I have to hand in my coursework tonight. Unfortunately... I didn't remember until last night that as it's the end of the year we have to hand in all the coursework we've done so far. Cue me and Chaunce tearing the bedroom apart trying to find them all. Never fear, gentle reader, I have them all in my sweaty hands now. A 67%, 59% and 56%. What went wrong?! In the course of tidying up I found approx 10 zillion pieces of paper with ideas, scribbles, notes and such like on. Now, you may remember what it was like to (or you may still) be a teenager. Or at least, you'll remember what it's like to have your pretty red heart bitten in two by some arsehole of a boy. (If you don't know what I'm talking about then you can just fuck right off.) I remember, dear reader, I remember it well. (I didn't mean that about the fucking off. Come back, I'm telling you a story.) When I was 15 I fell in love properly hard for the very first time. We spent the summer together, I turned 16, we went on holiday, we got trapped in Spain, it was all very exciting. He was 18. On our return to England he decided that as he was going to uni (hilariously, the same uni and the same course Chaunce spent a week at before dropping out) we'd be too far away to continue a long distance relationship. I was going up to the same college he'd just been at and he assured me I wouldn't want to be held down by a distant boyfriend. Devastated, I reluctantly agreed. He had my feelings at heart, after all. And he loved me, he loved me, he said that he did. THEN THAT BASTARD GOT OFF WITH ONE OF MY FRIENDS AND WENT OUT WITH HER FOR YEARS EVEN THOUGH SHE LIVED IN HUDDIES AND HAD TO TRAVEL TO SEE HIM EVERY WEEKEND. I was torn apart. Over a three month relationship with a fat man who thought he was the next Ken Branagh. But I was, I was torn into tiny pieces. My whole first year at college was a wash out (I was predicted D's and U's in my A-levels) because I kept running from class to sob in the toilets. Memorably at an 18th birthday party, my friend pulled the plug from the DJ booth because he was playing 'I've had the time of my life' and I was gutted. It's all relative. I have never been as upset about anything since - breaking up with Uni Boyf? abortion? abusive boyfriend? living in Reading? Falling in love with some idiot when the idiot I was with was lovely? Some idiot living in my flat and rowing with me? No. A three month relationship with a fat man had me reaching for the anti-depressants (only, luckily, I didn't, and all down to a girl who told me she often thought of killing herself but only to stick it to the man. How can you stick it to them if you're dead tho? Duhh. So now I think I will kill myself when I'm bored. I'll have a lovely party and then have a long hot bath. Luckily I ain't bored yet.) So, here I was, 17 and wobbling mentally. I imagine if there'd been blogs at the time mine would have been black, black as the darkest of nights, with blood red writing like the blood that had spurted from my heart. (I think I was so upset because I'd had a rotten existential time of it when I was 14/15, just generally realising, hey! life is shit! and then you die! that's rubbish! and he'd brought me out of that with boozing and sex and friends and holidays and then it was cruelly snatched away from me) ANYWAY the point I am taking a rather long time to get to is: I should have been writing poetry along the lines of 'my soul / stolen / in the blackness of night / leaves fall like tears / crunching underfoot / like so many broken promises / relief in pain / blood / red / black black blaaaaaaaaaaacccccckkkkk... meh.' (hey, I've just made  that up but I like the bit about leaves and promises. God, I'm good though, aren't I?) (No?) But what I actually wrote (and I know I was still in the depths of despair when I wrote this cos I can see the tear stains on the paper still) what I actually wrote, and found last night, was this (I would make the world's worst depressive) : I want to hate you Tell your brother it was him I like best Tell your new girlfriend she's got a flat chest Tell your dad you've started smoking Tell your mum I was only joking When I said I liked her new kitchen I want to want to hurt you Tell the barman you're under age Tell you that you're crap on stage Tell your friends they're immature Tell everyone you're much more pure Than you make out to be I want to hate you Tell your new uni friends you like Deep Space Nine Tell all my friends you were crap every time Tell my new boyfriend I don't care about you Tell myself that I'm fine without you  ... and then, dear reader, it tails off because I probably had to go and find some ice cubes to hold or something. But it's bloody brilliant! Isn't it? Is it just me? My favourite bit is the bit about the new kitchen. So anyway, I'm inspired. I can finish that play today. And maybe I should stop trying to write dark, meaningful stuff. Doggerel is where it's AT baby.

21.6.06 09:54 Permalink / 10 Comments / comment

BREAKTHROUGH! After struggling with my play, buying useless stuff on eBay and accidentally going overdrawn, and blogging I finally gave up and went home last night. My play has to be in tomorrow and it doesnae even exist. After the workshopping I pretty much decided that a) the main CS should be children and b) the play should be about moving from childhood to adulthood / the disillusionment of adolescence / whatever. The forest and the wolf = a metaphor for, uh, whatever you want. But I was struggling, I only have two CS and I only have 20 mins which is a short time to try and stuff in that big idea/theme but a long time to just have two kids talking about a big bad wolf before it kills them. Then, on the freaking train home I had the most stonkingly brilliant idea. The Innocents / The Turn of the Screw is about two kids. It also gave me my working title. So how about someone turns up to look after these kids of mine after their parents have mysteriously vanished and it's the newcomer who is convinced there's a wolf, NOT the children? It'll end up with one of the kids getting shot, I think. At primary school this was called COPYING. In high school: PLAGIARISM. At uni it is INTERTEXTUALITY. So it's okay. Now I just have to write the blimmin' thing. Also, on the same freaking train home I overheard A Gift to Playwrights Everywhere. I won't ever use it, so you may. Here 'tis - Middle-aged woman: After I'd been in my house for a year I got a burglar alarm. Not for ... not for my things, you know, but for me. So I've got a panic button, in case anyone gets in while I'm there. Of course, I can't have it turned on. It goes off all the time and wakes me up. It's the spiders, they say.

20.6.06 10:38 Permalink / 1 Comment / comment

I'm still at work. I'm meant to be writing my play. I can't, it's too difficult. Things I am never going to stop blogging about: 1) how I can't do something because I've left it til the last minute 2) how I ought to stop drinking 3) how much I love whichever boyfriend I have at the time 4) how thin/fat, clever/stupid, pretty/ugly I am 5) what utterly boring things I did at the weekend You know it was my three year anniversary at 20six on Sunday? Three years. Can you imagine doing something for that long? I think it proves I am grown-up enough to make a big commitment. I am sticking with 20six til it breaks.

19.6.06 18:52 Permalink / 7 Comments / comment

Rebalancing the universe So on Friday I ended up getting sent home from work sick. I guess maybe I was just overtired, and I had got completely overexcited watching the film the day before. So on Saturday I went out and got COMPLETELY TRASHED with Chaunce and Kate and Ciggy. As you do. I had a couple of pints and some gin and a couple of bottles and another pint and put my head on the table and said 'oh, I'm druuuunk' and then on the way home got a missed call off L+I so we went round there with a couple of four packs of San M. I felt rough on Sunday for approx. an hour and then was fine. I am ignoring the fact that I feel really crap if I haven't drunk very much. It is too depressing to contemplate. Also on Saturday I got a free facial (Kate got a free facial and a free arm) and then went and bought a vest because I was sweltering in what I was wearing. After the vestage I espied some city shorts in the sale and, yes, dear reader, I bought them. You may as well throw yours away if you have any, now I'm wearing them they are certainly no longer cutting edge fashion. I'm wearing them today, they are brill for work. God I'm boring. And I bought a book about witches by Erica Jong, it's super. And will help with the play writing. (Ah yes, the play. It still doesn't exist. It's due on Wednesday. But I do have a title 'Rooms Like Dark Woods'. Or maybe just 'Dark Woods'. Oh, whatever.) The point is: I bought some city SHORTS, from WAREHOUSE and they are A SIZE FOURTEEN. This means I am officially a fo' real size 14 again. Yes it does. Shut up at the back. On Sunday we went to Walthamstow for a BBQ with Chaunces fam. We are tentatively arranging a meet up between our parents. I think it will be disastrous. But it has to be done. So much for running away to Scotland and not telling anyone which was the original plan a year ago. How times change. Luckily it would seem we are not boring, or we have reached the same level of boringness or whatever so it's not too worrying how much stuff has changed. It's not like we've suddenly gone all crazy about the thing. We will go to the pub and we will come out and no thing/one can every put us asunder or they'll be breaking the law and will go to jail. It'll be brilliant. And I will have a new name, which is the bit I am most looking forward to. Er, I've tangented. Where was I? Oh yes. Today I am wearing posh shoes cos I thought I was meeting someone for dinner but ONCE AGAIN it's all gone wrong and we've called it off. Ten years, this has been going on for. He doesn't even live abroad! But he is married and has three kids and used to be my teacher so somehow it seems a bit... oh, I don't know. We've never kissed or nothing. I mean it's not like that. It's just a bit... oh I don't know what it's like. But I would like to see him again before I die! Or do I mean before I get married? But then it sounds dodgy again. Oh, argh. The whole friendship is a bit odd. I was 15, he was 22... Actually that only makes him a year older than Chaunce. Oh, whatever... My sister is coming down next week and we're going to see Avenue Q. It was only after I bought the tickets I realised it means I'll miss my last drama class. Oh well. We hand in this week so I guess it doesn't matter. Maybe I should write it then. Yes. I still don't feel quite... right.

19.6.06 12:41 Permalink / 10 Comments / comment

This seems remarkably unfair. Leaving do at work last night, had maybe a glass and a half of wine. Went to watch the match, had a pint and a half of Kronenburg. Went on the the NFT to see The Innocents (which was FUCKING BRILLIANT), had a bottle of Sol. Walked back to the station along the shore of The Thames (also FUCKING BRILLIANT.) Didn't have a row with Chaunce (also F - oh, etc etc.) I can't believe how skank I feel this morning. I have a headache of almost migrainious proportions. I've been sick, my hands are shaking, I can't focus. I think it must be a tension headache because the film had me so totally gripped and then I had a nightmare about work when I was asleep. I've had one of Chaunce's codeines, eaten breakfast and drunk lots of water but I still feel rough as fuck. Bah. I really want this to be a hangover. I don't want to be ill over the weekend. But it doesn't feel much like a hangover. Oh dear. Woe is me. I went out and had a nice time with the man that I adore. Boo hoo.

16.6.06 09:10 Permalink / 5 Comments / comment

In which I talk myself into a circle I got my critical theory essay back last night. 57%. Or was it 56%? Whatever, in the fifties. Above 55. That is a credit, allegedly. It goes pass, credit, merit, distinction. I guess that's a third, 2:2, 2:1 and first. Is it? Maybe. It's not a degree though. So anyway, yeah I'm on a 2:2 (I have two credits and a merit) unless I somehow pull off a distinction for my drama which might have been possible once but is now unlikely. When I was at uni, even towards the end when I was so drunk I couldn't see, I still regularly pulled off 2:1's and firsts for my critical work. Now I just can't do it any more. Here's an interesting thing: Why do I care? I think it is because I was told for so long I was so so so clever, and wasn't I just the cleverest little girl and wasn't I just brilliant? And I was, but, err, I have not got any more cleverer. I mean, for a nine year old I am a freaking genius. And I knew I wasn't pretty so I concentrated on being clever until I got pretty. Then I just relied on being pretty. Unfortunately it wasn't as trendy as it is now so it wasn't that useful in the long run. And I also got drunk way too often and went to bed way too late and now in the space where I knew about Derrida and poststructuralism and could come up with my own theories and ideas there is just shoes and bags and Chauncey's arse. That's not a bad thing. Why do I think that's a bad thing? I don't need to be a supergenius. I'm a receptionist for God's sake! I don't want to stress of doing a PhD or a job with much more responsibility. I just want to be able to have a pint, have a laugh and, basically, have a life. Loads of people are just regular clever, not supergeniuses, and they don't care. I'm far too lazy to put the hard work in to make up for the fact the clever part of my brain has stalled, so I'm never going to be this amazing conversationalist who can look at things in a crazy new way. I'm just a regular joe. I don't want to believe that I'm so narcissistic that I can't bear to be like everyone else. I mean, everyone's different, you know. Not being intellectual doesn't make you an arse. In fact, it is often the opposite. So I suppose I'm saying that my childhood is affecting me now, which, quite annoyingly is a theory I don't want to subscribe to. Once you're an adult you get to choose how your past affects you. That is the joy of being a grown-up. You don't have to let bad things ruin your life. You get further and further away from them til you can see them properly and then you choose how to feel about it. But I am sat here feeling upset because I'm not the cleverest girl in the class (well, I am in my particular class but that's another thing again.)  Especially now I am certainly not the prettiest girl in the class any more (well, I am in my class but ... anyway.) And now I'm annoying myself because I'm also brazenly fishing for compliments! AAAAAAAaaaaarrrghghghghghghhhh. I don't mean to. Like Chauncey says, I would make a brilliant fisherman. Don't compliment me. Just leave a message saying it is fine not to be the best at stuff. Here's a joke: Q: Why does Snoop Dogg carry an umbrella? A:  Fo' drizzle!

15.6.06 12:57 Permalink / 7 Comments / comment

Everything's coming up Emma. Er, as it were. I've just worked out that the gargantuan task ahead of me is not actually gargantuan and is, in fact, pretty miniscule. Basically I thought someone was going to help me tell a load each lecturer if they had to prepare resit exams or not and if so, who for but then that person went on a silent retreat and I realised I'd have to tell them all individually all by myself but now it turns out most of them just assume they have to set resit papers anyway so they do them without being told to. Although I will still mail them all, but you know, just with FYI in the subject line. I. AM. FREAKING. RELIEVED! To say the least. I haven't really written 10 mins of my play, but I have written something and have had the added bonus of an actorrrrrr sat across from me this morning being super helpful about how my layout should go and whether or not I need to put in direction and how to write SNAP BLACKOUT and so on and so forth. I feel more confident about it now. A little bit, anyway. And we'll workshop it tonight so I'll know where to go with it and my boss said she'd give me an afternoon off to finish it although I doubt I'll need it. I got a new t-shirt through the post yesterday. It is from Americky. It is cool. I look the dog's. And I totally won loads of brill stuff of Ebay and I can't wait til it gets here. Yay Ebay! Yay Crafting!

14.6.06 12:48 Permalink / 6 Comments / comment

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