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I hate school computers more than I hate right wing politicians and white chocolate, which is saying something - quite what, I don't know. I'm looking forward to Enid getting her Live Journal - she'll write loads about weird aliens and purple and yellow and red tall Earth invaders and stuff like that. In the meantime I'll have to see what Aloysius has written over the weekend. Becca is trying to write a story based on Thurber's Walter Mitty - she underestimates her own sense of humour.
This morning, so far: I got up and felt homicidal towards the whole world, and my mother decided it doesn't matter when i get in school. She was telling me about a dream she had - about a hotel, and buffaloes, and mud and people who didn't talk her seriously, and a child who led her round. I thought Freud would have said the child was her inner child - it makes me wonder how Freud formulated his theories - how did he find enought people who remember their dreams? Unless of course he analysed himself, which I doubt, because no-one should be allowed to analyse themselves. I wonder what my mother's inner child had to say to her - I wonder a lot of things.
Then, sat through RS lesson - Rosie displayed her ignorance for the world to see - quite funny - and then non-right-angled-triangle trigonometry and a future tense retest. I've just realised I have exams in four weeks. *eek*
It's time to go now, I think.

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Eva Cassidy's version is Fields of Gold is heartbreakingly sad - thank you, Becca. I'm being sincere for once in my life. Thank you. I like it very much. It makes me think of that advert for cancer with the child in the mirror. My parents aren't home yet - I'm pleasantly lonely and I can hear my owl at the window. It's a little early for him, but I'm not grudging him a hunting trip. Maybe he's jet lagged.
I've been watching Stargate and Friends - both classic episodes. They were the one where Ross and Rachel finally get it together, and the one where Osiris makes her first appearance. That's it for now. I think I might update again later on.

You'll remember me, when the west wind moves, among the fields of barley.
You'll forget the sun, in his jealous skies, as we walk in fields of gold.