We've got each other and that's a lot

Looks like today isn't shaping up to be so bad after all. I just got a text from Lucy, saying that if she manages to sort out train times, she will come to the party. She lives in York, so it's more than a little understandable. Elle all ready said she would let me know nearer the time, but that she would love to come.


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Lucy and me met on enrollment day of college - we sat next to one another and snooped GCSE results while filling in the forms. At the time, we were doing the same A levels, so it made sense to hang round together, though we soon discovered that we got on extremely well, bonding over 80s rock and fantasy novels.

A few weeks in, she introduced me to Elle, who I'll admit I was petrified of. Lucy is an extremely quiet soul, possibly even more introverted than me, and I always assumed Elle would be similar. However, what I got was a loud mouthed girl bearing a tattoo fetish. Appearances can be, and usually are, deceiving for Elle turned out to be the most soft hearted person I had met in a long time.

If my college friends come here, I don't care whether or not I have Chii ears.

Did you just call me pudding?

Carley's birthday celebrations went ahead last night. Since the majority of it was set to take place in H20, a place containing heavy strobes, I decided to sit it out. Not that I was disapppointed or anything - I highly doubt I would have been drunk enough to fully appreciate it.

As it turned out, I didn't miss out on anything, as Carley played her music in full anticipation, so loud in fact that when the ticket people came and Skye and Alex were thrashing her door, it took three attempts for her to hear.

I didn't get much sleep that night and as a result woke up this morning feeling oh-so-grouchy, a step backwards to my usual frame of mind. I also received an email that (though admittedly on the trivial side) did not improve matters. My chii ears have been dispatched, but are going to take three weeks to arrive. That means that unless some miracle occurs, they won't be here in time for the cosplay party.

I really hate complications.

This is Akatsuki

....Where the skies are always blue...

My mother rang last night - not that it was a surprise or anything, she does it every night - but I've noticed that since my imminent return to Whitters, she's started to do it earlier and earlier. Plus, as well as her usual questions, 'what did you have for dinner?', 'what are you going to have for tea?' she's added, 'you sound bunged up'. I know full well I'm not at all, it's just her maternal instincts going into hyperdrive.

She promised that when I got back we'd have pizza (it's one of my favourite foods, but I don't ever buy it because it also happens to be the favourite food of the idiot on the other side of the wall). I would be excited were it not for the fact that my mother is allergic to bread; whenever she's feeling really desperately hungry, she makes herself a cheese sandwich and then lies on the sofa for days, clutching her stomach.

I only hope that my presence doesn't inflict madness upon her.


eldorado by ~lemur-fox on deviantART

I never knew, You never were

A challenge on Raw Em0tion recently was to submit a poem that had 5 or more alliterative lines. Here is my submission:

I never knew
You never were
And hated hearing empty words
Feeling every emptiness
Like bitter bounds of joy
I never knew
You couldn’t be
Something that meant more to me
Another status quo, it seems
I never knew you were.

Delight is....

When I think about delight in its simplest form, a whole manner of cliches come to mind - chocolate, romance, a pretty sunset. Who am I kidding? It's a sickening combination.

The sad truth is, my happiness comes from a far differen source, miles apart from the previous three. How many, after all, would admit that it was someone's death that inspired their happiness?

I thought so.

I was fourteen, young, naive and in the midst of examinations. The last thing I wanted was to be at a funeral, especially since the person in the casket had been like a mother to me. I remember watching as they carried the coffin out to the graveyard out back, followed by a number of arrangements - flowers shaped like angels and delicate words I could never say.

Don't worry, the laughing comes later.

Weeks passed and the mourners left one by one. I watched as my mother withered away in the graveyard, watering the flowers morning and night. I half expected the priest to come knocking at our door, praying for the soul of my ghostly mother.

The day inevitably came that I failed my exams and returned to a house of flowers; my mother and aunt sat on the couch with shadowed faces, the dead chrysanthemums of the cemetery in a bucket behind them. When they told me of their plans to create a thing of beauty, I laughed.

Within a year, they were creating angels angels with golden wings, purple framed lettering, a snowman with glass eyes and a top hat.

The reason I associate funeral flowers with happiness is that it wasn't until our front room had no heat and finding the phone became an expedition and I walked with a constant limp due to holly leaves, which I kept finding in my shoes, that I saw my mother laugh. I deeply believe that moments like those are better than any selfish cliche.

Lust of the Dopey variety

From the moment I stepped out of bed this morning, I knew today was going to be slightly off-peak. Having stayed in bed most of the weekend, catching up on my previous sleeping pattern (a phrase of Alissa's I swore I would never use), I felt refreshed and ready to face today's lesson.

I always enjoyed poetry in school, mostly because no one else got it. The second I arrived in college and was seated in a classroom with sixteen likeminded individuals (the seventeenth an IT student who seemed extremely lost), the novelty wore off.

Anyway, I was determined that ready for my poetry workshop I was going to go to bed early and not be in a grouchy mood, as seems to be the default these days. I guess it doesn't help that the teacher we have is the happy, smiley, stay at home mum type that keeps a bucket of lollipops under the desk in case you scrape your knee on the way to the projector.

As it happened, I was wrong in my assumptions, for as I was about to switch off my laptop, Pru came on MSN and we ended up talking until almost 1am.

I'll never understand MSN - I think it's useful, but ...weird. Whenever I'm talking to Beth, she makes a point about disappearing then coming back, saying 'I've just been speaking to ________, __________ and ______', giving me a running commentary on what happened in their conversations, even if I'm talking to them as well. Then there's my friend Douglas, who keeps every conversation he's ever had on file in case he needs to use it as evidence.

I made it through poetry class, luckily, if I hadn't there would have been disastrous consequences. Following the lesson, me, Laney and Pru went to the food court for some lunch, where our table was suddenly confronted by the strangest and funniest thing I've seen in quite a while.

As a Derbyshire girl, the height of scams I've seen is people begging on the streets for their blind Auntie Doris, so as you can imagine, this kind of took me by surprise ^^. A woman, who I can only assumed bathed in perfume, appeared at the end of our table, waving fliers for some random stylist. Pay £59 for a styling session! she was going on, you'll get £500 worth of stuff and a bottle of champagne! She was really giving it some, how you could bring your own clothes and how there were tonnes of hot guys on the shoot....I only wish I had a camera.

Getting home from the food court, I ended up following about seven people into the entance, so had to wait about five minutes for the lift to come back, which for some reason took forever. By the time it finally arrived, I all but threw myself into it, but my stupidly bad karma struck again. The doors had barely closed before they were open and the only person in the world I would have asked not to be stuck in a lift with stepped in.

yup. Carley.

She's having a party tomorrow, to celebrate her birthday and guess who wishes they weren't invited?

'Elixir'

My eyes snapped open and I gripped the quilt. What was it? What was it?

I leered into the face, squinting.

My heart skipped a beat, as I realised the faces around me were those of the owners.

Why were they angry, I hear you ask?

Heh, now that's a story.

It all started on one of my early morning walks through the forest. When you are as old as me, your limbs often seize up, so regular walks are a necessity. Anyway, it was on this particular morning that i happened to stumble across a quaint little cottage hidden among the trees. I stood still for a moment and observed it, the wind whistling through the trees and the door creaking open. At any other time, I would not have ventured inside, but my eyes fell on something within that caged my interests.

The house was built as a cottage, with delicate wooden furniture and aroma of breakfast, but the family sitting at the table were unlike anyone I had seen before, if they were even human.

Creeping closer, I peeped through the window to see if my eyes had deceived me, my heart thudding against my ribs. The family I saw had fur for faces, claws for hands and were twice the size of anyone I had come across in the village.

They were not human, yet together they sat, united by what I observed to be three wooden bowls. Frozen to the spot, partially by fear, but mostly by curiosity, I found myself wondering what kind of concoction resided within. Some kind of elixir, perhaps? The secret to immortal life? Forgetting my morning walk and the searing pain from my limbs, I calculated the numerous possibilities over and over in my mind, knowing very well that the existence of such a thing was impossible.
I could not wonder for long, for soon they began to move, great shuffling movements in the darkness of the room. Wincing, I fell to my knees and watched as the clawed beasts disappeared into the forest. Their lumbering footsteps seemed to last for an eternity, but finally they ended and I realised that now was my chance. Now I would know what mysteries the creatures held.

With a trembling hand I pushed open the front door, trying my hardest to ignore the riveted claw marks that had replaced all other decoration. In the dim light of the room I could make out the shadowy forms of furniture - a cuckoo clock in the corner, tattered rug underneath. My attentions were most focussed, however, on a table in the corner decked with a threadbare cloth. I approached cautiously, barely daring to breathe. The three wooden bowls loomed in front of me, threatening to scream the truth of my intrusion if I only got too close.

When I was within reaching distance, I picked up a small gold spoon from the centre of the altar, taking in the sweetened smells evaporating from around me. Timidly, I dipped the spoon into the first bowl and then froze. What if this was some kind of trap? What if I had been drawn there purposefully?

I knew I should have left, but deep within I knew that I would not. Where is the joy in a wrinkled face, limbs that barely function? I yearned to be young again and in that moment of dire desperation believed that the pots in front me had to hold some kind of answer.

Taking a spoonful from the first bowl, I put it to my lips and immediately squealed in pain as the liquid burned my skin and throat in unison. I choked, dropping the spoon to the dust and gripping the side of the table. It seemed I was correct to be timid.

After I regained my temperament, I gazed down at the second bowl. This one was just as humble as the first, except with the subtle difference of a silver spoon. Filling the spoon, I put it to my lips, only to be proved wrong once again. This potion was sweet and sugary, but I have never been a great lover of sweet things and promptly vomited to the floor.

My grip on the table was still strong as ever and I dragged myself back into a standing position once more. There was just one bowl left, just one. It was the same size and shape as the previous two, but adorned with an iron spoon. I half expected the third to be filled with poison - I stood there for a while, gripping the edge of the table and waiting, but nothing happened.

Nothing. No change, no consequence. Just regular porridge. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. All that worry over three bowls I could have made better myself. The owners of the cottage still had not returned and by now I was beginning to remember my limbs. Gripping the table so tightly was a bad idea indeed, for now I could barely move my arm from the pincer grip I had put it into.

From my position by the table, I could see a small flight of stairs, leading to what I assumed to be the bedrooms. I noticed that the woodwork was adorned with yet more claw marks, but by this point, my joints screamed for rest and I climbed them without fear.

There was just one room at the top of the landing, filled with a single bed. The blanket covering it was frayed in several places, scratched on the exposed wood. Laying my head on the pillow and taking in the musty scent of fur, I wondered what kind of creatures lived here, crawling into dreams where I was lost in the tombs of Babylon, running from the beasts we left to guard the King.

My eyes snapped open, yes, I remember now. The moment I woke, I was the subject of three pairs of eyes, eyes I had no intention of staring into. I had slept for two long, now I was no longer a simple ‘curious guest’ - I was an intruder.

They watched me, beasts with human faces, as I climbed out of the bed, expecting to fall but instead landing softly on the floor. Watched me knowingly as I stared down at my hands, no longer hands, now paws of the same clawed frame as theirs. They watched, almost amused, as I stroked my paws over my face, finding fur instead of skin. Had they been human, I’m almost sure they would have laughed as I howled in horror and ran from the cottage, knocking over their porridge bowls as I went.

An Elixir for a poison, trade fairly met.

7 days....

I go home next weekend - sounds evil, but I'm not sure if I'm excited or not. It means a full week of adjustment into a whole different life. Plus, I've gotten so used to the luxuries of things like internet, a five minute walk into town and friends I don't have to wait 45 minutes on a bus to see that it'll be a real culture shock.

Mother's been dying to have me home since I was in hospital, which I guess makes sense and I was all for going until I actually thought it through. I can't go running back to Whitters every time something goes wrong, or I'll never get my degree.

But still...it will feel very weird going back to a place where people stop in the middle of the street to inquire about your health and sanitation is taken care of by a man with a stick. I wonder if I'll go crazy?

A thumb war with Davy Jones by *warrioronlydude on deviantART

Somehow, I really doubt that's a problem.

I'll be back, with a ring on my finger and bucket of mozzarella

Carley's back.

The walls in our flat are as thin as our cupboard doors; it's suprising they don't fall through when you lean on them. It also means that if someone sneezes, the person next door feels awfully conflicted whether or not to say 'bless you'.

Anyway, the apartment door slammed open and shut this morning and shortly afterwards someone turned their shower on.

In all likeliness it is Carley, as she is more than a little OCD about her showers, as I discovered during the week we had no water. I, and a (frighteningly small actually) selection of others were worried about the effect it would have on our health, whereas she spent the time running her fingers through her hair, moaning about how missing one of her (two) showers a day would turn her into some kind of a tramp.

Hell of a narcissist...I have yet to see her take out the rubbish, clean the pots or wash the kitchen. All she cares about is making herself pretty for her boyfriend, who I swear materialises through the floor. Skye says he's sweet, but that's probably because she's acceptable by his standards - he has yet to talk to me and I know exactly why.

Whenever he's in the flat, they disappear into her room (paper thin walls, you get the picture). They only come out to cook - usually him doing all the work, all she can do is pizza. Anyway, if I have the bad luck of stumbling into the kitchen when they're in there, I ponder what she sees in such a male chauvinist, who insults both her appearance and her intelligence.

The reason he doesn't talk to me? I don't wear make up and a belt for a skirt.

At christmas, we knew it was just going to be her and her scuzz of a boyfriend so we left three large bags of rubbish in the kitchen. Even if they didn't take them out, they'd still be left with the aroma of rotting pizza box. When I got back in January the bags were still there and on the coffee table was at least 5 pizza boxes. It only took about fifteen minutes to clean, but it really wasn't the point...

Wonder how long it'll be before she annoys me this time?

Letters from nowhere

It's been such a boring day that I actually went out of my way to start drafting a letter to Beth - the last time I did was before Christmas and she replied within three days.



I've known Beth since Secondary school, we sat next to each other in English class every day for three years. There she would chew my ear lobes with news of boyfriends past and present, poking me with the sharp end of a pencil if ever she needed advice.

We took pretty much the same A-Levels, except she, desiring the occupation of barrister, took law too. She was probably the most ambitious girl I knew and I always believed in heart of hearts that she'd go far.

Apparently not, for in one of her very first law lessons, she was introduced to a student by the name of Andrew, with a brain cell count equalling that of a sasquatch. Before long, she was bringing him into conversations as her central clause, sending the old alarm bells ringing.

It's been three years and she's still doing the same course, having failed it three times. Her life used to revolve around socialising and shopping - now all she does is care for Andrew's fast deteriorating mother, and three dogs.

I guess that's part of the reason why I don't want to write to her; I'll have to accept whatever lie she's telling herself.

'Keys'

I met him on the dirt track, a painted ideal, surrounded by strange women and a thousand addictions. I had no idea who he was, or why I had allowed myself to be dragged to this pit, but managed to convince myself I was having a splendid time. He was a racer, but an aging one nonetheless - long past his prime at twenty one.

When he bought the car, I hated it; its crimson paintwork, leather smell. From the window of our sitting room I sat and watched as he polished it - the dream that had cost us our savings. I wondered how this object could possibly compare with a lifetime of whisperings, years of promises, but I never said that to him. Instead I cooked him a meal and took it out to the garage - meaning to apologise - but he wasn’t there.

Hours I waited for him. I understand, I meant to say, we’ll get through this, but I never got the chance. A knock at the door signalled a new arrival, but it was not my husband.

A lifetime of dreams I gave up in an instant; all I have left is the keys….

OMFGBBQ

Saw a picture of Amber's baby girl today and for some reason it made me feel really sad; she must only be seventeen. The last time I saw her, she was absolutely besotted with Jay - would have married him if only he asked her - but now they live seperate lives. I remember seeing them at Beth's party, a fully fledged couple, snuggling into each other under the disco lights. Of course I was jealous of them - he wasn't there - and took a number of pictures capturing the moment at their request. (Yes, the party was that boring). It wasn't until later that I discovered that there was no film in my camera and as a result, no pictures. It didn't seem to matter though, as they were seperated less than a week later, Jay making it very clear why: he was ashamed of her.

Now I know that I'm not jealous of them at all-Amber met her daughter's father shortly afterwards, a no account who even the chavs turned their noses up at. Jay on the other hand dabbled in drugs and alchohol, getting his face badly disfigured in a fight.

They're happy I guess, that's the main thing.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I am actually having Cascada related withdrawal symptoms. Carley's gone home and the flat feels undeniably bare without the sounds of her thumping bass....

Guys in love XD

Maaaaaaaneater....

I've been so busy today, but at last I can sit down, load up mangavolume and skim through 'Loveless'. I've been meaning to read it for weeks, but what with one thing and another...

I didn't fall asleep for ages last night - i just couldn't drop off - as a consequence I am really exhausted today and haven't got much energy for anything. (Even I am amazed that I have succeeded in finishing off everything that I have.)

Last night Skye and Carley asked me about accommodation plans next year - they're planning to stay in Newarke too and as it happened, it was a good job they did ask me. Skye told me about the problems she had had when she booked, and though at the time I was sure that it was a one off glitch of the system, I couldn't help but return to this niggling feeling at the back of my mind that I should check at reception. This morning, when I left, I did check and it turned out that my form had not even been put through the system, even though it had been sitting there since January! Honestly...luckily it's sorted now, but it's a really good job that I did check.

I called at the doctors to check about my stitches and that was a whole lot more straight forward. All I have to do is call in after Exploring Creative Writing and ask for a nurse.

Ooooh, excitement...

Loveless

So it's Valentine's day today....I hate this time of year. That kind of year when most guys look that much more miserable than normal and their girlfriend is that much more smug. Ugh...I have the awful bad luck of living in a flat where out of five of us only two are single; needless to say I returned home to Leona Lewis and an empty kitchen.


I finally got my stitches out - went to the doctors with Pru after the lesson. The nurse looked at me gone out when I asked if I could keep them, but hey, who knows...the way my memory's going I might need them as evidence.


After the email I got from Shareem, I was extremely doubtful as to the existence of my second class, but went anyway. I went half an hour early last time and still managed to miss it by a landslide. I was standing in the corridor for a good fifteen minutes and actually turned to leave, changing my mind pretty rapidly when I spotted my teacher further up the corridor. I think I may have frightened the poor woman, running up to her the way I did, blurting out, 'Still on?' - she's rather petite after all.

Cuts and Bruises

This love I shouldn’t give
Cuts and bruises on the skin
Every word I shouldn’t say
Each little thing
It burns
Running from the emptiness
Hiding from the light
I lost the words I’m looking for
Losing every fight
Those three words I’ll never say
Are staples in the chest
Everything I couldn’t face
The things I don’t confess.

Workshop piece #2

It's been a while since I was home. Since I last saw my father's face. I don't quite remember the castle walls, but I remember my last day there.

I was looking for my father - he'd summoned me to the southernmost chamber for a reading session. My father had a lot books - large, heavy tomes and lightweights from our ancestors. Much of my reading expertise was owed to him.

On this particular day, he sat me on his knee and bade me read aloud a verse of our country, smiling as I struggled over the complicated sounds.

I miss the old country now; miss my silk dresses, the chill of morning snow, the smile of my mother as I exited the study. I miss the country of my birth; it's been a while since I was there.

Who knew that a smile hid revolution? Flames in the north? Climbing into a quieted carriage, I saw bodies sleeping on the steps, wrapped in blood blankets and cried for my father, knowing I would never see him again.

Now my silk dresses have been replaced by the drab of a servant, a shadow of a former life. The countess of her home country, capable of reading the great works, barred by the same ritual that made her great. I look in the mirror now and see a hag, dry and cold through hardship - the rags of poverty my flag of surrender. Before there was only hope.

I used to see greatness - a woman different than me. She appeared one evening, in the armchair next to mine and together we knitted until dusk. She was younger than me, with a slurred tone to her voice and habitual twirling of her hair and I couldn't help but wonder whether she was as lonely as I was - nobody else addressed her.

Alas...I wish now I had left well alone, for in the candlelight, I did not realise isolation had made me mad. There was no one there -had never been - I had always been alone.

Stepping up to the rope, I watch as the crowd cheers and the hangman approaches, waving my dreams goodbye. I will never restore father's honour, never prove my mother's betrayal. I close my eyes as the hangman places the rope around my neck.

I miss the country of my birth; it's been a while since I was there.

Swallow that thar pill, you scuzzbag

It's only been a day since I sent the cosplay party invitations and all ready I'm

a) Frightened

b) excited

c) vexed

My chii gloves arrived in the mail, meaning that most of my outfit is here and ready -the only really important detail left is the ears and Sam said it was okay for me to borrow her Inuyasha ones. Still..




When I arrived in Exporing Creative Writing people were (supposedly) talking about this party, which didn't help my nerves at all...there are going to be expectations now, ones that may or may not be fulfilled - I've never had enough friends to have a party...

Was in the midst of making some cheesey garlic bread when I made a shocking discovery...Skye was making a curry, Carley was doing some microbiology work (which looked remarkably like algebra) and mistook the word poppodom for condom. After being corrected a couple of times, she suddenly realised that she had forgotten to take her pill and, judging by how ape she went there's a good chance she might be pregnant.

Great....

Workshop piece

All I wanted was a bloody sunset, glimmering over the horizon like a newly formed papercut. Warm sand under my feet enveloping my ankles as I stared at the ocean.

All I ever wanted was to be swallowed whole...

Now it seems, simplicity has been replaced by desires of a feral nature. Prowling the streets, screaming at the moon, I writhe and yell in the hopes my meager body could only implode. A kind of freedom that leaves no footprints.I catch sight of my contaminated reflection in a puddle and, howling, scrape at the skin.

What Torment!

What Torture!

I expected to find some other creature underneath, but it is only blood that falls...

It is a whimpering beast that finds their door, clawing the paintwork. I cannot comprehend the shock displayed across their faces as their fragmented shadows crumple the body of the beast curled across their doorstep.All I wanted was a bloody sunset. All I ever got was a bullet to the brain.

Amore

Today has been a rather bizarre day...

I woke at 6AM, realising that not only was I exhausted, surrounded by squalor and expecting a visit from my parents momentarily, but there was a very good chance that I had never gone to sleep in the first place, bloody neighbours.

Sent Sam a message on Fbook - I think I've changed my mind about that Chobits dress, why on earth I bid on it is beyond even me. It's going to cost me £30 in postage alone, which I've all ready spent on plushies - yet another impulse buy I've yet to understand the significance of.





Washed my hair in baby shamploo today - had to lean over the floor of the shower to do so ^^. Still, I'm glad I did, my stitches were itching like crazy - I can't wait till i have them out! I asked Skye and Alex if they minded about the cosplay party and they said of course not, so it looks like it's on ;D - rock on!