(no subject)
Friday was a downward spiral (NIN anyone). It started bad and finished worse. By Friday night/Saturday morning I was about ready to top myself.
I awake at some shitty, ambiguous twilight time. And I'm so cold. Really. Terrible; and all my clothing is out of reach in a mocking-chester of drawers. So I pull my numbed legs into the foetal position and try to sleep. Winding up in this cold-conscious waking dream I can't remember.
And when I do get up it's about half ten and I've missed the leavers assembly. But of course I don't know it because my watch breaks at some point between now and the night before. I drag my body into school and inquire at student services as to why the YR 11 assembly is cancelled. Miss. Raven has the decency to answer me after her 5 minute hushed conversation - probably talking about Mr. Aggie's phallus - and I'm informed that the time is in fact 10:50am.
*
In desperation I checked out Preston Park, but it was only full of mediocre townies who didn't know how they got there. I spent the rest of the day sleeping, and growing bitter whilst listening to the lost in translation soundtrack on repeat. I decided to give weather-ted's a miss but was lured into the trap by Great Expectations.
At the party, my flask of brandy had little to no effect and I really didn't feel comfortable. I tried to mingle away but realized it wasn't going to happen. I gradually withdrew into my shell and I remember being really pissed (or more upset) at the things George and maybe Minty were writing on the wall, but it was me who suggested it to george in the first place.
So I left more bitter than when I arrived, I sparked up a joint, and set off on a hands-in-pockets, shoulders-thrust-forward prowl. The hood of my vest top was up high, hiding the face in shadow but for a smokey yellow eye, in the half light and the half-rain. I couldn't help but think of robert de Niro in taxi driver with his iron face; but I was actually in a seriously bad and upset mood. I can't think why exactly but most likely it was a culmination of stress and not sleeping. I think it was the joint that kept me awake for ages after I got back - it only made my mood worse as I thought about all my personal dissatisfactions and grudges against life.
Ironically I had had a really good week before Friday. I just hung out with Brendan loads, which was fun. And saw 'Brick' at the duke of yorks, which was pleasingly poor.
It's getting to late saturday/early sunday now and I feel a bit better. I really can't handle a fully fledged depression right now, and I know that if one does materialize I'll fuck up at least one of my exams.
So I might have to hermit for a few days.
That usually sorts it out.
I awake at some shitty, ambiguous twilight time. And I'm so cold. Really. Terrible; and all my clothing is out of reach in a mocking-chester of drawers. So I pull my numbed legs into the foetal position and try to sleep. Winding up in this cold-conscious waking dream I can't remember.
And when I do get up it's about half ten and I've missed the leavers assembly. But of course I don't know it because my watch breaks at some point between now and the night before. I drag my body into school and inquire at student services as to why the YR 11 assembly is cancelled. Miss. Raven has the decency to answer me after her 5 minute hushed conversation - probably talking about Mr. Aggie's phallus - and I'm informed that the time is in fact 10:50am.
*
In desperation I checked out Preston Park, but it was only full of mediocre townies who didn't know how they got there. I spent the rest of the day sleeping, and growing bitter whilst listening to the lost in translation soundtrack on repeat. I decided to give weather-ted's a miss but was lured into the trap by Great Expectations.
At the party, my flask of brandy had little to no effect and I really didn't feel comfortable. I tried to mingle away but realized it wasn't going to happen. I gradually withdrew into my shell and I remember being really pissed (or more upset) at the things George and maybe Minty were writing on the wall, but it was me who suggested it to george in the first place.
So I left more bitter than when I arrived, I sparked up a joint, and set off on a hands-in-pockets, shoulders-thrust-forward prowl. The hood of my vest top was up high, hiding the face in shadow but for a smokey yellow eye, in the half light and the half-rain. I couldn't help but think of robert de Niro in taxi driver with his iron face; but I was actually in a seriously bad and upset mood. I can't think why exactly but most likely it was a culmination of stress and not sleeping. I think it was the joint that kept me awake for ages after I got back - it only made my mood worse as I thought about all my personal dissatisfactions and grudges against life.
Ironically I had had a really good week before Friday. I just hung out with Brendan loads, which was fun. And saw 'Brick' at the duke of yorks, which was pleasingly poor.
It's getting to late saturday/early sunday now and I feel a bit better. I really can't handle a fully fledged depression right now, and I know that if one does materialize I'll fuck up at least one of my exams.
So I might have to hermit for a few days.
That usually sorts it out.