Freedom

So the crap is done and now we're free. Fat lot the bleeding anti-climax. Woke up late and prepared the short-story, dressed and left for school. Paper was "okay" as usual. But I discovered something in the process of answering it. Writing is feeling. When the words automatically pour you realize that you're living what you're writing although you've never been there yourself. This is probably absolutely priceless. The experience of writing. Reading these words I type now would probably mean nothing to anybody else, but saying this moves me, moves me so, that the only thing more important is the experience I'm describing. The writing. I did honestly almost cry with the girl. I was there; I lived those few months with her as she lost her mother and almost lost her whole family. I was there as she fell through to the pits of depression, as she decided to fly, and as she actually did, letting go, and accepting her loss. I lived that life with her, in one hour.

I was telling you my story, the most important thing that ever happened to me.

It was real.

And I want that fucking A.

I came out the hall feeling terrible, but as usual, all those dejected looking people inspired me to smile a bit and be happy and look forward to another day of being disappointed and fighting with my mum about useless shit.

Q: Do I get my hair ironed at the salon or do I let my mother do it at home?

The answer is obvious to me, unfortunately it's obvious to my mother as well, and our opinions differ. So we argue; I want to go to the salon and get it done there, because:

1. My iron is old
   
2. My iron is burnt
   
3. The clasp-thingy is missing
   
4. I don't have the time or patience to sit around while mum messes with my hair
   
5. I don't want my mother to do my hair because I'm pissed off with her for vague reasons during this time of my life
   
6. I know Amma will say no and I wanna do something she doesn't want me to do because I wanna piss her off cus it's unfair that I'm the only person pissed off these days
   

Amma wants to do it at home because:

1. It's cheaper
   
2. She likes playing with my hair
   
3. She doesn't have to wait with me at the salon which means she can go for her stupid 'woman-to-woman' meeting
   
4. She can control what I'm doing to my hair
   
5. I don't want to do it at home
   

A: I do it myself

This seems like something of a compromise, but that's the kind of deception mothers are paid to come up with. I don't get what I want, but she gets most of what she wants. Plus she didn't go for the stupid meeting

Q: What do we get the couple?

I wanna get the little feng-shui crystal balls that light up the whole house with this unearthly brilliance in the morning when they catch the sunrise. They're cute and they're happy and they come in these little boxes so wrapping (which inevitably falls to me) is easy.

Mum wants the stupid chimes cus they sound nice (like bleeding crickets early in the morning).

I have more reasons for getting what I want but mum gets what she wants because… well, because she's mum and she's annoying.

A: Chimes – which I have to box and wrap and listen to before they're boxed and wrapped – urgh!

Tomorrow is going to be hectic, and I'm already loving it. Most of the people I met today (upon realizing it was the last day of my A/Ls) asked me what I felt like. My prompt and honest reply was "busy". Right after the paper I had to go to the studio and confirm the bookings, the times etc.. and (yes!) there was something wrong with the arrangement and somebody had got the time wrong. This meant another million calls to people who weren't answering their phones because they're sick, because their phones are on silent mode, because they're driving, because they're having legal sex for the first time and because they just can't be bothered… but anyway I loved that… walking down the road, real fast with the phone on my ear, my tie flying off and my hair in a mess. Felt like I was in charge again. After that there were a million things to buy, last minute flower-arrangements to check, make-up tips to share and snotty remarks to make at my brother who wanted to know my plans for tomorrow.

Oh I am going to love the drama tomorrow. Mum's gonna have a heart attack every few hours and I am going to boss the whole bleeding party.

I am coming back to life, real hard.

Watch out!

;)

Oh LOL and I acquired a piece of interesting information (call it gossip if you like). Dear mister I-need-to-fuck-a-bitch-with-French-manicured-nails has been dumped. THAT is why he asked me out yesterday. That is probably why he asked me out again today. Rush Hour 3 – yippee!!! (urgh!) WHY do males in general not have the volume of brain-cells necessary to understand that when you hurt a girls' pride she's never gonna be the same after that? EVEN if you're really upset about the fact that your father just had a stroke (oh! Poor baby!)?

Oh I think I'm feeling good again…

Now to fuck with my hair and sleep, dreaming dreams of a hectic home-coming…