"Fucked by a star..."

I could have gone into Liverpool today. I wanted to go either with snowdrop24 and Colleen or with _vertigo but no...
My mother and I had a battle over the subject last night. I wanted to go. She told me I don't take revision seriously, I never do any work, I went out last week, lalalala.... and, annoyed, flounced off to cancel.

[I was annoyed for more than one reason - the argument made me miss M*A*S*H. The first ep was a good one, the one where Hawkeye has a crisis of confidence and falls asleep in post-op, and the second one was new to me - but the only bit I actually got to see was a bit where Hawkeye belatedly realises they've gone too far, after being put on double post-op duty because they made a tape of Frank and Margaret and broadcast it over the public address system. If anyone saw it, what the hell happened next?]

So, where was I? I was extremely angry, and had cancelled everything. And then, a couple of hours later, my mother bounces in. "Don't sleep late tomorrow, we have to be quick?"
"Why?"
"We want to be in Liverpool by twelve. Set the alarm if you have to."
Cue me in a right royal righteous rage. I wanted to go, and that's not possible because my fucking revision is too important, but now she wants me to go with her ("to buy the things we need to take to India! It's important!") it's suddenly okay!
I wasn't going. I didn't want to.

Which is not true. I did want to, a little. It might have been better than being stuck at home the whole day. But I'm not going. It seems to be a matter of principle. I don't believe she thought she could get round me like that. All it was in the beginning is she wanted me to go with her for her shopping. And I can understand that...

But no. Thanks to my own fuck-off perverse desire not to be walked all over, I now get a day on my own doing nothing but feeling sorry for myself.

And then there's the whole knotty subject of going to India at all. I don't want to go.

Is that wrong? The country of my ancestors, and all that... but not one of them can see I don't belong there any more than I belong on the moon. At the end of it all, I am not a doll. I am not a doll who comes every two years from a far-off land, just so they can exclaim, "Oh, she's so cute! See how she's grown up!" and then pat on the head and send out into the garden with a jelabi (I hate jelabis. I loathe them, but no-one bothered to ask) and then feel free to look at each other and shake their heads. "Ah, such a shame, ayyo! She speaks no Hindi..."

And my favourite part. "No boy will ever marry you if you argue with him like that, huh, baby?"

Regrets

I look (and feel) grungey.
I didn't want to get dressed at all, then thought I ought to. So I am now wearing old, frayed/tattered/ripped/battered baggies, that were once indigo denim and are now pale blue, and nondescript white top with ratty old scorched orange hooded thingit. I am cold. My hair is a complete mess of tangles, that I do not want to comb through because I do not see the point. I hate my hair. It's boring and straight and tangles so easily and there is really no point in my trying to untangle it when it will only be a mess again soon.
So I look and feel grungey. I can say I look grungey, because I added a couple of small pocket chains and a pendant to the ensemble, to make it look like I was going for an effect, rather than just laziness and ickiness.
I am still cold.
And I'm bored and tired and cold. And also lonely.
And I wish I were somewhere else. There are so many other places to be. I could be actually doing some work, but I don't want to do that either. I haven't said a word since eleven o'clock this morning. That is, unless you count my laughing out loud at Hawkeye being hit over the head with a kettle, which was funny.
I know I am here just to make a point. But that does not mean I don't have the right to be cold and bored and lonely.
And it also does not mean I don't have the right not to put spaces in between paragraphs. I don't want to. Not now. It's too much effort. And besides, it would imply that my thoughts had some sort of structure right at this moment, when clearly they don't. They are wending their own way to wherever it is they're going.
I hope it's somewhere different. And I hope they bring my muses home. My muses are somewhere far away, and that seems to be a permanent state of affairs.
I'm bored. I have been collecting lyrics. The only ones I have found that match my mood are:
"Love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."
and
"I open my veins onto the page,
Do you see the pictures in my words?"
I thought about going to find something to eat, but I'm not hungry. There is lots of food, I know - plenty of things to eat, including all the things I love, like strawberry laces and choclate doughtnuts and those little pizza pastry twists and croissants and jam and even a punnet of fresh raspberries.
But I'm not hungry. I'm cold. And tired. And lonely. And bored.

A little slash...

Interesting sight - my mother howling with laughter at M*A*S*H. She generally hates all the television programmes I watch. Anyway... I think it was at the sight of Hawkeye trying to take a shower when Frank's re-plumbed it so whenever he pulls the handle for one shower, the other one comes on, and vice versa. Slapstick, and she's happy. Oddness.
I liked the slash, myself - there was another ep, the one where the ceasefire is(n't) declared. I was just going to mention the nice slashy goodness when Hawk pours the beer over Trapper's head, but watching it just now I noticed he has his arm casuallly thrown round Trapper's shoulder, and for a moment he lays his head on him, too.
Niceness.