Discard This Message

Just a quicky to say I’m not neglecting you- schoolwork is unbelievable and any free time is spent sleeping lately- it’s insane but I’m coping the best I can.

My brother’s getting married today, Mum’s gone interstate with the Stepdad to celebrate and I, surprise surprise, have been left at boarding school to face the rain and the torture that is exam preparation.

The girls and I had an “emo night” last night- honestly, it was the most fun I’ve had in ages. If I can figure out how to post photos in the next few years :), I might even show you guys what I’d look like with a lip peircing.

Going to Bullet For My Valentine’s concert this arvo, should be really cool but I’m a little aprehensive- I don’t fit in with the “Scene” to any great extent but I’m not all that keen on looking out of place.

For now, though, I have Othello focus questions to answer and The Formation of Urine to study…

xx Ash

Just a thought or two

Fuck I hate period pain. It feels as though someone’s got my uterus in a Chinese burn. What a jip- this fertility bullshit can end whenever it’s ready- bring on menopause.

On another note, I spoke to an old friend last night for the first time in more than a year- I’d been naive enough to think we’d both grown up enough to let old differences go. It didn’t go exactly how I’d planned but I do know now that I will not finish highschool the pathetic teenager I entered it as. What does it say about us as human beings, as adults nearly, if we cannot even have a civilised conversation in order to sort out things unsaid?

I am still alive, but barely

I’m shocking, I know, but school’s knocked me on my ass and posting here is below scratching myself on my list of priorities right now…

That said, it’s the Easter long weekend and what better time to take a step back and reflect. I think I’ll do a bit of a recap- “The year so far”

So Happychick’s entered her final, very daunting year of High school. She’s hoping to be accepted into the state’s second most prestigious University next year, provided she passes her end-of-year exams with some sort of success…

Going back to boarding at the beginning of the year killed me. The holidays had been so free, so easygoing (albeit monotonous). It was back to having dinner at 5.30 in the afternoon, back to structured study times and back to sharing a god damn room. I’m the single most self absorbed person in the universe and a total control freak- poor Casey cops a yelling every time something doesn’t go my way.

Being elected onto the Student Council was flattering (and we all know power corrupts) but it just meant more work for me and probably wasn’t the best choice in terms of my school scores and stress-related breakouts.

It’s Week 8 already, I’ve seen two cricket games, had 7 tests, kissed a boy, done a public speech, lost weight, gained weight, had to cope with the news of Nan’s most recent battle with cancer, dealt with the aftermath of my brother’s attempted suicide, bought a house, planned a trip to England, waxed my legs, made my best mate cry, had a school ball, lost (and then found) my phone, had a swimming carnival, fought with my Mum and thought about throwing it all in and becoming a hairdresser a total of 6.9 times.

The biggies here are of course BJ’s diagnosis with depression and his attempted suicide. When he told me what he’d done I was so angry- I was angry at my Mum, for lying to me about it. I was angry at him for following the same self-harming path our late father did. I was so mad at myself for having no reaction other than saying “Wow” about fifty thousand times, and Jesus I was angry at God or whoever it is that controls these things for adding this to my ever-mounting burden pile. I just kept thinking, I’m 16 years old for fuck sake. My Dad’s dead, my Grandmother’s dying, my brother’s trying to top himself, my Mum’s having financial problems, my schoolwork’s getting on top of me, my acne’s getting worse- when does it end? Will it end? Am I just going to explode one day, crawl up into a ball and cry myself into oblivion? The school shrink sure seems to think so.

The best thing about this blog I find is that I can rant and rave about my self-pity for as long as I damn-well like and no one can tell me my selfishness is getting out of hand.

The Ball was amazing, though. It was… fabulous. If I knew how to post photos I would, but I’m so technologically illiterate you’ll just have to imagine. I wore this stunning red strapless dress that (unbeknownst to me) actually made me look 2 months pregnant, but I looked so beautiful I really think I could’ve given Angelina a run for her money. I’m not really one for dressing up, you see. I wear Converse High-tops and jeans, t-shirts with silly slogans and a ponytail most days. The fact that I did look so stunning made me think that there really is hope for me yet- give it five years and a bit of exercise and I’ll have nice skin and enough money to afford good fashion, and the boys wont just think I’m that silly outspoken girl who doesn’t mind if you use your tongue.

I miss being able to do this each arvo. I miss having a life actually- schoolwork is so much harder than I’d anticipated and I’m really not coping. I feel like I’m the only one but the other girls assure me they’re struggling too, but it’s taking everything I’ve got and more to maintain a B-average, which saddens me more because I’d been a solid A throughout last year. I want so badly to get into Uni but if I’m being slaughtered in high school maybe tertiary education isn’t for me.

On a more positive note, I don’t have to go back to school for 10 whole days- and let me assure you, that’s a relief.

I’ve been thinking…

About starting another blog.

Reading back through my older posts, I find myself cringing at not only the language use, but the- dare I say it- immaturity of it all. My posts were tedious, stale and devoid of anything I might find interesting… I’d hate to think what others would have to say.

By the same token, I don’t write for others. My blog has changed over the past few years, but I rather think that by keeping my existing blog and looking back on my posts that I can see just how far I’ve come. (Thankyou Matchbox 20)

I’m ashamed to admit it but…

… I’m only pretty, smart and popular because I want my Mum to love me more than my brother.

He used to be the smart one, the perfect child, a parent’s wet dream. I was consistently grounded, got into trouble at school and hated the fact that I’d never be perfect.

Now he’s on medication to treat depression, a recluse with no social skills, suffering more than I ever thought he could.

I’m scared that I made him that way through my incessant competition, my bullying remarks and unspoken resentment that he was always the one they loved more.

We’re moving in together. Will he ever forgive me? Will I ever forgive myself?

The truth about unrequited love.

I met his girlfriend (fiancé?) today. Up until now, it hadn’t seemed real- his being engaged, and all that. It was like a sad rumor no one knew much about and thus made no attempt to quash. But seeing her, there, in person, it was an experience I’ll never forget.

Watching her, talking to her and knowing what she meant to him had me feeling so many different emotions I was afraid I’d explode.

Naturally, I was jealous. I was so jealous I could’ve easily clawed her eyes out. I was jealous that she had him- she had him mentally, she’d had him physically, she was the one who got to feel his powerful hands wrap around her waist instead of me. God how I longed for those powerful hands.

I was angry, and confused. I mean, I’m about a thousand times prettier than her, thinner, with better hair and cooler clothes and a more glowing (albeit oily) complexion. I’m more cheerful and I was angry he couldn’t see that, and confused as to why he chose her.

I felt guilty. Guilty looking into her eyes and realizing that it was her man I’d been attempting to flirt with for all these weeks, her boyfriend, her fiancé.

Even more strangely, I felt more love for him than ever before. It was this girl who he was faithful to. This girl who he thought about during all those quiet hours at work when I sat wondering if he’d ever think of me that way. It was her he loved, and I loved him even more for being able to love someone- even if it wasn’t me- to such an extent.

Of course, I was sad. I was devastated. I could easily have cried. She had a face now. It was all confirmed. They were in love. I was sad that I’d never been so completely in love with someone (even Pete)- so utterly faithful.

She was nice. Not all that to look at (strange hair, but then , looking at him, they probably do each other’s hair), she was a bit chubby and her fashion was a bit boho for my liking (nothing like I thought she’d dress like). She seemed sweet. I avoided seeing them together because I was afraid I’d had a “I love your boyfriend” tag on my forehead- it was awkward enough.

But in the end I figured it out. Kinda. I’m still working out the finer details but I’m hoping this post will help me out. I mean, why did I like him so much in the first place? That’s what J asked me, and honestly, I knew. I fell so in love with him because he’s different. As well as his hair and his taste in music, but different in the way he acts. He doesn’t pay me the attention I’m so used to getting from other boys. In fact, as J put it, he ignores me. Call me a sucker for punishment, but he’s a puzzle, a challenge. I found that so frustrating, but so sexy. Word, huh?

On top of that, and this is the biggy- I have the inexplicable need to be liked, or at least to know where I stand. I mean, if a person hates me, that’s all good and well, I know how to act, how to feel and where I am in relation to that person’s opinion of me (yes, opinions matter. Noone can pretend it’s any different). But, he was indifferent. And that hurt me and intrigued me more than anything in the world. He didn’t care about me. He didn’t want to get to know me, to strike up casual conversation- nothing. He was perfectly happy to go about his own life in his own world with his friends and his fiancé (Jane, I think her name was), regardless of whether I lived or died, went to work of lived in China. He didn’t care. I wanted to make him care.

I guess, while I’m spilling it, I knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. For all those hours I spent staring and daydreaming and wishing, I knew he’d never hit on me, I knew he’d never ask me out or try anything- nor would he hold my hand or hug me, but it was the safest- and most painful- relationship ever. There was no obligations, I’d never have to get my Mum’s approval.

I just can’t handle the thought that I am so preoccupied, so obsessed with how other people view me or react to me that I’m not living my life. My friends, my family, they all think I’m so strong and so confident- I only act that way so they’ll feed me the attention and positive vibes I need to uphold my façade of confidence.

My obsession with him ends today. They say you can’t chose who you fall in love with, but I can chose to fall out-of-love with him. It’s detrimental to my emotional health and I don’t need that.

I want to be free of this nonsense and it wont be easy but it’s got to start somewhere. I want to be as carefree as people think I am. I want to live up to that- to prove to myself that I can.

Year 12

… will probably be the most stressful year of my life. I mean, FINAL YEAR OF SCHOOL!! Mum asks me sometimes why I don’t drink or party or stay-up late- he thinks I’m a right grandma, and I think it secretly annoys her to have a daughter so unlike herself. I told her that by introducing alcohol and all that’s associated with it into the equation, I run the risk of bumming-out this year and not achieving my full potential. I could say that a thousand times and the people I know would never understand. It’s a strange choice, I know- but it is a choice. I’ve thought long and hard and it doesn’t bother me on too deep a level that I’ve never been drunk.

But seriously, 2008 is the year. I’ll make sure of it.

I am sooo freaking pissed.

Sometimes in life shit things happen that leave you unexplainably devastated- I’m not talking about the death of a loved one or a life-changing illness, but about those little things that piss you off more than anything. Like when your phone is stolen- it’s not just the material value, it’s the phone numbers, the means of contacting others, all that jazz. Or when you go back to the store only to find that awesome handbag you wanted was sold half an hour ago. You wanted that handbag. You were all worked up to buy it, you’d planned your evening’s outfit around it, and it’s absence throws life into chaos. Or when you get home from work and the house is messy and the floors are dirty and you know it’ll take all night to clean. All you want to do is sleep, but you know you’ll never be able to knowing the sink is full of dishes.

My favorite band in the world is HIM. They’re a Finnish rock band, a little screamo, a whole lot metal. The lead singer is Ville Valo. He’s the type of guy that occupies your thoughts and your dreams and most of your wall space. So I found out today that they’re coming to Australia, and to the city nearest where I live. I was ecstatic. I was going. Mum said yes. I mean, imagine it, being IN THE SAME ROOM as the person you admire and fantasize about most in the world. I was going to see Ville Valo. I was going to see HIM. I was going to sing along and laugh at his drunken antics. I was going to cry at all the right moments and end up pashing a HIM fan much too old for me. I was going to see HIM.

The feeling was short-lived. It’s an over 18s event. I’d snuck into a club with Mum once before but there was no way I was getting in without some quality fake ID- even Mum said it was risky and not worth the money I’d spend on the ticket.

I’m devastated. For me, there’s never been anyone else but Ville. My boyfriend used to get jealous that I spoke so fondly (and so frequently) of him. My best mates tell me when they see randoms in Heartagram Tees because they know the depth of my obsession. My Mum forgives the fact that my wardrobe walls are cramped with dozens of posters of the same man in heavy makeup. For some, my Valo obsession defines me.

Mum thought it was a little pathetic that I cried over the whole affair, but she wouldn’t understand. Just as she loved Sherbet as a teen, HIM is my lifeblood. She tried to cheer me up by insisting that when I am 18 I can go to Finland and stalk them all I like.

But if they’re no longer together 2 years from now? I can’t even bear to think about it.

You’re a Million Ways to be Cruel

What’s going on with me:

I’ve seen Ab’s ex a couple of times in the past few days. He’s such a perv, I didn’t quite know what to say when asked for my number- I settled on “I’m too good for you and my Mum think’s you’re a jerk”- to the laughter of his mates. I know how it sounds, but the boy needs to be shut down on every possible occassion if his huge ego is to be kept to a minimum.

The trolley boys are pretty persistent, if there‘s anything to be said in that. My stereotypical self had them pinned for unskilled migrants (see below post)- turns out they’re studying to be accountants in Sydney. I hate the feeling I get when I know I’ve been judgmental and presumptive.

Ellie popped out another three pups this morning- that’s another thousand we’ll have to spend over the new year. Max nearly got abducted by an eagle early in the week (fancy mistaking a Chihuahua for a rat)- it was terribly alarming but I’m hoping it was just a one-off.

I also got my end-of-year report this arvo. Four A’s and B isn’t bad at all- I was pissed that the B was in Media, however- fancy getting the Year 11 Media award and then only ending up with a B… Question Mark?

There’s a certain acquaintance of mine who, despite having a heart of what might be gold (covered in ego), is a complete twat and will never cease to amaze me with his dogged ignorance. It’s not his fault he’s an idiot but I just wish he’d get the hint.

I bought the StepDad Season One of “The Unit” for Christmas- God, how I hate this time of year. It’s such a load of crap and a bit of an insult to all those Christians who are into the celebration of Jesus’ birth. It’s been turned into such a commercial holiday.

I myself feel like a bit of a tool in terms of falling head over heels in love with my manager at work- only to find out he’s engaged… awkward things like this have the tendency to attract me- or is it vice versa?

That was such a devo post, but it’s just because I’ve been alone with my thoughts all day. Things’ll be back to normal tomorrow.

Later. X x

Checkouts, Brett Lee, Scrapbooking

Working as a checkout chick the past few weeks has revealed a few things to me, and confirmed some others. Firstly, it’s made me realize just how heartbreakingly sad the lives are of some of the people in this town. It’s served to reiterate just how lucky I am to be boarding away from the filthy environment and stale atmosphere of the place, and it’s taught me just how capable I am and just how lucky I am to have a mind that works the way mine does- to establish right from wrong, o act in a mature, sensible way, to be NORMAL.

It’s made me realize that I don’t want to be working like this, repetitive, monotonous, bland, for the rest of my life. I want adventure. I want creativity and excitement and laughter.

The Egyptian trolley boy has asked me out a few times- I’m really bad at this sort of thing so I don’t really know what to say. He’s sweet and funny all that jazz, and we all know I have a soft spot for foreigners with accents, but, let’s face it- he’s an Egyptian immigrant. He’s a trolley boy. He’s 20 something with a name I can’t pronounce… It’ll never work out.

It’s now I begin to wonder if I’m shallow- and I know the answer is a yes. I’ve always been in it for me, though, If that makes sense. I always look out for what’s best for myself. If I can help someone out or cheer someone up along the way, great, but let’s face it- when was the last time I did something completely selfless, without hope of a reward?

I miss Casey. She doesn’t know it and I won’t be the one to tell her. We’re mates through convenience- she’s my rock and I’m hers at Boarding. But it gets lonely in this house and I took her presence for granted a lot of the time.

Nush got back from Canberra the other day, I called and asked her how it all went. She had such an awesome time and saw so many cool things it was hard not to be jealous and resent being stuck in this God-awful place for the next two months. It makes me pity myself and I hate that feeling. She even saw Brett Lee!

“OMG guess who I saw at the airport?”

“John Howard?”

“No. Brett Lee”

“No way- he’s like the best spin bowler ever!”

*silence*

“He’s a fast bowler”

*silence*

“That’s what I said”

Tomorrow’s my day off, I’m going to work on my scrapbook. X x