I’ve been threatening you all with this post for some time, or at least I’ve been threatening myself with it. I’ve been filling ‘www.nikitaelizabeth.blogspot.com’ with utter, utter crap trying to waste time and keep it going but really it only half succeeds as a blog when there’s an actual substance to what I’m writing. I’ve pretty much decided now that wherever I end up in my life I want to be writing – I don’t even care what I’m writing so long as I’m not sitting in a bank for 40 years wishing I weren’t there. If I’m sitting in an office writing though, I think I’ll manage. If I had any talent I’d say I wanted to be a writer; but the fact is I don’t. And even if I did I don’t think I could discipline myself enough to use it – so instead I’ll settle for something that just involves writing.
I guess I should broach the topic of Christmas; since this’ll be my last post before the blessed event. I know it’s tired and it’s almost a post-modern cynicism now but I don’t like Christmas. I respect its meaning but I don’t enjoy the family side of it, the pretending that everything’s ok when really it’s so far from that. I’m not saying that I don’t have fun – I go out with my friends and I catch myself sometimes feeling very blessed. The simple fact is that I can’t approach Christmas without memories of drunken arguments with my father and his former lovers; police interviews and collecting him from the cells on Boxing Day. Walking through St Peter Port on 26th December to collect your Dad from prison somehow sticks in your mind, along with the fights the day before. I feel as though I’m treading on increasingly thin ice each year when the 25th rolls along I almost can’t breathe with the wondering what’ll happen next – if he’s ever caught drink-driving again he’ll be facing long-term prison. It’s just a lot to think about when society is trying to stuff turkey down your throat.
I meant to write about music in this post; some of you may remember my previous music post and I was surprised to read it and find that my tastes had yet again changed. There’ll always be songs which stick with me of course; Leanne Rimes “Can’t Live Without You” was playing the first time Dad ever lost his temper. Keane’s “Bedshaped” was playing when I made that first cut. They’re all songs I can’t listen to without associating their respective events, but they’re songs I have to listen to sometimes. Everyday music though is now indefinable for me; I listen to Pink, Simple Plan and Razorlight. Then I might switch to Jeff Buckley, Johnny Cash and Joni Mitchell. Sometimes I need Nine Inch Nails, Manic Street Preachers and Radiohead all on the same day. Maybe even Miles Davis and The Clash – my point is that I don’t have favourites anymore. I’m not sure how many CDs there are now kicking around in the glove compartment of my car but I know that my shelf is looking pretty empty; so I’m guessing that most of them are hiding in Fifi.
This is a time of reflection, I think. I’ve got to the legendary point in school where I feel I’ve outgrown it and there’s no more motivation to be found – even though all of my University offers are conditional and I really need to work if I have any hope of succeeding. I have to study for these re-sits in January and then I have to shut down the rest of my life in favour of A Levels starting in April.
On a brighter note; I’ll be diving all over the mainland in March so if you live in Exeter, Hull, Leeds, Glasgow, Edinburgh or Aberdeen I may well be begging for loan of your floors and sofas *niki smiles sweetly*. Also I want to dye my hair again; what colour do you think I should go for? Anything but blonde will be considered. I’m getting back to my old size now too because I have cast aside the gym and started eating properly again. I’m just going to have to accept myself as I am because it’s too much of a battle to be someone else; so long as I’m physically healthy I figure everything must be fine with me. I’d still like a tattoo but of course I shall wait until I’m well clear of Guernsey; I do value my life enough to not want my mother to murder me.
Did I tell you that I’m a prefect now? It’s quite sad how excited I got about it; I forgot to hand in the application the first time but I helped out at our presentation day and got to be one because Mrs I said that I deserved it… I know there are loads of prefects but I like, in some perverted way, to feel like I still have a little credibility left. I used to be good at things; like music and school, but things changed and my life stopped being just about school and swimming and music. Another life got in the way and it put me off course; I haven’t sailed properly since Cowes either. Hence being a prefect in year 13/upper sixth/S6 kind of means something to me.
It was my second anniversary on the 10th December. Over two years of scarring my body. I know; I’m a fruit loop. Slowly though I am repairing my skin more than I am damaging it; of course I still have moments of weakness but by and large it’s only every week or so – which, trust me, is an improvement. When I went out to the staff Christmas party the other weekend I even went sleeveless; I know that it was dark but it was kind of a big deal because no-one I work with knows anything about my vampire-esque alter ego… You don’t get many receptionists like me heh.
For now I shall have to leave you, because I am tired and need as much beauty sleep as I can get.
One by one
Day by day
That’s the way