Happy birthday, lilka...

It's lilka's birthday today. She's been in already - I gave her two bracelets, "Make Smut" and "Not War." Becca gave me the T bead I needed, and Jane showed me what else she'd got - so far a cow, an atomiser, and a threat of fic from emerald_embers which will no doubt involve necrophilia in its most extreme form. She's a little freaked out - Jane, that is - about being an adult. In any case, she came in bearing sweets and I love her just as much as ever.

I'm very very tired at present. Don't know why, as I did fall asleep last night, and it's not as if I'm in dance and having to actually do stuff, which makes it something like the seventh consecutive dance lesson I've skived, but huh. I do not care. I mean, they don't, so why should I?

I'm browsing through my lists at the moment. I should be reading through my anthology - timed essay on the poems of Carol Ann Duffy is the next thing on the agenda this morning. I don't like writing about poetry, did I ever mention that? I really don't. I am not good at it. Not in the slightest.

Bored now. Got nothing more to ramble about. Except... I actually did that Classics essay last night, which is so unexpected it deserves a mention. I rambled on about nothing for four pages, and I don't think I could have been asked to do anything more. I started my English. Got 200 words in before giving up. I hate media. Well, no, I don't. But I don't want to write about it. There are so many more fun things to write. I mean, the last time I tried to do that English, I ended up doing my own five-minute challenge out of sheer procrastination.

( One more thing )

Treeful of monkeys

In the morning, sitting in the classroom - that is, me, Becca, _detroit and a whole bunch of people milling around - we got to talking about careers and stuff, and sixth form and A-levels and all that other stuff. Becca wants to do drama in some form. Emma wants to be a journalist. Well, she doesn't. She wants to do something to make money so eventually she can live off guitar-playing. I'm the one who wants to be a journalist. Really, really, really does. I know I'll end up being a doctor... but meh. Anyway. For some reason, after talking about the subject, it seemed like an excellent idea to pick up my notebook and throw it at the wall, hard. After a moment, I threw my anthology too, a pencil and that green pen I like. All my stuff slithered down the "Das Bin Ich" wall display and splattered onto the floor. Becca and Emma picked it up for me and we all ambled off to English.

The essay was a non-starter. For some reason no-one knew what the essay question was, so I ended up revising Chemistry - a good idea in hindsight, and I actually did it, rather than stare into space thinking about doing it. After that came Drama, of course, and I now have a letter detailing everything we're going to be doing in London. Of course, my French oral will be on May 8th if we're leaving on the 9th, which we are. Ugh.
Beyond talking about that, we went to do our devised piece, and once again the hall was not free. It was full of some upper four people and their sixth formers doing Robin Hood for the drama festival. We were perched up in the gallery, trying to start our own rehearsal in about a metre squared of space, when they had the fucking nerve to tell us to be quiet. Mr Dunne suggested we go into the soundbox. So we went up there and began. Saria was there too, as prompter person. After a moment, one of the sixth formers came up, didn't say a word, merely slammed the door shut on us. Cue an outbreak of understandable pissed-offed-ness. The soundbox, being a soundbox, is sound-proof, so they couldn't hear us, but they could see what gestures were being made through the windows. They were all very rude, particularly as what we were doing was many times more important than what they were doing. Of course. Every so often, Becca would open the door and let some sound drift through and annoy them. The first time, she was singing Fuck Her Gently into a hatstandmicrophone - "You gotta fuck her, discreeeeeeeeetly....." and the second time, she wasn't doing anything, so I yelled, "You're all fucking gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide!" which may not have achieved anything but made me feel better.
Turned out Yusra's sister was in the play they were doing. "Who does she play?" I asked.
"Achoo."
"A shoe?" I asked.
"No, Achoo!"
"A who?"
"Achoo!"
"A Jew?"
"A who?"
"Achoo!"
"Who?"
"Achoo!" she yelled. "Her parents are Mr and Mrs Sneeze, so she's called Achoo!"
"Oooh..."

Call me misguided, but I'm suddenly not so sure it is Robin Hood they're doing, after all.

After that little interlude came a wonderful Chemistry test which I have not failed. Really not. I was surprised. Followed of course by Classics and an hour of Hollinghurst on Pompeiian decoration and furnishings. Ugh.

Had to stay after school for French presentation thingit, which she was really very nice about. I hated the woman two years ago, but she's really grown on me since then. She does have a sense of humour, contrary to what I used to believe, it's just very well hidden. She does try to tell jokes sometimes. Caroline claims I once told her she should inject more humour into her jokes, and she (Caroline, that is) found it extremely funny. Can't say I really remember this.

Got the train home, bought a Kinder Bueno (they're not fattening, they're mostly air!) and walked home. And that is all. Oh, yes... got back my Avril Lavigne CD. Must remember to give the Calling one back to Danni tomorrow.