Photographs and postcards

I got a letter!
Shivani's first-grade class letter arrived today. It's a letter asking for photographs or postcards of the area where I live. Apparently they're going to stick everything they get on a giant world map. I think this is a great idea... why didn't we ever do something like this?

So... tonight, I am going to write a letter, write it, not type it. I don't know what Shivani had in mind, but I used to hate it when people wouldn't help me with school projects, and so I think I may as well go all out. I will write to her, include a couple of photographs, and I thought I might go round the people I loosely call friends, and ask them to write something, a tiny message, whatever, because I think she'll like that. The only difficulty will be finding a postcard of Southport/Liverpool/Formby, but I'll do my best.

In other, less cheerful news... the day's weather has been perfect, everyone was in mufti - I have mentioned the wonderful dog collars already - the teachers were in school uniform with pigtails, I read all through the desk in Classics, PE was cancelled and my timed To Kill a Mockingbird essay is now done and dusted, so I should be in a good mood but I'm not.

I hate this. I hate avoiding the subject. And it's not something you can avoid forever. Of course, my mother and I fight, as a general thing. We fight constantly. But we make up. And this isn't something I can compromise on, just for the sake of a quiet life, the way I always do. For some reason I'm determined, and I hate myself for it.

Pedar was telling me about Venkat earlier. He doesn't know I haven't been talking to Venkat for months. We used to be friends, quite good friends, but nothing more. I'd rather go out with almost anyone of either sex before Venkat, no offence to him of course. Anyway, he told Adam that I was going out with him, which of course was believed by so many people, even cucharita. Since then I haven't spoken to Venkat. That's not the point. The point is, Pedar was talking about him. Apparently, for his A-levels, he's doing three sciences, plus Greek. Like his brother, he wants to be a doctor. I can't say I'm surprised. The whole pack of them, all the kids I used to play in the Doctors' Residence with, they're all very similar. All the boys and girls, they aren't white, they went to Merchants', either one, they're growing up, they're choosing subjects. They all want to become doctors.

Except me. Me. Only me, the one who was fucking weird from the start. The one who's going to grow up to disappoint her parents by not going to Cambridge/Imperial. The conversations are always the same.

"So, little girl, what kind of doctor are you going to be?"
"Actually... I don't want to be a doctor."
"Oh. I see."

And I think my mother will never forgive me.

Spam, spam, spam. teh raven is bored, spamspamspam

"This is it, Radar. We're approaching Nirvana."
"Is that near Chicago?"


Fight's over.
I think. No tension at present. Making pasta was fun. I told her about my day, about the gingerbread, the mufti, the pigtails, the timed essay, everything, it was okay. I think we have reached a mutual agreement to shelve the issue.

_vertigo called earlier. It was nice to hear her voice. We used to call each other a lot of the time, before the invention of the internet or so it seems.

I have now eaten the pasta and am bored. Got no-one to talk to... the mailing circle are mostly AWOL, Enid's waitressing, Thomas is online therefore Becca can't be.

So. Yes. Pointless post.

When come back, bring 3.14159265.....