oh, but also

Hello, how are you?

I'm actually grand now

mostly.

The hospital made
me better. My head
is clearer and it

really feels like a load of your chest.

I have been with
Science Boy for a year now.
Shit.

Shit got heavy.

And I am mostly
okay about my
weight now. I

wasn't for a long time.

I have a dress in my head
and books by my bed

and I'm going to Edinburgh.

So,

things are looking up since
December embers.


I'm just

a little sick of not knowing where I'm going. And the sense that I'm getting left behind.
That.

draped in light, right your wrongs

"Flecknoe is a parody of a parody

parody

parody

ppppppp

... "

Apparently

this is what
I want

to do with the rest of my life.

B has always been good at school so
she will stay in school.

Revise that.

B has always tried hard at school
and liked reading books.

So she will stay in school
and read books.

Does that make B
boring?
Boring-B.

'Cause writing that poetic apocalyptic novel
that was gonna quote Proust and reggae and stuff

is
just
not
happening.

Wanted to take the summer out
to write poetry and
my novel

in my little attic room.

But that doesn't seem right when

people around you
get internships
or jobs

or travel.

Sitting in your room
seems so awful.

Apply for work at festivals instead.
Help to organise a festival in Wales.

Good.
Great.

Doing stuff.

B was happy not doing stuff until she felt inadequate.

Especially when -

what if universities do not want B?
Need
plan B.
(Pun?)

Plan B? People cannot get jobs on firsts apparently.
Networking is the way.
And internships.

Trying hard at school
doesn't work any more.

So B feels inadequate not
just with friends (and rivals)

but in the world in general.

Pushed
pushed
pushed

in the wrong direction 'cause the wrong direction is stuff that you don't want to do. Little B used to say, "I won't have a life I don't want to have"

but life doesn't give much choice
especially when you don't know

what to want.

Just want to watch the Bob Marley film
and finish Hardboiled Wonderland and the End of the World


and go home.

I just want to go home.

PS. Saving money to leave the country. Who's coming?

starred with poetry

I read my old blog today. I
am having unfortunate trips

down memory lane.

At the same time, it
made me realise

well

how good my blog was for me.
How it gave me somewhere to

form,
articulate
and collect

my thoughts together.

It gave me a sense of coherence.

Thus

having had a (fine, I'll admit that I'm not
fine) bad semester, I wish to do that again.

Form.
Articulate.
Collect.

'Cause, reading my old posts,
it transpires that B knew me

a whole lot better
than I know me,

if that makes sense?

Comma comma comma
gap gap gap.

My writing used to be better than this. Fuck's sake. B
even understood stanza and rhyme better than me

(which has perhaps been ruined by
the degree in literature).

Again, I escape the
obvious third rhyme.

Fine,
the point

(the nub, the crux,
the focal point).

Here lies B's (my fictional
'other' is back)

first ever unhappiness list. Well,
not first. But first labelled so.

There is no beginning, since
it is a modernist feeling:

"From all sides they come, an incessant shower of innumerable atoms."

but why not start with
my health? The one I
avoided in-depth (as
in explicit at all) 'cause

it's really personal.

Simply put: polycystic ovaries

(or possibility of) 'cause
when I type symptoms
into Google, that is all
that comes up.

I had a vague notion
until I called up mama
and told her. And her
tone was what some call

'worried sick'.

And then I started crying. And
it hit home that it was not just
hypothesising. Science Boy
wasn't just silly paranoid.

I really should
go to the doctor.

Which led to blood tests.
Which led to 'normal'.
Which led to 'wait for scan'.

snowstaticsilence. Whatever the cinematic term is.

Over the phone
"I'm so sorry, the paperwork didn't go through."

More waiting.
And now,

a hospital appointment: 24 December 8.30am. Please drink lots of water beforehand.

I cannot make my scan.
My friend has the same
thing, and our symptoms

match.

And she had to fight for
a diagnosis too. Even
her first scan was

normal.

For now, I clearly have
too much testosterone.
Which is a horrid thing
to admit to your boyf,
let alone online.

But I also have lots of oestrogen
'cause my boobs have got loads
bigger

(I thought I was pregnant.
I'm not).

Two hormonal extremes equals
an emotionally imbalanced B.

Especially a B
who lives in the
library, and is
scared shit that
she will fail.

I nearly read all of the books this term. I made all of the notes. I worked overtime on practise essays. I went to 100% of my lectures (until last week, when I couldn't physically move)

and yet
still scared.

And when

everyone else does extra-curricular
and have jobs
and have lives

and still cope

you feel silly. 'Cause people
are worried about you, and
take ValeFest jobs off you
and tell you that you work

too hard

when they visibily work harder.

Habiter dans la bibliotheque.
B sat on the
third floor.

Lined paper,
sip coffee,
look around,

stand up.
Walk.

Check emails,
get sugar,
pee.

Pack up, leave.

"You've worked really hard today."

No, I have
looked around.

Stress hits.
Cry lots.

Your dreams start some kinda 'literary linking'
in that stress means images related to stress.

In that when you're boyfriend
must look after tear-streaked
you

you dream about your ex-boyfriend
dumping tear-streaked you.

It went like this.

A couple of arguments about
the value of art made B
wonder. How can

Science and Art

who focus their lives on
opposing sides of the brain
form a harmonious relationship?

And she remembered her ex,
who was Art Boy. And she
remembered her Friend, who
read books and watched films

and was anti-establishment.

And then she wondered if
Mama married her own
Science Boy?

"I'm happy, but I don't know if I could be more happy."

'Cause her boyfriend was a
rebound who worked out.
Bluntly.
Tbh.

Weekend away. B slept
in her own bed. B did
her reggae thing and
made  her own food.

And when she read All My Friends Are Superheroes

(Jazz Girl was right, read
it when you don't know)

she knew. And when
he came home, she
knew even more.

That he is wonderful and right and the good thing.

See-saw switch.
We hit

seven months

and the look-back dreams brought

the past

to the

present.

Jealous paranoia.

Insecure paranoia.

Emotional paranoia.

I am the jealous type which I have learnt is fine as long as I do not act on it. Or voice it.

So I have not.

To anyone.

I am the insecure type which I have learnt is not fine as it affects everything that I do.

Compare myself to my best friend

and end up crying, because I am

"the bad twin".

Science Boy tells me this is wrong,

so I stopped.

Lose people skills and

clam up. Have little

positive to say. Feel

solitary and forgotten.

Unlike sparkly B.

Lose bravery that

led B to go do stuff.

Like,

those squat parties

and London protests

and angry occupations

and hold casual friends.

I missed all the cool stuff

B would have loved.

I am the emotional type which I have learnt is fine but it is not right now.

This ephemeral trip down

memory lane and my

awareness that history

repeats itself

(ie. patterns in relationships

that correspond to my

self-state)

has made me afraid of my boyfriend.

seven months + B's insecurity + frequent offloading = termination

And I told Art Boy, but

it did not solve anything.

He got angry and upset

and left.

And it was all ruined.

Thus, I am all clammed up now. Some

of my best friends have known my BF

for longer. And so I cannot talk to them.

And my other best friends are

cool people, and do things. I

like talking about things, and am

sick of my whining voice in their

direction.

My whining voice is very nasal

and plaintive.

Ew.

I do not want to talk to

Science Boy, because

there is a pattern. And

after all the others

I am so afraid of the pattern. So,

I distance myself. He asks what's

wrong and I change the subject.

And when stupid things like

when he tells me now that he

is actually not so keen on PDA

and he seems affronted that I

sometimes get upset when he

takes the piss

happen

I get more and more afraid. Stupid things, right?

Ginormous in B's

stressed

head.

And so, that brings us to now. Hiding

in a science room on a computer

so no one sees this over my shoulder.

Anticipating Friend visiting

for my birthday

Saturday. Shit

scared that one wrong word

that day will end everything

with

"wonderful and right and the good thing".

Essay

deadline Thursday.

Battle with hospital

still ongoing.

Static shit-y feeling

(seriously considering

help with emotional web).

Much love.

lion

I walk into town
along the canal now.

Finish at ten
then
shove on your hat
and
head for the stony path

when it's a misty morning and the walkers aren't out yet and your mittens are warm

and your iPOD is
blasting wicked
tunes.

Thought about



Friend's reindeer pyjamas
and Siney's yellow car
and how happy Kitten must be



and my favourite sitcoms
and Haruki Marukami

Thought about the prospect
of a house

with Feline Girl, Festival Gal, Geology Boy and Football Girl.

Excellent house.

Thought about Monday, when

I broke down and
went for a walk. I

was looking for somewhere like the Heath. Greenery,
it has to be somewhere in Brum.

Found some trees by
the railway line
and sat
and cried.

Science Boy found me
and got out of me
everything that
was wrong.

"It makes me sad when
you're sad. Because I
love you."

He thinks second year has
overwhelmed me, and that
I should stop pleasing
everyone else.

Stop worrying about career options. And
blaming myself for stupid stuff. Thinking
Science Boy is gonna leave me. And living

in the library.

Make time for fun.

"What do you want to do tonight?"
I don't know.
"Everyone's going to the pub if you want?"
Yehh, if you want to go.
"B, what do you want to do?"

Eat chocolate cake.
Smoke.
Play XBOX.

And so we did.
And it was really awesome.



There was another time that
he met me from my seminar
after a hard essay week.

"What are you doing now?"
Eating lunch?
"Cool. Come with me."
Where are we going?
"Harborne. To eat cheese cake."

And he walked me to my
favourite cafe, where we
gorged and talked.

It's been six months.

We went north.

Oh yeah, Diego the camera is alive again. I forgot to say.

Colour and poetry is coming back.

nice frightening things

We said

that 

word.

nice poetical things

There used to be all these things I was into.

PostSecret on a Sunday,
mug o' cawfee ready.

Nights in with glass of wine
and reggae
and jazz cigarettes.

Reading Marukami by
late night candlelight.

Vintage dresses,
big boots,
red lipstick.

My big blackened eyes.

Going sick to bass
and the 'whuuuum'

like light saber music-y.

"Pretentious" French films
and plot-less films

and sad poetry.

Happiness lists.

I kinda sacrificed it all
half for second year

half because of how I feel about him.

I do sometimes just feel like
"his girlfriend". Stupid girl.

Learn from Mama. Never do that. Stupid girl.

Gonna do my things
again. Starting with
reading week.

My things.

this is what happens in second year

We moved the kitchen
table into the living room

where

I've put up Guitar Boy's poster and stuck takeaway menus to the wall and cut up the rest to make paper chains around the ceiling.

That's what Toaster, Perk-y and Guitar Boy get
for choosing to live with a henna big jumper gal.

We held anti-fresher's, partying
in Snobs and Subway City and
Nightingale

and holding a house party
on Fri-day

but we were all so tired
'cause we were working
and reading

all day.

What happened to us?
Did we get boring?

That is what worries some of us.

Nein, I

was like this last year too. 'Tis
why B became a herbalist.

The English tribe
expanded, and

now we all find the new couple adorable. Gossip per week.

We all have no time to see
each other, unless we go to

our new haunt, Urban Village,
every night.

Cider and black
per night. Hrm.

B had several breakdowns this year.

Went home for
two hours to

have luncheon with Mama and Baby.
We ate cold meat and bitched about
things, and B felt slightly better after

all the rush with
work and ValeFest
and not being

able to hang out any more. I
miss hanging out.

And then there was
the phone call a week
later, where B cried

'cause she realised she might be ill.

And more than flu ill.
Three blood tests, and
we're waiting to see.

Running into my old anorexic flatmate,
I feel like saying 'Do you know what

this

feels like?

Do you know what it's like to talk to your boyfriend about this at the age of nineteen? When he's only twenty? When you're an IVF child and you don't know if that changes anything?'

We'll see.

And then I was flu ill anyway.

Upside, this thing with
Science Boy is wonderful.

Like Festival Gal said,

'You had that thing and now you've realised you can't not have each other in your lives.'

Since we came back,
we've spent around

three nights in separate beds?

He came over after
a gig, and opened up
to me, his head in my
lap as I stroked and

pulled on his hair.

We were scared when it happened but now we're so fun.

I'm still in awe that
we work like this.
He likes me this
much.

Things got really hard this year, but he's this good thing.