December 22nd: Chasing inspiration

Sometimes I read back over the things I've written, both here on the blog and elsewhere in random files on my laptop, and I just start laughing. I start laughing because I sound like such a total knob, so pretentious and up myself - but the truth is that when inspiration strikes, that's what happens, because inspiration is talent. I know Zoe gets the urge to reach for her camera when she sees something that would make a fantastic photograph, in the same way that Lauren can, when she's acting, become a whole different person. I have no talent at either of those things, but their ability to claim inspiration shows that they do. Similarly, neither of them - or indeed any of my other friends - voluntarily spend a good chunk of every day musing over words and their grammatical meanings and usages and the way you can change what you're saying by changing their syntactical order or whether or not people are actually saying what they mean. Their faces don't light up when they notice an amusing arrangement of words, and they do not feel the complete outrage I do when I see a misplaced apostrophe. But that's why I'm doing linguistics at university and they're not. That's why we're friends; because we're different. We can share our passions and talents and soon enough we have pretty much everything we need to know covered.

Lauren's blog post the other day talked about definitions, and it got me thinking: who creates these definitions? Who gave Samuel Johnson and the other writers of dictionaries permission to classify words in this manner? If they created the definitions, how did they know how to define them in the first place? What if words could feel - would they resent this brusque categorization we thrust upon them? We do. We resent our categorization, our stereotypes - who's to say words aren't the same? Humans can't be defined by words... words are simple; humans are not. Right? But no - no. Humans are complex, yes, but so are words. All the different meanings they have and the way they can change whole entire meanings just by swapping themselves around (looking at child language acquisition, one of the first examples we learned for the two word stage was "Daddy kick", or indeed "kick Daddy" - is this merely an overexcited child with a desire to learn football, or do we have the next Hitler on our hands?). Words can inspire, enlighten, delight; they can teach, entertain and thrill. They can also destroy, crush, weaken... words are amazing, and how often do we stop to realize it? Possibly only when we visit a country where we don't have a grasp of the language and therefore can't take it for granted - some of my favourite words are in foreign languages, especially Danish - it's only then we realize that we don't just use words for conversations. We use them in shops; for directions; for warnings; for instructions; for having conversations with your best friend's parents when neither of you speak the same language (luckily the best friend in question speaks both); for telling freaks to back off (accents can also be hard to understand in this case and trust me, I speak from experience)... the list goes on and on. And if you're with someone who speaks the language it's so easy to just let them do all the talking... Cora's very familiar with that.

Seriously though. I'm not entirely sure how I got from talking about inspiration to boring you all with my love of language (again), but I hope I've made my point: words. Words can destroy or they can inspire - it's up to you how you use them but please, give them a chance to be what they're meant to be and say what they're meant to say. They'll thank you for it.

We all lose our inspiration every now and again, but if we didn't, we wouldn't be able to appreciate that rush that inevitably comes; that burst of enthusiasm which brings idea upon idea into our brain, usually before the last one has even fully disappeared, and lets us know that everything is going to be okay - that we are, as we were so sure of before our inspiration dissolved, talented. Special. Because we are, and easy though it is to forget that in the midst of all the other talented and special people we meet throughout our daily lives, try to remember how special you - yes, YOU - are.

To use a quote I once heard which has always stuck with me: to the world you may be one person, but to one person you are the world.

Merry Christmas.

Molly x

November 30th: The first replicated date on Mind's Eye of Mine.

As of 8:20PM this evening, this blog will have officially been my little corner of the Internet for one year. One whole year and this page is still here, still fairly regularly updated, still displaying my boring and irrelevant feelings for the whole world to see. I started off sharing this with only one person, a person who knew everything I was writing about anyway - and now, 645 pageviews and fifteen reader nationalities later, here we are, and how we've changed.

Like I said, everybody I have ever met has changed me, and a year brings a lot of people into one's life. These last two years have been probably two of the most eventful I've had so far; let's see. Since October two years ago, not in order, I've had the death of two grandparents; an operation on my mum; an 'interesting' blip at school; around 40 exams, consisting of GCSEs, AS Levels and a music qualification; getting my braces off; prom; my first job; college; meeting a hell of a lot of new people; becoming friends with Lauren; performing in public for the first time; having quite a few fairly epic sleepovers; going to Switzerland; making two short films for media; forming Octava and doing our concert; meeting Cora in person for the first time; seeing her four times after that; doing Henley Youth Festival with her; seeing Wicked with her and Zoe as the fourth time I've seen it; flying to Denmark and Scotland on my own; recording a song; getting my nana's engagement ring from my grandad; two results days; deciding to study English Language and Linguistics at university; applying to university; getting an exemplar personal statement and a full marks piece in English; my mum buying a house and renting it out; my auntie getting cancer (but it luckily being caught really early so she's okay); first house party; getting four uni offers within a week and two days of my application being sent off; first kiss; possible 'relationship' prospects with two boys, liked another two... (I'm not a slut, I promise).

It's a startling list and it is by no means exhaustive, but it proves my point - if you make a list of how much you've been through over the past couple of years, there will be a lot. Big things and small, everything will have affected you and just looking at this proves to me how much I've grown. Aside from the obvious - the obvious being that of course I've grown, I'm two years older - if you really think about it, it's quite scary. I can't even remember who I was a year ago, let alone two years, and those of you who have been reading since this blog's birth have been here to watch me form into an actual human being instead of the grumpy, insecure piece of crap I was when I first created Mind's Eye of Mine. I guess all I wanted to say, in my typical characteristic way of using far too many words and talking about myself too much, is thank you. Thank you for being here, thank you for stumbling across this however you did, and thank you for finding me and my story and my pretentious writing interesting enough to stick around.

I only started a blog because I couldn't keep a diary. I tried, but I was too surgically attached to my laptop to find the time to write on paper (and trust me, surgical attachment is an intimidating prospect - not easy to break), so I considered this a good compromise. And if I'm being perfectly honest, although this blog is for me to look back upon in the future and recapture moments of my life, there was always the chance that people would happen upon it and enjoy reading it. Writing is my 'thing', my passion and my talent, (and my proof of up-myself-ness), and I, like any human being, like getting recognition for my 'thing'. Like I said, I am not a very nice person and I am definitely not perfect. Or maybe I am perfect, since according to me, that means imperfect. But we won't start complicated linguistic ponderings today. But you are my perfectly imperfect, imperfectly perfect readers, and I value your presence here on the blog very highly indeed - even those of you who don't talk to me. Leave me a comment, pretty please?

I'm feeling like we should be celebrating. Champagne would do, or maybe even cake, but I have neither, so - Toblerone anyone? I did have chocolate M&Ms and Toffifees too the other day, but watching Grey's Anatomy is a hungry business. And chocolate M&Ms are my weakness. Nobody gets my M&Ms.

Well. One of my weaknesses. I have rather a few when it comes to chocolate.

Anyway, it's time for me to bugger off and actually do something productive for once, so I shall end my pointless ramblings here.

See you soon, bloglings.

Molly x

P.S. Freddie and I got advent calendars yesterday - the first time in three years we haven't left it until the first of December. And they're Cadbury... no High School Musical for us this year. Shame. I kind of liked ripping all their faces off. Do you think it would be as therapeutic with a Justin Bieber calendar?

P.P.S. see December 1st's post from last year if you don't know what I'm on about.

November 26th: Between the lines

Sometimes feelings are wordless.
Sometimes words aren't enough.
Sometimes there is no coherency
When one loses their faith in love.
Sometimes our hearts are empty.
Sometimes our love isn't true.
Sometimes the words we speak have no meaning
So we start our lives anew.
Memory is unforgiving,
This love that I can not pursue.
We're leaving the past behind us,
And here I am wishing you knew.
Don't listen to all that I tell you,
Instead look straight into my eyes.
If you listen to what I don't say,
Please try to read between the lines.

Human beings should be simple. If we all said what we thought and how we felt, how simple life would be. It would be like reading someone's mind, only minus the fear that they'd be thinking something horrible about you that you'd have to acknowledge. We would all know what was occupying everybody else's mind all the time - a scary yet incredibly intriguing thought.

But we don't. We don't say what we think, we don't share how we feel, and we can't read minds - and we get annoyed when people don't understand us. But why? Why don't we tell people these things?

I don't tell people these things because I'm embarrassed. I've always been one of those people who likes to sort things out by themselves; I've always been fairly self-reliant when it comes to problems I've had throughout my life. It embarrasses me to ask for help - it makes me feel weak, like I can't deal with things alone, or like I'm bothering people by talking about myself too much, no matter how much the recipient of my self-indulgent splurge denies it. But I've recently discovered that I'm not the only person who feels this way and that's quite comforting, in the way that knowing you're not alone always is.

But perhaps the most common reason for not sharing is because of this. Let me ask you a question:

How are you?

Hands up if your automatic response was 'good' or 'fine'.

Now let me ask you this:

Are you all right?

Again, hands up if the word 'fine' was the first thing that came into your head.

It seems to be automatic to reply in the affirmative to this question. As human beings, we don't want to admit to something being wrong (I don't know about other cultures, but I don't think being British particularly helps with this. Stiff upper lip and all that - even though I'm not particularly British in either appearance or mannerisms) because we all want to keep our pride and present ourselves as being able to swallow every lemon life hurls at us with a smile glued to our face. But I know that in my case, certainly, I reply to the question "how are you?" with positive answers so regularly that with certain people 'fine' doesn't mean fine anymore. I have... sort of a code, I suppose, of euphemistic ways of saying no, I'm not fine, because I can't admit that something's wrong. It goes 'fine', 'okay' and 'good', with 'fine' meaning 'not fine' and 'good' meaning... well, good, really. But those who take notice of these things will see that I rarely reply 'good' anymore, and, finding that elusive silver lining, that's something of an improvement. I may be answering euphemistically but at least I'm answering honestly.

Sometimes we don't talk about things because we want the person we're talking to to work it out for themselves. If they know everything and they know us, we think they should know what we're feeling and thinking without us having to tell them, because that's the sign of true friendship - being able to act as if that person's mind is a mere extension of your own, and you want to believe that the extension of your mind knows what you're thinking and how you're feeling even if they've never experienced it themselves. We want our loved ones to read between the lines, to stop second guessing and trust their instincts and know automatically what's wrong. It doesn't happen often but it doesn't stop us hoping it will - and the ability is there in so many people, just buried beneath the dust collected by living life.

Sometimes we don't talk about things - but we don't refrain from talking about them because they're not important. We refrain from talking about them because they're the most important things in our lives, so important and so constant and so lifechanging that we have no way of expressing them. These things are the 'dark' things we think nobody else will understand, the things that are hard to talk about, the things we think make us abnormal or weird - but 'weird' has negative connotations and these things get easier to talk about the more you do it, especially when you have to respond to questions instead of explaining on your own. Questions are specific; they show us we're not alone, because somebody else knows what's happening well enough to know what to ask. We are not weird; we are different. We are unique. Yes, maybe we are - or I am, at least - a little crazy. But life goes on, and it always will, regardless of whatever psychological or physical problems we may have, so we may as well make the effort to keep up.

Molly x

November 25th: Happy Thanksgiving and one month until Christmas!

I am not a very nice person.

I'm not. I'm sarcastic and rude and annoying. I get irritated easily and think horrible thoughts about people all the time. I'm more than a little pathetic and I pretend I can deal with things by myself while all the time becoming more and more dependent on other people. I'm a real pain in the arse.

Freddie is sweet and charming, if a little annoying.

Becky worries too much, but she's clever and makes me laugh.

Zoe is loyal and thoughtful, but I think sometimes she thinks about others a bit too much, if that's possible. She tends to forget herself sometimes.

Lauren is hilarious and completely nice - there's nothing not to like about her - but she's a bit competitive sometimes.

Charlotte is so friendly and considerate, though she's completely surgically attached to Becky.

Cora has way too many talents and I'm incredibly jealous of her.

And all of them love me. God knows why, but they do. They love me despite the fact that I'm sarcastic and rude and annoying and that I dump some crap on them at times. And I love them, despite the fact that they're not perfect either - but then I wonder if you know my theory on perfection.

Perfection describes somebody who is perfect in every way and never does a thing wrong - and that would be incredibly annoying. Annoying is an adjective which is not synonymous with perfection; therefore it's an imperfect quality. Nobody can be perfect because they'd be annoying, and that would mean there was something that's not good about them. Therefore perfection and imperfection cancel each other out and essentially that means neither concept exists.

God, my brain hurts.

Are you still following me? Good, then I'll continue. Where was I?

Nobody's perfect (or imperfect, but we won't go there), but everybody has relationships with other human beings, be it romantic, friendly, family or surgical attachment. I've said before about relationships and human contact being pretty much the most important thing in life, and I think, as it's Thanksgiving today, it's a good time to think about that a bit more.

And yes, I know I'm English and don't celebrate Thanksgiving, but that's not the point. I have American readers. And besides, the sentiment is still the same, regardless of your nationality or religious beliefs.

And we totally had turkey sandwiches at lunch today to celebrate.

You only ever know a person as much as they decide to let you. There will always be hidden fragments of someone that you have yet to discover - whether they've been in your life forever or just a few days. I can honestly say that only a handful of people truly know me - probably only one person knows me fully, but the rest know me well enough. If you knew how depressing I am, what dark thoughts I think sometimes, you'd be tempted to reach for the nearest baseball bat and back away slowly with a wary expression on your face. And yet I have the best group of friends I could ever ask for and the most supportive parents (on most fronts) I could have. I'm so lucky, because despite the fact that I am annoying, rude, selfish and pathetic, people don't seem to have noticed, or if they have, they've decided that my positive qualities (which do exist, just mainly unbeknown to me) outweigh the negative ones. And to that, my friends, I say: woopus to the maximus.

Speaking of woopus to the maximus, there's another English trip next Thursday, to the British library again. Charlotte and I are quite looking forward to it, despite the fact that I got roped into a workshop thing that I'm doing my best to get out of. Still, it should be fun. And after the library we can go shopping in London... which is always good. Except I have no money and I don't think Charlotte will let me get away with only going to the cheap parts.

And now I can feel my brain going into hibernation for the night, so I'll be back in a few days to gloat that I've been writing here for a year... never thought that would happen.

Happy Thanksgiving, you gorgeous Americans. And all you Danes, Brazilians, Swedes, South Africans, Canadians, Chinese, Taiwanese, Germans, Israelites, Japanese, Latvians, Thai people, people from Singapore, and, of course, my fellow Brits - and anyone else whose country doesn't show up on this blog's stats page.

Molly x

November 19th: Everybody wants to be a...

Cat. Go on, admit it, you were thinking it. But being a cat, undoubtedly nice as it would be, is not actually what I'm here to talk about today.

(Just a quick note before we start: God, wouldn't it be fricking amazing to be a cat? All they do is eat, sleep and get cuddled... a perfect lifestyle by anyone's standards. And they look cuter the fatter they get. Cats: 4. Humans: 0.)

Everybody wants to be... famous or recognized. All these reality TV shows prove that. On the X Factor, when asked why they're on the show, a person might respond "I want to be famous". Whatever happened to "I want to sing"? Everybody wants to be rich. Everybody wants shallow things. Not that I'm saying being rich wouldn't be nice, because I can think of a lot of things I could do if I were... most of my money would probably go to certain airlines offering flights between England and Denmark. But people rarely stop to consider the problems that go with being rich; people sucking up, pretending they're your friend, just to get at your money. Not that I would know anything about being rich, because I'm not. I don't know a lot about anything really. But I can guess. I can empathise.

Go ask a little girl what she wants to be and she'll tell you. A pop star? A ballerina? Ask a boy. A footballer? A rally driver? Okay, so ask a teenage girl. A writer, she'll tell you. A singer. A singer-songwriter, even better! I can sing, she'll say, I can write, I can play the guitar. So what? So can half the population of the world. And for the record, no you can't. You suck. Your lyrics are a pile of crap and your singing voice makes me want to hide under the bed. And so does mine. I never wanted to be famous but I wanted to sing, and I definitely wanted to write. I still do. Singing is a hobby of mine but writing is my true love... but I'm not that good. I know I'm good at English. I know I'm good at language analysis and comparison and spelling and grammar. I know I spend hours thinking about language-y things that never even cross other people's minds. But writing? I'm not that good and I've accepted that. Linguistics will be my life and I will make something out of it, because that's my calling. Cheesy and cliched, yes, very, but it is. Language and linguistics excite me, they inspire me, and I feel at home in their wordy clutches, and I hope my love of it will always remain this strong. I want to be the person who writes the next "Eats Shoots and Leaves".

As I once said to a very close friend of mine when I was in a pretentious-writer mood, "language is my law and I am its keeper... we protect each other". She told me to get a life.

Bear in mind, it was about midnight. I come out with stupid things when it's late.

Why does everybody want fame these days? Why does everybody try and claw their way up to public acclaim on very little or no talent? Recognition is different. It's be great to be recognised and acknowledged for one's achievements, but who wants to be famous? Who wants stalkers and constant publicity? Who wants the whole world thinking they know you and judging you for something you may or may not even have said? Not me. Sure, being ignored sucks, but I don't think being famous means that people care about you. People think you belong to them - that your talent, real or otherwise, is public property. That your life is public property. They think they have the right to express their opinions on the way you choose to go about your daily business and most of the time they have no idea whether or not what they're saying is actually true. The media is everyone's enemy, supposedly. Everybody tells you not to believe everything you read; but here we are, every day, believing everything we read and judging people on it. Okay, some "celebrities" are undoubtedly talentless and fake (like many X Factor contestants, though that's not their fault - I reckon X Factor just manufactures them into what they think the audience wants to see), or perhaps they're famous for doing absolutely nothing at all (Paris Hilton much?), or perhaps they've made mistakes (Lindsay Lohan). But they don't deserve all the stick the media gives them, especially the people who are new to the "fame game", like the X Factor contestants. A lot of them are around my age or even younger and I know for a fact, having had the opportunity to audition myself earlier this year and deciding against it, that I wouldn't be able to go and sing in front of such a massive audience every week. I simply wouldn't be able to do it. No matter how good or bad these people are, they have enough courage to put themselves and their love of music out there, despite how scared they might be, and I think there's something to be said for that.

No news is good news. All publicity is good publicity. Rubbish. Publicity means people are noticing you, and sometimes, if it's not for a good reason, there's nothing you want more than to melt into the background. No news means nothing has changed. No news means the universities haven't decided yet whether to give you a place. No news means the doctors haven't been able to save your loved one yet. No news means something is still unfinished, and unfinished means incomplete, and incomplete means I'm not whole yet. And I'm not whole yet, see - I'm made up of so many different elements, so many different people - people who, upon their removal from my life, would create holes within me that would eventually cause me to crumble to the ground. I am who I am, as said by the wise words of the Orange mobile advert, because of everyone. Everyone I've ever met has changed me in some way, but it's those who don't try to change you who end up changing you the most. Mum, Dad, Freddie, Becky, Zoe, Charlotte, Lauren... and Cora, who has changed me more than anybody I've ever known and pretty much sculpted me into the person I am today. We can't exist on our own; we need our loved ones around us, because without them there's no way we can be completely happy and fulfilled. I know I've talked before about overlooking people, but it's just so easy to do when life sweeps you up and carries you along and doesn't even give you a moment to breathe, let alone tell the people you love that you appreciate them. Everyone gets swept away sometimes, but to my friends and family (and both), I hope you know I love you and I really do appreciate your presence in my life.

Molly x

November 15th: My first offer!

I'm so excited! I don't really have anything else to say than that but I thought this was worth a post anyway... I am, after all, supposed to be logging my school days on this blog and as school-related developments go, this is a pretty epic one.

So I got an email from UCAS which said "Your application has changed", so I logged onto Track and saw that I had a conditional offer from UWE Bristol University (which, by the way, is the uni with the highest entry requirements that I've applied to) and I promptly had a little spaz. I'm going to the open day on Saturday so I'll have to see if I like it then, but course-wise it offers things that are fairly different to all the other places to which I've applied. Exciting times!

The funny thing is, my dad is actually working at that university at the moment for a couple of days a week. It would be quite awesome if he ended up there when I'm there. Woopus to the maximus!

Sorry, short and badly written update, but my brain is scrambled and I have far more important things to worry about right now than the state of my writing here in this crappy little blog.

Will be back soon to bore you some more.

Signing off...

Molly (who has an offer from a uni... WOOOP!) x

November 9th: Small pleasures for small minds

Small minds. An interesting concept, that, considering that the human brain is sometimes described as the 'most powerful computer in existence'. It can do so much, and yet people are constantly inventing new words to insult the capacity of the brain - stupid, dumb, idiot, eejit, dope, witless, dense, dull, dim, foolish, nitwit, obtuse... and they're just the ones that aren't rude. Why do we do this? Is it really because, as our parents suggest when we come home crying from primary school, being mean to others makes us feel good? Makes us feel clever? More important? Why do some people take pleasure from insulting others and some take pleasure from making people's day? Looking back on my own primary school days, I can remember a couple of boys and a girl, all with faces which made me itch to slap them just by looking at them, who would stalk a slug with a packet of salt and watch gleefully as it shrank before their eyes. Those are the minds that are small. Those are the minds that will (hopefully, if karma has anything to do with it) spend their entire lives stacking boxes. (Not that there's anything wrong with stacking boxes, but most of us have higher ambitions). But karma doesn't always work, does it? And even when it does, it doesn't work soon enough for you to be standing there, pointing and laughing, and certainly not soon enough for them to realize why their lives are suddenly crumbling about their ears. It always seems to be the nice guys for whom things go wrong and I for one am sick of it.

It's so easy to look at someone and judge them. Someone you pass in the street or even someone you know. Someone in your classes, perhaps. Maybe even someone in your group of friends. We can think we know a person inside out but really we have no idea what goes on inside their head. How can we, without being them? Sometimes we do know what's going on inside their head but we just don't remember and we judge anyway. Forgetting is fine. Forgetting is human. We're not elephants, after all - even though sometimes we may feel like one (and some people around college certainly resemble one. Trunk and everything). But when people who really don't know what they're talking about try to tell me what they think is best for me... that is one of the most irritating things in the world, pretty much up there with being told that your A Levels aren't proper subjects and that they're not very important (oh yes, I speak from experience). There's a difference, though, between thinking you know everything because you care, much like my mum did after she went to one talk on uni and considered herself the expert on personal statements, and thinking you know everything because you think you know everything. Those people are just annoying, sticking their noses into people's lives, trying to influence people who are absolutely nothing like them to act the way they do and think the way they do and like the same things they do.

I can't look at people now without wondering if they're as normal as they seem - I understand that things aren't always as straightforward as they may look on the surface, and until you're in that person's shoes for yourself, you have no idea what their lives are like and you should not try to make decisions for them. Let people live their own lives, and if they let you in, don't close the door in their face.

Molly x

An example of small pleasures for small minds is the fact that I have indeed changed my blog background - I thought the whole eye-zapping green thing I had going on was a bit too 'old me'. If you noticed that, nice one. You are perfectly small and openminded at the same time.

November 8th: Poshing it up with a bit of Backstreet Boys

If I can't live without you
Then I guess this is death
But breathing's so much easier
Having breathed my very last breath
If I can't see without you
I'm walking in the dark
But I couldn't see beside you
My once-ignited spark
If I'm alone without you
If this is solitude
At least I am not lonely
Alone is my new you
If I can't breathe without you
Though I'm struggling for air
My lungs fill much more freely
Is love beyond compare?

Just thought I'd share a bit of my other writing with you today. That's a poem called 'If I Can't Live Without You', written at some point last year, and I don't really know why I felt it was relevant to what's occuring with me right now because on the love front, my life is shamefully lacking. I suppose, though, that the poem refers to the cliches of love, the things that are expected of it, and at the moment there are a hell of a lot of un-romance-related things expected of me that may or may not be the right thing for me to do, and right now it's about finding out what I want from life and how to get it. The poem says "is love beyond compare?", asking if doing what's expected of a person is truly what makes them happy, and that's very relevant to everyone my age at the moment. Deciding whether to go to university and what to study there and what to do if you don't is a lifechanging choice, and I'm sure everyone can relate to that because there are certainly many choices to make throughout your life and many paths you have to choose whether or not to follow.

I can not believe I'm voluntarily analysing something. And something I've written at that. I should shut up now, before I ruin it for those of you who don't actually care about language in any way, shape or form (of which there are many). Okay. Seriously Molly. Zip it.

If this post makes no sense, it's because I'm listening to a bit of Medina right now... good old Danish music. (Even if you don't speak Danish, go listen to Vi To. It's awesome. My friend Zoë can vouch for that and neither of us speak Danish - though in my case, I'm working on that).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnegqiDPbg0

By the way, if you read this and I don't know that you read it (meaning if you're not Charlotte, Cora or Zoë), PLEASE leave me a comment! I've noticed my viewing stats rising... well, quite dramatically lately (which has made me indescribably happy), and I'd love to know who you are. Don't be afraid; I don't bite, I promise!

No vampires here.

(Charlotte, Cora and Zoë, I do also appreciate comments from you very much. I love receiving feedback on my crappy ramblings, so go ahead and finger those keyboards. ;))

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas has just started playing and I'm feeling alarmingly festive. This is not good. It's November the 8th, for heaven's sake. Still, only a month or so to go. On the subject of only a month or so to go, I realized recently that this blog was first set up nearly a year ago. I never thought I'd keep this up for this long! I mean, that was always the plan, but when I've tried to keep "diaries" before, they've lasted all of about... ooh, a week. Or less. Maybe a day or two. Anyway, the point still stands. That was the point of creating a blog in the first place though - my reasoning being that I spend so much time on the computer that maybe it would be easier for me to write here consistently than it would be on paper. And it seems to work! I'm glad, because even looking back on the first couple of posts reminds me of things I'd forgotten about... and how I've changed since then! That first post was one far too depressing to start a blog with - what an impression I must have given (though nobody read it back then, so maybe none of you knew what a grump I was then. But of course, now you're all going to go and read it. Honestly, it's a vicious circle. And to be honest, a hell of a lot of my blog posts now are equally depressing, only written in a wholly up-myself style. I'm not up-myself, I promise, it's just that writing is really the only thing I can do somewhat entertainingly, so can you blame me for wanting to posh it up a bit?)

And on that "poshing it up" note, I might take a moment to point out that the Backstreet Boys is currently playing on my phone. (Though I only downloaded it because I spoofed the song and I needed it to learn the timing. But still.) I don't care, as long as you love me.

And yes, you can see that this is where I decided on the name of today's post.

As soon as I got into English this morning, Hannah pounced on me (not literally, before you start imagining it) and said "I sent your UCAS last night!"

So, as far as I know, that's it. My application is now in the hands of UCAS itself and it's their job to (finally) pass it on to the universities so they can choose whether or not they're going to make my day (and an offer). Exciting stuff. I hope they get back to me soon and I hope I actually get a few offers... all five would be nice but I'm not holding my breath. My personal statement may be good but my grades are less than impressive, and there is - what else is new? - a crazily high number of applicants this year.

I was a right nerd in English today, coming top in our spontaneous test. Hannah was like "You're on fire today!", responding to my answer to a question with "Ooh, get you and your 'utterances'!" - and the thing about writing things like this here, things that happened throughout the day, is that everyone who knows me from college who reads this already knows. Hmm. It's ironic that people read your writing because they like it, but the more people read it, the more you try to change it to make it interesting for them, and they liked it originally. Having said that, I'm going to write another I-already-know-this thing for the people at college and say that Alex and I filmed our media stuff today at last. It's been such a hassle getting everyone together, especially as one person dropped out at the last minute yesterday (thankfully Hollie stepped in and she did a very good job) and we literally found our male character about an hour before we filmed by ambushing him in the canteen and begging him. On Wednesday we'll start editing it and I'm actually quite excited about seeing how it's going to turn out. Hannah-from-media came to Henley to help/watch as well, which was fun since I hadn't seen her since June as she goes to uni now.

Quick note just to say that today's Google image is quite interesting. 115th anniversary of the discovery of X-rays... interesting. I am, however, disgusted to see a capital letter on the "Anniversary" and "Discovery" when you hover your cursor over the image... seriously, Google? Incorrect capitalisation? Get a grip.

I can't look at that without thinking about Grey's Anatomy though, so I think I'd better give Becky and Charlotte a quick mention since that's currently their (Becky's) obsession. Now it's hard to know what she's more obsessed with - Grey's Anatomy or Gok Wan. She needs to get a life, though having been in the throes of an obsession that strong myself, I know she can't help leading every thought and conversation back to it. I do love her. ;)

Now I'd better stop writing here before I bore your faces off. Keep an eye out for the next time I descend upon you with irrelevant, boring and badly put (I blame the music I'm listening to - I never do have a coherent word output when I've got a word input to consider as well) information about my life. Toodlepip, knobs.

Molly x

P.S. Don't be offended that I called you a knob. It's my term of endearment. I sound like an idiot saying words like "sweetie" or "darling" so I use "knob" instead. Seriously, you should feel flattered. If I don't call you a knob, you're not my friend.

November 5th: Old school blog style

First off, happy bonfire night. Remember, remember the 5th of November and all that...

I don't really know what to write about. I'm in one of those frustrating moods where you want to do something but you don't know what; you can't channel your creativity in quite the right direction. Uncategorized inspiration. Very irritating. So I figured I'd just start writing and sooner or later words will appear on the page - though whether or not they actually make sense is a different story.

The sky is very grey today, and a light smattering of rain is drifting down from the sky. This kind of weather always makes me remember a very unremarkable moment which happened a few years ago now. I was in Devon with my parents, visiting my grandparents, and I'd gone for a walk with my dad and my brother along a coastal path to a lighthouse. It was a cold day, drizzling but still, and so foggy that although you could hear the sea crashing against the rocks below you, you couldn't actually see any of it.

My dad and Freddie were hanging back, talking about something, and I walked on a bit and then stopped and looked out at the sea. There were no sounds except the sea and I could see nothing except grey fog - and although the mental picture I'm creating right now is a dull, almost depressing one, it was sort of beautiful in a way. It felt like I was the only person in the world.

Sometimes I remember that day and I wonder what it would be like to just go somewhere nobody knows me and start my life again. Not because there's anything wrong with the one I've got now, but just to try it, to see what's out there. It would definitely be amazing to live in a different country for a while... naturally, like the knob I am, I didn't really consider studying abroad until after I sent my UCAS application and now it's too late, but I could still do a year overseas. I'd love to do that (especially if it was in Denmark. It's ridiculous how much I love it there - but I'd have to make more of an effort to learn Danish because to be honest I'm currently about as competent at speaking it as an ant is at carrying a piano. Still, the acquisition of a language is something I'm very interested in and, according to the universities I've applied to, it's certainly an advantage when studying linguistics to be 'learning' another language so you can find similarities between that and English - which is something I do automatically. Language freaks 'r' us.)

Speaking of language freaks, yesterday Hollie described the current English government as "ConDemNation", which I thought was total genius. Apparently she'd seen it in a newspaper and also thought it was genius - a rare occurence for Hollie (who is absolutely not a language freak) to be impressed by wordplay, but she likes politics. Can't imagine anything more boring myself... but then again, this coming from the girl who sat laughing her head off at Eats Shoots and Leaves in a public place and, even more worryingly, identified with every word it says.

Yesterday we had to make timelines on language change for English, and I had a little space in the corner of mine when I was finished perfect for a picture, but no picture relevant to the subject. So I asked Becky what I should put and she said "a cat", so we Googled cats and found this picture:

And I put it on my timeline and handed it in to Anna (who is my other English teacher, incase I haven't mentioned her, with whom I'm doing language change. I still have Hannah too; she's teaching us child language acquisition at the moment). Later, I had just met Becky outside her English classroom when Hannah, who was talking to Anna, saw me and goes "Molly, why is there a screaming cat on your timeline?"

I was just like "that was Becky."

Good times. And then I asked Hannah what she wanted me to do about my personal statement, because she wants it, and she goes to Anna, "Molly's personal statement is a fantastic exemplar response"... which is a total lie because it's a load of bollocks. Still, nice to hear!

Octava has a 'concert' tomorrow, for about fifteen minutes at the first ever Goring Gap event, which I think is basically local schools and other random music groups like us showing off for a bit. Still, it should be good, if my voice can just stay alive for one more day. It has an irritating tendency of giving up on me at completely inappropriate times, and the phrase for this, my friends, is simply "how rude". How rude!

This is rather like the old blog posts I used to write about my actual life, rather than waffling on about random crap and making every post say the same thing in different ways. I didn't know it would turn out like this... probably why I left choosing a title to the last minute. Hmm. I don't really have the most interesting of lives so there isn't really anything else to write here... I'll be back at some point with more boring crap, I suppose. ;)

Molly x

November 2nd: The end of the beginning

Depressing as the title of this post may sound, relax: I'm not here today to bore you and depress you by writing in ridiculous poncy prose about the shortcomings of my life (many though there are). I simply want to muse over the fact that where I am as a seventeen year old student right now is exhilarating, stressful and, well... slightly terrifying, to be honest.

Yesterday was the college deadline for UCAS - to anybody unfamiliar with this name, it refers to the Universities and Colleges Admissions Service, through which we (predictably) apply to university - and as of about ten o'clock last night, personal statements and uni choices are no longer of my immediate concern. I have officially applied to university!

So I'd like to take a moment to say this:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Where did the time go? When did I get so old? Ever since I was a child I've been thinking of uni as something that was a long way off (as it was, then) and suddenly, before I know it, I've chosen my five and sent off the form to some randomers who have nothing more than forty-seven lines and a few average grades to decide the course of my future. It's incredible and ridiculous and I still feel about twelve... I don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing and part of me wants to curl up in a ball and just drop out of life completely.

The other half, though, can't wait. That half of me wants to get out there and kick some ass - finally show myself what I can do, finally find my place in the world. I'm lucky enough to know for sure that English Language and Linguistics is what I want to spend my life doing, but what does one do with that? It's not exactly career specific. What I really want to do with it is discover new theories about language that nobody has found before... I want to be one of the linguists in the English Language textbooks that most students come to loathe with a passion and the special few who are in love with language, the ones like me, are inspired by.

I always did have a split personality.

(Also, Hannah told me that Tristan (head of Humanities and her boyfriend - they are the sweetest couple alive - wants my personal statement to use as an exemplar response for next year's students; an achievement of which I am simultaneously proud and embarrassed. More proud though. Woooooo!)

Seriously though. If compulsory education is the beginning of our lives, we reached the end of the beginning nearly two years ago. But that's all it is; the beginning, the foundations upon which we build our worlds and balance our homes. Now we've constructed our worlds, we get to live in them, like on the Sims when you build an epic house and then you get to the fun bit where you get to control their lives. (I apologize to all those Sims on whom I've vented my bad moods over the years - it really isn't fair to kill you just because I'm a bit pissed off. Really helps though.) So let's get out there, kick some butt and show everyone that every negative thing they ever said about us was wrong.

(Except the bit about being lazy. That was true. Oh, and the bit about eating too much chocolate. And- well, we don't need to go there. The point still stands.)

(Premature P.S.: I've noticed from the blog's statistics that some of you wonderful readers are in Canada and Alaska; if that's you, drop me a line! I'd love to know who you are and what brings you here to the story of my not-so-interesting life and the pretentious style it's written in. Leave me a comment!)

And with that, I leave you in the capable hands of David Tennant in his first ever episode as the Doctor: "From the day we arrive on the planet and, blinking, step into the sun, there is more to see than can ever be seen, more to do than - no, hold on... sorry, that's the 'Lion King'."

Molly x

October 22nd: Plastic connection

Spell me a word. Any word. In what order do you press the keys? Not in the same order as me, in many cases. How do you spell "predominant"? Not quite the same as you do. But does that make it wrong or does that mean it's changing? This is a paradox to be considered and pondered over by all lovers of language and grammar - we are fascinated by language change but we're horrified by non-standard spellings which could indicate the beginning of the aforementioned mutation.

What's a girl to do?

Having said that, the inevitable adaptation in language that technology has brought never fails to amaze me. Not necessarily the 'variations' (meaning ghastly) in spelling that the lack of online editing allows into the world, but, more literally, the way we can just press a button and create a letter; press two and create a word; press a selection and create a poem, a story, a song... something which has meaning to somebody, somewhere. How can a button make a letter appear on a screen? How can I make words without speaking or writing?

I express words through my fingers. I create sound through something that isn't my mouth. You assimilate words through something that isn't your ears; you can hear me through your eyes. It unifies us, this - we are one through the language which has words but no sound. This world of technology has created us - a plastic connection.

And with that to consider, I'll leave you with a random pointless 'story' my fingers wrote without consulting my brain. If you get it, leave a comment - I'll be interested to know whether or not you see where I was going with it.

Molly x

Mindless.

Click. Click. Click.

Heads down. Eyes blank. Fingers move. Keep busy, don't look up, don't make eye contact. Exist in solitude, because after all, it's easier like that, isn't it?

Regress. Begin. Open your eyes - no, open them. Really look at the world. Don't see it. Look at it. Notice it. Delight in it. How old were you when it happened? When did you become disillusioned with the world?

Heads down. Eyes blank. Fingers move. She doesn't understand. Touch the keys, type the words. Ignore everything except the feel of the plastic beneath your fingers. She complains. Look at the clock. What time is it? Still two more hours. Oh God, two more hours. Then I can go home. She'll ask me about my day. I don't want to talk about it.

Boss is on his way over. Don't talk to me, don't talk to m-- oh hi, yes, I'm doing it n- yes, it'll be done- you want it for whe-? Another file? More work? She won't be happy. Of course I can do it- yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Three bags full, sir. I am a slave to you.

Close the program. Get your coat. Switch off the light. In the lift. In the car. Key in the door. How was your day? Leave me alone. Are you in a bad mood? Another file? Why can't they-- zone out. Ignore her. Mindless.

Am I happy?

October 9th: The disappearance of rough edges.

If ever you happen to be taking a stroll alongside a river, or in a forest, or even just on a street, pause for a moment. Bend down and scrutinise the ground upon which you're placing your feet; think for a while about all the geological substance which supports us, is always there beneath us, waiting to catch us, whenever we feel the need.

Aim for the moon, the well known saying goes, for even if you fail you will land among the stars. Now, not only is that not exactly scientifically true, the moon being closer than the stars, but it is also somewhat disrespectful to the Earth. How many people are there in the world whose ambition is to 'reach for the stars', or to 'fly high', and how many people long to be 'over the moon' or 'on cloud nine'? And how many people, I wonder, wish to stay grounded?

We're always talking about the sky, always telling ourselves there is always more to discover, more to learn - and so there is. The sky is, as they say, the limit. But why stop there? And what's beyond the sky? Another planet? More ground? Why do we appreciate different ground but dismiss our own? The grass is always greener on the other side.

Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone? In the wise words of Joni Mitchell, yes. It does. Everybody is so blinded by what they don't have that they don't realize what they do and even when they stop and think about it, they're so worried about everything that they can't see clearly. Sometimes it takes the arrival of somebody into your world to wipe the windscreen of life so that you're not seeing through dirt clouded eyes anymore. And then once they've arrived, it's so easy to become used to their presence, to depend upon them to support you - they become the ground. They hold you up and you use them as a stepping stone to reach where you really want to be in life. Oh, you don't use them, of course you don't, but maybe you start to take them for granted and you forget how lucky you are to know them in the first place.

Don't. Just don't. Stop right now and think of everyone you're lucky to know and everything you're lucky to have. Give yourself five reasons you're happy to be who you are, and if you're not happy being who you are, who are you and who do you want to be? Do you truly know the people around you? Do you know what you want from life? Do you truly know yourself? Think about it. Dig out your windscreen wash and scrape away the dirt stopping you from seeing your world your way. It's your world, so be metaphorically (and literally) environmentally friendly. Walk a path and give yourself directions. It doesn't matter if you get lost, because every turn will lead you to where you're destined to be.

The ground we walk on will always support us. The people who love us will always catch us. Pebbles on a beach all look the same, their rough edges worn away by the sea; don't let the world wear away your rough edges. Keep them, because they're what make you unique.

Molly x

September 12th: Turn up the heat, the pressure's dropping...

Just when you think the pressure's off, and you get used to a bit of relaxation, all of a sudden it's time to crank up those brains again and find your seat on this year's seating plan (not that you have those when you get to year 13 or, as it's more commonly known, the second year of college).

The second year of college. Year thirteen. I am on the brink of becoming a second year. Whenever I meet a young child, if I'm on holiday or visiting friends with younger siblings, and they ask me what year I'm in, I do actually have to think about it before I reply. Once I do, I can see exactly what they're thinking because the expression on my face when I was their age mirrored theirs exactly: wow, you're old.

And I am. I am old. Not in the scheme of things, but ignoring the bigger picture, I am almost eighteen and I'm just wondering how exactly that happened. When I look back upon my childhood, I can remember time moving painfully, frustratingly slowly until I was about fifteen - my hatred for that compulsory place of torture mutinously described as school saw to that - and then all of a sudden, it was like somebody had clicked their fingers and put my life on fast forward times three.

Why is it that the older you get, the faster life goes? Day after day after long, repetitive day adds up to time flicking past in the blink of an eye, until eventually you feel like you're in a washing machine on spin dry, banging on the glass and going "let me out!". Whatever happened to being a kid? Whatever happened to irresponsibility? Actually, I'm secretly wondering when I'm going to have that rebellion my parents seem sure I'll have; first I was too young for things, and now I'm too old. I get the "you want to be treated like an adult, you have to act like one" speech quite a lot - then I get the "not under my roof, other people your age have to pay rent" speech too. The inner adult and the inner child in me are constantly having arguments; can't keep their fists under control. I don't know what I'm going to do with them. But seriously, it's like I've spent my whole life so far waiting - to leave primary school, to be a teenager, to get my ears pierced, to get a phone (and I thought they were important things). And then later on: waiting for exams, waiting to be pretty, waiting for a boyfriend (still waiting), waiting for results, waiting to be confident enough to sing in public, waiting to be... myself. And I know that we've been here before, all this "I'm not a sheep, blah blah, confidence, blah blah..." but it's true. And now comes A Levels, and we work hard for those so we can go to university and put ourselves under even more pressure, and I'm just wondering what the point is.

I always thought I'd go to uni, even when I wasn't old enough to have the foggiest idea what to study - thought it was automatic. It was what people did, so why not me too? I've never questioned my future, never thought of changing it, making it my future. Obviously I've chosen the subjects I want to study, but I never thought of doing anything besides going to college, doing A Levels, going to uni... ten years from now I see myself with a job, a relationship, maybe even married. When I was younger, I had it all planned out: by thirteen I'd be popular. Didn't happen. By sixteen I'd have a boyfriend... didn't happen. By twenty-five I'll be either very nearly engaged, engaged or married... and to be honest I doubt that will happen either. I always wanted a boyfriend... the boyfriend, you know? I thought it was weird that I'd got to seventeen without ever having a proper relationship. But now I'm starting to think I'm something of a commitment phobe, which is something I never thought I'd be. Even though I've got friends who are less experienced than myself (and I have had very little boy contact), they've all been romantically interested in somebody for more than a few months... and I never have. Whenever I meet someone and find a mutual attraction, the spark wears off within a few weeks... most recently, a few hours - an impressive record by anyone's standards. When the attraction isn't mutual, that tends to fade away pretty quickly as well - except for this last crush of mine, which has been ongoing since January, though admittedly not as strongly over the summer. We'll see what happens when I get back to college.

Of late it has occurred to me that things don't happen just because they happen to everyone else. I had such naive ideas about the world and it never once crossed my mind that it wouldn't all come to pass. But now, sitting here as a seventeen year old who is completely clueless about... well, pretty much anything except how to piss people off by correcting their grammar, I've realised that I'm basically an adult now and when it comes to my future, nobody can force me into anything. I don't have to leave home next year. I could take a gap year. Get a job. Go travelling (as cliched as that is). Learn piano. I could do anything. The world, as they say, is my crayfish. Or lobster. Or even oyster. Or any other type of hard-exterior'ed creature which takes residence in the sea. There's no time limit on education - I could go to uni when I'm twenty-five... or even eighty-five. (Not that I'd leave it that late; I'm just backing up my point with a little bit of over exaggeration. You should try it sometime. It's great for blowing off stress. WE'RE ALL GONNA DIEEEEE!... And all that jazz).

I started this blog post intending to complain about finding myself on the verge of becoming an adult (to empathize with me, imagine fast forwarding through a film you've never seen to about half way - then, when you've got no idea what's going on, imagine you're the main character, living the story but with no background knowledge as to how you got to where you are. And there we go with that exaggeration again. But it's almost like that.) but I come away believing I've actually made some headway towards deciding my future. That's sometimes what happens when I write: I begin believing I know my characters, and then halfway through one of them does something that takes me completely by surprise. That's what's happening to me, only it's my own story I'm writing now. It feels good to be in charge of myself - at least for now, right here in this moment. By tomorrow I'll be panicking about my first day back and wishing I could be five years old again. (Highly overrated, being five. You spend all your time wishing you were older... and then when you get there you spend all your time wishing you weren't.)

They say youth is wasted on the young. They say "I wish I'd known then what I know now" - but nobody ever tells 'the young' what they wish they'd known. Maybe if we tried sharing every once in a while, we'd be able to create a generation of adults with a great many less regrets.

Molly x

September 3rd: Time to face the music, cut the crap and bite the bullet (and other well known phrases).

There are times in our lives when we know everything.

Or rather, we think we do. Or maybe we actually do. Maybe we only know what we want to do right now, right this second, and we have no idea what lies beyond then, or maybe we have our whole lives mapped out. Maybe we know exactly what we want from the future, but we have no idea how to reach out and grab it. And maybe we don't have a clue. Maybe we're having opportunities and ideas thrust upon us left, right, and centre, and it's confusing the hell out of us. Maybe we're finding passions and talents we never even knew we had and we have no idea what to do about them.

When you find something and you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it's what you want to spend your life doing, you want to do it now. You don't want any other subjects or distractions getting in the way. I was lucky enough to be one of those people who found that elusive instantaneous 'click', that moment where something sparks inside your brain and you sit up straight, thinking, knowing 'this is it'. But I'm not one of those people who finds exams particularly easy, so getting to a point where I can do only English Language (i.e. at university) is going to be hard. It's very irritating really, knowing you could excel at something if only you didn't have to worry about other things as well.

What really gets on my nerves is when people tell me how lucky I am. Yes, I am lucky. I know that. I have had opportunities this summer alone that some people don't get in a lifetime. I've got (to quote my mother) 'a lovely family, a nice secure home in a lovely environment, you're gorgeous, and you're healthy (apparently)'. And yes, of course I know that. Of course I know I could be much worse off. I know that there are people all over the world who are less fortunate than me. But seriously, I'm still entitled to a bad mood every once in a while! 'What exactly have you got to worry about?' she says. 'Your life is perfect.' And oh, mother, if only you knew exactly how unperfect my life is. And she gives me a list of all the things she has to do - and I appreciate how busy she is, of course I do, and I'm sorry I don't always have time to tidy my room but frankly I rate passing my exams more highly. And gah, when she says 'I know you're not doing work up there' - well of course I am! How could I pass if I didn't? Obviously I'm not doing work all the time, but I'm not a robot. It's all right for her, she already knows where her life is going and she's got everything she needs all planned out. She's my mum. I mean, nuff said, right? Though sometimes I wonder about who she used to be and what she really wanted from life...

Sometimes I want to write, but I don't know what. The inspiration is there, within me, but I can't find the right words to express it - it's the most frustrating feeling in the world. I feel that way now; that's why I'm here. The whole reason of this blog's existence is for moments like this, so that I don't have to bore any of my friends with my pretentious sentimentality.

Primary school. Secondary school. College. Education. Why does it go so fast? Why is it that people consider the perspective of children and young adults invalid simply because they're young? We have to go through so many experiences, so many learning curves, throughout the years of our schooling that we grow up far more quickly than perhaps we should... because if we don't, we're ridiculed for it. Funny, isn't it, that sheep are the considered the most brainless creatures in existence, and yet they are the metaphor we use to describe the majority of the human race. Funny and yet so understandable. But I don't want to be a sheep. I can't baaa. And trust me, I've tried. To baa, I mean, as well as to fit in. But I just don't. I know I've said all this before but I can't understand why it took me seventeen years to realize that it's okay to be different - good, in fact.

Yes, I don't dress like the 'popular' people. I don't go out every weekend. I'm friends with my freaking teachers, for God's sake, and that's pretty weird. But I like it. I like... myself. Don't get me wrong: I'm highly pissed off, frustrated and angered by myself, but occasionally I catch a glimpse of this girl in the mirror and I think, who's she? She's much stronger and more capable than I am, more talented, better looking even. When did I become her?

And yes, I sound up myself. So I'll mention the other days, when the mirror shows me a fat, ugly girl who can't do anything, never finishes anything, fails every goal she or anybody else has ever set her. Especially those private goals that don't seem to matter to other people, but are the centre of her own little universe. Why are compliments forgotten and insults remembered? Why does it take so long to build confidence and so little to destroy it?

And on that note I run out of things to say. I'll be back at some point in the future to tease some more words into optimistically interesting sentences.

Molly x

August 30th: The trouble with happiness...

Last week was, I can honestly, the best of my life. I spent it a thousand miles away from here, with someone who means the world to me and who isn't present face to face in my life half as much as I want her to be... but we should be used to living that way by now, having never really known otherwise. And yes, maybe Cora is a long way away geographically and six years older than me, but why does nobody understand that that doesn't matter? Friendship isn't something we can choose to acquire and build, no matter how hard we try; it's not something that changes throughout the ups and downs of life; it's not something that fades, breaks, dies... not real friendship. Real friends would do anything for each other. Real friendship is made stronger where weaker bonds snap.

People may come into our lives, stepping in and out through that door like the hinges are far too well oiled, but that doesn't make them matter. Sometimes we're friends with people because they're there, because they're the same age, in the same classes, because our parents are friends... when you find a friend like I found Cora, when coincidence after coincidence leads you to one another, it can only be destiny for you to meet. And yes, that sounds like a load of utter bollocks, but I know we've both always had an interest in each other's respective country, and certainly speaking for myself, Denmark seems to have popped up quite frequently throughout my life even before I met Cora. Even language wise; Cora's freakishly talented at English and I've fallen in love with Danish, even though it's not the prettiest or easiest of languages. It definitely has a certain charm. Anyway, with that and then meeting Cora, and the ease and speed with which our friendship began and formed, it's like she and I were always meant to meet... which is pretty damn awesome.

I suppose there are benefits to building a friendship this way; some friendships I have would peter out if I were no longer seeing that friend every day and if we only spoke on the Internet, but not this one. Having formed it this way and relying on a connection to the web in order to maintain it is undoubtedly a pain in the arse, but it means that that will never be a problem for us. Although I daresay no matter what our circumstances, we'd still have met, because when it's going to happen it will happen. And meeting her was definitely meant to happen. I just hope that neither of us are ever too busy to talk or that Cora never grows out of me, because without her my life would never be complete ever again. There would always be a hole where she should be because she knows me and understands me completely; there's nobody else to whom I can tell everything and without her I wouldn't be the person I am today.

Eventually you learn that sometimes it hurts when people drift out of your life, sometimes it doesn't, sometimes you want it, and some people just never leave. Within five minutes of meeting Cora I knew she would be one of the latter. Some people you just can't have life without.

I've never been as happy as I am when I'm with her, but never as depressed as when I have to leave. I guess the trouble with happiness is that what goes up must come down - life can't keep us floating on air forever and that sucks. But I suppose I'm lucky, because a lot of people will never know friendship like this, and I can't imagine my life without it. I'm so lucky to know you, Cora, and thank you for being you.

Molly x

July 23rd: Watch out, the Grammar Police are about.

Okay. I'm sorry. I'm writing again the day after my last post and I'm not quite sure what is happening to me; such newfound dedication placed upon me overnight (literally). But this post will, just to warn you, bore you to death - grammar Nazis, read on. Everyone else, back away slowly, attempting to cover your eyes and ears with your mere two hands, whilst humming loudly to block out the despicable sounds of grammar gunfire. Run for your lives!

Grammar is important. I wonder if all those people who claim to 'love' England and our culture, who speak disdainfully of immigrants (legal or otherwise) - you know the sort; the irritating ones who act like they know everything - I wonder if they can use our language properly. I wonder if they can punctuate correctly and, if they can't and have no intention of learning to do so, I wonder if they have ever considered that it is not just foreign people destroying England's elusive culture.

I'm pretty sure that England is one of the most multicultural countries in the world - though of course I'm not positive - and I'm not opposed to foreigners living here. Actually I believe that it opens our minds to other people's ways of life and therefore encourages empathy, which is never a bad thing. However, I do think that if people are going to live here in the UK, they should learn English and they shouldn't try to push their own cultures onto us. I mean, if I moved to another country, I would respect that it's going to be different to what I'm used to and therefore try to learn to share that way of life. I'd want to. It's just simple respect.

Anyway, this post isn't about my views on this subject. It's about grammar and the English language - language in general, actually, as I'm sure it's the same in other areas around the world. When I've learned enough languages to know for sure, I'll drop you a line.

I'm too young to frequently occupy pubs - shame really, as they can provide such good eavesdropping material - but if you're ever in London at night, walking past the window of an establishment in which alcohol flows freely, you may hear, between the outbursts of raucous laughter, the odd voice mouthing off about 'asylum seekers' this and 'bloody Polish' that. The thing is, many of these anonymous voices aren't exactly skilled in the complex ways of spoken English themselves; maybe it's a dialect thing, or maybe it's just an education thing. Either way, the English are also destroying their own culture - by causing the death of their own language.

You walk through the street and you see signs in shop windows advertising DVD's, CD's, and even, most horrifyingly, BOOK's. Sometimes people leave the S uppercase, implying that that's an initial too: DVD'S.

Then, when you've passed the entertainment shop, you're invited to come in for cake's and maybe a cup of coffea or hot choclate. Doesn't it just make you want to scream or perhaps whip out your red pen and start scribbling?

Even when you Google 'grammar mistakes', you're presented with a wide array of suggestions with similar titles to 'grammar mistakes that make you look stupid' - an example itself of its title. That should be 'which', not 'that', you knob.

An infuriating popular misconception is that teenagers are bad at spelling. Spelling and grammar are not something that, once you reach twenty, you suddenly find yourself with an aptitude for. How old am I? I'm seventeen. I will never send an email or a text, never post a Facebook status, never write anything without full standard grammar and correct spelling. For as long as I can remember, I've had a passion and a love for grammar - call me a nerd if you want to. It doesn't matter to me. Why should I feel embarrassed because I'm good at writing properly? Why should I be ashamed when I self consciously point out a mistake in a friend's work? They should appreciate that all I'm trying to do is raise the standard of English in their writing; not only will that make them look more intelligent, it will also mean that they don't lose marks for having mistakes in their homework. Being able to spell and punctuate correctly is a talent, and in the words of Wicked's Madame Morrible, never apologize for talent.

Text abbreviations have got rarer in younger generations now. They were widely used throughout the early years of mobile phones, when every character would cost more money, but that isn't the case anymore and so people are beginning to write more fully. However, many adults with older phones still have to put up with this and still abbreviate, making the idea of teenagers abbreviating more absolute bollocks. My father shortens words much more than I do when texting (not hard, since I don't do it at all) and I'm sure my mum would too, if she were actually able to write a text. Bless her. Actually, the technique of abbreviating words has been around since the Victorian era... I wonder if Vicky sat on her throne, scratching out 'Im nt amused' with her ink and feather. But, thinking about it, abbreviations are what occurs when one removes letters from a word, are they not? Not just any old letters, but vowels. And if abbreviations are making people 'stupid', 'illiterate', and mean that 'people don't know how to spell', then tell me: how do people know which letters to remove in the first place?

On that note, why is bad grammar acceptable in songs? It's like people just gloss over it, forget it, don't even notice it. What's happening to songwriters which means they're incapable of putting a full sentence in a song, minus an 'ain't' or a 'baby' to fill a space? Do they not realize that words are just about the most powerful weapon one could ever use? A well thought out cluster of words can pack more of a punch than any fist, no matter how toned up the arm it belongs to, and music is supposed to be able to inspire, awaken, destroy. No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. But really - how are we supposed to be inspired by 'music' when all it talks about is how much the singer wants sex, or how brokenhearted Justin Bieber is? For me, bad grammar makes a song unable to be taken seriously, and it's really not hard to compose a sentence which actually means something. If I can't fit a sentence in a song I'm writing, I rephrase it. You don't have to resort to non standard grammar to make it work, because let me tell you - it doesn't.

For the record, 'lose' has one O. 'Loose' has two. 'Lose' and 'loose' are NOT the same word. Also, what is with people's inability to spell 'all right'? 'All right' is TWO words. It is not spelled 'alright'. Same, but opposite, with 'already'. 'Already' is one word; not spelled 'all ready'. I can see how they can be confused, but they are different words with different meanings. Getting words confused can have drastic consequences - I remember when, in year ten, my English teacher attempted to demonstrate this by showing us two real life examples from exam papers:

Instead of writing 'he heard the sound of heavy breathing above him', the student got 'breathing' muddled with 'breeding', resulting in this sentence:

'He heard the sound of heavy breeding above him.'

Another student managed to mix up 'matting' with 'mating' whilst writing 'there was rough matting on the floor', and he ended up with:

'There was rough mating on the floor.'

So you see my point? Learn to spell, guys. Grab a dictionary, for the good of the human race.

Molly x

July 22nd: Learn to breathe again, see again...

Unbelievable. I'm here posting again after only one day - wonders will never cease. Don't worry, this definitely won't be as long as yesterday's post; you can't cram all that much crap's worth into twenty four hours. And trust me, I'm just as thankful as you are for that. My arms haven't quite recovered yet.

But I feel like writing, and who better to listen than my long suffering blog? As Zoe pointed out yesterday, there is nobody better than a blog or a diary to listen to your celebrations or complaints; a blog is never bored, will never judge you, and will always be happy to hear what you have to say. Its mere purpose in existing is to absorb the happenings of your mind and, if you wish it so, to share them with others. It almost makes the Internet seem a friendly place, does it not?

The title of this blog post is a line from the chorus of my song, by the way, as everyone reading this will probably already know. The song has got such a great reception - I never expected this much love for it. It's so amazing how much people seem to like it!

So today was our epic picnic - and it was so much fun. We all met up at my mum's other house since it looked like rain and we didn't feel like risking it. It did rain actually - heavily - and Lauren and I went out and danced in it and got suitably soaked. I actually tripped over a step and went plunging into a bush... very smooth. Still, then we all ended up dancing like a load of knobs (or 'hobknobs', as we've become known to each other) and it was all rather hilarious. I'll probably write more on this in the future but I just can't be bothered right now... the urge to write abruptly disappeared an hour or so ago. Still.

It's strange how spending money is so much easier in a foreign currency. I mean it's obviously because you're not so aware of the value, but even so, it's quite drastic how much more I spend on holiday than when I'm at home.

More soon,

(Promise.)

Molly x

July 21st: Reaching for the stars is making my arms ache.

Trust me, those stars are a long way up, and I'm prone to short limbs.

I've got a lot to tell you. More happens in summer, it seems, than when one is stuck in a classroom at college, being taught how to live life instead of actually living it. Although perhaps that's a little harsh... college only adds more clay to the sculpture so accurately created by the mould of compulsory education.

I don't really know where that little outburst came from. It's not like I'm against education or anything - in fact I love to learn things, as long as they're things in which I have or possibly could have an interest or passion.

But moving on.

I was going to talk about the English trip, wasn't I? Said I'd tell you 'tomorrow'. Oh, that optimistic phrase 'I'll do it tomorrow' - who has faith in that phrase anymore? Yet we keep saying it and hoping that this will be the time we actually will do our homework, tidy our rooms or start that ever-impending diet. And here I am talking in the style of the infamous full marks English piece again; well, why not? Clearly I can do it at least half way decently. (Actually, when I went to visit my grandparents in Scotland last week and showed them that piece on my BlackBerry, they said they'd have given me twenty-nine - and I think I agree. What's perfect, after all? Still, it's definitely a nice thought.)

Ugh, 'nice'. I've been saying that way too much lately. 'Nice' and 'amazing' were last week's words of choice - my in-brain thesaurus seems to have shrunk to encompass the wide range of a whole two words. Hopefully it'll make a comeback soon; it would be massively appreciated, brain.

I seem to be taking my time to write my news down today. I should probably get on with it, since there's quite a bit, and knowing me I'll be procrastinating all the way through this post. A bit of Twitter here, Facebook there... oh, I wonder if I've got a hugely important email which could mean the difference between life and death? Better check Hotmail. And so the cycle begins again.

And for the record, I never have. Got that elusive urgent email, that is.

Aaaaanyway. Moving on.

You know that when I have this much to say I have to write it all down in a Notepad document before I start so that I don't miss anything? Today my Notepad has ten items in it - although some of them are probably only worth a line or two. Just to warn you of the immensity of this post.

So, it begins. English trip. Well, that's actually the origin of the phrase 'woopus to the maximus', as mentioned in my last post. Basically, I was on the train, and Charlotte was getting on at the next station, and we were BBMing on our BlackBerries (I've got a BlackBerry now, did I mention it? As in "It's a BlackBerry. I have a BlackBerry now. BlackBerries are cool." Yes, fellow Doctor Who fans, you may recognize that. And, much as I dislike being a sheep - no, not literally -, these phones are epic. They do everything.) and she said 'I can see the train!' and I replied 'woopus maximus!' - I'm not sure where it came from, but it happened. So then we added 'to the' in the middle and there you have it. The world's most awesome phrase.

ANYWAY. When we got to London (our trip was to the British Library and no, it wasn't as boring as it sounds) it took us about half an hour to find the bloody place - we thought we'd found it, sat there for fifteen minutes wondering why nobody else was coming, and then turned around and saw it across the road. Even so, there was only one person there before us (and thank God she was - a familiar face was exactly what we needed to see then).

But everyone else got there soon enough, and when we were all gathered around, our teachers broke the tragic news that the tour had been cancelled and so we were just allowed to go and look around ourselves. Actually most of the thirteen people with us evaporated in the first section... and let's face it, they weren't going to other places in the library. But some of us stayed - at one point we were reading (well, I say reading, but it was more like ogling) the first Beowulf text, which is obviously in very, very old English, being the first recorded writing. We were trying to translate some of it and I picked up on a few words - Hannah said 'Ooh, you're good!' and then to Shirley (other teacher) she said 'Make a note of this one, she's good for A2' - which absolutely made my day. As Hannah frequently does.

There was another time later on when we were looking at a massive map and I said 'Is that Dutch at the top?' and it was and Hannah called me a brainbox... again, my day was made. I'm just quite adept at recognising written languages because of all my foreign friends - I wish it were the same for spoken languages, but unfortunately I suck at that.

And is this the British Library's idea of seating? If so, I quite like it. wonder where they get them from.

http://twitpic.com/217aeh

So after we'd looked around the library, Jess and Yasmin went their separate ways and Subi, Charlotte, Tom and I continued on to Camden market, where we ate 'sick on rice' for lunch (don't think I don't know, Charlotte), otherwise known as Indian food - which was a lot nicer than it looked, but our dear snobby friend here wouldn't try it. Subi and I were determined to haggle, which we eventually did on this dress (ignore the picture, I'll explain later, but the dress is there):

http://twitpic.com/250nyh

And then after that, we satisfied Charlotte's insatiable thirst for poshness with a trip to Notting Hill and the non-existent Portobello market - there was absolutely nothing there! Unless you count a few stalls. But it was fun. Although we had an interesting job trying to find the station again; in the end we had to give up and hail a taxi. Of course there were none around... but at last, finally, one appeared and we jumped about like loons, arms in the air, doing exactly the kind of embarrassing, uncool thing which alerts Londoners that we are tourists in the capital city of our own country.

That was the day the man jumped in front of the train at Twyford, so of course there were train delays, and when it finally did deign to turn up it was packed and boiling hot. I had a chav standing next to me reading Great Expectations - a definite hmm there.

So the next thing to talk about, I suppose, is the last day of term. There wasn't really much point even going into college for it; I had a free, then tutor, then a media lesson in which we did absolutely nothing but talk about random stuff the whole time. Although Laura and I lingered for ages after tutor to talk to Hannah about 'universities' - a perfect excuse just to hang out for a bit. I swear all my friends think I'm sucking up just because I happened to give her a box of Maltesers. I mean, you used to do that to all your teachers at primary school, right? And none of them were even half as awesome as Hannah is. Okay, so maybe I was sucking up a little bit. Still, it works; I'm the only person she's told their coursework grade, even if Shirley's told a few of her students too. Anyway so we were talking to Hannah and right when I was leaving to go up the hill for media I said 'You have to keep tweeting over summer, because I'm going to miss you'... which is not embarrassing at all. No, really. But I actually felt quite a large sense of disappointment when the day finished. I love college, despite, you know, the whole lessons aspect of it. Or maybe because of it. But I did miss it for the first few days of the holiday - still, end of college depression (a very oxymoronic concept) is nothing an epic sleepover can't sort out.

When my grandad died, he left my mum some money, which with she bought a small house in Goring ready to rent out. We have to have some work done to this new house, which is why it doesn't have any tenants yet, and my mum said that as an end of term celebration I could hold a sleepover there. So we did. There were four of us - Becky, Charlotte, Lauren and I; the other knobs couldn't make it - and we spent our time on some seriously epic activities like going out for Chinese (after we got Charlotte to agree), playing Monopoly (which I lost dramatically), watching School of Rock and What Happens in Vegas and just generally stuffing our faces and getting four hours' sleep... not a wise thing to do if you're babysitting until midnight the next day. Trust my wisdom. But it was so much fun, a fabulous way to celebrate, and now there are some... pretty indescribable photos on the old Faceybee. A necessary part of any event.

Next up is my trip to Scotland. My dad's dad and my step-grandma (who will henceforth be known as Jenny) run a small giftshop in the Highlands selling Jenny's artwork and other things. They have this little/big music community up there, including a recording studio in the house of Steve, one of their friends, my use of which has been in the pipeline since at least last year. However this time was the time it all kicked off, as you're about to find out.

So I flew up via sardineJet (easyJet's new name - if you've ever been inside one of their planes you'll know what I mean) on Saturday the 10th July 2010. On the Sunday, after seeing one of Jenny's friends in the morning, Hannah-the-guitarist came over to meet me and get some musical collaboration done. It took us about an hour to choose a song in the first place, but after we had, it all moved pretty quickly - Hannah started fiddling with her guitar and she'd made up a tune within about five seconds. I then sang along to that and within about three hours we'd got the basic tune of our song, which is called 'At Last'. We recorded it using a webcam just so that we'd remember how it goes:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoSKqi0SxoM&feature=email

It's already changed so much since then. It's got faster for a start and some of the lines have changed. Anyway so the next day Hannah came over in the evening after work and we headed off to Steve's to record it. His studio was amazing. All this equipment, guitars, microphones.... sloping walls with soundproof padding on them and - get this - an actual glass room. A glass room where the musician goes and on the other side he sits with his computers, recording us. I had to wear headphones and everything! It was just like everything I've seen on TV, so I was kind of completely in awe of the whole thing. And yes, I was nervous, but Steve and Iona (his partner) were so lovely and nice that they put me at ease immediately - though Steve's the kind of person you just tease, which I did - and they had a gorgeous and huge dog called Charlie whom you can't help but adore. We went into his studio with some Coke and he got Hannah and I to play it, and then he said what he thought we could improve upon and what worked well - when Hannah went to the loo he said to me 'Alto. Interesting.' I was thinking well, to be honest, with my speaking voice and my appearance, what were you expecting? I mean, strange as it is, people usually look like what they sound like, in a way. And I can't remember how the conversation went, except he said he liked writing alto parts for instruments. He tried to put the song up a half step, but it threw me off on some bits so we changed it back (and yes, it is low. It is so low that by the time we came to recording I'd worn my voice out and was having trouble reaching the lowest notes. But it's not noticeably low, just the kind of low you'd only notice if you tried to sing it. But yes, that's why the recording is so bad - it sounds like I'm having trouble reaching notes that are easy for me usually. So then Hannah recorded her guitar part and a bass line, and then I used the recording studio (with the little no-pop-noise screen and the headphones!) to sing a practice one.

On Tuesday, Steve popped over with a CD which will have two tracks on - the instrumental guitar track and the one with me singing along, which I will then take home with me and practice until I have it perfect. Next time I go up there we'll record it properly and then start on the next one! When Steve dropped the CD off on Tuesday, he said that if we had time we could come over and record again that day, which was great as we were originally just going to do it on Monday. Maybe he thought the first recording was as bad as I did. So we went and did about twelve recordings of it, from which he then worked something out. And the recording studio is amazing! All the equipment in there... it's just... and his house is... and everyone there is so friendly! I've met six lovely people in three days, to some of whom I already feel quite close (Hannah included) and I just can't believe that they are prepared to give up so much of their time (Steve is a music composer and producer for film and TV, and a photographer, whose time is apparently quite precious) to help someone they've never even met - who is nothing more than the grandaughter of a friend, in fact. But they're all so lovely and friendly and community based - I love them all! If it weren't so bloody far away, and so remote, I would consider moving there myself.

We were at Steve's for about three hours, and Hannah wasn't there because she was working and we finished her parts on Monday anyway. In fact it was kind of strange having Jenny there instead of her. But still fun. We recorded it about a verse at a time so I could get it right, and then there was a bit near the end which I couldn't do and I wanted to go a bit more ornamentation freak sort of thing, but in the end I just had to settle for what I had, and I was standing up to sing properly as opposed to sitting down really bloody close to the microphone for the quiet bits, which meant that Jenny was making all sorts of jokes about me being a diva - I believe the phrase used was 'Whitney Houston on drugs' - because I was just really going for it properly. I just wanted it to be good - though of course I don't get that oh-my-god-is-that-me reaction when it's played because of how much I've heard my recorded voice before.

(The picture of the dress from Camden above is me in the recording studio with my 'lucky' pink water. On Monday, Steve had said that one of the other singers hates the chair in the studio more than a dentist's chair because she gets so nervous - and I joked that it wasn't as comfortable as a dentist's chair. The next day I got there to find that Steve and Iona had thoughtfully replaced the wooden chair with a padded one, which became known as the throne, and had put a bottle of water in a pink bottle on the table next to the chair. The bottle was pink because it was supporting Cancer Research by the way... it wasn't just random pink water. But because I was more confident recording on the Tuesday, Jenny joked about how the pink water must have something in it - hence why it's called 'lucky'. But how thoughtful was that? There's proof of how nice they are.)

I have now heard the copy that we recorded last Tuesday - it's had strings added to it and everything! To use Steve's words, it's 95% there, but there are definitely parts I'm still not happy with - like a line in the chorus that I forgot how to sing and made up... it was a bit of a mistake. There's also a bit right at the end where I was just joking around and singing like a freak and somehow that ended up in the song too - well, it makes for a bit of amusement. It would be better if I'd known what I was doing, but because I didn't it sounds a bit uncertain and not particularly strong.

Hmm, speaking of strong; two people have described my voice as strong in the last week, which is a bit of a novelty for me. It definitely never has been before, but that's something I've been working on. I do hope this means that my voice is finally improving! So that's basically all the song stuff in a nutshell - oh, and as more proof of how nice everyone in Scotland is: there was a person working in the shop one day called Jo, and we got talking about Lady Gaga - five seconds later she'd offered to lend me her Lady Gaga CD so I could rip it. How sweet is that?

I went to see Eclipse on Friday with Becky and Zoe and, having expected it to be crap, was actually pleasantly surprised. Kristen Stewart's acting appears to be improving and she's got prettier too... so I'd recommend watching it, if only to keep up with the story. It's definitely the best one yet and although it's not perfect I find myself actually looking forward to Breaking Dawn. In true film review style, I have to say:

Best bit: Jacob's line "I am hotter than you."

Aaaaand thankfully we're almost reaching the end of this post - I don't know if your eyes are suffering, but my arms certainly are. Just to let you know that I'm going away to the French Alps for a week on Sunday so I'll do an equally long post when I return to let you know I'm not dead. I'll also talk about the picnic I'm going on with the knobs tomorrow... it'll be fun.

And, as Zoe and I have been having something of a philosophical conversation on MSN all day, I feel that I should write something deep here and get into practice for studying philosophy next year. (Also I feel I should apologize for the sheer ghastliness of my writing throughout this post; I've had so much to say that I just wanted to get it out of the way. I feel quite exhausted now.)

No matter what, there will never be anybody better than you if you're doing the best you can. Cliched, maybe, but true. People can say that there will always be people better and worse than you, but who's to say what 'good' is? Who's to say that what one person considers beautiful could be a pile of crap to the next? So keep reaching for the stars, even if you don't know which star you're reaching for. Remember that it's your life you're living, and nobody can change that. Be yourself, and if being yourself is going along with the crowd, then follow away. Just don't make the mistake I did of taking seventeen years to find out who you are and what you want from life. Don't be afraid, because people may laugh at you, or people may love you. You never know what the world will make of you. Don't be ashamed of trying to shine, because the only thing you have to be ashamed of is not trying at all.

Molly x

July 6th: Onwards and upwards.

I've heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn - well I don't know if I believe that's true, but I know I'm who I am today because I knew you.

From the intriguing mind of Stephen Schwartz, composer of the music for the musical Wicked. As I was starting to type in this post, this song started playing, and it occured to me that the lyrics are very expressive of the way I'm feeling right now. You see, tomorrow is the last day of my first year at college, and I'm just wondering where the hell the time has gone. What happened to those days that were spent staring at the clock, wishing that school would end? I guess I know that - I wasted them all, staring at the clock. (That's not to say, of course, that I never stare at the clock during my college lessons; in fact I'm pretty sure I could pick the one in my history classroom out from a line of identical clocks). But I find it ironic that the place of education I enjoy most - i.e. college - is the one at which I spend the least amount of time. Especially since I loathed both primary school and secondary school with a passion.

College just does this... thing to you where it seems to free you from almost all those chains you get yourself tangled in throughout your educational life. You become somebody better, somebody more capable, more alive, more you. I look around me sometimes and I marvel at all the people surrounding me, and although so many of them look similar - similar hair, clothes, etc - there are a few who are different. Varying degrees of different, of course - not all of them dress like goths, chavs, or whatever (though many of them do). But even though they are, without doubt, objects of social fascination (and amusement), I admire their courage. I mean, the other day I passed a girl wearing goth boots, a huge lacy black skirt and a little black lacy hat. Her nickname may be 'Weird Becky', but she has some serious courage to wear that stuff into college. But as I was saying, 'different', doesn't have to be like that. I've never been a stereotypical 'teenager' and neither have any of my friends, and I've never considered that brave but I suppose in a way it is. We are, in a way, opposing the flow - swimming in the opposite direction to the rest of the fish around us. And I don't know if you've ever tried swimming against the current, but you need to be strong. But I see these people all around me every day, and I can't believe how we are all one species but so different. How come we all have the same physical makeup but no two faces are the same? How come all brains work the same way, but think differently? What's up with that? It's a bit like perplexed tofu, really. Woopus to the maximus.

Just thought I'd throw in a couple of my most used phrases there (though I never really use perplexed tofu. I blame Cora.)

Anyway. Today has been a really good day. I got a history essay back (on which I might have cheated a bit but shh, I wasn't the only one) and I got a C, and then - right, this is going to be long winded so I might as well just write it.

So a while ago we wrote these media pieces on taboo language for English, and today we got them back and Hannah said "I'm giving out these three first, because they were the best in the class" - they were a 29 and two 27s out of 30. So she gave them out, and obviously none of them came my way, so I was just sitting there feeling really disappointed because yet again I missed an opportunity to get an A. Then she gave me mine and I turned the page to look at the grade and saw: 30/30.

I thought I must have been imagining things for a moment. But no, it was true, it was real - my first ever A in A Level English and at A2 at that. And not just any old A; full freaking marks! I was so happy and excited that it took me the rest of the lesson - an hour - to stop shaking. But OH MY GOD. AND I was the only person in my class to get that full marks. I was talking to Hannah after the lesson:
"Is that grade really mine?"
"Do you want proof?"
So she got her little sheet out and showed me that I hadn't been hallucinating. She was like "I'm surprised you're so surprised" - of course I was surprised! I've never got an A in written English before in my life (I say written because I got one mark off an A* in GCSE speaking and listening), let alone at A Level. She also said she hadn't said anything in front of the class incase I didn't want her to use mine as an exemplar response for next year's students, which I thought was really sweet. I am a bit of a chicken with sharing my work with people. But then I thought, no, this is clearly a good piece of work and I'm going to show it off. Which, yes, sounds up myself, but I'm not often proud of things I've written so it's about time I was. And oh, how I've wished I could be one of those exemplar responses we get given everytime we have to write something.

Since it was our last English lesson before summer, we did a quiz, and Hannah had got all these sweets for everyone. She got little packets of lovehearts for the runners up (i.e. everyone) and for the winners she had these posh looking bags full of an assortment of different sweets. Naturally, because we're amazing, my team came joint first with another group, so we got a bag each and then later Hannah gave us another bag each since she had leftover ones. Also, we beat Tom, the resident nerd who I sit next to; his team came last, to the amusement of my class. Bless.

Then I had a free with Lauren and Zoe, and we went to Bloc and had a massive hot chocolate - I got a free one as I'd used all the spaces on my loyalty card. Nice. So, all in all, a really good day. Now I'm going to bed and I shall awaken on the lovely easy last day of term before my nine week summer off.

Woopus to the freaking maximus.

Which reminds me, I have to tell you all about the English trip last week. I'll do it tomorrow.

(Famous last words.)

Molly x