The day of reckoning

I wouldn't be an A Level student if I didn't write this post really would I?

Truth be told I haven't got my results. Obviously I couldn't go pick them up, I forgot to get my address changed to this 0ne on the mainland and my mum refuses to go get them.
I was supposed to send the school a letter asking if they'd let my mum have them, but I forgot - therefore I have not got them.
Tomorrow they will be posted to my Guernsey address, but no one will be there as my mum leaves early in the morning for Southampton, before the post arrives.
I phoned Dad to ask if he'd go get them from home and throw them in the post to Southampton, but he declined and the whole thing ended in a shouting match.

So. Until the 10th September I do not know whether or not I can carry on my courses; and I don't know whether visiting all these Universities is justified.

Nah I'm not miffed...

Well I did warn you...

My little cherubs, what shall I tell you today?

I could rant and rave about a bad night last week.
I could celebrate over two years of this crazy corner of the web.
I could describe the ring I just inherited.
I could give you in-depth analysis of my hair.
I could moan about still being covered in bruises.
I could educate you on the depressive bitch that I am...

...But I won't.

Because you just don't deserve it.

In fact all of you, why the hell do you still visit huh? You crazy muffins.
You know if you just slip away - I won't put a curse on you or owt...I'm not really a witch. (Well I am but I got thrown out of witch school and they snapped my wand.)

I've no idea what to write. Do you know how long it's been since I wrote fiction? I have so many things I want to write out - for the blog and for my red notebook...but I can't...because I just can't write.

And you know what? I think that's half the problem

"My only regret in life is that I'm not someone else"

I missed the blog's two year birthday. So.

I'll say something, somewhen.

Thanks for everything visitors, old and new.

Eternal dreariness of the messed up mind

Sorry that was an awful use of a perfectly good film title. Sue me.
SO. Where do I start?

I'll start at the beginning.

The day after I arrived in Southampton it was my Great Aunty Grace's funeral. I loved her. She used to teach English and she gave me so many books, she wrote history and she just fell in love with everyone she met. I followed the coffin up the aisle with my Godfather, I listened to the gorgeous things being said, I wished I could speak, I used a packet of tissues (fuck my rule about not crying in public) and I sang.
Then we buried her, put her in a hole in the ground and threw soil on her. We walked back to the hall and some people ate sandwiches. I just sat and was asked fucking stupid questions about college and University and my eyes and was I married and was I my mother?
I went to the toilet and cried, a lot.
I drove my grandparents home in their tank of a car.
I went to bed.

Next we have Cowes Week. Seven days of lethal racing on a Contessa 32 called Blanco. A crew of 7 in a class with 16 boats. We won five days, got one second and one third. I fell into the Solent and met a lot of sailors. I ate out. I watched the other six members of my crew get pissed every single night, while I drank water.
Overall we won. WE WON. FIRST. Out of the 1000+ boats in the regatta we came about 5th.
It was awesome, and well worth the discomfort.

So. Why can't I get out of bed? Why aren't the meds working? Why do I want something sharp and silver that sure as hell isn't tin foil?

Why the hell am I still alive?

Sorry. Didn't mean to ruin the greatness of Cowes. Just a bit fed up. How are y'all?

Ah well

Ace

I'm covered in bruises, I hurt, but it's fantastic.