shout at the world because the world doesn't love you, lower yourself because you know that you'll have to

I'm going to fail maths and scrounge off my parents for the rest of my life so it seems. I couldn't even become a cleaning lady because I'm shit at being domestic.

I want to start work. Like proper. I think I would like to work in a shop. She says clothes stores like New Look and Topshop won't let you work there unless you have experience so I need to find a charity shop... There's an Oxfam down the road from where I live I think.

The other day my dad asked me which I would prefer, working in a food shop, clothes shop or record shop. Record shop, of course. Beggars can't be choosers though.

Would love to be decked out in decadence but it's too hard to not care. I hate being a stresshead.

I could do so many things in life, I could be anything I want! Not anymore. The weight of exams has put a dampener on things and reality has set in.

Anyway.

Off to read up on new bands and that autobiography on Alex James that he gave me; it's turning out to be a pretty good read. Oh and I'm going to try and get to sleep of course, big day tomorrow I guess.

ended up filling shoe boxes with vomit, collected scabs in lockets, hung them round our necks like nooses

I'm actually really scared now. Really, really, really fucking scared.

Fuck Maths. Just the idea of GCSEs in general stresses me out enough but Maths is the one thing that I can't actually handle, like at all. WHY THE FUCK AM I TAKING IT A YEAR EARLY? Any other exam I'd be able to manage.

It just keeps going round my head: you're going to fail, you're going to fail, you're so shit at this Becky, you're going to be the only one failing out of fast track and everyone will pity you and think you're such a dick for ever thinking you could do this, you can't do this.

I can't do it.

I've even been wondering if I just didn't show up to the test tomorrow then maybe they'd let me do it with everyone doing it in Year 11. They won't. I'd just get into shit.

I can't even revise right. Pretty much every question that comes up in the test papers I have to look up and revise how to do them. I can't do that in the actual exam. I'm so fucked.

I'm beyond fucked.

I feel sick thinking about it and have a headache and feel like crying all the time.

Fucking hell.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

it was all that they could do not to consume you, and was all that I could muster just to kiss you

I changed my profile picture from this:

To this:

I guess I like both of them. The newer one has some pretty good colours in it. He likes them both too.

So I didn't really do much today, wandered around Kingston with my dad for like three hours looking for a dress.

I have to go to a wedding tomorrow. I've only ever been to two weddings before which were ridiculously different to each other.

One was cheap and full of ruddy faced blokey types with huge belly laughs erupting from the dance floor as they had a bit too much to drink.

The other was at the same church where Four Weddings And A Funeral was filmed at. I had too many WKDs in too short a space of time and staggered around in high heels feeling ill whilst parents of the middle aged bride and groom tutted disapprovingly at me.

I'm not sure how this one will turn out.

I don't really know why they're getting married. I mean, they've been together for ages and even have a son together. What is the need to get married? All it is is a piece of paper. Marriage means nothing to me.

I'm bored of being in limbo of exams with glimpses of summer catching in my peripheral vision. I have to lick my chapped lips and bite the inside of my cheek to remind myself where I am, where my focus should be.

All I want to do is languish away in the sanctuary of musicians' and artists' presences. Take photos that you can taste in your mouth, something to swim in. Listen to obscure, demented and hauntingly beautiful maniacs. Become more poetic, just to inspire him.

I don't want to be anything practical.

If the corporate world ever ensnares me then I've lost everything.

And yet...

So if the point of life is to be happy why do I strive to fill the glass halfway, not even bothering with the brim.

Lacklustre much, lacking ambition, I have no gumption.

My demise is almost inevitable. Far too easy imagining me working nine to five, far too easy seeing me struggle with taxes and a husband and children and all the things I never wanted for myself.

If everything turns to shit, then at least let me have the satisfaction of not becoming my mother. If I ever turned into her... Just... I can't. I can't be her. Hard to bear the thought.

I am the most average girl ever.

Middle class, middle fucking everything.

I want to be different but so does everyone else and even wanting to be someone special is just another common desire.

I don't want fame, I don't want money.

I want to live.

not gonna win you round with prose, if anyone should know then it's I should know

Just noticed how uncomfortable everything in this room is. The chair creaks and is too upright and I've left the window open so it's become annoyingly chilly. I just arranged all my Ikea pencils so "www.IKEA.com" faces up. Some of the lettering has rubbed off on some of the pencils and it's really pissing me off.

Nothing in this room really has anything to do with me at all.

If I had the time and the patience I'd fill it with developed photos and reams of film and a collection of cameras and a typewriter and paint and biros and sweets and films and a projector to screen them and a sofa and cushions to sink into and all my music; stacks of cds, even some vinyl if I could get my hands on any, and a record player and my guitar.

I'd fill it with things that actually meant something to me instead of it being full of schoolwork, childhood books and a bin full of energy drinks.

Short post, but just felt the need to say it.

take pleasure from the simple things you break

So walking along today I noticed how weirdly insecure everyone is. Not just people I know, everyone. Strangers.

There I am walking along, chatting away to him, then we pass someone and go quiet. They pass and the burble of chat rises again. Automatically. And I only just realised. Strangers always pause their conversations when walking past someone. Well, not always but usually if there's only a few of them. I didn't even have to ask myself why.

For some reason I feel like someone would be listening in. I don't know why and that seems really arrogant to think someone would bother listening in on my conversation but I'm still subconsciously aware that they could. And I hate it.

I don't know why it should affect me. It just does. I get really insecure walking past strangers. Don't look at me. Don't listen to me. Don't judge me.

Oh, yeah, I'm not going to go to Reading after all. I'm going to get this instead.

It's called a Diana F+. It's from the 1960's, comes out on 120 film and is technically flawed so only costs around £65 on Amazon.Due to the flaws, it's all in soft focus and you get sunspots when the weather's good enough. I've seen some of the photos you can get from this camera and they're so lovely. Almost worth missing Modest Mouse for.

I had a Lucozade today. I feel guilty.

the only way to vaguely get along in love is to like the other slightly less than you get in return, I keep feeling like I'm being undercut

The conversations on the tram got me thinking...

I am actually ridiculously lucky. And I know it sounds sappy and I know it sounds cliché but I'm so lucky to be with him. How did I end up with someone who can actually keep me happy for such long periods of time? My god, we've already lasted so long and yet I still can't imagine things ending. We just sort of fit. I'm comfortable with him and, I think, he's comfortable with me. Even if we weren't together like that I think we'd still be good friends. All of my friends love him and they have reason to because when it all boils down to nothing he is a proper decent guy.

He tries to keep me happy and he cares when I have coughing fits or when he falls asleep before he has the chance to text me back at night.

His own blog is literate and funny and shows off his likeability and yet he still says he likes mine more (I don't know why).

And when we're just lazing around on his sofa, talking about music, watching tv, planting kisses on each others noses, I just have never felt so at ease with someone like this.

I'm not going to say it on here because this is public and we don't say this stuff in public but he understand when I say / \ this much.

I usually hate being close to people.

And I'm vulnerable.

And I'm shit scared.

But it doesn't even matter. I forget about it with him.

It is stupid to keep thinking of the end of things. How long its been is really strange for me but really it's just time.

As long as I'm happy and as long as he's happy, it's all good.

the first times, the last times, all the times in between

My legs ache from that trip to Ikea. It was fun though, stole precisely eleven pencils and whole strips of paper measuring tape. They ripped off "Hot Bulb" signs off display lights and collected them. Also took my first polaroid... well, he took it.

When I got home it wasn't so fun. Briefly said hi to my mum before heading up to the computer and then five minutes later hear her screaming my name. Ran downstairs and she verbally mauls me.

"Don't say hi to me then! Don't come and give me a hug! You selfish child- NO, I don't want a hug now!"

Um I'm sorry, but what the actual fuck. I never give her hugs. I don't like to.

I don't like her.

She gets so stressy over her work and yet is completely oblivious to my poor dad who has been working day in, day out, almost everyday, for the same company, for twenty-five years straight. She tries to do a day's decent work and has a fucking mental breakdown. Unstable bitch.

Bit of a boring post today but oh well.