose
Some hold the rope

 

That’s the end and that’s the start of it
That’s the whole and that’s the part of it
That’s the high and that’s the heart of it
That’s the long and that’s the short of it
That’s the best and that’s the test in it
That’s the doubt the doubt, the trust in it
That’s the sight and that’s the sound of it
That’s the gift and that’s the trick in it

 

You’re the truth not I
You’re the truth, not I
You’re the truth, not I
You’re the truth, not I

 

You’re the truth, not I
You’re the truth, not I
You’re the truth, not I
You’re the truth, not I

Lots of things…

And yet, none very important or relevant.

This week has been…

joking, old friends, tiredness, forgetting, too many tears, endings, beginnings, blood, too little sleep, love, lust, not getting diabetes, impulse buying, jealousy, being stood-up, public transport, being second-best, tiredness, losing myself in fiction, snow, reduction of worries, and chilling weather.

I swear, the people I dislike either follow me around, or some kind of ironic fate draws me towards them. I’m by nature an obsessive person, and generally, I believe that this is a good thing; it means I can throw myself fully into something, it gives me immense determination and single-mindedness when it applies, it means I have immensely ecstatic and miserable but nevertheless additively intense relationships- but still, it means that I can never reach a life lived with sophrosune, which is probably a bad thing. And in relation to the people I dislike, the more I see them, the more I dislike them. If they’re not around, then they don’t bother me. I don’t spend time stressing over their petty actions, unless they’re constantly in my face. As you’ve probably realised, from reading my blog, or alternatley, from knowing me, I have the bad habit of becoming very self absorbed. I guess that’s just another part of my general obsessiveness, even if I do try to minimise it, as I see it as a quality that neither I, nor other people particularly prize.

[Post edited for personal reasons.]

I really can’t remember quite where I was going with that, so I’ll stop it before I revert back to good old Frances Bardsley bitchiness. FB is a single-sex school renowned for the sheer bitchiness that is common there, and the fact that a large majority of the students like to get themselves impregnated in alleys near Time & Envy, a local niteclub and chav spot, on Friday nights.

I did want to report some good news, actually, relating to something that’s been worrying me a lot lately. On Wednesday evening, I believe, I checked on the UCAS tracking site and found that I had a conditional offer from Warwick University to study Classical Civilisation on their BA Hons course, with the entry requirements of an ABB Alevel grade, and one C at AS level, which I should be able to achieve. I’m so relieved that I have this offer, since the course is precisely what I want to study, even though it will mean moving away from London. This morning, I was also woken at nine am by my mother, brandishing a letter from UCL that when opened said that I had an interview for the Egyptology And Ancient History course that I had applied for there. I’m slightly nervous about this. Oh, scratch that, very nervous. I’m anxious that the gaps in my knowledge will show through, or that I’ll make the wrong impression. I also have to send an essay. I can’t remember if it was stipulated that it had to be History related, but since the course is part of the History department, I assume so, and I frankly have’t got a good essay I could send off. I guess that I’ll just have to dig around for one.

Today was pretty unproductive. I’ve spent the majority of the day reading The Secret History by Donna Tartt. I would recommend it to everyone, firstly on the level that it’s fantastically written with genuine knowledge of classics (something very endearing for me), and yet this doesn’t infringe on the fact that it’s simply a dark and gripping story about friendships, secrecy, madness, desires, and the fallibility of everything. The last book I read that drew me in so much was Kafka On The Shore, something slightly different and less powerful for me, but nevertheless powerful. I always think that the mark of a good novel is that you don’t notice that all you’ve done all day is sit and read and drink tea. You don’t need to eat, you don’t need to think- you are part of the characters, you are part of the story and when it is finished, you’re still partially there. I got all involved in reading it on the bus and nearly missed my stop, and left one of my bags on the bus. Well, for a few seconds, because the nice woman sitting opposite, that had smiled at me as she boarded the bus, restored my faith in humanity by rushing over to the doors, and throwing it accurately towards me while shouting “wait, you forgot this!”. It’s strange how such a small gesture of kindness can mean so much, can make someone’s day. Can make even me, cynic of all cynics, believe that there are still nice people out there. Bus woman, if you ever read this, thank you.

I was in Romford today for a few hours, doing some impulse buying of clothes. I really don’t need any more; I have n overflowing wardrobe full, not to mention the ones strewn over the floor, leant to people and living in my sister’s room. I’m not as bad as I used to be, for sure. I bought a skirt and a pair of trousers, both from Gap. The trousers were a bargain, and probably absolutley disgusting, but for something reduced from £40 to £6.99, you can’t really complain. The dress, I like. It’s simple, and black, and the kind of clothes I always imagine myself wearing, although my wardrobe full of jeans and tshirts proclaims the opposite. I also bought some black socks, and some origami paper, since I always tend to overuse and then run out of certain colours, like felt tip pens, where the black and blue and red would always be the first to go, and the browns and yellows would linger for years, however much you used them.

My msn name at the moment contains the words “thinks too much”, and I do. The characters in The Secret History remind me of myself, and I know that to create a good character the reader must see at least one characteristic of themselves in the imaginary. I guess the chilling thing is that I could see myself caught in the same situation to some degree, because I know the idea of a Bacchanal would appeal to me; the loss of thought would appeal to me. This is going to be spoiler-country from now, so be warned. At one point, fairly near the end of the book, I think it’s Henry, that says that killing Bunny was the best thing that he ever did because it enabled him to basically live without thought; before, he never did anything or got anywhere because he approached it with intellect, with over thinking.

It’s playing on my mind, somewhat. I’m notorious for overthinking, for letting something small play on my mind until, like Leontes in The Winter’s Tale, it’s a massively paranoid delusion that will be all I’ll think about. Okay, that’s to some degree an exaggeration, but still I will make something small into a massive thing through just not sorting it out in the first place. I’m reluctant to mention William Blake, but his description of how “The Poison Tree” grows into something monstrous from a simple disagreement applies so much, not only to me, but to everyone.

I’m going to stop being a literary geek and post this, before it turns into something monstrous. It was already poorly spelt. I think Roger may be right. I am turning into an absent-minded intellectual.

I wish

that I didn’t make wrong desicions
that I was more motivated
that I could accept failure
that I knew why
that I had some self confidence
that I could be less inadequate
that I didn’t get jealous so easily
that I knew what to do
that I knew what to say
that I didn’t always think the worse
that I wouldn’t make mistakes

that Iwasn’t so goddamned self absorbed the whole time.

In anticipation…

Of failure.

I have my English exam first thing tomorrow morning. I guess in some ways I’m worried, but I think I’ve just accepted the fact that I’m unlikely to do well. My stupid form appointment was today -every half term, we have to attent an individual meeting with our form tutor- and when she asked me if I had any problems at all, I said no, and then corrected myself by saying that I was lacking motivation. I think that’s the major thing which is holding me back from achieving what I would like to, or what I’m able to. I wish that UCL and Warwick would just get in contact with me though, as not knowing is far worse than being refused. I’ll probably change that when I get some snooty letter saying I’m not good enough, but for now, that’s how it seems.

Today began really badly, but gradually got better, thankfully. I fell asleep really early last night, at something like just before midnight. I’m sure my lack of caffine had quite a lot to do with that. I then woke up late, feeling like I hadn’t slept at all and ended up missing the bus, the consequence being that I was late to Sandrine’s French lesson, which of course I hadn’t done the homework for. The lesson was actually okay though, after Natalie found a book on French essay writing from the ’70s, which was pretty amusing, especially in its lack of political correctness (a plan for an essay about typical charecteristics of the French, and the French translation of “slant eyed”), and weird idea of what made an interesting essay (Mariner or Miner, Which is the Most Dangerous Profession?).

I skipped English, as I was sure that Janice wasn’t going to be in, and did my classics homework (two months late), instead. Rachael sat in there with me and struggled with sudoku and them amused both of us with the “soulmates” page of ‘The Guardian’ newspaper. We discussed some of them, tried to match people with their perfect partners and laughed way too much over what people wanted and how they presented themselves. The prime example; “Gay jigsaw puzzle lover seeks missing piece”. Awww. Eventually, we made one up for Rachael that went something like; “Young, intelligent, curvaceous F with GSOH seeking man for piano lessons maybe more”. Haha. That free lesson actually cheered me up immensley, it’s ncie when friends can do that.

Classics was …unexciting. There’s supposed to be a trip next week to the British Museum, but I don’t think I’ll go. Then was Lunch and form, which I’ve already talked about. I’m not sure why I’m blogging instead of revising, but in the exam, I’ll probably wish I hadn’t. I guess I should actually get to remembering my quotes but I really cannot be bothered to be honest.

This sunday…

I decided that I don’t like reality much at all.

Failure of an entry

 In which Charlotte has a Saturday full of trying new things, hypochondria, sweets and pointlessness.

I swear that I actually blame my mother for making me into the hypochondriac that I am. She’s shouting up the stairs at me, and I hear the words tea, you and like, so I go out to see what she wants with the hope of tea. I’m eating a bar of Fry’s Turkish Delight, and when she notices it, she looks all confused and asks where I got it from, like I’ve magic-ed it from nowhere. I tell her that I bought it last night (I and Matt spent over £6 on sweets from the off licence), and she says okay, and asks if I want tea. I say yes, and turn around to go into my room, when she shouts up the stairs to tell me that I shouldn’t eat too many sweets. I ask her why, expecting to be told that it’ll rot my teeth, when she says “because otherwise you’ll become diabetic!”.  This is the same woman that last week told me I was going to get stomach ulcers from taking tablets without water or food. She really can be a drama queen sometimes.

I keep going onto subjects, writing a paragraph and deleting it because I forget what I’m going on about. I’ve had this window open since eleven o’clock this morning, over ten hours ago. It’s because I keep doing other things. Well. Browsing online and flicking aimlessly through some revision books for my English exam on Wednesday. I think I need to get a job or something, since all I do now is sit at home infront of a computer, doing nothing for the entire day. I need something to do on a Saturday, because I never get schoolwork done, because that may in some way be constructive.

I’m kind of annoyed at how I keep listening to Michael’s Fall Out Boy CD again and again. It’s mainly because I’m too lazy to change the CD, but I’m really getting to like certian songs, in Particular ‘Dance Dance’, which I loathed when I had only seen the frankly inane video. As much as I love music videos, I hate them when they’re for a song I like, or even potentially like, and do something that completley ruins the mood or lyrics of the song.  I can quite happily spend hours watching videos for “popular” music, in particular dance music, and even if I’m not so keen on the genre I can love a video.  I’m trying to think of my favourite music video, but there are a fair few.  I do have a major weakness for Placebo’s videos though, especially ‘Taste in Men’.

23:05- I give up on writing this.

because I’ll keep singing this lie

I would rather like to go to the Midland’s Expo, but I’m lacking in contacts from around that area, damnit. Why can’t there be members (well, one) of the Torchwood cast coming to the London expo, rather than Christopher bloody Lee, I ask! It’s bound to be a lot smaller than the London Expo, but then, will probably be quite a bit cheaper- the tickets are half the price- but I’ll still have to pay for one/ two trains. I could afford it, but I’m not sure if it’ll be worth the bother. perhaps if they organised their site a little better, I might be more willing to go, as they don’t even have talks announced. I’m sure I have better things to spend my money on, anyway.

Which, for the record, will not include ridiculously addictive PS2 games such as “I Love Katamari”. Or, “addicting”, as I keep reading all over the internet. It especially seems to be cropping up on message boards amongst teenagers, and I wasn’t sure if it was some American usage. I was very pleased when I looked it up and couldn’t find an actual definition of it, leading me to the conclusion that it is simply gross ignorance. “Addictive” sounds a lot better than “addicting” anyway, so much more powerful, because you’re already fully in the grips of it…

*looks towards her PS2 longingly*

College today was alright. Too many free lessons, too much feeling tired and irritable and nauseous like I always do in the mornings. People in my French class still can’t comprehend the simplest facts, I’m gaining enemies by the day, I eat way too much junk food and don’t do half enough work. Nothing changes, and I’m pretty happy with it that way at the moment despite the fact I always complain. People shouldn’t take it to heart.

I was going to write some long thing about something I was thinking about, but I don’t want to, because like many things I say, it’ll probably backfire horribly and make me look like a cruel and heartless person. Which, incidentally, despite the opinion of most of the female population of college it seems, I’m not. I don’t want the troops of general ignorance, spots and bad haircuts after me, thanks. All I have to say it’s a good job that I’m not anything more than low- moderately attractive, because I’m sure that would make them dislike me more. Them in this case specifically relating to two girls, of the names of Emily and Sara. I’m going to turn into Alex if I’m not careful (meant in the most affectionate way) with an internet feud, but I’m sure I’ve been online for longer than either of them, so it’s okay.

There was an extended bitch here, but I see no reason to stoop that low. I don’t really care if it has a negative reaction towards me because I can deal, but I don’t want it to affect the people that I care about.

because i’ll keep singing this lie if you’ll keep believing it.

Late dawns and early sunsets…

just like my favourite scenes.

I’ve got some very pretty new tablets- tiny and blue in a lilac packet. I was trying to find a photo of them online, but they were all in plain packets, so I’ll post a photo later when I’ve found the USB cradle for my camera. It’s stupid how something like the colour of tablets can make me happy, but there you go. I wonder if they make anti-depressants in good colours like these? If not, they should do, because that would probably cheer me up to no end.

Although, I’ve lately noticed that I seem to be developing a weird fascination about medical things. I guess it’s actually been going on for a while; I’ve always included medical things, like tablets and bandages into my collages, and medical and health related imagery into my writing. I often sleep in a surgeon’s top with pyjama bottoms. I own too many labcoats, and I used to have a drawer almost full of tablets and bits and pieces from first aid kits. When I was younger and used to self harm, it was the putting on of steri-strips and plasters and bandaging that was to some degree the best part for me. Maybe it was the thought that I could fix what I’d done. I don’t know.

On the subject of medicine, I’m annoyed that Guy’s Hospital hasn’t got back to me about my allergy test. I don’t know who to blame, Dr Blahblahblahah (I can never remember her name), or the hospital. It probably doesn’t help that I keep changing doctors depending on whether I like them or not. My actual GP, Dr Leigh-Collier (the old one), I haven’t seen for years, then I saw Dr Bass (photos of his kids on the wall, fish tank, labelled skeleton), then more recently Dr Haskell (points out scars, slightly patronising), and more recently Dr Blahblahblahah (amazing name,young, fast). It’s pretty lame how I always remember them by certain things. The last doctor I saw (to get the pretty tablets) was one of my mum’s friends, who is now remembered as having a Welsh accent that I barely understood and telling me that I was the perfect weight for my height. I like the word perfect. :D

My game from amazon came in the post today, which I’m impressed with, considering that it was only dispatched yesterday and the delivery estimate was on the seventeenth.  I’ve promised myself that I won’t play it until I’ve tidied my room, but that pile of clothes on the floor is looking like it would make a very comfortable seat. It’s actually got to the point of untidiness where people are taking photos of it to show their parents how lucky they are to have a child who only leaves a few books and a t-shirt or two on the floor.  I think it gets so messy because I’m always doing so many things, and have so many plans that I want to carry out that I’ll literally drop whatever I’m doing if I find something better or more interesting to occupy my time.

Last night, I went round Michael’s house with Rachael and some of Michael’s friends, which was good. Admittedly, I found it a lot more fun when it was just him, me and Rachael, but I guess that’s just because I don’t know his other friends and I always feel slightly awkward around people I don’t know, especially if I’m under pressure to make a good impression. I felt like that to some degree last night, not because the people were nasty or anything- in fact, I thought they were all nice- but just because it’s the whole girlfriend- friends thing, if you get what I mean. I’m glad Rachael was there, because that alleviated it a bit.

I’m trying now to think of what I’ve also done this week that’s vaguely bloggable. On Thursday, I went round Matt’s after college. We origami’d and he made my thumbs hurt by making me play what seemed like tonnes of rounds of this mini game thing on one of his many DDR games. It’s pretty addictive actually, and despite the fact that my thumbs actually seized up, good fun. I’m not going to go about how I enjoy spending time with Matt, because I’m sure that he and everyone else knows as well. I am damn glad that I met him though. Ah, the things the internet does for friendships. :)

Anyway, I should be off now, since I’m supposed to be tidying my room as opposed to just blogging about it. I’ll finish with a small recommendation for all my lovely readers- Anansi Boys, by Neil Gaiman. It’s funny, subtle, imaginative and well written to boot. I know that I do get a bit fangirly when it comes to Mr Gaiman (I’m still kicking myself that I didn’t skip college to go to his last booksigning in London), but this really is a great novel, especially one to get more into him by, since it’s not as dark nor as complex as most of his others.

Death Note

If only I knew Japanese.

Death note movie. The guys playing Light and L look pretty good, I think. Like I thought they should do. :D  I think I’ll have to see this at some point.

And so what is love…

and who am I, to dare to steal the stars from your favourite sky?
Check out I Am Kloot, kids. They should be far more famous.

In which my day includes French, oversleeping, general cat-related weirdness and a lot of cold weather.

Well, my French AS is well and truly over now, after a gruelling three hour exam. Part of me thinks that I really should have revised harder, but I think I’ve made a fairly good attempt, and I guess that’s all I could do. It was fairly difficult, surprisingly for the listening, which is usually my forte. It has brought home to me that I may be making a mistake taking the A level though, especially regarding the fact that A level papers for my other subjects are so much more difficult that the AS level ones. I have no hopes of getting an A, and if I get a B, it’ll be somewhat a miracle; and I know that the bad results for French will bring down what could potentially be A grades from my other subjects.

I should really stop worrying about French, as it’s somewhat over. Actually, I should stop worrying about most things and just get on and enjoy life. I spend way too much of my time over thinking and over worrying and over analysing everything. I meant to write this a while back, but I and Michael are now going out, for all the people (erm, all one of you, maybe? ;P) that don’t know. It’s made me happy, which is definitely a good thing, and I intended to write it in here a fair while back, but I tend to leave annoying gaps. I’ve also noticed that I’ve started using people’s full names rather than just the initials. What Michael keeps saying to me is right; I should just type what I want and say “fuck it” to the consequences.

How long will that last, d’you think? ;P

My mood today is way too happy. Post French euphoria, perhaps? Or maybe it’s just because life seems to be going right for me for a change. I’ve got most of my medical stuff sorted out now, apart from the allergy testing, so that’s good. My parents have also decided to spontaneously give me £50, which I wasn’t expecting. I’ve got my eye on a Katamari game for the PS2, recommended to me by Tom, when I was fascinated with his PSP game, which I’ll buy. I should save the money, but that’s really not my style.