When Doctors Don’t Know What’s Wrong

When Doctors Don’t Know What’s Wrong

This guy makes so much sense it hurts :/ I kind of wish I had a doctor like him/her.
So, yeah. My wrist's been playing up again, and good grief, it hurts so much. It doesn't usually hurt this much. I can barely move it without hurting. I have my last history exam tomorrow. I hope the pain goes down by then :/
I'm also slightly terrified that when (because I will, at some point soon) I go to the doctor, they'll tell me that it's all psychosomatic and my wrist is fine. Which will really piss me off, if they do so without at least taking an X-ray.
Though perhaps if they X-ray it first, I'll grudgingly accept it.
God, I don't want this pain to be in my head. It hurts so much, and there's no logic behind when it hurts - no pattern or similarity in the times - and what a waste, you know? Wasting time in pain when you don't need to be.

Fran's a sweetheart about it though. She doesn't take anything from anyone- for example, if someone thought to even mention  anything about women's rights and belonging in the kitchen - she gets all fired up and doesn't stop ranting until I force a subject change. Or give her food. Occasionally I let her go on, because bitchy!pissed-off!Fran is one of the more entertaining things in life :) But anyway - considering that she doesn't take bullshit from anyone, and we've both discussed and agreed that there's a high probability of my wrist pain being psychosomatic, if ever I complain - or even if she sees me rubbing or flexing my wrist without saying anything, or if she sees me favouring my left hand over my right - she'll immediately offer to carry whatever it is that I'm holding (which I refuse, usually, because please, I'm a big girl now) for an indefinite period of time. Which is lovely of her. I like that she gets protective over little silly things that we've agreed will probably turn out to be made up by my brain.
It shows that she cares, and I think I prefer this quieter subtler form of affection than the ostensible physical type, where everything is hugs and kisses. Though we hug and kiss too, but not to a very great extent. This is more of a case of actions speaking louder than words, isn't it? It's nice :)

My wrist still hurts, though. I think I'd prefer it if it didn't hurt so much, even if it does help me understand my friends a little better.

Peace :)

Time Is Disappearing (But Only In My Head)

Okay so I just looked at my calendar and it says June. What. I don't understand - I swear it was like January yesterday. I don't know where all the time has gone :/
I feel as if I've slept all the time away, but I can't have, because I've been shouted at for not sleeping enough so many times and  I do remember the middle months - BUT WHERE HAVE THEY GONE???
It feels so confusing. Bah.
I swear GCSEs are fucking with my head.
Pffft.
O_O

I can't wait for the summer. It's just going to be parties and friends and learning things that I want to learn, not things that I have to learn :)

Anyway, we had a little party (i.e. about five or six people, excluding my parents and me) last week. Now, my family are all crackheads, and partying is their personal drug of choice.
So it got to around two in the morning, and if we froze the tableau, it would look a bit like this:
My sister's upstairs in bed, asleep, so she's unharmed by the madness that is so often wrought when alcohol is involved :P
Someone has been laid out flat on the floor, because my dad's favourite form of entertainment is to rile his guests up. Other people are drunk off their faces, and have been egging my dad on, and find it hilarious when the guy who's been my dad's victim for the night punches his friend (as opposed to my dad. O_O Men logic).
I'm torn between embarrassment and (condescending) amusement, because another guy has been giving me 'friendly advice' on how to spend/take care of my money, because of my dad venting to him earlier about how I once spent £300 in one go (**sigh** Sometimes, a girl needs serious retail therapy, okay?) and as my lecturer for the night is also completely pissed, his words are slurred and he keeps on going on about how we're mates, even if he is over forty years of age. Geezer.
And the genetics professor, the film professor and my mum are bonding/communally despairing over how the youth of today have no motivation and no interest in politics or global issues.

**cue another sigh**
Actually, this is a pretty standard occurrence.
We had another 'friendly get-together' last month, and my dad managed to incite someone else to violence as well. Except that guy hit a woman, which wasn't so okay, so most people glared at him until he grovelled for her forgiveness. Which she gave, because she was also drunk off her face and he's a bit of a wimp.

Although I quite enjoy watching these, because I get the pure amusement of seeing people get drunk and make utter fools of themselves.
:D

Peace, motherfuckers
x

London, and Achilles, and The Battle of Ilium.

I went out with my friend Fran today. I arrived at Charing Cross at eight twenty-five. That's like dawn, for central London. It's so pretty in the early morning - there are very few people around, and no one speaks, and there are very few cars or other vehicles. It's so quiet, as if the city is just waking up and stretching its arms. I love it. I love it so much. If I lived in central London, I'd wake up at five every morning just to feel the atmosphere.
It was amazing. Fran turned up at nine, and then we went off, wandering around London and just looking. We walked from Charing Cross to Covent Garden, through Soho and to Holborn, and we somehow arrived at Farringdon, which is amazing, because that is fuck. all. away from Charing Cross. And when we checked our watches, we were kind of shocked, because it was only twelve twenty, and we'd been moving for so long that it felt as if it should be three or four. We were tired enough for it to be.
We sort of collapsed after we reached Farringdon - I'd somehow sustained some sort of injury to my foot, and it ached and hurt enough that I'd wince internally with every step, and Fran was physically exhausted to the point that even after she'd had two coffees she was still swearing like someone had just slapped her mother.
When Fran starts swearing indiscriminately, it means that she's either tired and sleep deprived or she's PMSing.
I was tired too, but that doesn't count, because I'm always tired and I never get enough sleep, so I'm pretty much used to it, and I can push on, somehow mustering the energy to move. Fran is actually sensible, and she sleeps at normal times :)
So we took the bus back to Trafalgar Square (one of my most favourite places in the world) and sat by the fountains for a while, before agreeing that it was too blustery to remain there, and so we moved to the Pret-A-Manger in order to properly rest.
Unfortunately, Fran ended up falling asleep, and it took me a combination of violence (hitting her and poking her) and removing the Frank Turner playing in our headphones to wake her up. So we left Charing Cross and agreed to return home.
I'd told my mother that I was going into school, and therefore would be home at the usual time - five. But it was only three, so instead I went into a coffee shop and read a book that I'd bought earlier on - 'The Song of Achilles'.

It.
Is.
So.
Emotional.
I can't deal with it. It was a new spin on the story, making Patroclus to be Achilles' lover, and showing the whole tragedy of the Battle of Ilium from Patroclus' perspective, and I don't think that I've ever been more distraught when reading a book about the classical legends. There was this line that Achilles kept on repeating: 'Why should I kill Hector? He has done nothing to me.'
And I couldn't deal with that, because it was due to a promise Patroclus made him swear - not to kill Hector for as long as possible, or at least not until Hector had taken something close to his heart - a promise that Patroclus had made him swear out of love for him, because of the prophecy that Achilles would die, young and beautiful, blazing with glory on the plains of Ilium, once he had killed Hector, pride of the Trojans.
But Hector does do something to Achilles.
He kills Patroclus.
And Achilles is livid.
Because he loves Patroclus.
'Why should I kill Hector? He has done nothing to me.'
And Achilles kills him once Hector has slain Patroclus, because then he has done something to him, causing him to suffer a loss far greater than the ruination of his pride at Agamemnon's hands.

And the greatest hero of the Achaeans falls, but only after he has lost his heart.
Heroes never live happily ever after.

'"Name one hero who was happy."
I considered. Heracles went mad and killed his family; Theseus lost his bride and father; Jason's children and new wife were murdered by his old; Bellerophon killed the Chimaera but was crippled by the fall from Pegasus' back.
"You can't." He was sitting up now, leaning forward.
"I can't." 
...
"I'm going to be the first." He took my palm and held it to his. "Swear it."
"Why me?"
"Because you're the reason. Swear it."'

Oh, Achilles. Seriously. How is anyone supposed to be able to deal with that?
It's heartbreaking.
I don't think I can deal with that.
It's books like this one that really throw the tales of old into a new light - they make them so much clearer. Now when I think back to the Iliad, the rage of Achilles, and the destruction he wreaks upon the Trojans once he finds Patroclus dead, barely clad in his armour, it's so much more emotional and painful.
God, I read 352 pages of sheer legend in two and a half hours. I think that says something about how much of an effect this book had on me. Nowadays I usually find myself losing concentration and taking a few days to finish a book, if not just putting it down somewhere and forgetting about it.
**curls up in bed and hugs books to chest**
**stays there**

Wasting Energy On Misanthropy Is... Well, A Waste.

Stupid people hurt my feelings.
Seriously.
There's a page on Facebook called 'Always be Yourself. Unless You Can Be Pikachu. Always Be Pikachu', which I originally liked because of its excellent name. Then I grew to like it even more because its name is actually quite misleading, and rather than a Pikachu fanpage, it's actually a page where the admins (Mark and Ted) post sometimes offensive (but always hilarious) jokes, interspersed with discussion threads and amusing pictures.
That particular page's main admin is called Mark, and he terms himself a misanthrope. Usually I don't take people who call themselves as such seriously, because, please, you're probably just going through an angst phase, but this guy actually does seem to despise humanity as a whole, which is very entertaining, because I get to read him being snarky and bitchy to mostly everyone who dares catch his attention on the page. I don't especially understand why he has such a grudge, as one must be very closed-minded to truly judge every human being as equal to all the others one has met in one's life (I mean, there are seven billion people out there, chances are you've not even met ten per cent of them.), but it makes for a good five minutes of amusement each time I sign on to Facebook :)
Anyway, the Pikachu page is essentially a page where people make jokes in order to offend other people, and in general bitch people out for being idiotic.
Which makes me happy.
Because I really hate stupid people.
Well, not hate, per se. I just view them with a great deal of condescension and scorn. And I find it difficult to feel bad about that, because, well, they deserve it for behaving in such a manner.
Hating requires a great deal of effort that I'm just not prepared to put in, especially for such matters worth so little of my time.

Good grief, I do come across as such a snob/bitch/person-who-ought-to-be-beheaded.

I think I wanted to talk about misanthropy. Possibly. I don't know. I'm going to talk about it anyway.
According to the dictionary, the definition of misanthropy is 'a dislike of humankind', stemming from the Greek 'μισανθρωπια' (misanthropia), which, when broken down, is drawn from 'μισο-' (hating) and 'ανθρωπος' (man).
I presume that usually, misanthropy in an individual is formed once the individual has experienced something traumatic or emotionally stressing, sourcing from someone close to the individual. Most likely, the individual will have gone through a series of problems, probably similar in nature, all linked to humans who the individual knows well or view as personally dear to them. From there, the individual will feel a slight resentment, possibly blossoming into fully matured hatred or dislike of humankind in general, and not differentiating in judgment from person to person. The individual will not trust easily, but perhaps they will keep a few well-knowns close to them and view those select few as precious to them.

I don't particularly understand this viewpoint. Maybe this will make me appear naive, but, well, regardless of how many people who you have fallen out with or who you feel have become untrustworthy or traitorous, surely you should be aware that there are at least six billion other people out there, all of whom are different and therefore there will most likely be someone kinder in nature than whomsoever has hurt you in such a way?
It's hardly logical to form a hatred of mankind as a whole based on experiences gained with a handful of people, most of whom are likely insignificant and irrelevant on a wider point of view.

I think so, at least.
Talk later, my babies :) x

Eminem is Aggressive and Sleep Is More Interesting Than Latin

I've gone back to listening to rap- i.e. Eminem.
He's so aggressive. It's kind of intimidating. And his music videos always have really bright lights flashing everywhere. It's like he has some kind of grudge against epileptics.
Hm. And they all do really weird things with their hands. It's like they've got cling film or something stuck to their hands and they can't get it off.
Yeah, I'm watching/listening to 'Lose Yourself' right now. This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo.
Kind of like YOLO.
LOL. YOLO makes me laugh. It's so silly. People are silly.

I want to join the army. I've always wanted to join the army. Since I was seven and I first found out that you had to do something with your life once you grow up. I can't remember if I've mentioned something like this before. But yeah.

Say what you like about Eminem, at least he's not always going on about crass crude things like girls' tits and how he'd like to 'tap dat' or whatever.
I don't know. I'm a natural born snob, I can't help the douchelikeness.

Anyway. I'm going back to pretending to memorise my Iliad now. Greek Verse Lit GCSE is on Tuesday.
Oh yeah, and the late night (early morning) physics cramming actually worked, and I feel quite confident about that particular exam, which is nice :) And Latin Language was a complete pisstake, and took me fifteen minutes out of the whole hour to finish it. And another five to check it over three times -_-
Then I had a nice forty minute nap :) That made me happy. I like sleeping.

Heat and Chilled-Out-Ness

It is incredibly hot over here.
Seriously. Hot enough that I've stripped and am now sitting in a strappy top and pyjama bottoms. Usually I spend my days cuddled up in skinny jeans and a hoodie. And thick walking socks that I don't use for walking in.
Unless I'm on D of E. Which is like living in a wilderness except you have to walk up mountains and ungodly distances everyday. But also insanely fun.
So. I'm in the middle of GCSEs now, and it's kind of scary. I am resolutely not thinking of the importance and the effect they will have on my happiness next year once I receive the results.
I was on the coach home form school the other day, and I realised; sitting GCSE exams is kind of like walking up a 1600+ft mountain while on your period. I.e. painful and strenuous, but you get through it by sheer willpower and stubbornness alone.
SHEER
WILLPOWER.

I've now got this image of a stick-figure with my head standing on top of one of those mountains you see drawn by kids (you know, the ice-capped triangles) in a victory pose, going 'RAWRRRR' and making very macho accomplished manly noises.
It's amusing enough.

Erm. I've got physics tomorrow. I'm slightly worried, because I slept through two years of physics lessons (like, nojoke. I actually slept through all of them) and so now I know n.o.t.h.i.n.g. about physics apart from 'speed=distanceovertime' and 'PET: power=energyovertime' but that's IT.
I should be revising (LEARNING THE WHOLE SYLLABUS IN ONE NIGHT DAMN YOU)
But effort, man. It's like, chill. Drink a slush-puppy. Have a cigar. Take some drugs and have a silent rave.
Just chill, you know? Let what happens tomorrow happen tomorrow, you know?

But DAMN if I'm not screwed tomorrow. :S/^_^

Doors In Camden

Sometimes I think that I could be on the verge of something incredible - as if whatever I'm thinking about could actually be done this way and good grief that's so clever, but then all of a sudden I get distracted by something- a butterfly or the folder sitting on my window bench when itreallyshouldn'tbethere, or remembering the ache in my carpus - I probably broke my pisiform bone when it got hit by that minibus, or it's the triquetrum or the hamate that I broke, but I have no idea and damn I wish I could X-Ray my own bones... And it's not healed properly, and it still aches, even though it's been well over a year since and it's so not fair and I wish it would just fix itself... These things are supposed to happen, because howboringwouldlifebeiftheydidn't, but they're not supposed to stay bad or broken or hurt, they're supposed to fix themselves... That's what usually happens.
Anyway. Yes, so it's easy for me to be distracted.
And that's so irritating. I could have understood so much by now, if only I could lengthen my attention span just a little. It's like having a dream of walking towards a door, but waking up just before you open it. Or discovering something terrifying, but waking up before you react to it. So much frustration.

It's funny, because I seem to spend most of my life feeling too sleepy or tired to move, but I could actually be so clever and things could be somuchbetter and why am I always so tired?
I want to know why and understand this, but I'm kind of really sleepy right now. And I can't think properly. It's all disjointed, and I keep on seeing purple and dullyelloworange at the edges of my vision. And I'm hungry, but the thought of eating makes me feel nauseous, for once.

My friend once said that going out with me was akin to taking a five year old who'd never set foot outside the house into the city. I wasn't sure if that was because of my attention span or how interesting the outside is. In Camden, there's a restaurant, and it's got massive doors that are the size of a small tree, and it's the kind of bright red that looks like the Sun. And it's so pretty. 

Rhododendrons Have Feelings Too!

There is never nothing to see. There is always something, and if you can't see it, well, that's a clue in itself, isn't it?
I've been thinking about Sherlock way too much recently.

And the Reichenbach Fall. How he faked his death- why does no one ever talk about the rhododendrons?
He spent ages fiddling with them! And they've been used since the times of the Ancient Greeks, and rhododendron ponticum is well known to be a cause of h.y.p.o.t.e.n.s.i.o.n. and b.r.a.d.y.c.a.r.d.i.a once ingested in any form.
Hypotension: a physical state in which the blood pressure is abnormally low, especially in the arteries of the systemic circulation, i.e. the part of the cardiovascular system carrying oxygenated blood away from the heart.
Bradycardia: in an adult is defined by any heart rate at less than sixty beats per minute.

Oh, wait, didn't John briefly manage to take Sherlock's pulse? Oh, that couldn't possibly have been deliberately designed so that he'd feel barely anything - which couldn't possibly have been caused by something which slows down the blood circulation in some way. Hydrochlorothiazide? Yeah, maybe- except it's a regulated chemical which can't just be bought from your local chemist. How about an arm band? U.s.e.y.o.u.r.b.r.a.i.n.s. it would have turned his arm blue, and would have been freezing to touch- and he only died a few seconds before John caught up to him. He would have noticed something.
Or, hang on, there's this miraculous plant just chilling right in front of him. Oh, it's a rhododendron bush? Nah, probably just an ornamental plant- that's what they're there for, isn't it? Oh: it causes hypotension and bradycardia - nah, must be a coincidence. We all know how much Sherlock loves his plants, after all.

It really frustrates me how no one ever talks about the rhododendrons. They're important too, you know.

**Casually Going Insane**

I have been in a really weird mood lately, and I have no idea why. There was that whole emotional/personal/awkwardly intimate rant that I posted prior to this one, and now I'm listening to rap? By Eminem? Not to mention the whole Katy Perry/Christina Perri phase I went through a few days ago. :O
I have always defined my music tastes as: anything but rap or country music.
Now I guess it's just anything that's not too vulgar or country music.
Blahhh.
Evidently GCSEs are starting to stress me out.

Depression/Frustration/FirstSeriousMonologue

Am I depressed? I don't know. Possibly. Possibly not. I'm disinclined to diagnose myself, when I know full well how biased I am (and obviously. Who wouldn't be?) towards myself.
However, it can be difficult. Life is difficult. It's full of ups and downs, and sometimes the downs are steeper than the ups, and sometimes the ups are too slight to notice. And when this is the case, it can be so, so hard to continue being happy and hopeful and, well, not-depressed.
And I've been suicidal, too. I've wanted to kill myself.
That's really a difficult thing to say. I've never written that anywhere before. I don't think I have. Not where other people can see me.
I think the first time I consciously wanted to do so was when I was seven, when I first realised what dying really meant. I'd felt curious at the time- I wanted to see what it was like. To me, it sounded like something to be explored, something interesting and new, even if it was so very, very final.
I feel as if I'm confessing something. It's not a crime, and to be honest, then, it was mostly the curiosity (albeit dangerous) of a small child. But I did also know what it meant - and I thought it sounded nicer than where I was then.
And that stayed with me, for nine years of my life. That's both impressive and sad, I think.
I don't know why, but when I was ten, I think I tried to hang myself with a skipping rope. That's... actually really creepy. My younger self was really, really scary. What's more frightening is that it wasn't out of desperation or a bid for attention or even a desire to actually die. It was just... boredom. I wanted to see if I could actually do it. And then my friend came in and I stopped, because I really didn't want to have deal with the questions of why I was standing on a bucket with a skipping rope round my neck.
Thanks, Isa, however unintentional it was :/
And it was the same with the whole self-harm-y/slashing-with-a-knife business that started when I was twelve. Though that wasn't suicidal or being curious, that was me being desperate and taking things out on myself to get rid of the awful feelings :(
I don't regret it. I still have scars, but I don't regret it. I never did. It felt easy and better at the time, and it did help. And they were just surface wounds - nothing too damaging. I sound as if I'm trying to justify myself now - probably because I know people who I know are going to read this and I don't actually know if they'd known. Eep, that's going to be awkward :/

I think that what's slightly shocking, though, is the fact that people saw. People saw it, they saw all of them, and they didn't even raise an eyebrow. Is that normal?
Hell, even my parents saw, and they wrote it off as being an attention-seeker, which is actually kind of painful, to be honest. Who would go that far just for a bit of attention? Is that what everyone thinks when they see scars and cuts that were so obviously self-inflicted? It was just for attention? Parents?

I don't get humans.
Yeah, I know, I am human, but when I see that kind of thing (yes, when; I've seen a lot of messed up people, at least, I have for an urban middle-class sixteen-year-old,) I've never written it off as attention seeking. I've never thought: Hey, they're obviously hurting themselves. Ah, never mind, I'm sure it's not that important, or, What a stupid fuck. They're obviously cutting themselves for attention. Idiot. I have never, ever pushed it to the back of my mind and thought it irrelevant. Why do people do that? I do not understand it. I've always tried to help, though I back off when pushed away, but when that happens, there's not much else one can do, apart from let them know that you're there for them.
It's always so sad.
And frustrating. There aren't enough people who genuinely help. Caring is irrelevant, it's whether they help or not. Though actually caring usually does play a large part of helping.
But some people don't really need people to care, or to help. With some people, it's just a matter of pushing onwards and moving forwards, and running with the pressure as opposed to resisting it.With those people, there's nothing, I don't think, that anyone else can do - the fixing is always up to them alone.

I don't do it anymore. I haven't... cut myself, I suppose (I've never really thought of it as that) since around this time last year. That's the longest I've gone since I first started, so kudos to me, yeah? :)
I haven't thought seriously about killing myself in months, as well. Since... early November-ish. It's getting better. :)
I feel like something off The Trevor Project. (You know, the ad-things, like the clip that Chris Colfer (love that man) posted about things being difficult getting better).
I think things do get better. You just need the right moments - like the right songs, or those perfect snapshot moments where you're laughing and you don't think it's possible for things to be better than they already are, the right jokes and the right memories, those moments where you feel like you've finally succeeded and it's as if you're standing on top of the world.
I know that it doesn't get better for some people. But there's the potential. And that's the most important thing, right? The potential- to improve, to heal, to laugh, to get better. If there's potential then there's hope, and if you have hope you're already halfway there, aren't you?

I want to help people. I want to give them what I'm gaining, I want other people to be happy and alive. It's lovely to see people smile. :)

Smile :) x

Yay! Mid-Teenage Crises!

I'm bisexual. I'm quite happy about this - for some reason it makes me feel as if I've accomplished something. I have no idea why.
It's curious, being bi. I feel as if whenever I walk down the street, I'm looking at everyone I see - looking to see if they're attractive or not, and if they are, looking to see if I 'would' or not - i.e. if they're within my age range. :)
It's not meant to be perverted. Just a subconscious thing, and sometimes I feel bad about it. As if my constant 'checking out' is almost a harassment of sorts. It's worse, though, at school. I go to an all girls school, and to be honest, it's just weird looking at any of them in even a remotely sexual way. They're my friends. And if they're not my friends, they're people I find obnoxious or childish or just plain irritating. But more importantly - they're straight.
Well, about 90% of them are. And the ten per cent that aren't are kind of intimidating. Or I just don't like them. :P Yeah, I dislike a lot of people.
So it's weird to even think about thinking of anyone at my school in a vaguely sexual way. Though there is one girl who I'm fairly sure I'm actually in love with, but as Yossarian of 'Catch-22' does, I think that I fall in love with nearly everyone I meet. Though the only difference with this girl is that I've stayed in love with her. Possibly because I usually just admire her from afar... but still. Although, now I think about it, I don't think about her in a sexual way either.
I didn't think about my first (and only) boyfriend sexually either. I don't think I've ever thought about anyone sexually. Apart from maybe when I was seven and I had this massive crush on this one guy and I kept on kissing him. But I was seven!
How is it that I was more sexual at seven than at sixteen?
Eww. The thought of sex (or kissing, or blowjobs, or handjobs), are kind of just repulsive. Sex is a bit gross... isn't it? It's like... This guy secretes some weird fluid (that contains about a trillion different babies) into your private girl-bits, and then if you're lucky you get to secrete some equally icky fluid (but this time it doesn't contain a trillion different lives.)
And it's really personal. Like, they get seriously in your personal bubble. I don't know if I could deal with that :/ There would have to be some serious trust going on before I let anyone press their naked body up against my naked body? Or even just let their tongue into my mouth. Eww... someone else's saliva IN my mouth? It would stay there for two weeks! I'd have someone else's saliva in my system for two weeks!
Excuse me while I retch :/
But it's weird. Nearly everyone I know has had some sort of sexual thought about someone else- whether it's Ian Somerhalder or the boy next door or even the girl next door. Their sexual experience is irrelevant; the fact remains that almost everyone I know has wanted someone.
Does that make me weird, or a slow developer? Or am I just asexual? Hell, I could be biromantic (a silly word for someone who can love any gender or type, but not sexually)
Crap. I can't have a mid-teenage crisis on a blog!
I oughtn't to be having a mid-teenage crisis full-stop.
Bah. Take it as it comes, right? For now, I'm sticking with bisexuality :)
Peace, my babies,
x

We Haz Much Frustration.

It's SO
GODDAMN
BORING
I AM WASTING MY LIFE.
I SHOULD BE PARTYING AND LIVING IT UP RIGHT NOW
I SHOULD BE GETTING HIGH AND GETTING DRUNK AND GETTING LAID (and possibly cancer, STDs and pregnant, but it's the thought that counts) AND HAVING FUN
AND GOING TO PARIS JUST BECAUSE
AND BUYING PRETTY THINGS
AND PUTTING FEATHERS IN MY HAIR JUST FOR FUCK'S SAKE
BUT INSTEAD I'M WASTING MY LIFE ON FUCKING GCSEs WHICH ARE SO FUCKING USELESS
RAWRRRRRR
In the summer,
I'm going to go to Brighton and Devon and the beach
And I'm going to thread feathers and beads into my hair
And I'm going to wear red eyeliner just to mix things up a bit
And people are going to end up crossing the street just to get away from the weirdo in bright yellow tights and red eyeliner and feathered hair,
And I'm going to be fucking awesome.
And I'm going to write a psycho thriller play, just for the fuck of it.
(Because that's what all wannabe try-hard hipsters do nowadays ^_^)

So yeah.
That's my summer.
What's yours?

School And Teachers Cause Spaz Attacks (Of The Worst Kind)

RAWRRROHMYGODI'VEBEENSOFARAWAYFORSOLONG
Well hi there. I've missed typing this. It's been far too long :/ Roughly... 41 days since my last post. I'm sorry :(
So... What's up? I've been unreasonably busy. First it was mocks (but we all knew about those, didn't we?) then it was sit-in-corner-and-cry-until-results-come-in time (which was even more stressful than taking the damn things), then there was half-term where I sat at home and got fat on cookies and chocolate and chick flicks (Whoopwhoop for being single on Valentine's Day!) then I had history assessments to panic over and almost fail, and then there was English coursework, which was so monstrously difficult and scary and upsetting that I think I died.
But yeah. Thankfully, English coursework week is now finished and I only have to look at it again on Wednesday, which is when my lovely English teacher (who is so ridiculously attractive that she's got the entire (all girl) class crushing on her) will sit me down and carefully and meticulously tear all of my hard work down, explaining exactly why it's complete shit, all the while looking at me with those gorgeously eyelinered brown eyes of hers.
Damn her. Damn her for being so hot. :/
It's not even bisexual little me, though. It's everyone in my English class- even the ones who are so painfully determinedly straight that even hugs are kindofawkward for them :( That woman is just too attractive, and the cute figure-shaping dresses she wears (as well as the KILLER HEELS) just do not help. Apparently, one of my friends saw her in a bikini on a ski trip to... somewhere in America. I was jealous. I still am. Although, to be honest, if I did see her in a bikini, I'd probably lose all concentration in lessons. It's hard enough as it is. I feel so awkward when I start being perverted (like now). I've not even kissed anyone yet. Also- she has an 'other half'. Who apparently she met in university seven years ago and they've been together(FOREVER) since. So yeah. I feel creepy and awkward and kind of weird.

It's really annoying how most of my teachers have such amazing romantic lives. My biology teacher saved his wife's life before they'd even been properly introduced, and then they were, and she was all 'Hey, you saved me' and he was like 'Uh, yeah, I guess I did' and then they had an epic love and got married in the autumn this year and he's still ridiculously happy about the fact that he's married and after he actually got married he came into school and we teased him about the fact that he was married and 'tied down', and do you know what that man did? He laughed and did a happy dance. My biology teacher did a little happy jig in the middle of the lab just because he was finally married. Gah. He's too adorable.
Also, I had seen him with someone before and my friend told me that that was probably his wife and I got so excited because THEYWEREBOTHGINGER and can you imagine the adorable redheaded babies they would have made? But then he was like, 'Oh yeah, this is just my friend of like, a billion years- my actual wife is Indian'
And I don't have a problem with him marrying an Asian person- but whatawaste! All his cute ginger features will disappear and be completely wiped out by the all powerful dominant genes of the Asian. :/


Erm.
Okay. >_>

Also:

OHMYGODSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCKSHERLOCK <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
<3
<3
<3
<3
<3
<3
<3
<3

I love that program and I love Benedict Cumberbatch and I'm very very very proud to state that I am completely and irrevocably a Cumberbitch.
And his cheekbones... **drools**
Uh, yeah. Just wanted to share that with you. :) xx
Peace, my darlings.

Spaceman

'Well now I'm back at home and
I'm looking forward to this life I live
You know it's gonna haunt me,
So hesitation to this life I give...


You think you might cross over,
You're caught between the devil and the deep blue sea,
You better look it over, 
Before you make that leap


And you know 
I'm fine, 
But I hear those voices at night, 
Sometimes, they justify my claim


And the public don't dwell on my transmission
Because it wasn't televised,
But it was the turning point- 
Oh what a lonely night...' 


What IS this madness?! I have had that song stuck in my head for the past THREE WEEKS. It's got to the point where I can replay the whole song in my head without any hesitation or mistake.
Rahr. Somebody help me. :( It's a beautiful song, but sometimes levels of obsession can be too high :(

It's either Spaceman, or The Masterplan, by Oasis. I don't even like Oasis that much.
I NEED NEW MUSIC TO GET INSIDE MY HEAD.

Blah.
Helphelphelphelphelp.

Flashbacks and The Curious Effects of Hormones

So...
I nearly got hit by a bus today. A great big double-decker one.
It was... scary.
And when I say scary, I don't mean in the: 'ohmygodI'mgoingtoDIE' kind of way, but in the: 'holyshitnotagainthisisgoingtofuckingHURT' kind of way.


This is the second time. I was once crossing the road at a yellow light, and a minivan was speeding and I wasn't looking and it hit me and it was right before my end of year exams last year and it hurt and I was so freaked out and I just wouldn't stop crying. It wasn't even on purpose, I just felt really panicked and the tears kept on falling- I didn't mean for or want them to fall :/

So yeah, the same happened today, but with less tears and no collision.
I need to be a bit less careless. It's going to really hurt one day...
Paha. As if. I always forget to take care. I guess you could say I'm the overly reckless type. :P x

Stream Of Consciousness

1.
2.
3.
4.
When I was very small, and fairly a young girl, I slept with a teddy-bear. A teddy-tiger, rather. It was small and fluffy and fit perfectly in my small arms in my fluffy pyjamas.
I... have a sister. When she was born, I had dressed in my pinkest finery, and, dripping with gentle jewellery, I had rushed into the hospital to greet my new small baby playmate. She was cute and small and teddy-bear like.
When I was born, I had been drugged up on pethadine.
Apparently so heavily medicated that I didn't even make a squeak.

My dad and his brother were down at the pub, and apparently it was my uncle who was first to hold me, not my dad.
I, personally, find that hilarious.

I was told today that I'm never serious, and I never ever take anything seriously. I contradicted them by saying that I had been deadly serious when I received my Physics mocks results (YESTERDAY).
Then I ruined it by bursting out into laughter.
I can't help it.
I'm always like that.
I find everything amusing. There's so much to laugh about in the world. So much to find ridiculous, so much to ridicule, so much to be amused by. Sometimes happy-genuine amused, sometimes patronising-condescending amused, and other times bitter-mocking-cynical amused.
But whichever it is, whether it's light or dark or black or cruel or kind or vanilla or naughty, there's so much to laugh at. To make fun of, to be amused at.
Why wouldn't I?

Sometimes I contemplate the possibility of the pethadine overdose at birth being the cause of me behaving like this. So still and silent when born, so determined to live and laugh in the middle bit.
Then I stop and think on what I just thought, and realise how utterly ridiculous I can be. :)
I'm the way I am because I want to be, not because of any early external influences :P

Anyway.
Life laughs, laughs live, we're all a happy family...
PAHAHAHAHAHA.

This is supposed to be a 'stream of consciousness', where everything I write is completely spontaneous - anything, anything and everything and nothing at the same time, probably completely nonsensical and most likely of poor, imbecilic standard.
Psh.
I'm just making it up as I go along. (Which I suppose is correct, as it is intended to be spontaneous)

Ella's drawn a pentacle onto my hand, and it's weird and doesn't look pretty and it's awkwardly clashing green with red on brown skin...
Christmas colours.
There's also an awkward hole in my tights and they're too small so they keep on slipping down and my 'p's are quite pretty, and this is completely and utterly irrational.
I... want a party.
With balloons and everything.
And music and dancing, and pretty dresses in flashing colours and clever people with cleverer jewellery.
It'll be gorgeous.
It'll be...
              Spectacular.














I hate physics.

RawrBunnies

It started with a low light, 
Next thing I knew they ripped me from my bed,
And then they took my blood type, 
It left a strange impression in my head,


You know that I was hoping
To leave this star crossed world behind, 
But when they cut me open,
I guess that changed my mind


And you know, I might,
Have just flown too far from the floor, this time
Cause they're calling my name, 


And they're zipping white light beams, 
Disregarding bombs and satellites,
And that was the turning point,
That was one lonely night.


The songmaker says it ain't so bad, 
The dreammaker's gonna make you mad,
The spaceman says 'Everybody look down,
'It's all in your head'




That's been running through my head non stop since last Monday. It's Spaceman, by The Killers. Brilliant song. :) Brilliant lyrics, beautifully sung, excellent accompaniments. What more could you want?

I received four of my mocks results today. They weren't that bad- 3 As and 1 A* - it's a good start, I suppose. But... Perhaps it's not quite good enough for my parents, Asians that they are. :)
Tomorrow, I think we'll be getting English back. I'm quite nervous for that, because I fell asleep in the English Language mock and as a result, missed a ten marker, which is absolutely awful, and will probably drastically hinder my score and cause me to lose any chances of an A*, which is dreadfully depressing - because English really ought to be my best subject. :/ Oh dear. Guess I'll learn to get a bit more sleep next time. :P
Ciao now :)

Charles Xavier and Sneering Like Draco Malfoy

So. I'm quite grumpy at the moment.
I had a lovely day today. It was the last day of mocks, and so I went in, chilled for a bit, had DMCs (Deep and Meaningful Chats) with various people, and then did my exam in the afternoon. A lovely day, in general.
And then we decided to celebrate by going to Oxford Street, so it was even lovelier, as I bought a few more pairs of tights, (in December I'd gone wild and bought eleven :P) found a gorgeous jumper and a pretty bracelet. So, basically, everything I'd wanted.
Life was good.

And then I came home. It was alright at first, my dad was pretty cool and I chilled. Mum came home and literally. ruined. EVERYTHING.
Rawr, it was so annoying :(
First she shouts at me for going to Oxford Street. Then she shouts at me some more when I countered that particular grievance with the fairly reasonable: "But you'd said I could this morning."
That made her angrier, and she retorted that I should have known that she didn't want me to go.
Well, sorry Mum, I'm not telepathic, and you have a poker face like no other. I can never even tell when you're happy. Which is rarely, admittedly, but still.
I didn't actually say that. My reply was, again: "I told you that if you didn't want me to go, I wouldn't. I told you that I'd listen to you if you'd said no."
She sneered at me- yes, she actually fucking sneered like fucking Draco Malfoy or something- and told me not to pull the innocent lamb act, because she of all people would know what a deceiving little liar I was. Then she stormed down the stairs.
It's so nice to have such a loving, caring mum.
Bitch.

So. That ruined my day. Blahh. I'se still grumpy :'(
I'd intended to post something bubbly and fairly interesting today. But now my mood has been SHOT TO PIECES AND STAMPED ON AND THEN SHREDDED WITH A BLUNT PENCIL BEFORE BEING SQUISHED INTO WEIRD LITTLE SMEARS ON THE CONCRETE PAVEMENTS BEFORE FINALLY BEING BURNED SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY VIA SUSPENSION OVER LOTS OF CANDLES.
Yeah, I'm talking about how my feelings have been treated here, not what I wish would happen to my mum. I would say she's not usually that bad... But usually she's a obsessive controlling dictator whose interactions with me completely depend on how she's feeling at the moment (i.e. smiley/content = much love. Even vaguely annoyed = evilandIhateyouandyou'readisgustinglittlelyingcheat. That, possibly apart from the 'Ihateyou' bit, is unfortunately all true.)

So yeah, now that my happiness has been brutally murdered, I am unhappy and sad and I can't remember the happy thing I wanted to post.
:'(
On the other hand... I now have about twenty five to thirty pairs of really sexy patterned tights. I may just take a picture for you :)
But not now, because I'm still grumpy and I think I'm going to express my moodiness by staying up all night and stalking people on Facebook.
Or just staring at the screen blankly, wishing that I could telepathically control my mum so she wouldn't be so goddamn moody all the time. Blah. Where are you, Charles Xavier, when I need you?

Oh that's right, stuck in a) Eric Lehnsherr's pants, b) the films, c) the comic books.

Rawr. I want my happy mummy back. :'(

Revision Techniques

Yep. This is what I do with my time when I should be revising for mocks. Fixing chipped nails or adding prettier designs. 

Oh dear...

Aeneid 2 and Small Insignificant Crushes

This is dangerous. This is very, very dangerous. I should not be courting fate so close to my exams.
It is six in the morning here, and I woke up early for the very specific reason of revising my Latin Literature (Book Two of Virgil's Aeneid if you're wondering)
However, because this is a new blog (it's only five hours old!), it still retains its shiny entrancing allure, and is therefore far far more interesting than silly things like Aeneas' domestic issues (His city's burnt down, his father doesn't want to leave said destroyed city, his son's head catches on fire, and his wife gets lost in the turmoil like the ditz she is. It's hardly surprising that Virgil dedicated close to a 1000 lines to its retelling).

Aeneas and Dido in Carthage. Just an example :)

However, my own personal issues (of a Very Serious and Important Nature) have been warring within me for far too long, and I really do need to rant.
So basically, the issue is: I appear to have a... crush on someone. The distaste I feel for that word alone is almost unbearable. 'Crush' is such a juvenile, vulgar term. I would much rather say, 'fancy' (i.e. I've taken a fancy to someone) or even the rather more puerile option: 'like'. As in 'I like like him.' At least those terms don't have the childish, somewhat commercialised American connotations that 'crush' does.
Also, I've just managed to successfully use three synonyms for immature in one sentence. Check it ;)
Yeah, I'm a snob. I shop at Waitrose and everything.

Anyway. Back to the 'crush'. I, for some unknown reason, have just decided to start feeling fluttery and weird whenever this boy talks to me. This is stupid and completely nonsensical, because I have met this boy just once in my life and even then we only spoke for all of two minutes. Most of my interaction with him has been via Facebook. However, by dint of continuous stalking, I have managed to come to the conclusion that this guy is a bit of a legend. And I know that this isn't just me being affected by... unwanted chemical reactions, as even some of my friends have waxed lyrical about his legendariness (Yes. This is now a word).
And now one of my friends thinks that something is going to happen, even though it really won't because I've been far too much of a spaz when talking/bantering with him over Facebook and also I'm not really the kind of person who people would go for and also eww. Relationships with people means they get to touch you. And expect things from you, like constant texts and affection. Eww.
Another thing that makes me feel slightly depressed is the whole 'inter-racial relationship' thing. No one wants to do it. I mean, Asian girls (most of them) are usually more than happy to go for white boys (or girls), but I don't know any white girls (or boys, to be honest) who would be happy to go out with Asian or black boys (or girls).
This is depressing. This is depressing because it shows two things. One, people aren't as cool with the whole otherpeopleothercolour thing, even on a subconscious level which is probably where these decisions are made, which clearly implies an uneven, slightly broken, if not outright fractured, society despite most people's best efforts. The second thing it shows is that it's going to be even harder for me to find someone I might possibly be interested in. 'Crushes' don't count - just because I like the idea of someone doesn't mean I'd be cool with them kissing and touching me. Eww. That is going to require effort on both of our parts. Yay.

On a brighter note: threesomes sound fun and cute. I have no idea why, but the idea sounds appealing. Maybe it's because your attentions are divided between two other people, so you don't have to deal with the pressure of just one...


Yeah. I have control/trust issues. And some weird insecurity thing that I don't understand going on.
Blah.

The Beginning: The Big Bang, As It Were

Hello.
How are you? I'm fine. Actually, I'm feeling pretty cool right now. I've got my own blog and everything.
See? Sexy.

Anyways.
'Why?' You may be inquiring. 'Why are you taking up my time with this odd little blog, when I could be doing so much more interesting things, such as YouTubing or Facebooking?'
And my answer is this:
Everyone needs someone to talk to. Some people talk to their mums, other people to their best friends. I know some one who talks to their invisible friend Algernon. And here, is where I want to talk to you. About everything and anything - from boys to school to politics to music to MarioKart to exams to best friends to obsessions to quiet contemplations on muddy fields.
Anything.

So to start off with, my name is Tara. I have a best friend called Ella and a twin (in everything but blood) called Fran. My parents were born in India, but I like to pride myself on being completely English - from the way I speak to the food I eat. That's not to to say I don't take pride in my parents' country - I do, it's just not my country- it's not the place I was born and raised in, not the country I love.
I love England. I really do. I don't know why - people always complain about the dreary weather and the hostile inhabitants and the ever growing influx of foreigners. Or at least, they do in London. (Where I live, if that wasn't obvious :P)
So England is hardly the place people dream of living in, nor is it the dream holiday destination, but life knows I'd hate it if it were. I like the rain and the odd wet dryness that we get so often, and the summer in the spring and the spring in the summer, and skipping autumn to go straight into winter. I love it. It's different and it's special and not even Germany has it, and Germany's one of the few places I've been which is probably the most relatable to England.
England is home. London is home.
What could possibly be better than home?

I like to talk. I wouldn't say I'm the most extroverted in reality - for some reason, despite the fact that there always so many things to say just teeming in my mind, I can never manage to get them all out. I usually end up looking like a complete spastic :P
Words are so brilliant. Words can paint a whole new world, a secret haven to escape to when you're bored, a place you can take anyone who'd care to read your work. Words are the keys to the heart and the mind and the soul - they express everything you could ever feel, everything you could ever dare to dream. Words are freedom, without them, we are nothing but shells, mere copies of our simian ancestors. But when we have words, when we have the freedom to express ourselves through words, we can go soaring towards the heavens; with words, we are entirely free.

So this is my blog. My lovely blog with words and words hidden inside, waiting to be typed out and shown to the world. This is my freedom. My way of reaching out to everyone, to show them me.
Hello. My name is Tara, and this is my blog. And may I be so bold as to say, I am so very, very glad to meet you.