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Thursday 23rd January, 2003 - http://turkeyphant.livejournal.com/
Where's my Pierian spring?
Today, I went out and searched the sky for a falling star to wish upon. I wonder whether it will ever find me?


I've been back at this school for over two weeks, but I'm still feeling relatively happy. It feels like I've been back living the same week over and over for ages already, yet I know it's not long until it's all over and I've missed a chance to have a good life again. But still, there's only so much of the monotony I can take without anyone to liven up my weekends. Each Monday, I try to ignore double physics first thing and, at four o'clock, I rush back to get changed before skipping my tutor session. Tuesday begins with double maths, but it's okay, as I'm beginning to enjoy hockey now McD's started. I have just enough free time to check over my friends' page. Wednesday is a double-free lie-in followed by a mad rush to finish Afzal's prep at break and, for the remainder of the long day, struggling to stay awake. Thursday I oversleep and get fined, and Fridays always a disappointment because there's still more school to come on Saturday. After the final Physics lessons of the week, I grab some munch before driving to London to get beaten in our hockey match. Sunday is a day to catch up on the week's sleep and waste away in boredom playing Flash games and contemplating giving in and buying two-for-one McDonald's value meals. There's nothing to do, but I have no time to start feeling sorry for myself and no other option than this brainless existence. I enjoy this life that's devoid of life because, surely, it won't get any worse.

When I first arrived, I was surprised when l glanced up to the tiny grubby mirror smeared with grease and flicked with evaporated toothpaste solution. Peering back was a fairly attractive young teenager, nothing like the ugly wretch I'd been used to looking away from every morning during the holidays. I was looking wrong as anything at home, but now even my hair's fit. However, it is growing a bit fast now, and I was worried when it briefly went from exceedingly sexy to crappy not-so-fit before I decided to re-style. I'm amazed at how unutterably fantastically fit I can look. No really.


Yes, back at home I never got into any sort of routine, other than sleeping a lot. I feel disappointed with myself for missing most of the four-hour Hamlet production and also that stupid Chinese film David and my parents watched. But still, it made me laugh that it took me only a couple of minutes to completely h@><0r my dad's computer and then, even accounting for ridiculous XP bugs, about ten more to fully cover my tracks:

Power up, main screen turn on, F8, Safe mode
Login to built-in unprotected admin account, teh intarweb doesn't work in safe mode
Create new user, r00t
Reboot, login as r00t
h@><0r all day long
Log out
Reboot, F8, Safe mode
Log in as Administrator
r00t account is not there to be deleted


"Okay, think now..."

Activate hidden guest account
Reboot, login as guest
Delete r00t account
Reboot, F8, login as Administrator
Deactivate guest account
Clear History
Power off
Replace mouse and swivel chair back round

Was Troy this easy?


Anyway, so we're driving to Canters, cruising down that long motorway in the dark, as we always seem to. The road slopes up as we turn the corner at high speed and, while I try to sleep, my sister chats amicably. But I can still hear my mother's angry screaming echoing around my ears. Later when she gets lost, I take the blame and end up having the entirety of my possessions dumped on the road and having to carry my broken suitcases a hundred metres up the road myself. And once I'd finally unpacked my clothes-wrapped life and tucked it all away into my drawers I remember how I missing out on knowing Sam, Suda, TD, Banks. All the people who mean most to me in the world, the people who know me best are left behind to live their lives away from me. These are the only people I feel comfortable around, the only ones to ever understand and not mock, and the select few who ever came close to accepting what I am.


One day I went out to spend some book tokens. As I walked back from Canterbury's biggest bookshop, I spotted Philly marching by on the opposite pavement, resolutely staring at her marching feet, arms crossed and face hidden. I looked up a forced out a smile but, again, she wouldn't see me. And so I carried on walking, round and around exploring back streets and scratching a piece of graphite with my tweezers. (I'd used it to add to the random µs etched by the telephone.) I had the vain hope that somehow I'd bump into her if I waited long enough, and then things would all be fine again. I wanted to stand in the cold alone but I didn't want to climb the artificially turned hillock in the east park. And so I walked past the coffee shop a hundred times and, yet again, looked away from the beggars whose feelings couldn't fit in my waning heart. I saw people who looked cool, wore nice clothes, but they only looked across to laugh with their friends and quickly left the high street. The streetlights had been on for an hour and my hands were icy as my unfaltering stare. Suddenly, Philly came quick-stepping round the corner, smiled and said, "Hi Jon". I stopped to speak: "Listen, I really need to speak to you about some-" She interrupted, and I couldn't remember how to finish. She said I could speak to her any time I wanted, then said her ice creams were melting before disappearing for another ten days. I saw straight though it right then.

Now, she's been ill again, but I hated her so much more when I see her dramatically explaining to some kid the agonies of her malady across the dining hall in true Jess-Clarke fashion.

And then, I realised I have actually ceased caring.

    mood: Resigned
    choon: Blondie – Hanging On The Telephone (live)