Low Self Esteem - and Proud!

2010-03-11T19:48:00.005Z

Yesterday i watched BBC4's Women documentary. It was mostly very good. It was really exciting to hear all these women from the beginning of the movement speak, and some of the old footage was fantastic. I had i bit of a problem with the film maker though. (Vanessa Engles, i think?) This probably isn't actually the case, but a lot of the time she seemed quite unimpressed with it all. In particular i found her very patronising when talking to Kate Millett, (I had to look her up. I don't really know enough about all these people, and only had a slight awareness of any of them.) talking to her like she was a senile old woman, when she was clearly still extremely intelligent and cogent. The first we saw of this interview was Engles complimenting Millett "I like your crocs." Perhaps i've missed the point with this. Was it meant to be humanising? Perhaps it was to show a feminist philosophy towards clothes? Maybe, but i found it hard to take it as either, and it just felt like an attempt to display this woman's eccentricity. I don't like to accuse her of belittling Millett, but i felt this was edging towards a rather negative portrayal.

There were a few other moments were the filming felt rather sarcastic. Asking various of these feminists about the state of their sex lives, Engles seemed archly surprised at the reluctance some of them felt to discuss it. And her approach to the interaction between lesbianism and feminism seemed not to be all that constructive. Addressing the pressure on women to adopt a homosexual identity in the early days of the movement, she seemed sneering. With some justification, of course. I find this quite a wrongheaded approach, certainly in modern feminism, but it's easy to see why people felt like this then. Quite apart from its political connotations in terms of feminism, this was really the first time women were presented with lesbianism as a viable identity. These women, suddenly able to express this part of themselves, may have been overzealous in their expectations of others, but all of a sudden these long-suppressed desires were permitted and even rationalised by the movement. I know that the time of my coming out was accompanied by expectations of upheaval in the ways i interacted with people, and changes in how i saw myself; coming out on such a massive scale can only have multiplied this.

Engles, talking about this trend, paraded women who'd flirted with lesbianism only to discover it wasn't right for them, saying how much easier that might have made things, implying they felt they'd let down the movement, before finally moving on to her queer interviewees, leaving the viewer to surmise that these women could only have adopted this sexuality out of a sense of obligation, rehashing the idea that lesbianism exists only as a political identity. I may be making a few too many assumptions about her intentions here, and any implications of this were certainly mild, but i did feel they existed.

But while i had a few problems with the documentarist, the feminists interviewed represented themselves fantastically despite these difficulties, (which i am perhaps exaggerating anyway (although i think now i just sound like i don't have the courage to stand by my convictions (is that interpretation wrong?))) and it was fascinating to see them, and to learn about a movement which i only really know in its modern, rather flaccid stages.

2009-12-19T20:58:00.002Z

I'm stuck in Aldridge right now, and i hate it. There are two places in want to, much better, more exciting and interesting places, and i feel like the longer i'm stuck back here in a backwards place, (backwards in the same that it was a BACKWARDS step to return, not in the sense that they murder gays or whatever.) the more the other places slip away.

Le Mans is becoming less where i want to be, partly for external reasons, but mostly because of the way my stupid head takes these external reasons and twists and distorts them until i can only think depressing things, and things that really are unfair to other people, because i apparently have trouble trusting people to not be awful.

In a similar vein, i have apprehensions about going back to Sheffield, but in this case because i worry it doesn't want me back, not because i don't want to go. It's all part of my silly rules and protocols and not impinging on other people, which ends up meaning things like i have to wait for someone to say they want to see me about five times before i'm willing to believe them and not just think they're being polite. And it means asking to go visit people can be horrendously awkward, and so i end up putting it off until it's too late anyway.

IE THIS WEEKEND. I wanted to go to Climax, but don't have anywhere to stay. And i couldn't bring myself to ask till just about yesterday, meaning that when both off the people i asked said they couldn't i had no further options.

Anyway, yes. I want to go back to Sheffield, but i worry everyone there will have moved on and won't want to be friends with me anymore, or that they will even have moved on in a more literal sense and won't be there for me to be friends with at all. Plus, of course, there is the fact they i may even RIGHT NOW be fucking up my chances of getting in. (If i haven't already screwed myself over with that 2:2)

All this worrying, though, could be got rid of, at least for a while. I'm just bored, really. I need to go out, except most of the time there's no one for me to go out with, and when there is i always seem to be too busy. SIGH.

Last time i did go out, though, was a lot of fun. They played Deceptacon AND Burn Don't Freeze, so that was fantastic. Plus, my new crush was there, which was exciting. His name's Ptolemy. (Except obviously it isn't really. This is what i call him for now. (And for ever, probably)) He's cute and awkward (Which is hot, obviously) and has been wearing floral shirts the last two times i've seen him. (That plural is a bit of a lie. I think it was the same shirt both times.) I tried to smile at him last time, but who knows what i actually managed. Anyway, my new resolution, if i actually manage to keep up blogging, is LESS BOY TALK, especially when it's just "He's so dreeeamy" over and again while never getting anywhere with them, (Ptolemy isn't actually dreamy, though. Dutch Boy was, last year, but Ptolemy is yet to scale those heights) so that's enough of that!

I did actually see a few of the people i'm worried about last time i was up, and it is true that they didn't seem to hate me, and were in fact quite pleased to see me, so i am perhaps giving up too soon.

2009-05-01T15:37:00.000+01:00

It’s struck me that around this time on a Friday, every week, (pretty much) i would sit down and write. That’s over now, so i wonder if it might me useful to transfer these attentions to this blog. Silly and irrelevant as what i used to write was, the very fact of making it, and having it read was, i think, quite enjoyable, and perhaps healthy. The calming influence is something i would find very useful today, as i once again draw closer to fucking up.

I used to write the update for LGBT committee. As ever, i’m wary of saying nice things about myself, and i don’t want to sound bigheaded, (Which is not to say i’m not bigheaded, of course.) but the fact remains that people enjoyed my updates. This was a weekly email detailing the events committee had planned over the next couple of weeks, as well as whatever else i felt like throwing in there. And people would actually make a point of telling me they liked what i wrote. Given my slightly secret hope of one day writing, (I realise this is extremely unlikely, which is why i don’t really tell anyone anymore.) this is exciting.

But now i’m no longer on committee. As this is my final year, i was obviously ineligible to restand, and my place as secretary has now been filled. It does feel like a departure from something that’s been a huge part pf my life for some time now. I came to an LGB meeting (as it then was) in my first week at Sheffield, joined committee a couple of months later and now, five years on, i’m only giving it up because i don’t have a chance.

Well, that may not strictly be true. Five years later, i do think things may have run their course for me. I feel committee needs to move in a direction that not everyone seems to agree with. And since, in this regard, i’m a minority with little chance of convincing the others, my leaving would have probably been the best thing, whether or not it was already necessitated by my circumstances.

Committee, to me, now feels stagnant. Zombified. Little has moved on in my five years, and i now feel there are ways in which we are seriously failing, and unwilling to change, perhaps due to some inertia, or an obligation to previous incarnations of committee. My main problem is with our socials. For a long time, we have held a weekly Tuesday social in the evenings, each week a different event. In theory, this is not terrible, but the problem is that the socials generally are. Ill-thought out and poorly planned, the last one drew in three people who weren’t already on committee. Of committee, the people who are pretty much obliged to make an appearance, it drew less than half.

Previous rationales have discussed the inevitability that things will tail off as the year progresses, but i no longer buy these reasons. We are failing, and failing badly. At the end of last year, i remember discussing the same problem, and pointing out that if we obviously can’t even draw in people from committee, something is definitely not working. Then, my feeling was that we weren’t providing good enough socials. Now, i feel that the system itself is rotten.

We’ve tried to provide good socials. Occasionally we’ve even succeeded. Sometimes we’ve had quite the crowd. (Some might this as justification of the theory that numbers shrink as a year progresses, but i still see that as something that itself needs explaining, not as an answer of itself.) But that isn’t enough. They need to be good on a weekly basis in order to justify their existence.

Some seem convinced that we shouldn’t really mind too much about the dropping off of numbers, but i disagree, so much. Our role is primarily one of welfare. The other two strands are vitally important, but i believe that both socials and campaigns exist to feed into this are. (Not that this adequately explains the interconnectedness of all three.) We need to present a welcoming, exciting face, not to be just very obviously going through the motions. I’m not saying we need to have fifty people every Tuesday evening, but the Tuesdays need to be attracting more than just the three people coming out of habit.

My interpretation of the problem is that we rely too much on each weekly theme, without ever bothering to put any effort into it. And my solution, which i’ve proposed before and made no headway with, is to simply scrap this. The Tuesday socials, as they are, need to be done away with.

I still believe there should be some equivalent, but without this structure of panicking every two weeks because we’ve nothing planned one of suggestions, which failed not because of anyone else’s hostility towards it, but because at the time it was inoperable, was to convince some coffee shop or other to take us on a weekly basis. We already do this, in a way, with our weekly engagement with the Lion’s Lair, (An awful gay pub – another problem i have with the status quo) but it’s very important that we have non drinking socials, for various reasons, too obvious to go into.

As i’ve said, at the time it was impracticable, but i stand by the basic theory of this. I also feel it would free us up an awful lot. We waste time every week debating what’s to be done in each social – if they followed the same pattern this would free up so much time to talk about things that could actually matter.

It would also, i feel, free us up to put on events we’re actually passionate about. In the past we’ve had meetings on sexual health and coming out. This year we didn’t, partly through my efforts. I objected to the structure of these meeting, to the way they felt like AA meetings or were just plain boring. More than anything, i didn’t like the way they were just used to fill up the gaps in our schedule. These meetings were planned the week before, never, it felt, out of any genuine concern for the problem, but because we had nothing better to do.

I do think these are very important issues, and i feel the best way of addressing them has never been discussed. I don’t think a Tuesday social is by any means an adequate forum. I did once suggest that sexual health might be better dealt with in some kind of all-day workshop. There could be professionals, and perhaps even a time allotted so people could actually get checked for STIs without having to visit the GUM clinic, which is certainly something i’d be a bit nervous about doing. This was very quickly sot down, though, by out then Men’s Welfare rep, who admittedly is likely to have been the one who’d have had to co-ordinate it all. Still, i maintain that the idea holds water, and should have been at least considered.

Currently we are shackled to the Tuesday socials. Not only are we forced to spend probably a third of our time together as committee planning them, but we are often afraid to plan anything outside them. The things we do on Tuesdays – talks, trips – might all benefit from being treated as one off events rather than the next in a series of ideas how to fill an hour and a half. They could be better publicised, more thought put into them, and if we felt that something wasn’t going to work, there’d be no obligation to run it.

I truly feel that this approach could do a lot of good for committee, and i don’t think it’s terribly radical. But for whatever reason, (It may merely be my own inability to express myself) committee seems unwilling to take this on. I think the longer i was on committee trying to make this point and getting nowhere the more frustrated i’d have become, and the more annoying for everyone else. So i think it is for the best that my time on committee end now. (Is that subjunctive? I’ve put it as one.) Besides, i want to come back in a years time, and maybe to get back on, bringing myself to seven or eight years (on and off) contact with committee, and that’s not going to happen if i’ve burnt all my bridges with everyone.

2009-04-08T02:05:00.000+01:00

I went into Decathlon today. I felt so out of place, surrounded by all these sporting goods. I kept going round, laughing at it all, saying things like “Golf? As if!” (Erudite commentary) And for some reason the staff all wear these odd sporty tops, with netting and fancy waterproof fabrics, as if they might all go off on a potholing expedition at any second. I’ve no problem with sport, but it’s very incongruous with my own sense of who i am. I, of course, wasn’t in there for the football or the canoeing, but for the least sporty of activities they cater for. I needed some walking shoes.

As i was doing this, i was sort of thinking in blog. This has been happening quite a bit lately. My thoughts always run in imaginary conversations, or diary entries, and recently i’ve been thinking of my blog again. This is J’s fault. (Coming back on here, i’ve wondered about if i should maintain those initials. It seems a bit silly now, and mostly i won’t bother, but i wasn’t sure if J would mind me dropping them for real names. Mostly, though, i won’t be bothering. (If this becomes a habit again)) He mentioned a couple of weeks ago that he’d been looking through this again. I then read a few entries myself. They were, of course, completely unbearable, but apparently i’ve decided to come back.

I’ve seen quite a bit of J lately. Well, more than in the last four years. (Proportionally) We (LGBT committee) do this thing where we go talk to schoolkids in PSHE lessons, and i invited him along. He came, and all of a sudden was one of the gays!

That, of course, is an exaggeration. He hung around a bit, afterwards, but it wasn’t immediate. The following week was Climax, and he came, and fun was had. And now, a short time later, he’s been voted on committee.

I don’t really know how to feel about it all. I get confused about what the nature of a friendship with him should be. We were close, very close, i think. I did love him, however confused i may have been about the nature of that love. And in a way, even when our friendship lapsed, (For whatever reason. I don’t think trying to puzzle out why can really achieve much, (Not that i’d normally let that stop me)) i didn’t always feel i’d lost him. As i said, in my head, i think a ,lot of my thoughts in imaginary conversations, (Sort of. The coparticipant tends to be fairly silent, perhaps because i’m too selfish to put all that much effort into fully characterising anyone else.) and J’s always been one of the people i have those imaginary conversations with. So while in some ways it feels like revisiting things after very sparse contact, some part of me’s been talking to him all along, and i feel sometimes like i can just pick up with the familiarity we had and not have to worry about navigating this.

But i’m sure he’s changed. I’m certain i have. We can’t just settle back into things. For one, a lot of our friendship back then was based on MSN, and that just wouldn’t work now. Topmost in my concerns, though, is a worry that it may not be worth it. It’s nearly the end of this year now. Next year, if i were around, i’d likely see a lot of J, what with him being on committee. But i won’t be. Or at least i don’t want to be. The following year, when i hope to be back here, he’ll have gone. I get the impression he wants to stay around Birmingham, whereas i would never dream of moving back to Aldridge. I’ve known for a while how bad i am at keeping up a friendship over any kind of distance - (Fiona moved to Derby and i’ve seen her three times all year. Though, that said, when she lived five minutes away, we didn’t do brilliantly either) J was kind of the test case for this.

Last time we split up was horrid – a lot of the melodrama and teenageiness of it all being due to the fact that i was at the time a melodramatic teenager, but i don’t know that i’ve changed all that much – and it hardly seems worth being proper friends again for the next few weeks only to then part ways for ever..

Not that i should assume J even wants to be friends in anything like the way we were. But it does seem like a possibility. In the past, i’ve made attempts at rekindling things, (I feel a bit silly that i keep couching all this in terms perhaps more suited to a romance, but since i’ve never actually experienced more than a crush, i tend to value my friendships over that kind of thing anyway.) but they’ve felt unreciprocated. I could have been imagining things – i have a fairly bizarre internal etiquette, i think – but it felt like i was always the one trying to initiate things, and i shy away when i feel that i’m the only one who wants something. But lately it has felt a bit more like the old days. There was an awkwardness, i felt, before, partly due to my not knowing how to react to his liking God, and then liking girls. (I did worry there might be a connection, but i was right to think better of him than that.) That was my fault, though. I think i made assumptions when he told me he’d started fancying girls, and i did feel rather deserted when suddenly my best (And pretty much only) gay male friend suddenly wasn’t. And as for God, well, i have views on him. So i was maybe rather standoffish too. But now it seems that may be over, and we could almost be close again. Just in time to split up.

I’ve thought through these things fairly often recently. In writing it down, as ever, i’ve forgotten things, and jumbled others up. I just hope this is fairly coherent.

As for the shoes, i’ve found some that might do. They’re not attractive, (No even remotely like what i had in mind – a nice leather (Or at least convincingly faux) boot, to go with my tweed jacket.) but they’re cheap, and this is a major factor.

2007-07-15T09:21:00.000+01:00

So, that whole Carthaginian thing is long over. I've just read my last post. After that he did tell me about that new boyfirend of his, in a very nice way, and i felt quite a bit better about things. But that wasn't the end of things, at least not from my side. By the time i was back in Sheffield, not long after, he was already in the process, i think, of breaking up with this guy. I had some awareness of this at the time, but, alythough there was what might have been a chance, and a moment, and certainly a willingness and a want, (for my art, at least) i did nothing, since i was only in Sheffield a week. (This on top of all my problems with confidence and all that.) And then the next time time i was back, returned from France for good, he had a new boyfried, and damn it all if this one wasn't cute and nice. I couldn't even be jealous, which was a blow.

2007-01-30T14:17:00.000Z

And there we go, Persian is in a relationship.

I've felt worse. Other rejections, from boys who've shown less interest, have hurt more. Perhaps because this time was so gradual. Perhaps because the actual rejection hasn't come yet.

I don't intend to contact him now. There isn't much point. I have a fair idea now where i stand. Perhaps if he never gets in touch to call it off i'll ask why, but that sounds like it may lead to the depressing realisation that he'd never actually known my intentions.

Assuming that isn't the case, i'll actually be pretty annoyed if i don't get some explanation from him. Not that i begrudge him all this, (Well, obviously i do really, but i'm trying not to.) but he must have realised i'd see everything he put up on his facebook, so to parade all this under the nose of someone he knows is interesting, and knows believes he is too, seems a little cruel. Not that i'm vain enough to think it's actually malicious, but it's still a little thoughtless.

I think i may have a goth day tomorrow. This is possible now i finally have black nail varnish.

Sorry these posts are a little disjointed, but so am i.

2007-01-30T11:11:00.000Z

"Mesopotanian is delerious from lack of sleep and overwhelmed by the sexy guy sitting in his room."

That's fairly unambiguous.

I want so badly to find out where i stand, but i have no idea how to without coming across as an utter freak and ruining any chance that some small part of me is clinging onto still. But his doesn't seem any longer like something i can just wait out. By this morning i'd already nearly convinced myself that it was all still going to be fine, we'd go out when i came back and then who knows? Now that looks less likely than ever.

And for another thing, even if we were still on, if he perhaps planned to wait and make some comparison between the two of us, how am i ever going to compete with 'overwhelmingly sexy'?

I really don't know how to handle this. I imagine i'll do my usual thing of bottling until i get roaring drunk, then absolutely put my foot in things and make a fool of myself.

2007-01-29T12:48:00.000Z

I did have more worries to list about the date with Egyptian, but it's starting to look less like i'll have to. Not for remotely good reasons.

I'm teetering on the verge of one of my sloughs of despond. I'm really not terribly happy today. And i can't even really talk to anyone about it. Partly because i feel a bit silly, and i'm fairly certain this reaction isn't entirely justified, but mainly because i'm just not very good at talking about my feelings, and particularly bad at bringing up the whole subject in the first place. So my usual technique is to mope as visibly as i can, and try make sure everyone sees how down i am. The problem with that, though, is that i'm not very good at keeping in a bad mood. I think, much as i like to whine, i'm essentially a fairly cheery person. Once i'm around my friends it's a challenge to keep up a scowl for more than ten minutes, so i give up and just go for punctuating my grins with dramatic sighs. (Except not too loud, because for fear of not being taken seriously.)

So today i had a day of wandering round in town. I found another nice place to sit and be quiet and alone. I always feel so pleased to find these places. Actually, it reminds me quite a bit of my nook back in school, except less suitable for cold and wet weather. It seemed quite a good secret place, since the wall's at least waist high all the way round, and the way in doesn't look like it goes anywhere much. The graffitti proclaims that 'punx not dead'. I found somewhere to sit where there seemed to be less fresh spit. It seemed quite a good place to have a bit of a party, really, epecially in the summer, although that clearly won't actually happen outide my head. If i were a more inspirational person, or if this were a town where people were more inclined to actually have fun, perhaps, but neither of these is the case. It would have made a good place for that fantasy i talked about once on here. That fantasy that i was beginning to wonder if i might have found the other person in.

Except now i'm thinking (Not that i was ever hugely confident) that this may be less and less likely. A few days i read on facebook that Egyptian had a date with some guy in Sheffield. Not happy news. Since then my stalking has produced no word of whether or not this went well, but what he is looking for on facebook has changed from dating and relationships to just friendship. This, then, is the reason for my feelings of general shitness.

Of course, it is slightly possible that this means nothing at all, or that i still have at least some chance. He hasn't yet called off our date. For the moment, to save torturing myself, i'm going to assume that eventually he will. But if, by the time i go back home, i still haven't heard anything, i may let myself hope again.

2007-01-13T23:09:00.000Z

Because why wouldn't he get bored, waiting for me. Six weeks, i'm asking him to wait for me to come back. On the promise of very little. I wouldn't wait around six weeks for me. Well i would, but only because i wouldn't be getting any better offers.

He said he wouldn't be changing his mind. I hope not. I think i do like him. I like nice, and he seems it, without the criticism so often applied to it, dull. But right now i'm not doing anything to keep his attention. He'll get bored of waiting! But i don't know what to do. I think i may be able to text from France, but neurosis gets in the way the way of that. For one thing it'd mean explaining that when i'd said i couldn't, i actually could, but chose not to because of it's being far too costly, which is now apparently not the case. For another it'd mean explain the whole thing where i have to text from my French phone, but replies should come to my English one (At the same price they'd be playing if i were still in England), which people don't seem entirely to find easy to understand.

There is also facebook, of course, but i'm really not sure of the etiquette involved. I mean, presumably you're allowed to post on the wall (facebook likes to make up silly names to make it seem not exactly the same as all the equivalent sites) of the boy you're hoping to go out wiwth in a few weeks time, but what sort of thing to post? Should i be carefully avoiding mentioning plans for a few weeks time? What if he wants to keep it all a bit secret? A date with me isn't exactly something to proudly screaming from his window. (Not that i think it's desperately humiliating either) But then, what if, in not mentioning it, it makes him suspicious. What if he thought i was embarassed? (I'm not - i blurted it out to everyone. Would have put in big letters all over the internet too, if it weren't so easy for him to find what i've written. I don't know for certain that excitement over it all would scare him off, but it seems a fair precaution to take.)

What if, worst of all, however i do (If i do - although obviously at some point i'm going to have to) contact him, he somehow reads through it all and realises quite how neurotic and worrisome i can be. That, i imagine, must be enough to scare him off.

But what if he gets bored? What if, by the time i'm back, he only goes out with me because he'd agreed to six weeks before. This would hardly be good. He could end up resenting me even more.

I want him to like me! I really do. This is the closest i've ever come, and i'm so afraid of it just petering out now. It's the closest, but i want to get closer, closer to finding an actual something, a somebody, a him.

2007-01-11T22:28:00.000Z

One of the somethings i have wondered abut myself is the fact that i seem to find people being attracted to me so damn repulsive. Let's face it, in the past, i've only ever really liked people who don't like me back. And i've never been anywhere near certain that this a coincidence. And there have been people who have liked me, much as i like to tell myself otehrwise. And i've never really liked any of, despite there not being anything wrong. The most recent example would be Jeremy who Leanna was desparate for me to go out with. He was so obvious in his attraction that even i could spot it. He gave me his number. It's still there, unused.

People who do like me quite clearly have something wrong with them. Not all of me actually believes this, but i'm pretty sure some of me does.

So it's quite rare, then, that i should like someone and they should like me back, as seems to be the case with Sumerian. One of my worries is that, while right now i'm very excited about what's to come, it won't last, that i will soon come to realise how crazy this boy is for showing any interest in me. This is a large downside to asking someone out six weeks before you'll actually be able to follow through with it.

For the moment i'm hanging on, but only through a strategy i don't really think much of at all. I've been getting jealous. (I really can't claim this is entirely deliberate) Facebook is how we do all our stalking nowadays, and it makes it an awful lot easier to not be caught. And, browsing round Sumerian's facebook profile, i find someone who seems particularly to have interested him.

I, of course, have no claim over him. It is completely ridiculous getting jealous over someone who has simply agreed to go out with me. Especially since, should anything happen, i'll be, zip! right back out of the country again for another month or two. It'll be May before i could even ask him to commit anything. But still i get jealous. Not, i think, unfoundedly. If it were just me deluding myself, tricking myself out of losing interest, i'd mind less, ut i think there's actually something to be jealous of here, if i had the right to. But then, maybe that's me deluding myself still further.

So this is a fear - tricking myself, before we go out, of actually wanting to.

2007-01-11T15:52:00.000Z

Right, so Babylonian and i are on for some time in my February holiday, and it is up to me to plan what we do. The only hitch is that i have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA. I know it's a long time off, still over a month, but i'm rather scared. I've never taken anyone out. I've never even been taken out. (I feel, though, that i'd be a little better at that; having to be so active in this pursuit is very unnerving for me.) I really haven't the faintest idea how these things are supposed to work. Am i supposed to take him somewhere to eat? I really wouldn't be much good at that, i don't really care about food; i have trouble seeing most of it as anything except sustenance, so how would i know where to go, and what to go when we got there. People go to the cinema. It was suggested to me once, when someone did ask me out. But then it was suggested as somewhere i could take this person i wasn't particularly interested in (Though i was having trouble being entirely certain of that. (Actually, i was pretty sure, i just didn't like the idea of throwing a chance like this away so readily.)) to give me a couple of hours of silence to work tjings out. In this case i'm pretty certain i do like him, and i'd rather like to talk to him, or at least try to.

I'm sure there are all sorts of other options i have, but so far this is all i've managed to come up with. Things are in a bad way.

2007-01-09T01:48:00.000Z

So, an awful lot has happened since i last posted to this. Well, an awful long time has passed, so hopefully some things have happened. I'm in France now, on my year abroad. It's odd. I've been making trips back though. Last time i was back in Sheffield, i got the number of a boy. I got it for entirely innocent reasons. (I assume. I don't actually remember it happening. I was perfectly sober at whatever time it must have happened though.) About a week later i decided, under the pretext of finding out why i actually had the number, to text this boy. (Let's just say he takes his name from an ancient empire. We'll call him Abyssinian for now.) I'd decided i liked him, and i was enjoying the confidence that being resident in another country to the objects of one's desire can bring. If i made a fool of myself at any point i would have quite some time to recover before seeing anyone who even knew about any of it.

I texted him, and he texted back. This pattern continued, until the Pipettes came on and i was rendered hors de contact. It picked up again a few days later, and again after that. We texted each other on New Year's Eve, and i was beginning to wonder if for once i wasn't deluding myself entirely. I mentioned him to my old school friends, who i pretty much only see at New Year's Eve parties nowadays. There were questions being asked of all us present, and my answer to whether there was a someone was a resounding "Maybe".

I had, in this time, been gathering advice from a couple of trusted friends. Not only trusted, but completely unconnected to Abyssinian. They, on the basis of the texts they were shown, (Via internet, of course. I don't see many real life people any more.) faithfully transcribed, (Except for the New Year's Eve, from which only Abyssinian's texts remained.) were asked to diagnose whether this might become an anything. Their replies were hopeful.

I would be leaving again soon, for France. I had been intending, on my return, to send Abyssinian a text asking him out. (I may be safe and abroad, but i'm still a bit of a coward. Plus, face to face completely destroys the safety net for if it all goes wrong.) However, i'd begun to reformulate this plan. I wanted resolution before i left. I didn't want gto be left wondering for six weeks if anything might happen. So, with Fiona's endorsement, (She, by this point, very hopeful) i texted asking if he would "like, maybe, to do something. Um, with me". After a brief thirty minutes of torment he texted back. He'd like that. (Not sounding as eager as i'd hoped. But not exactly reluctant, either.) I attempted to convey my surprise in the next text, without entirely doing the whole "Pity meeee!!!!" thing. He called it a date.

Yesterday, i got on a plane to France. A little while before i did, i sent one last text, saying i'd see him in a few weeks, if he didn't change his mind and i didn't chicken out. He said there was no mind-changing going on his end.

And that is the thing from which most of my current concerns spin off. Now that's down, hopefully i'll get round to writing down my actual worries. Not right now, though. I am tired.

2007-01-09T01:35:00.000Z

Gather all the hair possible in the left hand. Tease out a couple of wisps on either side so as not to leave the fringe completely stranded. Are we symettrical? Good. Bobble in the right, careful to lose as little of the bunch as possible in the changeover. Pull it tight and twist, tight and twist again. Once more? And let go. Gently patting the back of the head, are we central? A good height? The ribbon, then. Purple and thick and long - two metres long. Start underneath the bunch, bring both sides round to the top and tie. Two equal lengths? If not, try again. Make a loop in the left hand - remember how to tie a lace? A loop in the left hand, bring the other hand round with the rigt and pass it through the space this has just made, making a second loop. Take one in each hand and tease them out till they're equal, but not too far. The bow to come down to the top of the neck, the ribbon ends down to the shoulderblades. Roughly. Make sure it's all sitting right, there aren't two loops of the bow on the same side. Are we perfect? Then i'm me.

2006-07-05T16:52:00.000+01:00

I have a favourite fantasy at the moment. It involves a very imaginary boy. He's pretty formless - i rarely picture him in a very detailed way. If pushed i might identify him as taller, or at least as tall as me, with dark hair, but that's about it. What he looks like isn't important. But the setting is rather specific.

It's dark; outside. There are strings of fairy lights and candles (tea lights) on tables. It has a vague air of a cafe. There could be a trellisy shelter, with some climbing plant growing on it. There are tiles of some sort of stone or clay on the floor, and aging brick work encompasses the space.

There are people at the tables, i think, but i'm not certain. They are just shadowy figures, but i think i might know them. They may be my good friends, but even they, no offence to them meant, are not important to this fantasy, which is too immediate, too focused on individual moments to accommodate the spans of all these lives. It is entirely possible that there is a babble of voices. They don't say anything but (In the versions of the fantasy in which they appear) they provide a background of warmth and friendliness.

Music plays. It might be live, but i've never seen the band as i've played the scene, so i'm assuming not. I know who the music's by, though. It's DeVotchKa, a band who make beautiful, beautiful music. I saw them in Sheffield, supporting the Dresden Dolls. It was a brilliant gig.

I don't think i'm playing a specific song by them. The fantasy prescribes quite a large volume of time, i think, so i suppose there are quite a few of them. I tend to have this fantasy as an accompaniment to the album, i suppose, which i play a lot.

We are dancing, this boy and i. We hold each other very tight and slow dance. (In real life i don't know how this is done.) Sometimes (If the song demands) we waltz. He leads.

It is beautiful. At that moment, it is all i want. I have such happiness. I can't really feel it, but i know it’s there. I can see it, i can nibble away at the edges, but i can't grab it for myself, not yet. It is only for the me i am when i dream, a person far more suave and likeable.

As i imagine it we don't say much, but we could be. There might be huge whispered (Well, not whispered, but quiet, so we depend as much as much on the rumbling on our chests as on our eardrums.) exchanges going on. Our expressions vary from seriousness to mirth at our seriousness, to a serenity that comes from our ability to laugh at ourselves.

He loves me. He may be unreal, and unformed, but i have no trouble imagining his feelings for me in full; they are a complete reciprocation of my own for him.

I'm listening to the waltz now. La Llorrona. We glide to it. I can feel the warmth of his love, and the tears slide down my cheeks.

2005-10-15T20:03:00.000+01:00

I want my pink hair back. Dammit, but i really miss it. I know it's silly, but i do. I wonder why i like to fiddle with how i look. Not in any permanent way. I've no esire to be pierced. But my hair and nails. And the occasional bit of eyeliner. And the silly hats, do they count?

Wore my hair in pink ribbons last night. Had matching nails. My excuse was that i'm breast cancer aware, but that was just an excuse.

I think i dpo this for attention. I hate being how i am. I'm an attention seeker and horribly shy at the same time. It's just so frustrating. You'd hope that these two opposites would somehow make me a blanced person, but no, apparently not. So i wear my hair in ribbons and smile shyly (And wonder if it's an affectation) at the compliments, and ignore the abuse, and carry on trying to be me. I still don't know who that is, but i've got to know the act better, which might equate to the same thing. I don't know.

2005-10-15T19:01:00.000+01:00

It can hardly have escaped my readers' (See that clever placement of an apostrophe there? It seems i have at least two, although perhaps not on the most regular of basises. (Should that be 'bases'? I rather think it should, but i won't chance it. It's not obvious that i mean the plural of basis rather than base, i suppose.)) notice that i post very infrequently now. I have no excuse, except for doubting that anybody really cares. It's not like i'm actually interesting. But here i am again, to do little more than whine about boys again.

Except no i'm not. There's noone new. Still moping over the same boys as a year ago, pretty much. Mostly got over the one that found out, but nothing much else has changed. I'm still just too scared of boys to actually get near one. It's amazing how foreign they can feel to me after spending seven years in an all boys school.

So still no boyfriend. But that's ok, because i only vaguely want one. I'm not dying from a lack of love. I have things to cuddle.

A boy liked me in America. A Canadian. He was rather fetching too, (Slightly off putting nose. I have a thing for noses. Also necks. But maybe i'm just trying to make it better for myself. Not that i fell in love with him or anything. I seem to have learned not to do that, at least.) but had a boyfriend.

Also, has blogger started delivering junk mail or something? Because i've had four comments today (This is a lot for me, please refrain from mocking my sorry sham of a life.) and some of them are decidedly random. I find it very hard to believe that CNN would find anything of worth in my blog. And then not leave contact details. (Not that i looked hard or anything. Oh, no.) I don't really have any depression that needs eliminating, whatever i might have thought two years ago, and although i have a vague idea what a rash guard is, i'm not desparate to investigate further.

2005-10-13T19:05:00.000+01:00

Do you want to know something really weird? Really, really weird. I kissed a girl. Well, mostly she kissed me, but it's odd, isn't it. Don't worry, i'm not on the turn. I'm just useless at saying no. Which, in light of this situation, seems a really bad thing. She knew i'm gay, but she still wanted me to kiss her. I was in America, you see, in a group of many many girls and very few guys. This, and the fact that i have a British accent, contrived to make me seem somehow attractive. Resulting in this. Weird.

2005-05-21T00:04:00.000+01:00

Oh, i love coming home! Not for the particularly good reasons, like seeing my family or anything, (Actually, my sisters being rather horrid these weekend. My mother claims i am actually missed, but it's sometimes hard to believe.) but for seeing myself. The mirror i have in Sheffield is only a small one, above my sink, and i can never get far enough away to see much of myself. Here, though, there are full length mirrors everywhere, and i can even see myself in windows and dressers. It's not that i particularly like my reflection, it's just so gratifying to see the change since i left in September. I am a lot thinner. I thought my mother was just fulfilling her maternal duties in telling me this every time she saw me, but it's really true. I've lost weight, or at least moved it a bit. Part of it, i think, is that the mirrors back here haven't seen very much of me in the last few months, so whenever i'm back, they always show me at my best, looking tall, and almost skinny. Maybe my mother just bought mirrors that do this because she doesn't like being short. Anyway, whatever the reasons, and i do recognise the utter vanity of this, it's a lovely burst to my self-esteem, which never goes amiss with me.

A week ago, last Friday, was Climax. An event always greatly anticipated, butt which i never enjoy quite as much as i hope to. I know why, of course. I'm still horribly given to obsession. The boy who's transfixed me for some time now is inevitably there, irresistible and unapproachable. People will start questioning the strength of my bladder, the number of trips i took to the toilet in the hope of a mere glimpse of him on the way there and back, and my wish that he notice me (He is not entirely outside my sphere. He knows me by name; we have even conversed.) was once fulfilled, although i worry this may have been at the cost of my secret. Subtlety has never been my strong suit, and it actually seems to be abandoning me even more as i grow up.

Also that night, there were people from my old school. I fear i was awfully rude. I was slightly caught up already, both with my obsessing and with the fact that we were meant to be celebrating Fiona's birthday. I, on encountering them, immediately became my old, quiet self. (To be honest, not all that different from my current self, most of the time.) They were people i'd liked, but never had chance to get used to being comfortable around. These were the people who were always scarily sure of themselves, and of their sexuality, back in a time when i still thought of myself as 'just me'. (I think now that maybe me isn't always such a terrible thing to be.) Of course, i wasn't entirely the person they'd known. I was wearing white ribbons in my hair, and mascara and eyeliner. (My eyeliner, which i lost in the course of that evening.) I'd have liked to stay and talk, but i quickly fled. I hope they didn't think i was shunning them. I saw them a few times again later, but was still unable to converse.

And, of course, it was Fiona's birthday. We'd started the evening in her room, where i once again met her many wonderful friends. My hair was tied in ribbons, and i was convinced to wear more make-up than i ever had before. (More than i eve had off stage. My brief (If stellar) appearance as Eugene hardly counts.) There was a magnificent game of keeping balloons off the floor, and a wonderful rendition of Wuthering Heights by a beribboned Ellie. There was drunkenness, and spillage of its cause. And it was fun.

After Climax i had Ellie and Julia (Both off whom i'd had the pleasure of meeting at least twice before.) round to stay in Rivendell, as there wasn't space for all of Fiona's guests in Fiona's room. We had rather a memorable journey back; the two of them, frozen with the cold, wore everything they'd brought, bringing me dreams filled with Russian refugees as i slept that night.

The next day, Fiona's birthday proper, was brilliant. I will always remember with a smile the game of rounders we played, all (Well, most of us.) dressed in period costume. I was a vaguely Victorian gent. (Though there were many accusations that i looked like a pimp.) There were Victorian maids, (Also granted pimp status, as the day wore on.) seventies hippies, (As we walked to the park she was granted the honour of actually looking vaguely normal, flanked by we two Victorians.) sixties... whatever you call people from the sixties, futuristic maidens, (Seen from a sixties perspective, and therefore doubly period.) Moulin Rouge style dancers, and Fiona herself, decked out in a beautiful French eigthteenth (possibly) century gown. (It strikes me now that i was actually the only boy in period costume. Not one of the other chaps had made such an effort.) There was also a picnic, at which i got slightly uptight about my possibly ruined blankets. (We'll know in about a months time, when i bring them home, along with all my worldly possessions.)

Sunday followed. (Do bear with me, there's some possible excitement with a boy to come on Tuesday. And nothing happened on Monday, so we're almost there.) This was the day on which Singsoc were to perform The Creation, by Haydn, and Fiona and i a part of it. Except she chickened out. I didn't enjoy it as much as i had the last rehearsal, but we still gave a good concert, and on our way back to Fiona's halls, which was to be the last time i saw all but one of the party goers that weekend, we were treated to a stunning fireworks display. It was truly spectacular, and went on for about a quarter of an hour. As the first bang streaked the sky we were at an interval between two houses, and so had an unparalleled view for the entire thing. It was terribly exciting. Of course, this wasn't actually Sunday. I'm a fool, and we are in fact still on Saturday evening.

Now we arrive at Sunday, notable only for it's double bill of The OC, watched in the company of Fiona and Ellie, as we discussed our upcoming sojourn to the Americas.

And now, skipping Monday, on to Tuesday, the evening. On a vaguely monthly basis, we (The LGB committee of Sheffield University.) run a night a small one, called Out. Generally, much fun is had. (There've been three so far.) It is DJed by the committee and anyone else who wishes to. I was one of these DJs, for my second time. I gave, i like to believe, not just on the evidence of my own opinion, but on that of my friends and even our resident curmudgeon, rather a good set. People danced. But this is not the important part of the evening.

At one point, i had a conversation, briefly, as i departed the DJ booth, on the merits of Busted's Year 3000. I wasn't entirely in favour of it, though i will confess to begrudgingly dancing to it from time to time. As long as everyone acknowledges that i am, of course, dancing ironically, because i am so indie.

Shortly after i was approached on behalf of the boy with whom i had just conducted this conversation that i was cute. i, baffled as ever by compliments, dismissed this with a gruff "Don't be silly, no i'm not," or something along those lines, and scuttled off, back to Beth, whom i told about this, adding the information that i might think he also was 'cute'. (Although of course, i would never stoop to such base Americanism. Except when i'm being a hypocrite. Which is always.) He himself soon approached, asking,

"Does don't be silly mean 'No'?"

"I don't know," i spluttered. "Not really. No. I'm no good at this." Or similar. And that was it, for a while, until i worked up the courage to go to him, dragging my lesbian along for support, although possibly in her professional capacity as a zoologist. I think i was trying to hide her behind my back, lest he somehow work out my crippling social inadequacy and fear of boys in general. i don't believe this worked.

The conversation progressed slightly through our intermediaries, until i made an excuse and fled to the toilet, in hot pursuit of Beth, who had pleaded (I'm pretty sure that shouldn't be 'pled'.) the same urinary inadequacy. Our brief discussion, on leaving the toilets, (Separate toilets, of course. I have no desire to see ladies in any way exposed.) the subject of which i forget, was interrupted by the strains of Filthy/Gorgeous, leading me to drag her back to the dance floor, picking up Fiona along the way.

We were soon joined by this fellow, who i was now beginning to get a better idea of the shape off. Not, generally, unattractive, (lest ye forget, reader, that i am the shallowest of the shallow.) but not, to my tastes, desperately attractive either. But then, the person who was closest to the one i hold in my head i had quickly rejected back at the start of the year, for reasons still not entirely known to myself. He isn't, as i'd hoped, tall. His eyes seem to have something odd, but indefinably so, about them, and his hand, when he took mine, was coarse, and dry. All the same, we swapped numbers, and it wasn't long after we'd parted again that i received his text: "I think your gorgeouse. X." Much has been made of this, in my head. I am willing to forgive, on the grounds of probable drunkenness, but i am of course now on my guard for further mistakes, both orthographic and grammatical. And it is worth pointing out that in his second text to me (At two o'clock in the evening of the following day, asking why i had not answered his text. (The truthful answer being that i have no idea what to do with compliments, and generally try to ignore them, lest i believe them to be true. (I've used the word 'lest' at least twice in this entry. Everyone will be thinking i'm awfully pretentious. Everyone will, of course, be right.)) to which i replied pleading once again my inexperience and nervousness in such matters, but telling him that my schedule prevented us from meeting until next week. This elicited the response "I can wait." I am yet to reply, though i have decided to go out with him.) he misspelled 'disappointed.' His third text, three words long, contained no errors. I do realise what a horrible portrait of myself i am painting.

The thing is, i don't know that i want a boyfriend. I'm still settling into my friendships, and i'm happy, now, as i am, most of the time, and nobody can be happy all the time. My sexual lusts have never been all that great and i do possess the means to sate these to an extent. (I'm sure some people will be shocked, if not by the fact that this does in fact occur, by the fact that i admit it, i, who preserve, or attempt to, such an air of innocence, naivete and asexuality.) Indeed, at my worst times, i am quite happy to turn to my books for solace. (It has been pointed out (Although i take the credit for the wording.) that i bring a new meaning to the word 'bibliophile'.) I don't know that i want a relationship.

And then there's my previous obsession. I find it hard to shrug these things off. My previous two have both taken weeks to pass (Though pass they have. They've had to.) I can't stop myself comparing this suitor, and comparing him unfavourably, to the boy with whom, if i were possessed of some self-confidence, i would ply my own suit.

But, despite this, and without the greatest of hopes, (Due to my own flaws, not his.) i have agreed to meet with him, to go, i suppose, on a date. The date and nature have not been set yet, once again due to my nervousness, but i suppose that will have to be done this weekend. And, who knows, perhaps i will surprise myself and give this fellow a chance, and grow to like him, and maybe more. But i really can't say.

2005-02-10T22:47:00.000Z

I've worked it out. I've worked it all out.

I'm falling in love with my dressing gown.

I do love my dressing gown. It's big, and fluffy, and aubergine and it keeps me warm. It started last night. Well, no it didn't. I've done stuff like this for years, but now i'm more resolute about it. It hangs on the back of my door, with the hook around the level of the top of my head, making it rather a tall lover, but i've noticed i do lean slightly towards tallness in the boys i like. I think because i associate it with being protected, which i want. I want someone bigger than me to hold me and make me feel safe.

So last night i went over to the door and just nuzzled my dressing gown for a while. I realised that by putting my arm through the arm i could imagine it was his hand on my shoulder, and i could stroke it. The kiss we shared was only brief, but fluffy. I took him down and he sat with me as i read. Naturally i'm not going to attempt sex with a dressing gown. I have all i want.

This isn't insanity. Contrariwise, i'm not trying to be funny, or seem interesting and beguiling. I know this isn't real, but it's an enjoyable fantasy, and that's enough. He's made up of everyone, people i know as well as people i don't, people i merely see and think pretty. And he's contradictory. This is the good thing. I can change him to suit my mood. Right now he seems to have quite a lot of Tom's red hair. He seems to have a lot of Maxie. Whatever my feelings for him meant, i love him, and there's so much about him i'd love to find in whoever i end up with (Unreal as it is, i still believe in this, in 'ending up' with someone, happy until we die, together, in the space of five minutes. And also, because i'm superficial, still young and pretty, even if we're a hundred years old. (Actually, that 'still' is less that appropriate in my case, but we'll let it slide.)

On Sunday i went to something in town, at the Forum, advertising itself as a fayre. It was good fun. I went with Anne-Marie, stuck with the label of 'my straight friend'. (As in the only one i've made since coming to Sheffield. (It's only fair. I'm known to her flatmates (It was a surprise to me in itself that i'm known to them) as 'Gay Alix'.) There were many good thing, but i particularly liked one of the bands that played, 'Almeida Girl & Descarga'. They were salsa-y and so good. The university's salsa group had come along too, and i was so jealous of them, actually being able to dance to this utterly gorgeous and exhilarating music the way it should be. Afterwards i meekly approached the lead singer (I've noticed a tendency to like bands with females in a lead role: Goldfrapp, Scissor Sisters, this lot, Texas, um... i had more when i formulated this theory.) and bought one of their CDs. I've listened to it pretty much non stop since i got it. There's one song in particular that's so beautiful, so perfectly what i don't have but want so badly. It's called Unconditional. It looks like you can download it from their site, but i obviously haven't looked into this, as i already have a copy. A couple of times i've just lain down on my floor and squirmed to it. It's the kind of song that's good for squirming. It pricks my eyes a bit.

2005-01-05T01:16:00.000Z

I have to get this out before it fades from my memory completely. The point i need to start at is already three weeks ago. It was a Tuesday and, as usual, a lot of people went to Dempsey's, Sheffield's gay bar. I met a boy there and after a while it became quite obvious that he liked me. (Actually, i'm beginning to wonder, as later events fill themselves in, whether this was actually the week before. But i don't think so. I think i'm right. But it takes me by surprise how much seemed to have happened in the last week of term.) He danced with me quite a bit, and he kept grinning at me and putting his hands through my hair. At the time i rather liked the attention, particularly to my hair, which i am so terribly vain about. At the end there was a small group of us walking home. Me, UL, in company with his boyfriend, (Or soon-to-be boyfriend, at least.) a girl who, much as she's deserved it, hasn't been mentioned before, UC, and this new fellow.

A little about UC first. I can't remember how long ago it is now that i met her, but it's a while. P introduced her to me. We were going to a new gay night that had started up on a Thursday. (The only time i've been, though i would quite like to go again, if i had a group of people to go with.) He was meeting me with UC after a choir meeting, and we were going from there. I didn't really talk to her much at first - i never do with new people. We talked a bit there, in a group of four: me, her, UB, and another new girl, (New to you, that is.) UH. And from there, over the last few weeks, i've gently come to a point where i'm comfortable talking to her and have a lot of fun with her. There's nothing more to say really, except that she really is a very cool girl.

This can also be said of UH. (See my impressive segue skills?) We met her a couple of weeks earlier, UB and i, after one the Tuesday meetings. (So much of my life happens on a Tuesday now. I rather like it.) UB thought she recognised her, but that was it until i went to the toilet. When i came back the two of them were talking and i sort of inserted myself into the conversation. I really liked her, once i managed to start talking properly, and she's one of the main people i socialise with now. There was a time when i thought she and UB might actually end up together. (That would have made me very happy.) There was a time UB herself wanted that. I tried not to interfere, as i could never be anything but incredibly heavy-handed, but eventually UB had to say, in response to something gossipy i'd said, that they were just friends.

So now back to last Tuesday. The five of us were walking home. UL and his boy lagged behind a bit, leaving Gareth (I can't be bothered with this anymore. His name's Gareth. I'll fill in the others as the become relevant. The two girls i've just introduced you to are Alice (UC) and Sarah (UH).) to talk to me and Alice. He revealed to me that he'd actually known my face before i met him. We share a lecturer, with whom he's good friends, and apparently he'd got her to show him the pictures of her new classes, which included me. His comment on my photo was that i looked 'cheeky'. I was greatly offended, and told him that he was not remotely right. He told me this story in more depth, and was possibly flirting with me quite heavily, but i didn't notice. Before he had to leave us he'd got my phone number out of me and invited me to a Christmas party in our shared department. I forgot to go, but i saw him that Friday, at Climax.

That Wednesday was also a lot of fun. There was a party in our flats, which i was rather pleased about, as i intended to get drunk four nights in a row before the social trough that would be my Christmas holiday. Tuesday had happened, Friday was pretty much taken care of, and now that only left Thursday. I was over on the computers earlier that day and i saw Matthew, (For the longest time he's been P, but now he finally gets a name.) so i invited him, and he came. Later on that night, i also decided to invite Anne-Marie, (I don't think she'd been given a code name yet.) my half French friend who i know from my French speaking lessons. She was already quite drunk, so i ran over to her flats (They aren't far away. I wasn't being incredibly gentlemanly or anything.) to retrieve her. She knows a few people from my building (Probably about as many as me, in reality.) as well as Matthew, so she was able to fit in. It was a good party. I spent a lot of it wearing someone else's fairy wings, wearing their tiara and twirling their wand. I felt it my duty, as the truest fairy in the building. And it was also a lot of fun. Matthew had to leave after a while, and not much later the party was brought to a halt. One of the girls in that flat, who bears many self inflicted scars on her arm, had done something. I don't know what, but it seemed to require that she be taken to hospital, so festivity didn't really seem so appropriate after that. To most people, anyway. I, though, am insensitive, and moreover i was drunk, so i joined Anne-Marie in returning to her flats, where there were a couple more parties going on. The first one was quite good. We were joining it pretty late, so i think it was winding down, but we had fun. They played, at one point, some sort of Grease medley and Anne-Marie, ladling on the fag-haggery now, suggested that i sing the part of Danny and she Sandy. That's about all i remember of that party. (we weren't there that long.) That, and dancing with a man. I liked him. He was good looking, and he danced with me. I knew we were both just being silly though, as he was straight. I was drunk enough to be kind of sluttly by this point. I'm pretty sure i put my hand on his crotch. I don't know how long for, but i more than brushed it, i think. Fortunately, i don't remember how he looked well enough (I couldn't see that well, either. There weren't any lights on in the room, just the kitchen.) to be embarrassed if i ever saw him again. Not much later we left this flat and moved on to our third party of the evening, further along in the same building. This one was over. We arrived in the cleaning up stages and must really have annoyed the girl we met, the only person left there. We left, eventually, and i think i then returned with Anne-Marie to her flat for a while, before setting off to mess around on the computers, tripping over an unexpected step in the dark on the way and hurting myself quite badly.

The next day, Thursday, i was in the university carol concert, and i'd got Beth to come and see me. Fiona (UA. The other girl i love to rave about.) had been going to come too, but she had too much work to make it. After the concert i spoke briefly to Beth, but she had to go. I ran into her again a little while later though, with her friend Chris, who she knows from back home. They invited me out with them to the pub that evening, where Chris would be meeting Heather (Beth's girlfriend. Dear lord, this is so much easier with names. E, by the way, the boy i was obsessed with right from the beginning. And J is really called Maxie. Well, that at least is what i call him in real life. He's Max.) for the first time. I was delighted with the invitation, as this would complete my four day... i worry that the word i need may actually be 'binge'. I met up with them later, and was a complete idiot. The whole time, as soon as Beth arrived with Heather, i was grinning like a complete loon. I couldn't look either of them in the face. I was just so happy, watching them. I loved the way, over the course of the evening, their hands went from subtly touching to loving stroking, as they gave up trying to be discreet.

And it gets better. I mentioned at one point my housing woes, whining, as i am wont to, about how everyone else knows who they're going to live with and where, when Beth asked me if i'd like to live with her and Chris next year. I didn't appear too enthusiastic at first, because i wasn't sure Chris liked me all that much. We hadn't really talked much before that night. But he seemed to like the idea too, and pretty soon i excused myself, to go to the toilet. When i got there i just grinned at myself in the mirror. I grinned and grinned and grinned. I jumped up and down and mouthed a scream at my reflection. I was simply ecstatic to have asked.

After we left the pub we stopped off at a fish and chip shop. There was quite a queue, and after a while Beth and Heather went outside. When we came out again they were kissing. It was, as well as slightly uncomfortable, brilliant. I rocked on the soles of my feet and grinned. Beth must have hated me for how much i grinned that night.

Finally it was Friday. I'd been looking forward to today for a while. It was the reason i'd stayed in Sheffield after my last lesson, the Tuesday of that week. Tonight was the night of Climax. And not just any Climax, but the Glitter Ball, open an hour longer in honour of Christmas and decorated appropriately. But that was later. In the daytime, Beth, Fiona and i met up at the union. This was the first time we'd all seen in each other in a while, and the last time in even longer. I miss them.

This evening, then, was Climax. But still not quite yet. (I though i was building up tension, (Not deliberately. I'd forgotten this much had happened in the last week of term. I was expecting Tuesday to be a brief prologue, following which i'd launch straight into Climax.) but i realise i'm not at all. I'm sure i've given any hint that anything important happened at Climax yet.) I met Beth beforehand and we went to the union cinema, to see The Nightmare Before Christmas. Fiona was already on her way home by this point, so she obviously couldn't come with us. After the cinema, we went to the Climax pre-bar, (I put in far too much detail, don't i? Well, don't expect it to stop.) where we talked to some people, but mostly kept each other's company. When we were joined by Sarah we went through to join the queue for Climax. The first times we'd been to Climax we waited a while before going in, but last time we'd accidentally gone though early, and ended up waiting around a little while, but when we actually went in we got to be almost the very first there. We wanted to be among the first this time as well, so we went through as soon as Sarah came.

I can't really give a blow by blow of that night. My memory's fuzzy, and i don't want (Not that i imagine any desire on the part of the few friends that read this.) to, either. I'll just talk about Lupie and Gareth.

Part of the theme for Climax was ultraviolet light, so they asked people to wear white. I'd tried, but most of my white things didn't really work. There was this one girl that caught my eye though. Her group of friends was next to ours, and she had green make-up on that was glowing. I was amazed by this, and pointed her out to everyone. Nobody realised what i was getting at though, so eventually i apologetically grabbed her to display her wondrous war paint. After this her group and ours began vaguely to merge, and she turned out to just as cool as the vibrant hue of her face promised. At one point she was dancing with me in a way that i, naive and inexperienced as i am, thought intimate, so i broke off briefly to tell her i'm gay. Rather stupid of me, really, as nobody assumes people going to a gay night like this to be straight, surely. She replied that so was she, and all was well until i noticed the green lipstick mark on my shoulder. Naturally this led to mutual abandonment and screeches of "I'm gay! I'm gay!" I still haven't managed to remove the stain.

When she was dancing with Beth, however, her motives were not so innocent. She asked me if Beth was a lesbian, and her face fell. (Possibly. I may have exaggerated in my drunkenness.) Still, i was pleased to see that by the end of the evening she'd captured another girl in her feather boa. Not so pleased that i let this overrule my desire to get her number and force her to be my friend, though. I walked over, and, after waiting a while, tapped her on the shoulder. This was rude of me. I know this, and i'm sorry. But i'm still pleased i did, because i've been in contact with her since and she seems perfectly willing to be my friend. It still amazes me how many brilliant people there are, and how many i manage to trick into liking me. Even if they are almost entirely female as yet. (The people liking me, not the brilliant people. To the best of my knowledge.)

Also that night there was Gareth. This is one the one bad thing in my joyous last week of term. Gareth, i think, is a friend of Beth's girlfriend, Heather, and he'd told her that he liked me. Her attempts to get the two of us together weren't entirely subtle or, unfortunately, entirely welcome. I was drunk at the time, and complete unable to articulate how i felt, but i really didn't enjoy these times. A couple of times she whirled me over to him after i'd made efforts to distance myself from him in our circle, (I didn't dislike him, but i wasn't attracted to him either.) and when i'd ended up dancing with him despite my efforts, nobody seemed to notice the discomfort i thought my face was expressing quite clearly. My attempt at dissuading him, telling him that i was useless at everything was transparent and he asked "Are you saying you don't like me?" I, unable to be honest for fear of upsetting him, denied this. Things might have been easier if i hadn't. I was upset and actually quite scared, less by him and more by the fact that nobody seemed to realise how little i was enjoying this. When i looked at anyone they just grinned at me and made signs of approval. I ran away.

I realise that wasn't a sensible way to deal with things, but i wasn't feeling sensible at that point. I ran away to the toilets and hid in one of the stalls, sobbing with tears that wouldn't come. Eventually i came out again, and Sarah soon found me. I was better able to explain myself now, and she was really helpful. At the time i was confused about my feelings. I wasn't sure whether i liked him. I was mostly swayed by the fact that he liked me. I wondered if i was being silly, if i was just setting my standards ridiculously high, waiting for some beautiful boy who would never materialise. I wondered if maybe i should just try things with him.

I'm glad i didn't. So glad. Again, i have nothing against him, but i think i should at least wait until someone i like at least a little comes along. I'm probably being quite harsh again, but at least there's not much chance of this guy chancing upon my blog. And besides, i don't want just to become attracted to someone then get to know them afterwards. I want to be friends with this boy, this hypothetical man with whom i will of course spend the rest of my life, before i even so much as look at him salaciously. (I'd just like to reiterate this by pointing out that the closest i ever came to truly being in love with someone was with Maxie, who i knew beforehand, and that this, although just as fruitless as the others, was healthier and much less painful.) Besides, i already know him. I've seen him. Just his hand, but i'm pretty certain that hand's attached to a body, a head, and, most importantly, a personality. In my head i have this image of my arm raised, my fingers spread and, lightly touching them, another hand, another five fingers. That's all i know about the love of my life and right now it's all i want to. I'm still, as i'm sure i've said before, getting used to having friends, and enjoying having them too much to concentrate on love. And no, don't worry, this person was never Oli. (UL. My last infatuation.) I was clearly never going to have a healthy relationship with him.

2004-12-15T13:02:00.000Z

Everybody's pairing off for Christmas. Or it feels like that, at least. It might not be strictly true, but that's how it feels all the same. This didn't always make me feel quite so pathetic and morose. When i found out that UB had a might-be girlfriend i was ecstatic. I was so happy for her. I was grinning all over. I love her so utterly; to hear something traditionally among the highest ranks of good things happy was brilliant. But now it's all going slightly sour. I'm still happy for her, but at the same time, i'm jealous. I saw her last night, at the LGB meeting, and for the first half we talked for ages and had brilliant fun and then her might-be girlfriend turned up. They spent most of the rest of the night talking to each other. I was happy about this, mostly, but occasionally i wanted UB to myself again, and i couldn't. Although i am selfish, i do generally try not to act on my selfishness.

UA has managed to actually have a love life too, although not exactly a straightforward one. There's one girl who's sort of her girlfriend but not till next year (I think) then there's the girl who lives next door who she often kisses and loves, slightly. But in my current state of mind i'm still going to say that she's doing better in love than me.

Last night it was reported that P left in the company of someone else. As this fellow does live in the same building it could have been simply that they were just sharing a taxi back. But i'm not sure, as a lot of us who live in pretty much the same place as them (Including UL, who lives right next door.) merely walked back. But last Friday it was much more interesting. He seemed, at one point, about to embark on a bizarre three way relationship. There are these two guys who've been going out quite some time, i think. One of them's on the LGB committee, and they all flirt rather awfully with each other. And there is much kissing between them. On Friday he lolled across one of their laps, kissing the other. The three of them generally induce rather awful giggles in me. Oh, and i should point out that he has paraded naked in front of them, too. Sometimes i wish i still hated him, just so i could make the most of things like this.

And there's UD, as well. Not that i regret my reaction back then any more. I still wish the whole thing hadn't happened. There are moments when i remember it fondly, but that's not because of who he is or was, i think. I think maybe i used him. I think probably i don't care. I’ve given up trying to like him. I read his livejournal, and i wonder if he's said things in there about me that are hidden, that i can't see. They can do that with livejournals. I only ever saw a couple of entries about me. One long one, the day immediately after, and one a little while later, saying "Courting neurotic boys is hard." And then more recently, when my name was mentioned, it was accompanied by a hiss. I was a tad offended by that, and i'd never really seen anything else in there that showed this opinion. I wonder what other things he's been saying without my knowing. Anyway, he has his boyfriend too, and they seem pretty close. That all happened pretty soon after my rejection of him, which made me feel a lot better about the whole thing, as he obviously wasn't all that distressed.

And then there's the new pairing, the one that's really responsible for making me sad. UL has someone. I don't know how permanent it is. Naturally i'd still quite like to believe it isn't really at all, but i suspect that's not the case at all. I'd noticed slightly something between them last week, but then this Tuesday it really blossomed (The bitter blossom of pain, adds my melodramatic side.) and they stayed the night together. In the same room. And presumably the same bed. Possibly even the same embrace. I know UL had made it clear that he felt nothing for me, and i shouldn't still be upset, that i knew this sort of thing would happen. He's far too pretty not to end up with someone. And far too lovely. It's really a surprise he lasted this long single.

It worries me that i may end up hating this other chap. i don't want to, i liked him when i spoke to him that night, before i'd worked stuff out. He, i think, is Beth's might-be girlfriend's best friend, and he was just as excited as me, but coming at it from the other side. Although, while i tend to think of their relationship as pure and consisting mainly of hand-holding, he seemed slightly less convinced. But who knows, maybe this time some sensible part of me will take over and we'll all end up a huge happy group of friends. After all, i did manage to talk to UL in quite a friendly way last night. We talked a little, quite comfortably. Although i didn't like the result of the conversation. It seems that he, along with pretty much everyone else who comes to the LGB meetings, thinks that i am a complete alcoholic and a drunkard. Unless, as i hope, they're all just mocking me because i'm funny when i'm riled.

I had more to say. When this post was coming together in my head this morning, i had a good last paragraph planned, about how silly i am when i'm in one of my moods for being pathetic. But i've lost it again now. There is one more thing i want to talk about.

Another of the new committee members, who i'll call UI, because i have noticed certain I-like tendencies in him. Except that was a lie. I decided to call him UI, but then realised that there were things about him that remind me of I. UI joined the LGB committee at the same time as i did. We fill really quite different rôles. I am, as anyone who knows me could have pretty well predicted, the quiet one. I've spoken about fifty words so far in over a month's worth of meetings. He is much less bashful about things. He's also power mad. He is an utter megalomaniac. I've developed a habit of, when his back's turned, mouthing "Power mad! Maaaad for power!" This is always executed with a melodramatic gesture on the second mad. I feel cruel for doing it, but it really is true. He has in the past made perfectly willing comparisons between himself and Stalin. And his social skills really do rival I's He has something of his bizarre way of talking and stressing words.

2004-12-06T17:13:00.000Z

Last night i was feeling pretty glum, so i went to an all night supermarket with the express intention of getting food to binge on. I got two big slabs of chocolate, a small bar and nine packets of crisps. I made myself feel slightly better about the chocolate by buying fair trade chocolate. I went home, with something to scoff in my hand the whole way and went to my room. At first i ate so much that i felt like i was going to throw up, and i did actually try and make myself. Apparently though, not much happens when i stick two fingers down my throat. For one thing, my fingernails are prohibitively long. I tried for a while, and i got that feeling you get just before throwing up, but i didn't actually manage to throw up. On reflection, this is probably a good thing, as i can only imagine that managing it once would only make it easier the next time, and that way lies bulimia.

I felt the need to binge for a few reasons. I was feeling pretty lonely on Wednesday. I hadn't seen any of my good friends at any length since Thursday. A few months ago, in my old life, i'd have gone weeks at a time alone without getting very upset, but i've become much more dependent on people in the last couple of weeks, i think. And also, of course, back then i'd still have had my family. Particularly my little sister, R, who i have such fun with. She just turned thirteen a few days ago. I know i'm probably not meant to have favourites among my family, but really, i do, and it's her. We can be all affectionate in random ways and things. And she sits on my lap. And sometimes i lie across hers.

Another reason for my glumness was that i'm still not entirely sure what to make of thing with UL. I'm still not entirely sure whether to be happy or sad about things. I'd like to talk to him about it, but i doubt i'll see him before next Tuesday, among lots of people, so i won't really be able to talk then. And even if i actually did manage to find somewhere quiet and private to talk to him, i'd probably be useless. But i'm slightly encouraged by the fact that on Wednesday, by which time i know he knew, he was still nice to me, and friendly. And even after i'd been told, i still managed to talk and joke slightly. Even if it wasn't directly to him, he still picked up on it and responded. I suppose what will probably happen, unless he feels some need to talk to me about things, is that we'll both ignore this revelation but, hopefully, be friends all the same.

At one point, before Wednesday's news, when i still thought he might perhaps like me, i was terribly worried about things a couple of people had said. Of course, they're completely irrelevant now, but i'd still like to talk about them. The first was UA. She'd caught a look that UL had seemed to throw our group at one point, and hadn't been all too impressed by it. She told me about it later, at one of the many times i attempted to indulge my obsession, and although i'm too pig-headed actually to take anybody's advice if it goes against my own feeling, i still felt bad for the next few days, until she changed her mind.

The next blow didn't fall much later, and came from someone who'd been slightly acquainted with him back in Birmingham. He told me that UL had acquired back there a reputation for being 'a bit of a bastard'. I hadn't really seen much to confirm this point of view, but again, this could have been because i didn't want to. However, a few days later, i asked D about this, and he, good old D, gave me the impression that there was no truth to these rumours. And then, later that week, none of it really mattered anyway. Apart from it does, because i still want to be his friend. His friend who maybe occasionally wishes he were more than that, but not often, as all he really wants from life is friendships, as they seem to work so much better.

This morning i was walking along, listening to Ojos de Brujo on my CD player (I think i may actually have found in UA someone who will actually appreciate how good they are.) when i decided i'd had a revelation about how my feelings work. I had been trying to work them out a bit, since the confusion over whether or not i was upset about UL. Sometimes it had seemed that i was only feeling upset because i felt as if i ought to, and sometimes as if i was happy for the same reason. But then this morning i decided that my feeling have predictive aspect to them. The introduction to one of the sadder (though still beautiful) songs on the album came on, and as soon as i'd decided i intended to listen to it and not to skip it because it was too depressing, i started to feel sadder, before any of the particularly saddening music had started. I came to the conclusion that this meant that i was feeling depressed merely because it was inevitable that i would be depressed. And i decided that much the same principle should probably be applied to my feelings regarding larger matters. Of course, it all made a lot more sense this morning, in the privacy of my skull, but i still needed to air the idea.

2004-12-02T22:30:00.000Z

So then. UL knows. I don't seem to mind all that much. Really, my largest concern at the moment is that i worry he's known quite some time. Which surely means that all my behaviour towards him in that time has been completely transparent. And raises severe doubts in my mind as to the significance of an event i'd spent quite a while in a previous (scrapped) post rejoicing. UL had danced with me one night. It was after the LGB meeting, on a Tuesday. We went on to the pub first, as always, and i spent a while there acting up at the pool table, bringing much amusement and jollity to the onlookers, particularly including UL, who from time to time offered 'encouraging' comments. I enjoyed the attention. Later, we went on to our usual place and eventually there came a point at which UL and i were dancing in the same group. He smiled at me and, with a gait i persistently think of as a sashay, even though i'm not sure it's actually possible to sashay two steps over that short a distance. He took a stance behind me and to my right and really i don't remember much past that, except that i had a vague idea how one is meant to react in such a situation and that i didn't manage this at all. I was probably just too delirious with happiness actually o pay much attention. By which i am not implying (I've just realised a possible way of realising those last few lines.) that anything, anything, of that sort happened, of course.

And all this, this obsessing and fantasising over this and similar incidents, is ended now. It was UD that told him, although he doesn't actually remember it. This isn't the first time i've regretted him knowing the address of my blog. I always intended to be completely honest in here, and a couple of times i found myself modifying the truth slightly to protect his feelings. I still ended up sounding utterly tactless, i suppose, but the point is that i compromised my honesty. (Could i sound much more pretentious?) So he has been following the course of my obsession, and finally saw fit to tell UL about it. I don't really know how much he told him, but i'm guessing (hoping) that if it was so easily forgotten, it can't have had all too much detail. UL then spoke with P about this on Tuesday night. (Had i mentioned they were neighbours? Apparently they will also be living together next year. It worries me so much that everybody else seems already to have decided who they are going to be living with. There are one or two people i would have liked to ask, but i'm too afraid of being rejected. I had really hoped maybe that i might get to move in with UA and UB, (Yet to be revealed in her complete glory on the blog.) but the one time housing came up in a conversation between me and UA she announced that she was definitely going to be living with a girl from her corridor who she really likes. I do think she's very nice, but i hardly know her. And since then she's decided she's to be moving in with mostly people from her corridor. Which seems to be what everyone one is doing. The people in the rest of my flats seem to be doing this, and i've already mentioned UL and P, who are moving with a lot of their corridor. At the moment i'm really afraid of being left behind, homeless and alone. One girl, who i know from my French classes and do indeed like very much, sent me a text message once asking if i'd like to move in with her. I didn't know her all that well at the time, and gave an answer saying that it seemed too early to decide, but apparently it isn't, so since then she's probably filled up a house. But i've realised as i write this how unlikely it is that UB will be moving in with the people from her corridor, as it sounds like she talks with them even less than i do with mine. But she's probably got all this arranged too.) He told him (And i'm not sure of details. I would desperately love to pester P for them, but i think perhaps i shouldn't.) that i was a "very pleasant person". (To quote P) In fact, i've just this second had P tell me UL's exact words. "I feel guilty about not liking him, especially because he's such a lovely person." Now i, as the doyen of guilt, feel guilt in turn for this, for making him feel guilty, as i'm so not worth it. My life turns on huge spindles of guilt, (Ridiculously over the top metaphor on its way) spinning away, weaving together my insecurities into this tapestry (Oh Lord! I can't stop myself! I'm so sorry!) of failure. He really shouldn't feel guilty. None of it's his fault. He can hardly be blamed for my obsessive tendencies, for my utter unloveableness (Ok, not true, i know. I just tend not to be liked in that way, just as a friend. Not that i mind that. I do love it when people like me. I really, really do adore to be thought of as cute, or sweet. I was cute last night, apparently, at the alternative music night run by the LGB committee. It was on the way back from that that i found out the big news last night. I generally walk back with P and UL and the two girls that generally come out to the LGB events for a couple of reasons. One is because i live very close to the giant monolith which passes for student accommodation here and which i inhabit, and the other is that i do like them. Particularly, as we know, one of their number. The others were eating pizza in one of the many takeaways on the way home, and P and i were outside, as we had food bought from another of the takeaways, and weren't sure that the owners would want us in there, taking up their space. (I'm sure they wouldn't really have minded, but it made sense to a drunk person, and i realise now that P may have done it expressly to talk to me.) He began by telling me he had something to tell me, which would upset. He carried on in this melodramatic vein for about ten minutes, using the phrase "break your heart" at least twice, until i finally shut him up and had him tell me, as i'd pretty much worked out by now what he was talking about and was getting impatient to have it confirmed. Fortunately, as we know, it didn't break my heart, and i was later able to explain to him that it was, in a way, comforting. Because, although i obviously liked UL first because i'm shallow and he's pretty, i've also seen that he's really a pretty cool person, and i want him as a friend. And i'm never able to talk to the people i have rushes on, but now all hope of that has been crushed, i may actually be able to talk to him. I did that night, in fact, as we walked the rest of the way home. I was more involved with the conversation than usual, and i might just have spoken directly to him from time to time.) and the fact that i'm just not as attractive. It might be possible to argue that it's entirely his own fault that he's so pretty and that he should have the decency to walk around with his head in a bag or always wearing clown make up or something. But really that's just silly. (Though it does remind me a science fiction short story i once read.) There's nothing for him to feel guilty before. Even though i know i have been in the same situation myself before. Somebody liked me, loved me, he believed, but i unfortunately didn't feel the same. And i still sometimes feel guilty about that. But it's very nice to hear that UL at least thinks i'm lovely.

I was so indiscreet the whole time about my affection for him. He must have been about the only person in the LGB not to know. So i'm almost surprised it took this long. But it was nice telling people, because for some reason a lot of them seemed to want to help me. It would be selfish to assume this is any reflection on me, but we all know i'm damn well going to assume it anyway.

One of the best people was UA. I've long promised this rant on her wonderfulness and here it is, over a month overdue, and probably wildly diminished by time. So, firstly, she is wonderful. She is one of the best people i know here in Sheffield. I love her, i love her utterly. I first met her in the first week, when i went on the LGB bowling trip. Back then i didn't talk much to her, but i saw her a few times in quick succession, and the following Thursday she'd invited a few of us from the singing society back to her flat. Of the four of us there then, i was the only who remains in the society now. Three of us already knew each other from the LGB meetings, but the fourth, a girl, was someone who'd attached herself to me that evening. Later that night, when she hadn't been around, i'd asked the others if they thought she'd realised she'd stumbled across the LGB contingent of Singsoc. Many weeks later, to my surprise, it turned out that she was bisexual too, and fitted in perfectly. Or would have done, if that hadn't been the only time the four of us have ever met together.

I think UA was the second person i told about UL. P was the first, being the oldest friend i have here and my only actual connection with him, but UA was the second. I forget how, where or when i told her, but i remain convinced that i did. This was back in the days when all i actually knew of UL was that he was 'terribly pretty'.

Actually, i don't think that form the point i've reached now i can keep UA and UB separate in here any longer. A month ago, when i first planned this bit of my blog, i knew exactly what i was going to say about them both and that i was going to go through them separately, really just making a glorified list of what i liked about them. But just now i decided that i obviously can't keep them separate, as the space they fill in my head is shared between them, as they become less and less individual people and just this shape of all that is good in my life. Tears are actually pricking my eyes now as i realise how inadequate what i'm saying is to how i feel about these two people. On Tuesday, the three of us were in a corner, (The tears have now left my eyes and are rolling gently down my nose. I'm enjoying this, the first salty trickles to drip down my face in such a long time.) just hugging, and saying to each other "You are the two best people i've met in the whole of Sheffield". Well, mostly. UA has another person, the girl i've already mentioned, but really we can forgive her for that. A week and a half ago we mocked up a marriage ceremony, where UA (Who is ordained in the state of California, apparently.) made us pseudo wife and pseudo husband. We then immediately elected her our mistress.

I've never really had this before. I'm able to be touchy-feely with these two, to attain skinship (Our linguistics teacher loves this word and wants us to popularise it. It actually is an English word sort of, in that all of it come from English, but via Japanese. It means physical intimacy, but in a non-sexual context. I think i rather like it too.) in a way i haven't before. Even J, so frequently flaunted as my best friend (I saw J at the weekend. I went home for speech night, as i'd won the French prize (P was incredibly bitter about that.) and on the Saturday i saw J. Oh, but i should say a brief word about speech night itself. E was there. We remember E? The boy i introduced in my very first entry as the boy i was obsessed with. I've taken you through all my experiences with him, right to the end, with that final e-mail. (Which is lost now. Sort of. The e-mail account i'd used to send him e-mails, and the one he'd replied to, was abandoned a long time ago, accidentally destroying that e-mail in the process. However, in the subsequent days i had shared this e-mail with a couple of people, so i was able to find an intact copy in the e-mail archives of another account. It's now saved somewhere, under the title "E's letter". I don't know why i need to keep it, but i do.) Well, he was there on Friday, collecting a prize for something... i really can't remember what, but it wasn't an academic subject, i think. He is still good-looking, but no longer is he the most beautiful creature ("Creature"? What an abhorrent choice of language there.) ever to enter my world. I had imagined he might be there, and i'd even gone so far as to suggest to myself that i might speak to him, but obviously i didn't. I didn't really even acknowledge him, which was obviously not the best thing to do, but it doesn't matter any more. The point is that i found out that i no longer feel anything at all for him. Perhaps now i can't obsess over UL any more there'll be a brief resurgence in my affection for him, but there probably won't, and even if there is it won't matter all that much. Besides, P says he has a girlfriend now.

Then on Saturday i went into Birmingham to see J. It was so good to see him again, but odd as well. Immediately before i left i told him i was in love with him (again), and by his lack of conclusive response i assumed that he did not feel the same. But this time when i saw him i didn't feel like that at all. He was just my friend. For quite some time we went round doing really very little. I felt camper than i ever had before. I'm not sure why, whether university has actually made me freer with my sexuality, or whether i just perceive that it has. But it was so brilliant to see him again, and now i want to be somewhere where i'm dancing and he's dancing too. It turns out, although i'm terrible at it, i really love to dance. And this must be at least partially responsible for my recent weight loss. Since leaving home i have lost one and a half stone. (I know i should use kilos, but my parents still think in stones and it's confused me.) This is partly through all the dancing, i'm sure. Doubtless, it also owes something to the fact that i walk to the university and back, about twenty minutes each way, six times a week and that my eating habits have become decidedly irregular. (But this is made up for by my frequent binging. Today i bought a huge bag of kettle chips and a bag of fudge on the way home.) I am now no longer considered fat by that BMI graph thingy. I am, finally, reassuringly, normal, although still not quite distributed how i would like.

So i do love to dance, and i prefer it while drunk and with lots of friends dancing with me. Before i left home i danced all on my onw, in my bedroom, but that was it. Now i often dance, sometimes for hours on end (Apart from the occasional moments when i need more alcohol.) and i would dearly love to be able to be dancing with J, and to make him like all my new university friends. (Sometimes i still feel like, even though he's quite a way away now, i need his approval before i can actually be pleased with the way my life's going.) I would utterly love to drag him along to the union's monthly LGB night, but that would be hard, as i suppose these things have the same age restrictions as everywhere else. And if i wait for him to actually be of age, i won't even be in the country.

But i can dance with UA and UB and have wonderful doing it, even if UB does need to be quite drunk in order to feel able to dance. (I'm actually the same, but i get drunk quicker, so it isn't as noticeable.) And i can have skinship with them too. Last Tuesday we were all three standing in the corner, and there was much hugging and stating that "You two are my favourite people in the whole of Sheffield." and assertions of love. Earlier today i went with UA to one of the free lunchtime concerts the music department puts on every week and when she noticed i was getting slightly glum (Because of the new developments with UL. When i'd first heard i was actually quite happy about it, as i decided that this would make it easier to be his friend, but at that time i was drunk and either more capable of rational thought or just numb. Since then i haven't been quite so happy about the whole thing, as i'd still like, just once, to touch him, feel his hair and his skin. But all along all i've ever really wanted is friends. They mean so much more to me. And friendships seem to be less complicated, as there's generally less selfishness involved. (Although that isn't so true of me, when i get possessive of my friends. That's something UA and UB have to look forward to.) And, of course, there's the fact that i'm more in demand as a friend than anything else. I've always been rather asexual. I thought i'd slightly escaped that, particularly by coming out as gay, but really it's true, i am still not entirely suited to that sort of relationship. Which has led to the resurgence of my theory that i only love (And yes, i know the word 'love' here is an exaggeration, but it's better than any other words i have.) people who won't ever love me back, purely for that reason. They will never love me back, and so i'll never have to deal with a relationship. Of course, this is probably nonsense and the problem is that i'm actually just confused about what i deserve. (Oh, and there was that whole thing of E selfishly being straight, which also contributed to his not liking me.)) (This always happens. I start off, bouyant and excited about a new post, and then lose track three thousand words later, mired in a sea of parentheses. It's actually Friday now, but i was working on this till two o'clock last night when it abruptly deleted five hundred words, so i left it to pick up again today.) she put her head on my shoulder. It was lovely. And then the day before we'd been walking round simply for ages, arm in arm. It took her a while to notice that i'd put my arm through hers, making me the lady of the pair, but she didn't mind. And i remember the night UB and i had our pseudo marriage, when UA had invited us back to her flat after the union gay night, seeing UA sitting on her bed with UB between her legs, and they were all cute and huggy. It really does upset me that i can't explain how much these two rock, how much i love them, so i think i'll haveto give up and move on.

UM is pretty exceptional among my new friends, because she's the only one among the people i would consider my good friends who isn't gay. Not that all my new friends are utterly gay, of course. UA is bisexual. For all i know, so might UM be. But my point is that i don't know her from LGB meetings. I have two circles of friends here, really, and she is one of them on her own. I first met her in my French oral classes, which we have in groups of about six people. (We have no oral exams, it just works on the basis of continual assessment through the course.) I was slightly late and had to take the only place left, the one next to her. I was to nervous that day to lift my head to eye level, so i had no idea what she looked like, but i heard her, because she spoke a lot. And, unlike the other talkative person in out group, she has a very good accent. Really, really, very good. So i, sitting between her and the French woman taking the class, was quite nervous. When the class ended and we all stood up to leave, she started talking to me and she had me just as astounded with her English accent as her French. I'm terrible with accents, so i had no idea what hers was, but it was incredibly thick, whatever it was. And when she spoke to me, she was just as talkative as she had been in the lesson. We split up to go down the paternosters (A very special and cool kind of lift.) but then at the bottom i ran after her, as she was the only person who'd spoken to me in a while, and i'd realised that i could actually talk back, to an extent. So i caught up with her and we walked back together. (She lives on the huge area of student accommodation that i'm near to.) She did most of the talking.

Since then i've stuck by her in every French lesson that's possible in, and seen her a couple of other times as well. We both went to the French social, where i clung onto her again, and we both got really rather drunk, enabling me to come out to her. I was desparate to know if she'd realised. (I'm still rather eager that people should be able to tell. I was so happy when one girl from my flats came up to me and said "You're gay, aren't you?") She said she'd thought i was, but hadn't wanted to ask. I had to leave after a while though, as i wanted to go the rest of the LGB meeting, which was on the same night. I managed to meet up with the others at the pub, and had a lot of fun, as i was already very drunk.

I seem particularly inclined to be friends with girls. I was, even all the way back in primary school, until they all decided boys just weren't good enough, and i drifted away from them. (Actually, that's probably not how things happened at all. I really can't remember, it was a long time ago.) Then, of course, i spent seven years at a boys school and had no life outside it, so the only girls i met were the female teachers, although even then i think i did generally get on better with them. I always thought this was just because i'm gay, that the stereotype had to be true in some respects and this was one of them. But apparently i'm exceptional even among fellow homosexuals. I specifically remember a time when a lot of people were sitting around two tables and by very subtle movement, people came to arrange themselves with all the cahps round one table and the ladies round the other. Apart from one fellow, well and truly wedged among the girls. Me. I don't mind, really, not at all. I seem to be more comfortable talking with girls. But i can only see this as highlighting my utter asexuality, that i seem to have so little interest in boys. Because it isn't so much that i'm scared of talking to them, just that i generally seem to feel better talking about things with girls. Even if the girls happen to be generally lesbians, about whom gay men seem so often to be represented as the most prejudiced.

I really don't think i can write anymore. I actually feel close to fainting, and it's only four thousand words. Goodbye.

2004-11-01T14:51:00.000Z

I've left this thing far too long again. I think i'm going to have to work through things thematically instead of chronologically. (My memory is not really up to delving back four whole weeks.) And i need to work as much of it as i can into one coherent entry.

Firstly, i need to talk about UD, as my relationship with him is currently the one most likely to make me burst into tears.

So. I've got up to our second meeting, where things were mostly resolved. We agreed to be friends. This, it seems now, hasn't worked. About a week, i think (Possibly two) after this discussion i went home for the weekend. (I'd hoped i might get to see J again, but no such luck.) Much of my time there was spent on the internet, talking on MSN to all those people i hadn't heard from in ages, lacking internet access in my room. One of the people i spoke to was UD, who'd added me a while ago. The conversation didn't go all that brilliantly. I was... i was rather similar to how i often am in conversation with P. I was frequently snide, and corrected a lot of what really didn't need much correction and generally a piggywig. I've told myself that this was deliberate. To the best of my knowledge, he still had some affection for me. I told myself i was doing him a favour. Not that i'm saying that i acted this part of a bastard. Just that i was selective about which parts of myself i let show. He'd already met my main façade - the naïve, bookish, fluff haired bumbler. Now i let him see the other aspects of myself, the ones that i don't like. (Much as i may complain about my ignorance of the world and other parts of myself, i've grown attached to them.) And he didn't like them either.

He asked why i was being mean. I explained that this is what i'm like online, or in situations where i feel more comfortable talking. This is true, or it has truth to it. But generally even when i'm looser about my personality i try to keep a rain on bits of myself. I will always, inevitably, let slip various insults (I recently said to UA "Everyone hates you" in a jokey-ish manner. I didn't expect her to be offended, as it is so blatantly untrue. (Everybody loves UA. Somehow she seems to know everyone, everyone at least from the LGB, and she is able to talk to them all. I get really quite jealous of her, how popular she is after only six weeks, but i remind myself of how priveleged i am to be her friend. To be, perhaps, (I'm afraid to say this, as afraid as i was to hazard that i was J's best friend, for fear of being immediately contradicted.) among her closest friends her at Sheffield.) She was however, rather upset by this (Justifiably, i know. I may not have meant it even in the slightest, but i still shouldn't have said it. But sometimes it's so hard to keep myself from being an utter bastard. I think to an extent (This is abominable, i know.) i use P as an outlet for this.) and say things i shouldn't. I used even to get randomly violent, but i seem to have curbed that at least.

But i did too well in showing him my bad parts. It seems of late that he sees me as irredeemably awful. And there doesn't seem much i can do to dissuade him. Especially as i'm so afraid that he's right.

He's got a boyfriend now. I may have spoken to him, i'm not sure, but only when i was drunk. But from the little i know he seems perfectly lovely. I consoled myself with this, trying to appease my guilt somewhat by pointing out to myself that he must be happier with him than anybody could with me. But, says UD, i'm not allowed even this respite: "That's not entirely the point. But I accept your apology."

There was a party on Saturday, for Hallowe'en, held by a couple of people from the LGB committee. (Who deserve letters, when i can be bothered.) I went. UD went, with his boyfriend and various other people of his acquaintance. (I spoke to one of them. I'd had enough alcohol to be positively loquacious. I wish i hadn't now, as in my sobriety i seem able only to recognise boredom and disdain in an expression indecipherable, at the time, to someone at the height of his selfishness.) P went too.

My memories of Saturday night are hazy. Mainly i remember coming down the stairs, at one point, to see UD coming up, looking for P. I said something (I've forgotten what, as has he, but he postulated "you perhaps asked me if I was looking for you." I don't see at all why i would said that out of the blue, but mortifyingly, he's much more likely to be right about it than me.) which obviously annoyed him and he responded that there were people other than me. I don't know why that hurt so. I've said so many times that i'm selfish and i know it's true. It's silly of me to expect to be the only one who recognises this. But it did hurt, and the next day i sent him an e-mail. I don't think it was taken entirely in the spirit it was sent. I'd meant it apologetically, trying both to work out what i'd done as well as to apologise for it. But apparently i came across as quite patronising. He said, in his reply, "Great. Now that I have your acceptance as being a "great chap", I can finally feel good about myself... (!)" (I had just made the point that i'd made too good a job of showing off my bad side and that i wished i hadn't. I suppose that possibly he was insulted by my phraseology. But 'chap' is just a word i like to use, and doesn't quite the implications for me as it has for other people. Of course, it could be that actually i was incredibly patronising. (Oh, and the bracketed exclamation mark is a symbol i'd only seen used when watching programs with subtites before, but it means that the speaker is being sarcastic.) I think i have a better idea of how P felt, back when everything he said to me seemed so incredibly patronising. I really am a horrible, horrible person.)

He ended with a response to my final apology "Sorry again about the cd. And about everything. About being me. (But i'll never change)" (He'd lent me a CD at our last meeting. I'd only returned it on Saturday.) He said "Indeed. For someone that hates himself so much, you're very stuck in your ways. That's complexity for you." So that's another person convinced of my deep self-hatred. While not himself seeming to have a very high opinion of me either (Is it me, or is that quite hypocritical?). And i, once again, am forced to point out (To myself as much as anyone.) that i have not got low self-esteem. I have far too high an opinion of myself. But i also happen to be capable of rational thought, and i know that i am riddeld with flaws. And i have very little self-confidence. That i'll admit to.

Whcih brings us to the end of my section on UD and gives me a choice of two topics, much more cheerful. (Unfortunately, i've depressed myself now, and i may not convey my enthusiasm adequatly.) I now must decide between talking about UA and talking about the object of my newest crush.

Actually, i'll talk briefly of UE first. Already my affection for him has waned. This is at least partly due, i'm sure that in about the past three weeks i've only seen him once, for about five minutes. Perhaps if i start once again to see more of him i will fall again. But i hope not.

And so then, i come to the boy who currently holds the highest place in my affections. I will call him UL, despite my vague suspicion that there may already be a UL. I first saw him some weeks ago, at the second LGB meeting P had come to. The first time he had brought two girls, twins, from his floor, and he now brought both them and another person, who had been described to me previously. What P had left out of his description was that UL was terribly pretty. (I'm almost tempted to capitalise that. Everytime i have to describe him, i say he is "terribly pretty". Always with those two words. I'm not sure why. There's more to that 'terribly' than just emphasis, i know that. He's so heart-stoppingly pretty (You know, even if i wanted to say 'beautiful' i'm not sure i could. The word seems bound to E, even though i am loong over him.) that sometimes i actually fear him.) And UL is indeed terribly pretty. My gaze, the whole evening (The meeting was about gay rights) was stuck on him. Afterward, P introduced us. All i managed was a hello, but P had us shake hands. I, quite rudely i'm sure, turned quickly back to the person i'd been speaking to before. That was essentially the extent of my acquaintance with him for the moment. (Ignore my attempts to instill tension, our relationship isn't much stronger now.)

Last Tuesday was the LGB Hallowe'en party. I went along, my lone concession to the fact that it was costume party a furry hat, my favourite and oldest hat. Still, i was dressed more for the occasion than most. In fact, UA was the only person wearing anything in the way of a costume. She was rather impressively dressed as a vampire (Save the pointy teeth) and felt forced to spend the entire evening hiding in the corner.

I won one of the three party games we played, and won the best prize of the evening, a hallowe'en surprise bag, filled with all sorts of treats. It made me slightly more able to talk to people, too, as often when people asked after its contents even i could manage to answer that one. Actually, by rights, the prize should have gone to UA, as it had been intended as a prize for the best costume, but she didn't seem to mind my having it all that much. (I did offer it to her at least once.)

Afterward, we moved on to the pub, the same as each week. (Although there had been some debate over this, thanks to the homophobic behaviour the week before of the bar staff.) I believe, towards the end of or time there, i may have been part of the same conversation as UL, but that was it. And so we went to Dempsey's. Dempsey's is Sheffield's gay bar. I rather like it, generally, although often the people in there can seem rather scary and predatory. Fortunately, we're almost always there in quite large groups.

P was very drunk. He danced salaciously with just about everyone he could, and did worse, too. I, of course, was spared his attentions, as he did once declare that i was too fat for him to find attractive. And still i had liitle contact with UL. He danced quite a lot with someone of whom i am really rather jealous, as i've frequently noticed them together. P said that this fellow had once stayed the night in UL's bed, but not, he believed, in a sexual context.

Gradually people left, until only a few of us were left to represent the LGB, all dancing together in one group. I like how UL dances. I hate the way i do.

The music stopped. The night was at an end and we all poured out. Six of us resolved to walk back. One of those six was him. I complained about the way we were going back. My complaints that walking into the city centre and out again was not the most sensible method of getting home were largely ignored. I felt vindicated though, when UL himself later noted that in fact there was a much quicker way we could have taken. I didn't put as much effort as i should have into not being smug.

Two of the girls with us peeled off after a while and we were only four. Matters arranged themselves so that i was walking on the outside of our group, four abreast. Next to me was UL. We talked quite a bit, i think. UL comes from Birmingham and in fact knew someone who went to my old school, (Who was in my english class.) so there were a few things we were able to talk about. We talked most of the way home. I'd sobered up slightly, but was still drunk enough to carry on a conversation. Eventually i turned off onto the road to my slums and they carried on along the road which carried them home. I went home and changed the night in my imaginings. I'd invited them round to watch a film. Amélie, as it's the only one i have. We sat on my bed, me in the corner, UL next to me. Our hands found each other, somehow, in the course of the film. That was as much as i allowed myself before i slept.

After that i didn't see him much really. Only once before the next big thing. Here, in the computer room, he was a little way from me. He must have seen me. I wanted desperately to look up at him, smile, wave, something of that sort. But whenever i did he was looking away and i couldn't bring myself to call out to him. So i ended up averting my gaze almost as soon as it rested on him each time. He could have been doing the same and i wouldn't have known, but frankly i doubt that.

And then he too was at the Hallowe'en party. He and P live in rooms almost opposite each other, so i wasn't all that surprised. I'd been hoping he'd come. When he arrived all i'd had to drink was a plastic cup of mulled wine, (Not really to my taste, i quickly discovered.) so i wasn't much good for conversation. But still, he spoke to me, asking what i was meant to be. (Not in the derisory tone i've somehow implied.) I replied that i didn't know. (Only true to an extent. In my head i'd decided i was a black sheep (My costume was a black, eared hat, once rather furry and lupine, now sadly fluffy and bovine. I was also wearing a spiked dog colllar a friend of UA's had been kind enough to lend me. I'd borrowed it occasionally from UA at the LGB Hallowe'en and had been told that if i could borrow it again, that and the hat would suffice as a costume. That, of course, was before the hats sad accident in the tumble dryer, but i couldn't manage anything better.) but that seemed far too silly to actually say aloud, so i always just said that i didn't know.)

Later, i was much drunker. Much drunker. When drunk i am inclined to exaggerated motions of stumbling and staggering, which weren't perhaps appropriate for this small, packed room, where i stood (Mostly) right by a carved pumpkin with a few tealights inside. UL and a girl i'd met only that evening forced me to sit down. And we talked, although i doubt i said much that was very likely to impress him.

He manages to be that talkative, camp kind of person i've been jealous of for years, but known i could never join the ranks of. I really like his voice, actually. There's a brumminess to it, but this is... not cancelled out, but his is about the only brummy accent i can tolerate, because of the campness in it.

When the party ended, we were among the last to leave. P stayed. He'd already once been caught sharing somebody's bed (This was where he'd been when he went missing. (Apparently, though, he'd had to break off half way through to go to the toilet and vomit.)) and now it seemed he was staying the night in it. Which left three (Three! Darn third wheel! Vainly, i recently let myself believe that mr thrid whell there might be attracted to me, but i've since decided he must have more sense than that and that i've never been any good at judging these things anyway, so i'll assume he isn't unless something happens to persuade me (Although at the time i was pretty persuaded by his arm round my waist. Hopefully he was just trying to steady me or something.)) of us to take a taxi back to our part of Sheffield. (We were too far away to walk, we were told, though i'm slightly dubious of that.) The taxi driver (And this makes me grin at the very least.) struck up a conversation extolling the virtues of Sheffield girls. We are all three, let me remind you, gay. Yet UL, who was sitting in the front seat (He'd gone to sit next to me in the back (Make of that what you will. But i'm sure you can guess how i've construed it) but had been called to the front by the driver. Imagine. Had he sat where he'd originally intended i'd have spent ten minutes pressed against him, perhaps even being jostled together as the taxi drove along.) managed to keep up the conversation with him, without him becoming any the wiser to our sexuality.

At the other end we parted, and that was about it. I passed him today, on the way from one of my classes and he presumably on the way to one of his, but either he didn't see me or simply ignored me. Or it wasn't him. I'm not certain that i was wearing my glasses.

Which brings me to the end of the section on UL. I may have to postpone UA, (Although i'm so desparate for you all to like her.) as this entry is currently over three thousand words and i don't feel much past halfway, as there are at least three more people to come. (I was thinking how to continue as i wrote the last three thousand words. I have a vague plan for how this should go) I fear i'd be doing each one of them a tremendous disservice in attemping to introduce them now, as i'm getting quite tired. I may have started this at three o'clock, but i've twice interrupted myself, once while the computers actually died, this whole roomful of them. I had intended to get all this done before tomorrow evening, when i'm going to Manchester, (This will obviously need to be reported, as i fully expect to have tremendous fun, but i don't want to give up this topic yet.) but this is obviously not going to happen. So i'll publish now and save further ravings for another day. (Wednesday, with luck.)

2004-10-18T13:55:00.000+01:00

I had another bit of a nap earlier on the train. I'm back in Sheffield now, in the LGB lounge. I came up here because i though i'd get a chance to crow about the concert, but i don't think that's going to happen. And if i can't do it today i'll feel a fool any other time. Oh well.

I was on 5the dancefloor, dancing, when i saw Jake Shears come down. He was surrounded by a knot of people. I wanted to go to speak to him, but i couldn't, and eventually he passed on. Not long after i saw Ana Matronic, but i couldn't speak to her either, and i soon lost sight of her.

Jake came back though. Oh yes. I tried to gradually work my way over to him, but it was ard. He didn't really stay still and of course he was surrounded constantly. I gave up at one point and asked one of the others, who i'd talked to earlier, to introduce me. She simply spurred me on to speak to him and this actually worked. I walked over again and the minute i'd a chance stepped up; i was right in front of him. I only remember three sentences passing between us, so i may have to start believing that i've forgotten a little thanks to my drunkenness, although i suspect this may actually be rather an accurate rendition of our conversation.

I went up to him and said "I think i'm just about drunk enough to talk to you." I don't think he said anything, so i continued "Could i possibly have a hug from you?" although possibly with an 'um' or three for good measure.

"Of course," he said.

I hugged him

I hugged him! I hugged Jake Shears! I hope the magnitude of this is clear. I hugged Jake Shears, quite possibly the best looking man i have ever met. I've come to terms now with the fact that this was actually real - that i did really hug Jake shears and he hugged me back. (Although no kissing took place. I was really worried i might start believing that, but apparently even i'm beyond crediting something so far-fetched.)

After the hug i don't remember saying anything. I assume i just walked off, and i'm wondering now if actually that was rather rude. I wish i'd stayed and said more to him, but i think asking for a hug was already pushing my limits, really. I am content.

Especially since, not only did i hug Jake Shears, but i met Ana Matronic too. Someone, won over by my shyness, introduced me to her and i've completely forgotten what passed between us but she hugged me too! I hugged two whole members of Scissor Sisters!

Eventually the party began to slow down and one of the rooms was deserted, so i moved to the other, smaller room. Someone rushed past me, a girl i'd danced with rather a lot that evening, and when i waved at her she grabbed at me and ordered me to follow (This has so much the air of a dream about it. I'm almost not believing it again.) I did, of course, and soon found myself in a train of people following Ana Matronic up a spiral staircase. At the top were the entire band except Jake (Still dancing away downstairs) and various people from the support acts. It was amazing. Here i was, in a small room, only about twenty or thirty people in here, holding court to the Scissor Sisters.

There followed more introductions. I was introduced to Del Marquis first, and later Babydaddy, and they were both utterly, utterly lovely in the few moments of conversation i was able to maintain with each of them. I didn't meet Paddy Boom though. The onlt straight male in the band, he was on a sofa surrounded by girls. (Including, i think, his mother.) Not much later, someone turned the lights on and off, signalling it was time for things to end. Nobody paid much attention, but i decided it was about time i left. As i got to the top of the stairs, Jake was coming up and i was able to stand aside to let him pass. The man with him quickly accosted the fellow who'd turned off the lights and they both seemed to get rather angry rather quickly. I hurried off.

Downstairs was now completely empty. Evidently all that remained of the party was in that little upstairs room and i'd abandoned it. I regret that slightly, but i'd had a brilliant night.

On the way out i was able to collect one of the tickets that, on the way in, had been taken off each of us. I'd been annoyed then, but i remembered people thrusting their hands into a huge bag of discarded tickets on the way out of the Albert Hall, and i discovered we could do the same here. I was very pleased. They were good tickets, it'll make an excellent souvenir. At least i'll be able to assuage my fears that it wasn't real.

2004-10-18T09:19:00.000+01:00

I thought it might be best to get some sleep, so i slept from five till seven. Pretty soon i'll get back to vaguely normal sleep patterns, i'm sure.

Before the show, H and her friend had mentioned that they were going to the after show party. I'd heard a little about this before and asked if they had to pay for their tickets. They said no and that, in fact, H had asked to see if there might be a spare one for me, but it had seemed unlikely.

Still, i tagged along anyway and when we met up with the others it appeared, after some logistical experimentation, that i would be able to have a spare ticket. I was going to a party hosted by the Scissor Sisters!

The club was in Charing Cross. It was called Rouge. The larger of the two rooms, with a black and white tiled dance floor at one end, onto which spiralled a staircase which, we later learned, led to the Scissor Sisters' more private party, had a bar all down one wall and was decorated all over in Scissor Sisters iconography and paraphernalia. As well as the prosaically clad bar staff, Rouge was populated by various dancers, dressed in a style reminiscent of the Montmartre club from which i assume this place takes its name. They drifted around the two rooms, sometimes simply dancing or wafting past in a breath of perfumed air, sometimes offering round glasses filled with sweets or an erotic looking snake. (When i wrote this down this morning that said 'exotic', but this is what it looked like i'd written now i've come to type it up, and actually i think this is more appropriate.)

I was still in a daze, and it took me quite a while to realise that the bar was free. They were giving away alcohol. You didn't have to pay. I would probably have drunk more than i did were it not for the fact that my Vodka and Coke's already tasted stronger than i suspected they should. Even the single, usually quite effectively masked by the cola had a suggestion of accidentally inhaled hairspray to it. (Although naturally now it's a long time since i used hairspray.) But i drank enough to loosen my tongue and my limbs. I lost a little of my reticence, and grinned and giggled the rest of the way.

I had a brilliant time, would have done even without the promise that we would soon be joined by our adored hosts. I met quite a few people from the Scissor Sisters forum, really great chaps (Chaps of both sexes) the lot of them. Once again my shyness earned me the label of 'sweet'. It isn't that i don't adore being thought of as cute and sweet, it's just that i don't think that opinion of me generally lasts long.

2004-10-18T03:51:00.000+01:00

Oh my giddy God. I'm far too excited to tell all this chronologically, so you'll hear about the last few days rather disjointedly.

The phrase currently buzzing around in my head keeps being changed changed. It should most certainly not be “I can't believe i kissed Jake Shears,” because that is untrue. What it should be, and what it started as, is “I can't believe i hugged Jake Shears.” That is not true.

For yes, tonight was the night of my long awaited jaunt to see the Scissor Sisters in concert. Roughly ten hours ago i turned up at the Royal Albert Hall. I'd arrived from Sheffield at around a quarter past two, and had spent the intervening time finding my hotel, cleaning myself up, getting and getting slightly wet on the way to my closest tube station.. At the Albert Hall, after some fiddling with my phone, i found the girl i was supposed to meet up with, (I think that’s how she’s customarily been referred to.) and soon proved that i was as reticent as promised.

Eventually, we were admitted to the actual part of the Hall where the performance would take place. We ('We' being actually quite a few people – all except me at their most recent gig of many.) were at the beginning of the queue when the doors opened, and secured places at the very front (the VERY front) of the auditorium. We were able to hang over the barrier, slightly less tiring, i'm sure, than having to stand completely unaided. The concert was pretty much on time, as far as i could tell, and eventually, after two support acts, (Actually rather good. I intend to investigate Le Tigre at least a little.) an interval and a DJ (Twice - one at the start of each half.) the Scissor Sisters came on.

The stage was, by this point, hidden by a huge white curtain. The intro to Electrobix (Rather scary, as introductions go.) came on at the same time as their silhouettes appeared on the back of the gauzy curtain, which soon fell, as they started Laura.

It was utterly amazing. I sort of remember which songs were played and in what order, but i'm not terribly inclined to share this information. I do remember that they played their versions of Franz Ferdinand's Take Me Out and i liked it a lot more than last time i heard it.

And Jake, Jake Shears, was utterly gorgey. I've seen pictures of him before, and briefly on TV, but this time i saw him in the flesh. Within spitting distance. (Assuming most people to be able to spit further than me.) And absolutely stunning. He wore this suit which i thought at first was gold, but after a while decided was more brassy in colour, made of what i think (I'm not great with fabrics.) was lamé. The trousers were so tight as to make the breath catch in your throat and the jacket (I forget if it was armless and was therefore, technically, a waistcoat.) was hardly there. It came only halfway down his back (Revealing, to my leering delight, two symmetrical muscles above the waist which would go on to form... the tops of his legs.) and exposed almost his entire chest, perfectly sculpted and lightly haired as it it. I could not take my eyes off him.

All previous obsessions have had to be cleared out. (Not loves – J's still trapped firmly in here.) No more fantasising about E! (Though i had already pretty much stopped.) No more (For the moment) stalking UE (Although i have done rather well. I haven't followed him since the last time i reported on my infatuation apart from one day (purely, i swear, by coincidence) our paths crossed many times.) For now i think only of Jake.

I can't remember the last time i lusted like that. There was little stirring in the region of my groin, but the rest of me felt quite inclined to swoon. Actually, seriously, to swoon.

I wanted desperately for him to notice me, for him to look at me and see me, grinning loonishly at him, clapping. Unfortunately, everyone else wanted the same and being in the front row is still not guaranteed to get you noticed by the most gorgeous man in your universe.

And so the show went on, with me gazing endlessly at Jake, my eyes as deep as i could get them. (Twice now my eyes have been described as deep. This really means nothing to me, and i've no idea what it means to them, but it's a compliment all the same, and sounds nice.) He's well known for his exhibitionism and the jacket was eventually discarded, (Briefly replaced by an immense feathery thing for Comfortably Numb, but that soon went too and he wore nothing above the waist.) making it even harder not to leer at him. I gazed and i gazed and i gazed.

The concert was absolutely incredible. But that wasn't all.

2004-10-05T13:09:00.000+01:00

I've lost my voice. It's all because of last Thursday. I joined the Singer's Society, you see, and that was the first meeting. I sat with the tenors, as i still refuse to sing bass. (I stayed, at my old school, in the alto section later than anyone else in my year. When i finally moved down to the tenors, in year eleven, it was only because the music teacher and head of the choir (Who left in my last year, meaning choir was put in the charge of a man generally regarded as incompetent. There was only one choir meeting in my last year at the school. (Just to clarify, although in year eleven choir was useful in my stalking of E, that was incidental to my membership - i'd joined because i loved so very much to sing, but wasn't good enough to find any outlet for this but choir.)) had decreed that everyone in year ten or above was to move to the tenor section. (Enabling my subsequent gazing at the back of E's neck.)) The purpose of this meeting, apparently, also had a social dimension, and at one point we were forced to mingle, to find and sit next to someone (Within our own section.) who we didn't yet know and to talk to them. I found myself next to a girl, which was something of a surprise, but considering i still wish i were an alto, (At the least. I'd kill to be a treble. Perhaps i'd even agree to become a castrato, were it not too late.) i wasn't all too shocked. She was nice, although i obviously wasn't able to talk much.

The songs we sang were fun. Well, the first two. First we sang a Zulu song, and then some folk song from New Zealand. (This did involve having to yell at one point "THE FLAMING PUB'S ON FIRE" in a strong antipodean accent, and i didn't quite manage to pull that bit off. Otherwise, tough, i did rather well.

Then we had a break, for drinks, and as i began climbing down the steps to leave, i saw a girl i'd first met at the bowling two weeks ago this Wednesday, who will from now be known as UA. I'd managed to talk with her a little then, but i hadn't expected the two of them (Her and the other girl, beside her.) would think much of me. But then last Tuesday i saw them both again, they were sitting by me, and i was able to impress them with my Scoubidous, (Little keyringy things and the like made from knotting together plastic threads. They look pretty complicated, so people tend to be a little impressed. They serve a double purpose. They provide something for me to talk about with whoever's kind enough to approach me and they give me something to look at, getting round my problems with eye contact.) out of which i was currently making a pink helicopter. I'd said then that i'd come to the pub with them later, but in the end i didn't feel i could and went home to sulk. (I assume we all know why.)

On Thursday, at singsoc, she accosted me about this and forced (I am exaggerating.) me to promise that i'd come to the pub with them. (Them now being her and another fellow who'd been near us at last Tuesday's meeting.) She said she'd heard me singing earlier, (Having presumably already recognised me.) which surprised me, as i thought i'd been very quiet. I usually am, after all. I didn't ask if she'd thought i was any good, too afraid that she'd answer truthfully.

After the second half (In which we sang a song by Fauré (Famous for writing Pavane.) which was utterly mangled by various awful French accents, one so loud that i was actually dragged into the wake of its bad pronunciation.) everyone was supposed to go on to a pub. There was much discussion of where to go, until one of the union bars was settled on. When we got there, it was packed, and after a fruitless wait to be served, the four of us (Three from the LGB plus my new female tenor friend, her neck conspicuously sporting an ichthus on a chain.) elected to go to the bar at UA's halls of residence.

It was quite a long walk, but eventually we got there. We stayed in the bar for quite a while. Another of my giggling fits began to come on, partly inspired by the bad music. It was a karaoke night, and some of the performers where truly, truly awful. Near the end, the four of us decided we would have a pop at it. (That is, the three of them decided and i, being the eternal hanger-on, followed them, reluctantly.) We sang Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen. I have no idea how good we were. Sometimes i sang, but often i leant on the window behind me (Perhaps not very wise.) and giggled. By the end of the song we appeared to have been joined by most of the previous performers. (Although a number of the previous performers had in fact been the same person, so the stage wasn't as swamped as it might sound.)

At one point the female tenor left for the bar, and i hurriedly inquired of the others whether they thought she realised she'd stumbled across the LGB component of singsoc. (I rather like that abbreviation, actually.) UA's sexuality was obvious, as she'd earlier discussed arranging her weekend in order to be able to "snog a girl", (And i still can't say 'snog' seriously.) and the other chap seemed rather camp, but i worried about myself. I'm never able to explicitly say that i'm gay, but i never used to think i had to. However, some of the surprised reactions of my friends (Wow, this was ages ago now. I think i've now been out roundabout a year. Although not if i'm counting from when it became public knowledge.) have convinced me that my sexuality isn't that obvious. I choose to think this is more the fault of my deep introversion and painful shyness rather than that actually, i'm not very camp, though i really do fear (It's true, i do! I'm such a fool.) that the latter may be the case.

Anyway, afterward we went to UA's bedroom for a while. That was nice. We drank a little more (I'd never had Bailey's before - it's rather nice.) and talked and giggled (Mostly me) and i revived my old habit (Not very old, in truth. I was still doing it with my sister when i left.) of repeating what people say. My sister and i would have tremendous volleys like this, picking up on something said and repeating, offering variations on the theme, and, indeed, having entire mock conversations. One of our favourites is to mock our mother for her (imagined) stinginess, which has a specific way now in which it must be expressed. One of us begins, either with "Money doesn't grow on trees." or "I'm not made of money.", then the other replies with the other phrase, and we finally both chorus "Why, if i had a pound for every time i spent a pound...", a wonderful piece of nonsense. My sister's, actually. It was a lot of fun, ridiculous as it might sound now. It was a way of excluding the rest of the world, really rather a private thing, even though we were talking out loud. If someone tried to join in we would look at each other, expressing our disdain, and expell loud sighs of disapproval. Once, at one of my birthday gathering (The one with all my family.) my sister tried to get this going, but i was too shy, so i only chimed in every now and again, leaving her to yell "See! I said he does it too!", whereupon i once again fell silent. I miss her, i love her tremendously.

2004-10-03T23:58:00.000+01:00

I'll have to fill in other bits later. For now it's most important to blog that i saw UD again tonight. He texted me, saying how bad he was feeling, and how he needed to talk to someone. I thought for a moment that he might have meant me, but i didn't see how he could have, really. As i was formulating my reply, i got another text, (You'll notice that infernal device, so long abhorred, the mobile phone, becoming more prevalent in my life now my dependance on the internet has been thwarted.) asking if he could brave the rain (The weather wonderful in its heavy handed use of the pathetic fallacy. Honestly, people can hardly expect directors to stop pouring buckets of water on their characters at moments of emotional importance if the climate's going to carry on taunting them with its own uncriticised use of such crass sentimentality.) and come see me. I agreed, and made a hurried attempt to tidy room a little. Then, realising it would take him a while to arrive, a more leisurely attempt to make the place acceptable, including choosing the right music, (I felt abominably like the main character of my book of the moment, The Rachel Papers.) which i decided to be Yann Tiersen's Rue Des Cascades.

He arrived, bringing his own music, O by Damien Rice. It was lovely but, as he said, rather depressing. I'd chosen to sit on the seat opposite the bed, with my books, which i do tend to see as an extension of myself, filling the wall to my right. When he sat down, i obviously couldn't look him in the eye, so i found an interesting fold of the bed to look at. I alternated my gaze between that and some tassles. At the beginning it looked awfully like the back of a neck, (I don't think particularly that it was E's. It was just the neck of some imaginary boy. Necks seem an odd part to fixate on.) but by the end of the evning, without actually having changed it had become the face of a woman.

I wasn't terribly able to talk well. I never am, but now i was worse. At one point i felt forced to resort to using a portable whiteboardy slatey thing i keep in my drawer. But, despite various impediments, our conversation progressed. Quite satisfactorily, i felt. I can now call him my friend, which was more than i feared i could. I feel much better now. Less guilty.

2004-10-02T05:37:00.000+01:00

On my first day here i smoked Marijuana. A week later, almost to the hour, i had sex. Today, a week since, my third Saturday, there seems nothing left to do but to write.

Last Saturday was the LGB pub crawl, and quite against my expectations i ended up with somebody else spending the night in my bed. Quite early on in the evening (Though already in the second of the two pubs we were to visit, the rest of the night being spent (As, we are informed, all LGB meetings must end up here.) in Sheffield's only full time gay bar.) i fell to a fit of giggles that had people worrying for my safety and, i fear, sanity. One of the people who took it upon themselves to try calm me down (They all failed, by the way. It was only when i was close to suffocation that i actually stopped.) turned out to have developed something of an interest in me. When i was, with a few other people (Obviously i was hardly communicating with them.) at a pool table watching him play, he chastised me for laughing at his incompetence. (I'd actually been chortling at his opponent.) It turns out that actually he was flirting with me, though i failed to notice, heavy handed as it may have been. (I'm amazed, writing this, to realise that somebody flirted with me. I know there are many equally surprising points, but this one hasn't struck me until now.) Later, the top half (Where is located the dancefloor.) was packed, so many of us congregated downstairs (Where, incidentally, i later saw UE, partially the reason i'd gone, but who hadn't actually come to the pub crawl. He, and the two people he was with, seemed to be dressed in school uniforms. And, unfortunately, looking rather fetching in them.) and fell to talking. The boy who flirted with me, hereon known as UD, turned up at some point and sat by me. He was nice and lovely, and said nice things to me. He liked my hair, (About which i've been growing unsure, as i thought i was the only person who actually liked it, and that was because i'm allowed to feel it in its fluffiness.) and my shoes. (A couple of years old now, and falling apart.) He inquired about the scab on my hand. (Since joined by nine knife scars further up that arm.) I told him my lie, that "I fell over" first, but later i told the truth. He held my hand a little, (I remember this only from reading his blog. I'm afraid the connection that he felt either escaped my notice or has since escaped my memory.) and i think i looked at him in a way that i thought was doe-eyed but, having since tried it out on the mirror, i no longer think so. It just makes me look blank. Vacuous.

At the end of the night he walked me home. I'd walked home the previous time and not only been perfectly safe, but also rather enjoyed the walk, so i elected not to take a taxi home with some of the others. UD walked me back. I put my arm in his and nuzzled up to him a little. (I've wanted to do that for the longest time. And it really did live up to my expectations.) On the more public road he asked me to stop, but i took up his hand again later. As we neared my flats he asked to use the toilet. I showed him the toilet and (More out of complete ignorance of how to treat such a situation than actual desire that he should enter this space that, for all that i hate the fact that i can taste fluff as i breathe, is my very own.) also my room, where he quickly joined me. I, nervous, latched on to much of what he said and tried to develop the subject further. Naturally, as the wall he sat facing had quite a large bibliographic presence, he asked about my books. I instantly got down a book i knew would impress him, (And also could be read in five minutes.) 'The Red Tree'. Naturally, he was impressed and at this point i get confused about my intentions. We were sitting on my bed and (Some of me argues that this was purely because i felt an idiot sitting where i was. And this way i could see the book better and stop worrying where to put my eyes.) moved in closer to him and leant agaisnt him. Things started to happen, but were stopped by him. We went to bed, to sleep. Later, we woke up and (I'm a tad hazy on this now.) more things happened. Perhaps the best thing to say is that from having previously attained a score of zero (One being holding hands, i think.) on Georgia Nicholson's snogging scale, (From 'Angus Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging and its sequels.) i've now got to nine. (B.W.A. - Below Waist Activity) I enjoyed it. I did. A lot. Particularly - and i suppose i have read about this, but nothing has come close to conveying it - the feeling when he ran his fingers over my bare skin. It was my stomach, my stomach which i hate, despise and abhor, yet here it was being caressed with such tenderness. But even then, horrible as this sounds, i wasn't always thinking about him.

The next morning i felt even more lost than i had. I wanted to get him out, but could think of no way to do it without being plain horrible. Almost as soon as he was gone i recieved a text message. And another later, and a third, asking to meet up the next day. I realised i couldn't. Because while he obviously had some feelings for me, i couldn't really find any. (And i am well used to searching my heart for such feelings.)

I told him so, too, after a little while wondering, scared, what to do. I didn't do it nicely or sensitively at all. I'm a complete bastard. i hate what i've done. Some of me actually blames him for it all. When i told him that (Via e-mail, of course) i tried to make it clear that i knew this was nonsense, that he wasn't to blame at all, but i messed it up.

I don't know how to make this right.

2004-09-25T14:23:00.000+01:00

Showers are good, because the water runs down your face and you can imagine that you're crying even though, actually, you aren't, because you can't.

I want to go home. I want to go back to my tiny green womb/room, with my blankets and my books and my big warm bed and i want to lie there and be happy. I don't want to be here, in my cold, damp room that generates fluff, hung about with wet T-shirts and with my stores of flapjacks and apples falling quickly.

I thought (And i think this every time.) that this time would be different, that i was making a new start and that i'd be better. But see how quickly i've fallen into old routines, it's scary. I don't even feel like i have anyone i can talk to. I can't talk to the people back home, because they won't know whop or what i'm talkinmg about. And i can't to people here because i don't know them well enough. I feel lonelier than i've ever been before. I suppose3 there probably have been times this bad, or even worse, but right now they don't count. I've just had a shower and after a while i just sat down and hugged my knees, in the traditional woeful pose. And know i've gone back to scratching myself. The back of my left hand (It's normally my left hand.) is swollen and sticky with thaty stuff that appears on wounds before the scabs come. I know what'll happen next. They'll gradually turn a horrid brown, which i'll pick off, discovering a little blood underneath. Aftrer that, proper scabs will appear and my hands will start to heal, between intervals of the scabs being pulled off and eaten. (Is that disgusting? To eat your scabs? It only seems to me like an extension of sucking your own blood, and i know i'm not the only person who does that.) Then i'll have scars, which will be all puckered and go bright purple in the cold, and then i'll be pretty much healed, and those scars will eventually be covered up by new scabs. I blogged once about the time i cut myself. I never put back the knike i used and, to the best of my knowledge, it's still sitting at the back of a magazine rack on my bookshelves.

I thought this time would be different, but it isn't, it isn't at all. I'm still just me: never loved, only pitied. Yes, people may like me, be my friend, but nothing ever goes further. And it's my fault, it must be. I tried to think of someone to blame, but there's nobody but myself. I'm the only factor common to everything i haven't liked about my life. I bring it on myself by just being so utterly pathetic.

It's started getting scabby now. You can see a darker patch on my skin. I didn't expect it would be as big as this. I expected a couple of large scars, long and thin, in parallel, linked perhaps by a string of smaller blobby scabs. I didn't think i'd scratched it enough for a huge skinless patch. I would have carried on, but i thought i'd probably been in the shower too long already. And onve i've stopped scratching it hurts too much to start againn. That is about the only time they hurt though. They don't really hurt when i'm scratching the skin off in the first place. I don't really do it to hurt myself. If i wanted to do that i'd be more dramatic with a knife or something. I'm pretty certain these are just for attention. I've always sought attention, but never in the good way of actually making myself worthy of it. That's why i squealed and shrieked all the time. I can't really do that any more. My voice is too deep. I wish it wasn't. I liked having a high voice. My voice stayed high ages after most people's had broken. I suppose i'm going to go through my whole life looking back and missing things. I even think about the present in the past tense. I sit there, mulling over things, the words i will write either here in my blog or in my diary describing events as they happen but immediately transferring them to the past tense.

Tonight is the night of "The Big Gay Pub Crawl". I have every intention of going, but i'll probably screw that up too. (Oh cripes. I just turned to the back of a notebook and found the place where i'd worked out half of E's timetable in (I think.) year eleven. Some of it i got by following him, some by just asking people i knew to be in his class what lessons they had.) I know UR will be there, and i'm looking forward to seeing her. It seems likely that UE will be there too. One side effect of my obsessions is to render me completey incapable of talking to or acknowledging the person. Perhaps if i weren't now obsessed with him he could have grown to like me. Instead, when he finds out, he'll hate me instead (I accept that people can be flattered to hear you have feelings for them, to hear that you have a stalker must be a little scary. Never, anywhere in anything i've read (And books are the only reference point i have to real life.) has a stalker been presented in a positive light. Never have they turned out actually to win over the subject of their infatuation. In fact, it seems much more likely that i'm to end up killing him. I don't really think this will happen, though. I didn't kill E, or eat him, or anything. In fact, i'm virtually a perfectly functional member of society, compared to serial killers and rapists. That isn't terribly comforting.

I wish i could just cut out the part of me that wants anything more than friendship. There's just a huge part of me dying, somewhere, to find love, and i want to make it see that it has no hope and just trample it until it disappears.

I don't want any of this. I want to be at home, alone again. With no knowledge of the outside world, no idea that it even exists. I want just to sit there, steaming in my own selfishness, until i die a boring but fulfilled death.

2004-09-24T20:17:00.000+01:00

I've just come back from trying to wash and dry my clothes. I think i may need to start washing them by hand and buy a clothes horse. I haven't got all that many clothes, so i decided i'd be best off washing them sooner rather than later. So i did. I traipsed over to the launderette and sat. And waited. It felt like hours before my clothes were done, but as soon as they were i moved them over to a tumble dryer, put my forty pence in and waited. It seemed even longer this time, but eventually it was time. I opened the door, stuck mu hand in began to pull out my clothes. They were still soaking wet. I tried another dryer and they were only marginally dryer forty minutes later. My room is now bedecked with socks and shirts, all a much darker shade of green than they should be. I'm not terribly happy.

My obsession appears to be coming on apace. There was an 'activities bazaar' today, and i went along, partly because i thought i might sign up for things and partly because i knew the LGB had a stall there and i hoped i might see UE. Also, i did have to be over at the university anyway, to get some information about my french course. I did see UE there, although i wasn't able to spend much time gazing. I walked around the stalls a few times, stealing a few glimpses as i went. And then i left. I'd other things to do. I came back again though, later, and on my way in, i saw P. I'm getting pretty good at avoiding him now though, so i held back. Seconds later i realised that the first thing he'd see as he went in would be the LGB stall. I didn't know what i could do, but i wanted to try do something. He was with someone, a girl. It's good that he's getting friends too. For some reason i assumed he wouldn't be. Perhaps his new friends will mean i'm free of him. Anyway, i decided to follow him round, maybe to try stop him somehow if he got too near the LGB stall. I did pretty well for a while but at one point he didn't seem to be making much progress, but UE had got up to go somewhere else. I got distracted and lost P. So i stayed instead by the stall, so that if he did appear i'd still know. He didn't come for ages though, and i just got bored and decided to leave. Entirely by coincidence, of course, this was about the time that i noticed UE picking up his bag to leave. I dithered a bit, then left. Outside, i dithered again, but, catching a glimpse of UE, i strode erratically off in the direction of home, berating myself and almost tripping over my feet. I turned right, but stopped myself in time to watch which way UE (Who i knew had come down the same path as me.) went. He turned left, towards the centre of Sheffield. Only then did i remember that i'd actually planned to go into Waterstone's today. So i turned round and, by a serious of coincidences i'd suconsciously tricked myself into taking seriously, i found myself stalking him.

I think he was going home. On Tuesday night, on our way to the club, he and one of the others, who i think lives in the same building but not, i gathered from conversations i 'overheard', in the same apartment. And almost certainly not in the same bed. It sounded as if there isn't anyone else who sleeps regularly in his bed but him. Oh god, this isn't healthy, is it. It really, really isn't. He must have noticed. At one point he stopped, i think he was looking over at my side of the road. Not because he'd seen me, but he was talking to someone. But surely then he stood a good chance of seeing me. Why do i have to go round obsessing over people. Erotomania, ever heard of that? I saw about it first in a film starring Audrey Tautou (LOVE HER) called (I think) A la folie? Pas du tout. It was about this girl who was obsessed with someone, and became convinced that she was actually having a relationship with him. It showed the story twice: once from her point of view and once from his. It was good. And while i'm not so insane that i believe the people i fall in love with, obsess over or dote on love me back, there are times when i imagine affection for me on their behalf and - look, it still isn't normal so fall so easily to stalking people. Still, perhaps the spped with which i've become obsessed can only be a good sign. Perhaps by next Friday i'll have told him and been rejected, then be over him by Sunday, being able to find someone new to obsess over at Tuesday's meeting.

But then, as always, there's the little bit telling me that maybe this time could be different. Maybe i could charm, after all, i've got quite a while to do it in. Possibly next year too. And there's the part of me that thinks being pathetic might actually make somemone like me, or at least take pity on me.

I hate this in myself, i really do. I hate it.

2004-09-23T22:56:00.000+01:00

I just went into the kitchen to make myself a tisane, and... i really don't want to go in again. It is just horrible in there, really it is. I know that absolutely none of that mess is thanks to me but that, i am ashamed to admit, is because so far i haven't actually cooked myself anything. I'm still living off flapjacks made before i left. But i'm down to my last few flapjacks now, so i won't last long. Especially given that, from time to time, i have felt the need to binge on flapjacks.

But i'm not supposed to be talking about my poor eating habits. (Which at least might make me thinner. Even on the bad nights i haven't eaten that many, and i've taken at least two twenty minute walks day: one into and one out of the university. In fact, today and yesterday have been the only days i haven't been in twice. And i'm sort of pleased to note how badly my most recent pair of jeans fit me now. I can pull them right over my waist, and grab huge chunks of material when they're where they should be. The only downside is that they have a tendency to slip down on their own as well, which is destroying the bottoms, now soaked and tattered from being walked on, and, if i'm not careful, exposes underwear and even, i fear, unsightly body hair. Also, where i used to have five unpleasant protuberances on my chest, (Two breasts, one stomach.) i now have five! Two breasts, one stomach and the edges of two sets of ribs! Not only have my fattest parts decreased, but now bone is even visible at some points. This really is rather an improvement.) I'm talking about their filthiness. Living in a flat with six straight boys appears to be turning me into a complete gay stereotype. At home i'm terribly untidy, disorganised and, well, not hugely obsessed with cleanliness either. But my room here is, well... tidy! It is, it really is. There are no clothes lying around on the floor, all papers are secreted in various drawers (with even a hint of organisation) and my books, all twice as many as there's actually space for of them, sit snugly on my shelves, arranged to fit my own personal map of how books live, much better than simple alphabetical order. I even hoovered my room today, the only person so far to have tried this particular appliance. The mop so far remains untouched as well. I shall just have to start wearing my flip flops to the kitchen. (I live barefoot in my room, of course.)

I have finally started Kate Atkinson's most recent books, Case Histories. I got it on my second day here, when i walked all the way down to the centre of Sheffield to visit my new local Waterstone's. I'm really enjoying it. I'm going to have to recommend Atkinson to as many people as i can while i'm here. (Weak ending, sorry.)

2004-09-23T20:14:00.000+01:00

Darn. I wasn't meant to be able to blog tonight, not before the early hours of next morning. Instead, i was meant to be out having things happen to me again. I was meant to meet up with a girl i'd met at the LGB (I've decided, crappy as it is, she will be UY, the other girl i talked about UR, and my new boy to dote on UE. (The letters are all from their first names somewhere, as i don't know anybody's last names, never mind their middle names. The E of UE is deliberate, of course, to remind me, if nodoby else, of previous obsessions of mine and hopefully thereby to act as a sort of warning to myself, too.)) to see Lost in Translation. I haven't yet seen it and she assures me it's very good. As she also loves Amélie and Belleville Rendezvous i'm inclined to trust her. The conversation had gone something like this, on Tuesday: (I was by this point sufficiently drunk that i could volunteer myself.)

She: "Who'll come with me to see Lost in Translation with me on Thursday?"

Me: "I will!"

And so it was decided. I'm not sure if anyone else was to come, but we were meant to meet at the union a little before. Then, earlier today, UL texted me to ask if i would like to come out with her to the union's Thursday night event. I replied that i would like to, after the film, and we agreed that we would meet up. When, at ten past seven i arrived to buy tickets for both events and withdraw money from a cash point i discovered that both were sold out, meaning i couldn't meet up with either of them. Well, i could, but we wouldn't be able to do anything. I told UR, but i'd no way of contacting UY. Hopefully i will see her again, though, and be able to apologise. On Saturday i know UR is going to "the Big Gay Pub Crawl", and i think i'll go too. Hopefully UY will be there. And i don't think it's too much to expect that UE may be there. Probably still won't be able to speak to him or anything though. And a little gazing, (Leering?) both subtle and less so, will be inevitable.

Once i'd realised my evening was not to progress as hoped i set off home. Still, my day was redeemed slightly when, on reaching the front door, a girl i'd met a few days previously asked if i was gay. I answered truthfully. She said that the other day she'd had her gaydar (Still don't like that 'word'.) on and that she was gay too. I was pleased about this. I do like it nowadays when people can tell i'm gay, and it was good to know that there was someone else in the same building. It'd be nice if there were more, but statistically, two in twenty six doesn't seem far off. She asked if i'd been to any LGB meetings. I, feeling it to be in a way my duty to recruit as many people as possible who aren't P, said that i had, and that i'd enjoyed it. When i asked if she'd come another time, she said to come knock on her door next time i was going. I'm a bit nervous to, actually, but it would be rude of me not to now. Besides, she seems nice, if rather scary. She said she hadn't much confidence, and that was why she hadn't much confidence. I countered that i hadn't either, (And actually, she seems more confident than me, though i didn't point that out.) but that i'd still gone. Still, without trying to be P-like about this, it did seem as if she wasn't entirely a happy individual. I think she's the girl who i saw before with a series of deep cuts on her arm, much more horrific than anything i've ever been brave or upset (Or weak, or stupid) enough to do to myself. And she mentioned that she was impressed with herself for not having had anything to drink until four in the afternoon. It was obbvious merely from my face that i didn't really find this much to be impressed with; i'm afraid i might have seemed a tad reproachful. Still, i'm not going to try be 'helpful' for anything, because such hypocrisy can be darned annoying and she wouldn't care enough about me for what i say to carry much wait. Besides i'm acting my part of the ingenuous and confused naïf, (Never entirely a lie.) so it simply wouldn't do for me to go round dispensing advice, whether or not it be (OOH! Subjunctive! (I'm almost certain.) Hurrah!) any good.

I sent an e-mail today to the LGB society. I didn't really have any good reason, i think i just wanted to show that there's more to me than just a mess of low self confidence. (Entirely different to the low self-esteem of which P accused me, of course.) Yes. Now they can see i'm a mess og low self confidence WITH a tendency towards obsessive hatred and brackets. I'd probably have been much better off leaving them to form their own opinions, but the thought of UE reading my words rather appeals to me, although i think it's likely that he won't be the one reading the incoming e-mails.

2004-09-22T19:43:00.000+01:00

I think i am well on my way to having an immense and immovable crush (I had to stop myself swaddling that word in inverted commas. It may be a vile and evil Americanism, but i couldn't do without it. Besides, i rather like the word. It's all that Paula Danziger i read when i was young, i think. She warped my little english mind.) on someone who i feel i probably shouldn't. He's one of the LGB committee, for one thing. He's a second year, i think, (I always say "I think" for stuff like this. Back in the early days of my obsession with E i referred to him in my diary with a vague guess at his name, even though i knew full well what it was.) which makes him a year, perhaps two, maybe even more, older than me. Not that that would be the problem, of course. I'm perfectly happy being in love with a fifteen year old after all. At least if anything did happen between us nobody would be breaking any laws. But, of course, in making statements like that i am raising the idea of it, much like telling myself to not think of pink elephants. And, obviously, the only way to survive love is, firstly, to not call it love. Call it a crush or an obsession, but not love, or you'll start believing it is. And then we get caught up in this huge tangle of 'amor vincit omnia' lies that society will insist on perpetuating. The way to survive love is to stop believing in it. I can't allow myself to believe anything can come of anything because, invariably, it doesn't. Not for me.

Over the past few weeks i fell steadily deeper and deeper in love with J, which is part of why i wrote so little in my blog. It was all going in my diary, as i didn't feel able to reveal my feelings to the rest of the world. Especially when the world contained him. So i never told anyone, noone that was made of anything more substantial than wood pulp, at least, until, a few days before i was due to leave, i had to tell somebody. I was feeling especially bad since he had now missed the third time we'd been meant to meet up in the holiday, so i told S and a girl who hasn't really been mentioned here before, for all that she deserves it and, being a part of my life prior to university, she will get a letter. She can be N. I may have an N already, but they weren't important enough for me to remember them, so i don't mind giving away the letter. They were the right people to tell, i think. S was the first person i told when i was first in love with J, and i think he understands and can sympathise with my obsession over small, apparently unimportant details, and N seemed the right person to tell because i realised how much i trust her and how highly i think of her. She'd also recently read my blog, or some of it at least, so she new about my feelings for J, just not, as nobody did, the intensity to which they'd now risen.

Then on Friday i told J. N, the day before, when i'd obsessed at her about something J had said to me said that i needed to tell him, because "I seriously can't cope with either of you being unhappy for another six million years which is what it felt like last time there were problems for all you lot". So on Friday i did. He was... "flattered". He said that i'm special to him, an important part of his life, but it was obvious that that was it. I wasn't particularly happy.

I don't really knopw what to do now. Should i keep hoping that maybe something could happen? He did once say, when i asked him please to categorically deny all possibility of anything happening between us. He wouldn't, saying he'd "prefer to keep that door open". That was frustrating. It still is, because i don't know if i should be trying to do the same. Do i treat our relationship as he seems to, a brilliant friendship which could be something more, if we found ourselves without anything better. That's what it feels like he meant, though surely it isn't really. I'm so confused.

Not that i'm debating this in a serious sense. I just want to know whether or not i should be obsessing over people, having just told J I'm in love with him. But i've decided now. I'll bally well obsess over anyone i want.

And that is... but of course i haven't yet decided what to do about names. It still wouldn't be right to call people by their actual names, especially not if i ever intend to let people here see my blog. And i do. I did think about going through the whole alphabet again, but this time prefixing them all with a U. They're all just silly ideas though. For the moment, everyone remains nameless. So, this chap i like. Already i really like him. And not, i think, just because he's good looking. For one thing, i know he's gay. Or bisexual, at least. And i like his voice. And i like what i've seen of him as a person, too. But i should confess that never a word has passed between us, not once in the two times i've seen him. Oooh! Wait! there has! He did speak to me, i think, this afternoon. We went bowling. An LGB bowling trip, with far fewer people than had attended the previous night's introductory meeting. This time there were only ten of us. Four of whom were committee members. One of whom was him. I, by a splendid turn of fate (And a step to the left at the right time.) ended up on his team. At one point i got a strike (Hurrah!) and on my next turn he said something along the lines of "we want another strike now". I went back to knocking down about three pins each turn. But other than that, not a word have we said to each other. Oh, yes, there was something else, just as i was leaving, but equally negligible. I do wonder how much of my new found dedication to the LGB society is due to him. But no, no, it isn't just because of him. It's because last night i had a bally great time, and i did today as well and i'm meeting some great people.

I wish the meetings were more than once a week. That's what they are, after the fresher's week stuff. All that's left this week is "The Big Gay Pub Crawl". I'm not sure if i'll be going to that. There's to be an LGB stand at the activities bazaar as well. I'm getting worried i may turn up to that just to gaze. Too much of my life is spent gazing.

I gazed at him on Tuesday too, when i could. And at one point one of the others, the other committee members, another boy, came and sat on his lap. I was jealous. Not, so much, i think, of either one of them, but of the situation in general. Obviously, yes, i would like to sit in his lap, were it not for the fact that i'd crush him, ever so slightly. But what i mean is that i wish i could be in a position where i'm comfortable enough with someone for that to happen. And maybe, one day i will. Maybe here, at university. Maybe soon. Maybe with him. But i doubt it, i doubt it all very much. I was just so jealous. But then, jealousy comes so very easily to me.

I ran into P today. It wasn't the first time i've seen him since i came. I saw him on Monday as well, though i'd been desparately hoping not to. I'd been dreading, on Tuesday, that he might come to the LGB meeting, so i was terribly pleased when he didn't. I was pleased when the seats either side of me filled up, meaning even if he did turn up i wouldn't be stuch with him all evening. Because if he had, i would have been, i know it. And i wouldn't really have been able to make friends of my own, i'd just be stuck going around talking to the same people as him. So i was ecstatic at his absence. But then, today, when i ran into him, he started talking about the LGB meeting. He asked if i'd though about going. I didn't answer, i just let his ego steamroller through the conversation and i didn't even have to lie. It turned out that he had intended to come but he'd got caught up talking to some spaniards. He knew there was something on today, as well, (The very thing i was on my way to being very early for.) and he seemed well inclined to go. Or 'come', i suppose the word should be. Fortunately, though, (As you'll have guessed by my saying that i enjoyed myself.) he didn't come. We encountered someone else from our old school while we stood there talking. He's gay too, so he got drawn ino the whole LGB conversation (Leaving me able to remain completely silent on the subject. (I had to, i really did. If i'd admitted to going then he'd have asked what it was like and i'd have been forced to tell him. And most likely i'd end up telling the truth. Which would have been a very bad thing. He'd probably have come and spoiled it all. At least if i can have a couple of meetings without him around i can start to exist autonomously, to prove to the otehrs that i'm my own person, that he is just some random annoying person who's wandered in to spoil it all.)) Eventually, the two of them decided to go off and meet C, who also came from our school to Sheffield. I've seen him a bit before, and i'm in contact with him, so i didn't think it would be too rude of me not to go with them. I stayed behind, hoping that this would mean they were unable to accompany us on our outing. Even if they had decided to come along, they'd have had trouble finding the meeting place. The LGB lounge is secreted away in a less frequented part of the union. Still, as soon as i got there i was terribly afraid that at any point he would turn up. Especially when it was decided we'd wait fifteen minutes longer than we were meant to. I was, again, the first person there, (Ok, not strictly true. There was someone in the office attached, but only because they promise always to have someone there between twelve and two, at least for this week. So he can hardly count himself, can he. I was the first person there waiting specifically for the bowling.) so i got out what remained of an old pad and started writing in it rather frantically about how much i didn't want him to turn up. I've thought about talking to the people there, as they're so willing to give advice about P and the unsavoury things he's done to two of my best friends. I want them to understand why i'd be like i'd be if he did turn up. But it seems to me, really, that would be rather an unsavoury thing to do as well, trying to turn them against someone they don't even know. I just don't know how i'm supposed to avoid him. I think i will try speak to them about it. But not in person, as i'm useless at that. I'll send an e-mail. There's an adress on the flyer. Of course, that can't happen until i actually manage to get onto the internet. I'm going to have a crack at that tomorrow. So hopefully these last three entries will stop being part of an imaginary blog and finally take the place they deserve on the internet.

2004-09-22T01:15:00.000+01:00

Wow! For the first time ever i've been so caught up in things to blog about that i haven't actually blogged them. Now, though, after the marvellous time i had tonight, seems about the right time to start filling stuff in.

On Saturday, then, i set off from home, leaving, of course, for universuty, and on Saturday i arrived. My books, the absence of which had been barely noticeable on my bookshelves at home, occupied around twice as much space as they had been allotted. Other stuff came with me too, including my lovely new cushions with the flies embroidered on in green. Most of my stuff is green. I do like green a lot. My flat is rather grotty. I can't stop it being damp, which warps those books i'm unable to cram onto my bookshelves, and this bizarre fluff keeps appearing and covering everything i own. I am trying, and not doing all that badly, actually, to be sociable and to make friends. I went out on Saturday night with various people from my flats, and it was ok. I didn't talk much, but they didn't seem to mind, and i really like a few of them. We were out a little while, in pubsy kind of places, drinking drinks, but mostly not enough to be drunk. Not even me, who used to be drunk on a couple of glasses of blue stuff. Later, when we returned, i went with a few of them to one of the girls bedrooms (The girls live on the top floor, the boys underneath. Presumably, we are considered to matter less if we are robbed through the window right next to which one is forced to place all of one's valuable belongings.), where we watched Finding Nemo, drank a little alcohol and, to my surprise, smoked some marijuana. And yes, that was a 'we'. I have now sampled the delights of drugs. And they didn't seem all that delightful, to be honest. Probably i smoked it wrong, or didn't smoke enough, but it hardly seemed to do anything. I did giggle a little, but i think that was partly because i felt i should. And besides, i do have a natural propensity to giggle. But i don't think i can be bothered to smoke the stuff again. For one thing, i don't really want to be responsible for wasting things that other people can take so much more pleasure from.

Since then i haven't done all that much, really. There's been various stuff to sort out, but i mostly stayed in my room before tonight.

A little while before i left, Ms E, in an email reminding me of her three ideas. (Or rules, or tips - the nomenclature isn't important.) They were to talk to at least one new person each day, (So far i've managed this, contrary to my expectations, but i'm sure i won't be able to keep it up for long.) to arrive early and make tea for those who arrived after, thus immediately presenting of myself a helpfull, kind or somesuch image, (I failed in this completely. I don't even drink tea.) and the third was to find a job in the library, this having the double advantage of being paid and being in a library. I intend to try this, when i'm a little more settled in. But she also asked (Have i explained that i've kept in contact with Ms E? That as soon as i was pretty much safe from seeing her again i told her i was gay? Well, i have and i did.) if i intended to join the LBG society. I thought it would be rude to remind her that, actually, it's LGB, and i haven't actually responded yet, for the same reason there hasn't been much in the way of blogging. But, although i didn't reply, i did consider it and decide it was probably a good idea. I wasn't terribly expectant that i would, of course. I'm a coward, remember, and no good at organising myself either. But, when, in some student directory thing i was handed on appearing to claim my keys, i later noticed a small notice that had been inserted by the LGB society. They were to have a meeting on Tuesday. That's today. (Well, to me it is.) And i went. I did indeed go. I worked up the courage, hoped desperately that P wouldn't turn up, and went. In my zealous desire not to be late i turned up about half an hour early. Still, i wasn't the only early one and didn't have too long to wait. Soon turned up a girl, later revealed to be one of the LGB committee, talking to a man who reeked of confidence, who oozed it with every step. He had reason for it, i'm sure. For one thing hje was very good looking. For another, such confidence seems entirely able to perpetuate itself. People are attracted to the confident persons, and this only confirms his confidence. I used to want to be like that. Not any more though. Obviously this is partly just because i can see how unrealistic an idea this is, but partly because i do like me. I do, little as i deserve it. More people came, and then more, and soon the room was overflowing. More people, we were told, than had turned up to any of the meetings last year. And i was the first. That's pretty cool, now i think of it. Best of all, P wasn't there! Many people were there, but not a single one of them was P.

I had a tremendous time. I did. I really, really did! After briefly remaining in the meeting room, where we were introduced to the seven committee members, the aims, intents and modus operandi of the society, and finally each other, (Along with our favourite vegetables.) we went to a pub where, for the first time since i arrived, i got properly drunk. We filled up around half of the pub, numerous as we were, and even then we were huddled together around a few tables. I, being among the last to arrive, struggled to find a place to sit. After a short while standing (Why on earth am i going into such detail?) a nearby stool was indicated and i pulled it up. There were six of us at the table, of whom two of us were male. One of the girls was also a committee member and hence found herself doing most of the talking. Eventually though, we were all a little less sober and found ourselves able to converse more readily. I may have made friends of a couple of girls, i think. (Who, unfortunately, until i decide what to do about naming people (Having forgotten which letters i've used but being pretty certain that i've cut through a considerable part of the alphabet. (Often for people who didn't deserve it.)) must remain unidentified.) One of them i'm meeting up with on thursday, so i can finally see Lost in Translation, and the other one has been perfectly lovely and seems to have taken it into her head to mother me, ever so slightly, which i'm not complaining about at all. That is one good thing about pathetic, i suppose. People are more inclined to pity you. I gave up hating being pitied a long time ago.

After the pub we went on to Sheffield's only full time gay bar, much maligned (There's another one! Another far too overused phrase. Not that i'm about to remove it or anything. It's the one that fits best.) throughout the evening by those who had been there before. Still, when we got there, i very much enjoyed it. Of course, i have never been to a gay bar before, so i've nothing to compare it to. But i enjoyed. By the time we got there i had sobered up a little, so i had something to drink. As i usually do at any public gathering, i stood there, arms folded, chewing my nails, (Unwise, as i do try to grow them. They may look ridiculous so long, but i like them like this. I generally chew them so much that they become transparent, but i try to stop before they actually fall off.) but i was soon whipped out, by the girl who has placed herself in charge of me and the committee member (I don't like always calling them committee members, it seems bizarre and formal. If i called them leaders i'd be reminded of Youth Fellowship, ages ago, and i can't really think of anything good to refer to them as.) who had been at our table earlier, onto the dance floor, (Or is that a single word?) despite my protestations (Mmm, that's a nice word. Stress the third syllable, with a little sibilance on the 'S' for maximum effect.) that i can't dance. That didn't matter though, as i soon found myself trying to move rythmically (vaguely) while indicating that, no, i couldn't do that, ('That' being what they were doing. I can't remember what that was, so imagine it for yourselves.) however easy they made it look. I knew a looked a complete fool out there, but after a while i didn't mind all that much and began to enjoy it all the same. And then my new friend (The one who's adopted me - the other girl had gone by this point.) started, or so it seemed to me, marshalling people into trying to help me out, into showing me what to do. The attention was nice, but i still felt a fool. But at least i didn't let myself start believing anything anyone did was out of any sort of attraction for me. (Well, ok, i did at one point when somebody asked for my email address, (Me not knowing my phone number by heart.) but i soon quashed that thought. But it was nice to think that someone thought i could make a worthwhile friend.) Eventually, i came home on my own, grinning and hugging myself as i went. I have had a hell of a lot of fun, and i don't intend to have a free Tuesday evening from now till eternity (Or the end of term. Whichever's first, really.)

2004-09-17T13:32:00.000+01:00

Something trés étrange happened this morning. I was having my hair cut. (My mother insisted. She feels that somehow i'll be better equipped to take on the vicissitudes of university life with slightly shortened hair) Well, not just a cut, it was being died and everything. I've started trying to defend the fact that i dye my hair by reminding myself my hair was once so blond as to be white. Previously when this has been done my head has just looked like the shorn scalp of a plastic doll. Now, though, my hair is long enough to fountain up and form a fluffy (And, oh dear lord, is my hair fluffy! It looks ridiculous, but i rather like it all the same. It feels nice.) dome about two inches (Inches are so much better for being inaccurate with. It's true. I do try to use metric, but saying "about five centimetres" here would just feel so wrong.) from my headWas remained of my hair was mostly occupied in tickling my eyes and nose. So, what with the rubber cap, my invasive fringe and the fact that i was obviously not wearing my glasses, I wasn't able to see more of the boy who came to take his place in the seat next to me than a trainer and a suggestion of dark hair.

I was slightly surprised, as this isn't a salon generally frequented by the male of the species. I go because the owner has cut my family's hair for years, back from the days when she cut hair in the same hospital my mother midwifed in. Besides, alt5hough i of course still go in armed with my usual reticence, i rather like her.

There was little conversation between myself and the assisstant painfully tugging my hair through the rubber cap with a sharp hook, either because she wasn't blessed with this vital skill of the hairdressing trade or because she had seen by now that there wasn't all that much point talking to me. Anyway, this meant that i was able to clearly hear the conversation taking place to my left.

Obviously, he was roughly the same age as me, as he was to be going away, to university, (I assumed, and was later confirmed in my assumtion.) The next day, Saturday. That's tomorrow, same as me. When it transpired that he, too, was going to Sheffield, i realised that i should speak up. And normal would have and, who knows, things could have turned out well abd i'd have another friend there.

This became even clearer when he identified the length of his course: four years, with a year abroad. Obviously, and here i demonstrated deductive reasoning to astound any detective, a langauge student. Probably, the way things were going, staying in the same accomodation as me, most likely in the next room. In fact, it was almost a certainty that not only would we grow to know one another, but that we already had.

We were only a couple of streets away from my primary school, only about twice as far away as i'd had to walk in the mornings from my child minder's. Of course, back then, i was half the size i am now, so it evened out about the same. I'd seen people from my old school before, even spoken to them, though never at great length. It seemed perfectly plausible that this should be another old acquaintance, with whom i would soo, no doubt, be reacquainted.

Not today, however, as he was now getting up to leave. But now came the question i'd been dreading. The shame of my silence was to be revealed, i was moments away from having my cowardice unmasked. I had the decency, at least, to attempt to show that i realised i had been silly when i answered "Sheffield".

What, it was asked, were we studying? (I wish i could claim to have realised his identity here, but sadly i can't, as that would be a shameful, shameful lie.) He was going to do Hispanic Studies and Linguistics, I, French and Linguistics. There, he realised who i was, and said so. I, know even more convinced that this must be someone from my primary school. Without my glasses, it took me a moment to realise that this, in fact, was P. Obviously it had been. He'd even told said, the previous day, that he had "a hair appointment" (I couldn't take this phrase seriously. I'm not sure i can justify why.) today at half past eleven. I had told him, too, that i had (I find it very hard to talk to him without a sneer in my voice. Any remotely neytral topic is seized upon.) such an appointment, but at that point mine had been scheduled for half past one. It had been moved so i could meet up with my friends in Birmingham. So really i was much more at an advantage in this guessing game than he. I suppose my complete ineptitude at identifying him just shows how very much less i care about him than i once did.

2004-09-03T18:39:00.000+01:00

I know that, compared to a lot of people, my life is quite good. My parents are about as accepting as one could accept them to be of my sexuality, and things could be a lot worse. D for example, who always seems to be one of the bravest people I know in regards to declaring who he is and being true to himself. And yet he feels he can’t tell his parents because of how they will react. It seems somehow unfair that I, coward that I am, end up with parents who go out of their way to make it clear that they are ‘ok’ with my sexuality, (Though I do, as I’ve said, find the intimation that they might not be offensive, I know things could be much worse.) whereas D, who thoroughly deserves, through his courage, to be accepted, can’t tell his. But really I’m selfish, so what I’m actually going to talk about is really all about me.

My mother is convinced that, because I’m gay, I will never have children. I’m annoyed by this. I accept that it is unlikely that I will be able actually to physically conceive offspring, but my genes aren’t so super that I feel the need to burden the next generation with them anyway. I would actually rather like to have children, whether by adoption or any other method the medical profession may care to come up with I don’t know. But I would like to raise a child, eventually, one day in the future. This may be harder for me than a straight person, but it isn’t impossible, and it isn’t as if heterosexuality is a free ticket to parenthood anyway. TV, for example, is riddled with couples who can’t have children by the usual method, and it isn’t even as if, where I straight, that would immediately imbue me both with the ability and the desire to procreate. (And, of course, there would still be the problem of finding someone who wished to procreate with me.) And so the casual way she said a few days ago to my sister “I might never be a granny.” did really annoy me. I don’t believe she meant by that simply that she might be dead before either my sister or I are able to furnish her with children to fawn over.

She’s said before something… well, not quite the same, but relying on the same assumption that my sexuality has removed my right to be a father. I’m not sure, and it doesn’t strike me as something I’m ever likely to challenge her on, whether this stems from a belief that as a homosexual I am now incapable of having children completely (And this seems unlikely, really, considering that she teaches the midwives of the future (Although in a university she frequently condemns as one of the worst in the country. Her course, of course, is its saving grace.) and some evenings at the weekends takes up extra work midwifing.) or that being gay renders me unsuitable to look after children. I wouldn’t really have thought she’d subscribe to this belief either, but I am sometimes taken quite by surprise by how prejudiced she can be.

Still, having said all this, I myself am not sure of the laws relevant to the fathering of children by a homosexual. I suppose that one would be more favourably (Hey, apparently Word doesn’t like me spelling it like that. The Chambers Dictionary, (The official Scrabble dictionary!) however, sides with me on this one.) looked upon if in a loving, stable and monogamous relationship, so maybe she’s actually referring to the fact that I will quite likely die alone. Probably not though, as she is unable to accept this truth about her son. I like to think, though, (I did think for a while about actually getting some rose tinted spectacles, although more as a declaration of my credulity and foolishness than actually to see how the world looks through them.) that by the time I’m actually of an age where this issue becomes slightly more real we may actually inhabit a society that deserves to think itself tolerant a sort of equality will finally have been achieved and we’ll all be able to marry who we like and everyone will have the same rights as everyone else. (Apart, perhaps, from people who can’t spell (My frequent typing errors are a different matter entirely.))

2004-08-22T17:20:00.000+01:00

I sent E an e-mail on results day. Nothing much, just expressing hope that he'd done well. I wasn't really even that sure he'd ever read it. I had sort of thought he had blocked my e-mails, both from my main address and the second hotmail account i'd opened because i thought he'd blocked the first but i still had things to say. Obviously, though, he had let these e-mails through. I know this because he responded. He sent it that night, only eight seconds away from midnight, (To somebody who wrote a page long parenthesis on the subject of my positioning of people in my day dreams, of course eight seconds away from midnight is significant. I just don't know of what.) but i didn't come across it until a few minutes ago. As before, there was a brief shock, where i had no idea what to do, but i overcame myself and opened it.

Now, i knew that his previous five words to me were hardly representative of his literary ability. (Partly because (And i state most emphatically that this is NOT my fault - it is not a stalkerly contrivance in any way.) i was once asked by Mr E (Who, if we're remembering my code, we will deduce to be in no way related either to E or Ms E, but simply a ('The', in fact) male english teacher at our school.) to sort out some mock exam papers. I realised that this was E's year i was sorting and, inevitably, i came across E's exam. He'd done well. Fifty four out of fifty four. He could not have done better. I could never hope to achieve that, at least in exam conditions, so naturally i was both jealous and impressed.) I knew he was quite capable of more than one sentence in an e-mail. (A sentence with, to my mind, a beguilingly American turn of phrase. I really did spend a long time trying to work out any other possible connotations of the order "Stop bugging me." I would have sworn i'd never bugged anyone before in my life.) Still, i was quite surprised by the length of his response. (Still, i know my priorities, and kept an eye as i read on spelling, punctuation and grammar. I'm not sure whether i should be satisfied or annoyed that the only corrections i would have made result from my zealous application of commas. Oh and perhaps a minor objection to his use of 'hence', but nobody uses 'hence', 'whence' and 'thence' quite right any more. I suppose i should stop trying to correct them. (It's not that i use them in the wrong places, just that i use them whenever they may or may not be called for.)

I considered reproducing the whole thing here, but no, i won't do that. For one thing, i'd just be doing it as a cheap way of filling up my blog. More importantly, though, it's mine. The sentiment may be contrary to everything i've ever wanted to hear, but still, it is rather a good e-mail, and actually seems to have done what it was supposed to. I don't think i will ever write back. I nearly did. I nearly just sent back the reply thank you, but i realised that before i'd even finished typing those two words there would just be more and more queuing up to get out, and it would just be completely pointless. So no more e-mailing E. Hopefully.

It started with a revelation that, however foolish and obvious i may have thought myself to be in my pursuit of this whole affair, i had in fact been much clumsier. Apparently as soon as he read this e-mail from 'frivolous_haruspex' he googled the words and came immediately upon this blog. he makes the point that it's hardly the most common name. That, of course, is why i always liked it. Perhaps it was silly to use the same words for the blog, but really, i don't mind all too much. For one thing, i did eventually send the address anyway, and for another i could hardly hope for things to have turned out better than they now have. Plus, i do try not to agonise over things now past. Or, if i do, to prove to myself that things would turn out equally badly whatever had happened. It feels weird, though, to realise that even at the very beginning he was able to follow in detail (Well, as much detail as i cared to mention. Which, considering there hasn't been any particular part of this of which i've been truly ashamed, (Even though i perhaps should have been) is pretty rigorous.) my feelings for him, while i remained largely ignorant of his.

It's a surprisingly kind letter. I know that i would try to be understanding in such a circumstance, but i'm a pansy. And even i can't really know if i could remain calm in the face of my "sometimes worrying e-mails". How kindly would you be inclined to treat your stalker? But, from the way he talks, it does seem as if, right from the beginning, he tried to empathise with me. "I did not reply." he wrote, " because I assumed, that if your momentary crush was indeed real, it would pass with time." (Actually, that comma is wrong. I feel strangely comforted by this. He may be hugely better at writing than me, but at least i know that there should be no comma in "assumed that". And yes, i am aware of the complete hypocrisy here and that this very blog is riddled with mistakes. But i don't care.) Assuming this to be his sole reason in acting this way, it is a nice thought. However, i, from my privileged position of having been obsessed with him for two years, could have told him that that wouldn't work. Or, well, that if it did it would take years for me to be fully clear of him.

He gave me advice. Probably rather good advice, most of it. Advice of the sort that many people, myself included, have counselled me to take. I can see the sense of it, it's plainly obvious that i should follow it. I won't, though, not really. Some of it will, most likely, filter down to me, but really i'm far too much of a coward to not "treat the internet as an opportunity to act how you want to with the safety of anonymity, try to do it in real life". I've got better at this, yes, but really i know that i'll never be able to say the most important things face to face. I'll always have recourse to the internet, or to the notes and letters i write and reject so many of. And i'm sure that, for many people, university could be "a new opportunity to rid of your self doubt and self pity." But not, unfortunately, me. I may be riddled with self doubt and self pity, and i recognise that, yes, they do often hinder me. But actually, i rather like them. They are a big part of what i claim as 'myself'. Without them, for example, my brief moments where i am able to come out of my shell or act with confidence wouldn't be quite as thrilling.

However, after all this well thought out and constructive advice came a moment of sheer lunacy. "I suggest you stop your blogging too, again it's just clinging to the past. You are only saying in written form what you are thinking. What's the point?" I can't stop my blog. I will carry on blogging until i run out of things, however petty and irrelevant they may be to the rest of the world, to say. And generally, even if that happens, i've got more to say within a month or so. Perhaps my blog is something i'll one day grow out of, but it isn't something i can just give up on. Perhaps my thoughts are just not as organised as other people's, and this is why i need to blog, to help me sort them out. Since i have been blogging, though, even my thoughts have started taking this form. I now think in blog, and, actually, it helps. What would be the point of mentally composing blogs if i couldn't then type them up?

Besides, i do rather like to flatter myself that my blog isn't just for me any longer. Whilst, obviously, i won't claim that this is in any way helping anyone, i do sort of think that there are people who enjoy reading it. This may have nothing to do with the quality of the writing, but i, for one, do enjoy reading other people's lives. After a significant break in a blog i tend to get restless, and when people stop blogging altogether that's even worse.

Finally, of course, is the fact that i do actually use my blog to talk to people. Now here, i know, i'm blatantly going against E's advice, but i can't help it. I do find it easier to talk to people on the internet, and actually, this has led to my getting better offline as well. The first time i came out was in a letter, and there i didn't even have the courage to simply use the words "I'm gay." Since then there have been times, when, in real life, completely sober, i have uttered these words. I had a tendency, it's true, to then run away from whoever i'd just said it too, but this is still far, far better than nothing. So i will continue to blog, in the hope that this will one day make me better able to talk to people face to face, but also because i just enjoy it so very much.

I always said that what i wanted from him, all i really needed, was to be acknowledged. I only ever half believed it, really though. A lot of me thought that, no matter what i'd said, if he did ever reply to me that i'd immediately pounce on this as some sort of confirmation of my hopes and my frenzied emailing would start again. However, it does seem that i was right. I do now feel a hell of a lot better. And this, partly is due to not just the acceptance but the forgiveness implied by the last few sentences. I do still half want to write back, but i know i'd be stupid to, and i can at least hope that he'll check my blog one last time and i won't need to thank him. But that isn't necessary for me to drop this. I may, at times, have to assume he has, but right now i just don't mind.

"You can take my advice, or ignore it, I am only saying it for your sake. This episode does not bother me, I don't blame myself or you. Just recognise that your fantasy will never come true, and that you have to start living in the real world."

2004-08-22T01:53:00.000+01:00

My french exchange partner left a little under a week ago, last Tuesday, on the (I think) eleventh day of his stay in England. It was terribly hard work looking after him. He talked even less than i did when i was over there. I realise that, yes, it was partly my responsibililty to engage him in conversation, but i did try, i really did, in the beginning at least. But eventually i just got put off. I accept that it might actually have been easier to talk to him towards the end of his stay, as by that time he would have settled in more to talking, or at least listening, in English, but by that time i was just fed up. At the beginning we'd had to repeat things multiple times, which did get really tiring, so we just, eventually, stopped.

I do feel guilty, as i remembered how hard it was when i was in that position a few months ago. But it just got so hard to sympathise with somebody who only communicates in grunts. He honestly did! He went whole days without speaking a single sentence- well, not to us. Whether he was, in the privacy of his head, constantly making witty ripostes and scathing remarks in English we'll never know, but i somehow doubt it.

2004-08-19T11:24:00.000+01:00

I'm going to Sheffield! (We'll come back to frenchie at some point, but there isn't all that much too say and frankly, this is much more important to me right now.) Today was, of course, results day, the day we've all been trying to ignore the existence of for months, the day on which i finally found out whether i'd get into my first choice university (Sheffield, for which i needed three Bs, one in french), my second (Leeds, BBC, B in French), or neither and go through clearing. Mostly i've hardly been nervous about today, generally managing to forget it until people ask "Are you nervous about results day?" When i have been nervous that's been mostly covered up by another fear, much, much less important, but for which i am actually grateful, as i at least could be certain about that one, whatever i told myself. As today is also the day the year twelve's get results it didn't seem too unlikely that i might see E there today. I, as always, entertained fantasies of going up to him, assuring him that everything i'd told him about previously was true and finally convincing him that none of this was a joke. Obviously i knew this was nonsense, and as it turned out i didn't see him at all, not one glimpse of his beatiful personage slipping lithely past, but still, as i've said, this worry covered up the actually more important one concerning my results.

When i had thought about results day i'd been pretty confident. However, at least one part of me has some sense of realism, and i desparately tried to persuade myself ("Be absolute for death," the duke says to a man on the Viennese equivalent of death row in Measure for Measure, "either death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.") that i was bound to fail, (Well, no, not fail; an E counts as a pass. That's how they're able to claim 96% pass rate. Seems a little like cheating, though, as an E won't really get you very far, and everyone knows it.) and i'd come up with the silover lining (No longer going to the same university as P, who it seems i can no longer talk to properly at all.) However, i'm far too arrogant to really be persuaded by that, so i went in today knowing that i was going to walk out with three Bs at the very least. Probably more. I wouldn't have been surprised if i'd ended up with four As. (Ok, that's obviously an exaggeration. Nobody, nobody posessed of a modicum of intelligence could have thought i'd get more than a C for Art. So my D wasn't too much of a surprise.) For a while i'd been semi-consciously practising my grin, my huge, immense and above all massive grin when i found out how brilliantly i'd done. I could pity the people who'd done worse than me, who hadn't made their grades, but really i'd be enjoying knowing i'd done better.

Quite a shock, then, to discover i hadn''t managed it. I needed three Bs. I got two and a C. I wouldn't really have minded about that all that much, they're always telling yuou they'll probably let you in if you just drop a grade. But this grade was rather an important one. I needed, for both universities i'd applied to, a B for french. In my AS exams i'd missed getting an A by about five marks. I was convinced i'd get a B this year at the least. I really did believe i might get an A. So the C was something of a shock. It turned out that i'd done quite badly on what i think must have been the speaking exam (It must have been. The listening, reading and writing was, really, quite easy. And i know i'm not great at speaking.) and even worse (Really, really badly) on my coursework. I got twenty three marks out of a possible ninety. And i hadn't thought i'd done that badly. Fortunately, i have enough sense to accept that that was utterly and completely my own fault, that i couldn't try lay any blame (As my mother has, a little.) on my french teacher for not alerting me to the fact that my coursework was so terrible. We were all late handing the things in, he probably hardly even had time to mark it.

So i was unable to grin. I could hradly even talk. I was lucky, though, really. I had an expression in reserve that i'd been practising for years. I was instantly able to put on my "Please, please, don't speak to me, can't you see i'm not happy? Can't you see i've quite blatantly screwed up? If you ask me my grades i will, i will know that realy you're only doing it to bolster your own feeling of well being. Besides, this is a perfectly interesting piece of floor i'm staring at right now, what could be important enough for you to tear me away from it?" expression, the one i'd put to use in pretty much any social situation in which i've found myself for years. Once i'd spoken to all the relevant people (I may now have to forgive the deputy head for, as i've enjoyed phrasing it for years 'kicking us out of outside'. He was really kind and supportive, and copnvinced me there may yet be hope for me.) i flip-flopped down the steps and strode out of the gate, where i was rushed home by my mother.

Once i'd found the letter from Sheffield with the phone numbers to call in this situation and spent a minute or two getting up the courage i typed in the number and pressed that little button so that it would start the call. It was comforting, in a way, to know that they would have already decided my fate. My mother works in admissions, though not in university quite as well reputed as Sheffield, so i knew that she'd already decided who was going to be on her course by the end of Monday. After a few unsuccessful attempts i got through, only to be put in a queue. It didn't last long though, about five minutes, and i was soon talking to a real person. I was still only half able to hear what she was saying, so my half of the conversation didn't, i'm afraid, make the best of sense. But eventually came the point where i was told "You've been accepted." I was very grateful to this person, irrelevant as she no doubt had actually been to the decision process and i could hear the change in my voice as i thanked her and said goodbye.

So, in around a months time i'll be transplanting my life and as many books as i can to Sheffield, where i will do a four year course in French and Linguistics, including a year abroad in France or a French speaking country (I rather like the sound of Guadeloupe, actually, where our French (The only person i've come out to (If rather (very) clumsily) in another lanuage.) assistant was from. But that's probably quite unlikely. Anyway, i'm going to Sheffield! Hurrah!

You'd think that this brush with doom might have taught me a lesson. Perhaps, having almost not got it, i might be moregrateful about my place. I might be more careful with courseworky type things in future. I might learn all sorts of lessons about humility and so on. There are probably loads of morals i can and should be drawing from all this. I won't though. Oh no.

2004-08-04T12:11:00.000+01:00

My sexuality has never been an issue before. Never ever. Not really. I've been teased a little, but not viciously. No more than i've been teased about anything else. I was starting to think that maybe this is a pretty tolerant society. But then yesterday it all went a bit weird and now i'm just confused. I'm not sure of how best to tell this.

About two weeks ago, on Thursday, it was my birthday. At the weekend i had some friends over and my mother had decided (I haven't blogged about this because i'm sort of a little embarassed.) that i would want a hot tub. So she rented one, this odd thing that was just delivered and slotted together. But i'm a little worried about what led her to this decision. I know she's read my diary at least twice, and i think one of these times she may have things i said about E. However, E would most likely have been referred to only by his first name, which happens to be the same as W and A. So for a while i've suspected that she thinks that i may have feelings for A. Just little things she's said or done. So i do wonder if maybe that was part of her reasong. I hope not, but i wouldn't put it past her.

Anyway, it turns out that there are, for the first time i can think of, rumours about me. I have an idea about the sourceand i don't really mind, but i'm amazed by how far they've gone. P mentioned something about something else that had happened that evening, (It almost felt like he was trying to prove he knew stuff about me, it was sort of weird.) but i didn't realise until last night quite how far this had spread. Forgive me if i don't explain this properly. I think i have mentioned before, though not by letter, M. He's bisexual and has fallen in love with his best friend. I don't know much about what's happened since then. I know he told this boy, and that initially they had a minor falling out. I think now though that they're friends again and nothing more. M only originally told this boy that he (I'll call him Z, as i don't intend to talk much about him again.) was bisexual when Z told M that he thought he may be bi.

So, it transpired somehow that i was talking last night (online, of course) with Z's sister. We had been getting on alright when suddenly she said "get lost ma bro sez ur gay! cuz of ur 18th bday party wiv da hot tub! [sic]" (That's just so terrible i don't even know where to start correcting it, so i've settled for just putting [sic] in instead. I do like finding excuses to use that.) Naturally, while both statements were true by themselves, i resented the suggestion that onbe was a logical comclusion of the other. But at the time i was more surprised by the fact that someone in year nine knew about my birthday party.

"Oh dear lord!!! How does he know about that?!?!?!?" (I was perhaps a tad excessive with the punctuation.)

"i duno but is it tru?? r u really gay?? [again, sic]"

This carried on, and she didn't seem particularly to resent my sexuality until, suddenly, she said "huh??? wow gay ppl r confusin!" (I would insert here some explanation as to what had caused her to say this if i had any idea myself.)

"Are we? how so?"

"cuz u r n im not gonna tlk 2 u nemor infact im gonna blok n delete u"

Once you've deciphered that (Yes, i am exaggerating, but i always do.) i hope you will be just as shocked as i was. I didn't think people thought they could still get away with that sort of behaviour, with thinking like that in this century. I was so taken aback that i didn't have chance to respond before she went through with this childish action, but i immediately started writing her an e-mail. It wasn't a very good one, as really i had no idea what to say. I was too confused even to be angry. I just had to know why, exactly, she'd decided my sexuality was something to be abhorred. She hasn't responded yet, and i doubt she will. I don't know yet if i'll be able to let this go or get obsessed with it, but i had to write that email, futile as it may have been.

But it's the involvement of her brother, Z, that annoys me most. Simply from the way she spoke it seemed obvious that he'd spoken as if my being gay were somehow offensive to him too, but we all now know (Thatnks to the fact that i cannot keep a secret) that he has at the least had doubts about his sexuality. And it's seemed to me that generally doubts such as this turn into certainties. It's not, perhaps, actual doubt, just an unwillingness to say things, lest this make them more real. In the first ever entry in my diary (Now, it seems, quite dead.) i said that my sexuality was 'questionable'. I'm pretty certain now that i knew full well that i was gay. And i'm certain i'm not the only person to have done this initially. It must take a very brave person to immediately make the decision to accept that they are gay.

In other news, this may be my last post for a while. My french exchange partner's coming tomorrow evening, and i doubt i'm going to get much chance to use the computer in that time. Last time he was here things were a little awkward, and the two weeks dragged on quite a bit. This time, though, i'm determined to try harder. He's not here for as long this time, either. But despite my not getting on swimmingly with my partner (though i did have some great times this Easter in France) i'm still a firm advocate of language exchanges. They really do help. But i am starting to get really nervous about spending the entire third year of my university course in France.(I've already found the silver lining though. Assuming P and i do both get into the same university, that'll be a year away from him.)

2004-08-01T15:48:00.000+01:00

I think i'm vaguely superstitious. Well, i am superstitious, really. While i do know it's all complete nonsense, i still vaguely believe stuff too. Only some things. I still try catch fairies and wish on them. Fairies, of course are those seedy things that float around. There seem a lot of them around at the moment. I generally wish for the same thing. I wish for E to fall in love with me. But no fairies going to get round me, oh no, i've read the Arabian Nights (Well, a few of the stories), so i also wish myself in love with him (because i'm still not sure of my feelings) but i also wish that we both knew the others feelings and could act on them somehow. Putting so much thought into it suggests, does it not, that i do believe it. Yet i know it is a load of nonsense. How can a seed have any effect on my relationships?

And if my horoscope happens to be around i'll read it and normally start doing that thing where you twist your life so it fits what the horoscope says. Every time i read a description of a cancer, even though none of them match each other, i normally decide there's enough in there to say it constitutes an accurate description of myself. It's not just that, though, i make up my own superstitions too. Really really bad ones. I don't do it so much any more, but i used to be terrible.

When i couldn't sleep tonight i used to think that if i simply tried hard enough i could communicate with E telepathically. Well, i'm not sure how much i actually believed it, but i tried it all the same. For ages and ages i kept that up. I still sort of do now, but these days i do recognise that all i'm really doing is talking to myself. And this way i get responses too, even though they are just imaginary.

Also, i used to (Now this is a good one.) tear up bits of paper and write "I love [E]" and "[E] loves me" on them. I did a lot of that. I used up entire A3 sheets like that. It didn't, as you may have guessed work. I'm not sure what it was meant to do, but it didn't do it, of that i'm sure.

I've always (Well, for a long time.) found this stuff interesting. Superstitions, folklore, mythology and the like. I even started to read James Frazer's The Golden Bough. I didn't come anywhere near finishing it. My abridged (ABRIDGED) edition is eight hudred and fifty pages long. I think it was originally published in about thirteen volumes. But i remember reading one thing in there, in the chapter on Contagious Magic. He talks a lot about various beliefs along the lines of what we generally just associate with voodoo, the whole pins in dolls thing. He mentions people who believe that a the placenta a child is born with can be used to exert great influence on them, or that the sword used to inflict a wound will then have some sport of spiritual connection with the wound. He then goes on to talk about beliefs from all over the world concerning footprints, including this one: "Among the South Slavs a girl will dig up the earth from the footprints of the man she loves and put it in a flower-pot. Then she plants in the pot a marigold, a flower that is thought to be fadeless. And as its golden blossom grows and blooms and never fades, so shall her sweetheart's love grow and bloom and never, never fade. Thus the love-spell acts on the man through the earth he trod on." I remember when i read that i really liked the idea of it and, in fact, determined to try it out for myself. I never did, in the end, as there were certain difficulties involved. One of them being that i never saw E step on anything but concrete, another that i could hardly carry round a trowel and a flowerpot with me, and another, of course, that if i had done so, that would have made me a sick and insane stalker type. I still think it's rather a lovely idea, though. It'd be nice, one day, to do that, if i could convince myself i was doing it in a sweet innocent way, rather than obsessively and stalkerishly.

2004-07-31T21:14:00.000+01:00

I am a tad drunk. Most likely not enough for this entry to be much different from any of my others, either in style or content, but i do seem a little more prone to spelling mistakes. Well, typing errors. Naturally i never make spelling mistakes. That would never do. Spelling's always been about the only thing i was good at. I even used to correct my teachers.

I am drunk at the house of a friend. W, as he has so far (Rather infrequently, though) been called. I am drunk on alcopops, as i refuse to drink beer and its ilk, although that's at least partly so as not to stray from my stereotype. J drinks beer though, and likes it, and disdains the drinks i drink. It's disgraceful behaviour, really it is, for a boy of fifteen. Not that he really drinks much. I do get jealous, though, of the people he gets drunk with and those with whom he has important discussions over, say, a game of ping pong. I've never had a heartfelt discussion with J over a game of ping pong and in my mad little obsessive mind i don't see why anyone else should get to. It's not as if i'm even very good at ping pong. I'm not even sure whether to hyphenate it or not.

I'm wearing my hair in a style i've never ever used before. It goes down as it normally would, pretty much straight, to a certain point, and then suddenly there are lots of flicks. It looks a bit silly, really, but i rather like it, despite the fact that it looks more like it belongs on someone to whom one would normally apply the word 'bumpkin'. It only happened because when i stepped out of the shower i shook it like a dog and the flicks just appeared. I decided i liked them and sprayed some gelly stuff on. The hairstyle's a bit of a joke really. I often do that. Try to disguise the fact that i know i'm a joke by making a specific part of myself even more ridiculous. That way there's a sort of complicity in the mocking. I get (Or i used to get) mocked either way. Like this there's a sense that i've made a joke. Of course, it's not really like that any more. At least i hope not.

It saddens me, it saddens me an awful lot, that i will hardly ever see J from now on. I'll talk to him online, of course, but that isn't the same. The Ace Crew always used to stand around by the flowerbed in the quadrangle, and i'll never be part of that any more. The Ace Crew is dead. I know this because there can be no Ace Crew without me. Of course there can't. That would be madness, (I'm so terribly possessive, i hate it, i really do. But there's nothing i can do.) the Ace Crew is nothing without me.

Someone else got to be drunk with J! I want to be drunk with J! It's not fair. We could talk for hours and hours about anything anhd everything and it would be wonderful. We would talk about boys we like and he'd make me feel like so much more than i am, like he always does, and i would... I don't what i could do for him, but i'd try all the same to make it worth his while. And i would play music i like and he like it too, lots, and we would dance to it (like loons on loon tablets) and eventually i'd get to hug him, though perhaps not claim this kiss i made him promise me. Who knows. But without doubt it would be completely wonderful and magnificent and he would love me all the more for it. And at the end of it all i would somehow end up finally winning E over and convincing him to love me and it's all a wonderful fantasy that will never, ever, not ever, come true. Not that that can stop me enjoying anything. I still enjoy a long and blissful future with E from time to time.

I think my drunkenness may well now be giving way to the reflective sadness it has slid into once before. I should, perhaps, go join the other two (W and A) before i get too sad. But i still have a little to say, so not yet.

I think i may be a cat person again. I used to be, i used to adore this cat someone had, and it really liked me too, but i've hardly socialised with a cat since. Today, however, i have. It's really a lovely cat, apart from the eyes, which are downright scary. They seem to have almost nothing in the way of pupils, not even the usual vertical slits. And they are this odd milky green, which make it look really, well, blind. But i spent ages stroking it at the same time as i was reading aloud the Just So Stories. I enjoyed it and i think he did too. Not that i'm any judge. My hand now feels a bit greasy and dirty, but it's a small price to pay. I can imagine E with a cat. Actually, i think i can imagine E as a cat aswell.

2004-07-30T11:19:00.000+01:00

I adore reading things aloud. My favourites to read out loud are Rudyard Kipling's Just So Stories. The Just So Stories are magnificent to read aloud. But obviously. the whole point oif reading aloud, really, is reading to someone. And i don't get to do that. Iread the small bits of plastic and lumps of wire. That can be an advantage in that they don't care if you get bored and wonder off. But really i wish i could read aloud to someone. One day i'll have someone, and i'll read to him and he'll read to me. That's quite a simple fantasy, isn't it? It might actually come true. I used to sort of think i'd like to have a child to read to, but aswell as the obvious obstacles, it seems a bit selfish to create life just to have someone to read to.

All this, of course, is linked to the fact that i used to think i was a pretty good actor. Back in primary school we did a hugely shortened play of Little Women (We used to hae this thing, bookweek, which i absolutely adored. It culminated in each class putting on a performance of a book, but there were loads of other things too. Once we all made puppets of our favourite characters. I remember i made Reepicheep from the Chronicles of Narnia. The whole bookweek thing seemed sort of to peter out though, as time went by.) and i played Laurie, who, i never hesitated to point out, was the main male role. (Apart from the narrators, of whom they were quite a few.) I, of course, believed i was absolutely excellent, but i was probably quite bad.

At secondary school, in year eight, we read Henry V, and i was the about the only person that read the same person for pretty much the entire time. I was Henry, and i still maintain i was pretty good. This, though, was possibly because i was a little better than everyone else at reading Shakespeare without pauses at the end of each line, not because i can actually act.

Since then i've got steadily worse. There was a drama festival in, i think, yewar eleven, and that was, at the time at least, one of the worst moments of my life. I seem to remember that being one of my longer diary entries. No doubt i'll discuss it in more detaiul next time i'm stuck for something to talk about.

In the last four years i auditioned each time for the school play, and the best part i ever got was in year eleven. I polayed Simon Zealotes in Jesus Christ Superstar, and i got a whole song. It was my song. I absolutely adored doing superstar, but not just because i had quite a good part. E was in it too. He didn't have any words, but he was an apostle, which meant he and i ended up at most of the same rehearsals and hanging around in the same groups backstage. The play only started a month or two after i'd started having feelings for him, and it was the most contacct i ever had with him in my life. That was one of the times about which i wonder whether if i'd been slightly better at talking to people, specifically to him, things might have gone differently. I'm not suggesting for a moment he might have fallen in love with me, but he might perhaps have liked me a bit more. We might even have ended up friends. Maybe if we had that could have cured the obsession. But, obviously, none of that did happen, so i remain obsessed to this day. The closest i got to befriending him was becoming an expert on every single line in the play so tyhat everyone, E included, turned to me to know what was going on. I absolutely adored doing Superstar though. I cried when it was over.

This year there were two school plays, A Midsummer Night's Dream and Grease. I ended up playing Eugene in Grease. The smallest part, as far as i can remember of anyone in the entire sixth form. And i was blatantly typecast. I personally don't see myself as hugely Eugene-ish, but i think i might give that impression. I did enjoy it though. I made some friends i wish i'd kept. It seemed to me, though, that playing Eugene made me actually start to hate the main plot. It didn't seem fair to me that rather than Danny changing at all from an idiot and a bully that it has to be Sandy who changes from the sweet intelligent one to the slutty one with silly hair. Posssibly my favourite part, though, was going round the huge production line for hair and make up. Not because of the actual make-up, just because it's so nice having people fuss over you like that. Also, of course, that moment i shall treasure, where three of the girls were playing with my hair. Before that, the best compliment i'd been paid was being told i was a natural at having make-up put on.

I am a bad actor, though. I've realised this now. I managed to fool other people and myself because i can read well. For all the actual acting i do i may aswell be simply reading straight from a book. if my face shows any emotion it's a ridiculous pantomime. i am a bad actor. Not that will stop me. The university i'm hoping to get in to promises, as part of the french course, an opportunity to perform a frnech play. In French! There is no way, none at all, that i will not at least be trying out fopr that. If i get a tiny part i may drop out though. It wouldn't be the first time. But now that i have a more realistic idea of my abilities, perhaps i'll be less insulted. Probably not.

2004-07-27T14:25:00.000+01:00

There's something wrong between J and I. I know there is, i can sense. I don't know what though. It's been like this a while. And i've sort of assumed that it was something J was doing, something he wasn't saying. But i've started to think that actually it might be me. And i think i've now forgotten my reasoning for this. I had it all worked out last night, i promise. Part of it was to do with how i eventually make some attempt to alienate every one of my friends, but i seem to remember there being more to it than that. It might have been to do with realising he wasn't and couldn't be in love with me.

I don't think i'm in love, however shallow that love may have been, with anyone at the moment. I'm still obsessed with E, of course, but i've fallen out of love with him again. And i've explained about J. Naturally, as i have no life, i will be spending most of the summer hols inside, on my own, and it's rather unlikely that anyone i feel even a passing attraction to will turn up here. So i suppose i'll have to go back to living through my books again.

I'm eighteen now. Seventeen and fifty three weeks. It's not so much the aging i dislike, more the maturity and responsibility that's supposed to come with it. The only thing about me that has properly matured is my taste in books. I've gone from reading fantasy and it's ilk to reading (or trying at least) only books written a long time ago, digested by many others and looking down on fantasy to reading pretty much anything. Including picture books, which nobody else seems quite to appreciate. But i am really running out of space. Every shelf of my bookcases that doesn't have the space in front of the books filled with useless clutter (toys from cereal boxes, decks of playing cards, remnants of GCSE art projects and the like) has a second layer of books. Last Friday i bought thirteen books in one day, possibly the most i've ever bought in one day. (apart from the complete set of Famous Five books, which were very cheap through a book club a long time ago) It's a weakness, i know, but they were all so beautiful. Three of them were picture books, including one by absolutely my second favourite picture book (Note how i refuse to refer to them as 'children's books'.) illustrator of all time. (Shaun Tan being my most favourite, of course.) It was only partly my fault. Lot's of people had given me money or book vouchers for my birthday and they expect you to spend it.

I promise my blog will get more interesting eventually. Perhaps when i go to university.

2004-07-20T19:21:00.000+01:00

My mother is supposed to be coming home soon. Apparently in about half an hour's time. She's been in my uncle's apartment in Switzerland. And my sister's been on her school trip to Germany. This has left nme all alone here for the past few days with only my father. Fortunately he works rather long hours, but that hasn't spared me completely. For some reason he feels he has to pay more attention to me when he's the only parent around.

My dad's ok, from a distance. But he has a bit of temper, really, and he can be very grumpy. He's been ok this weekend though. He's obviously been trying hard. A couple of days ago he decided it was time for the Talk. Or at least he intimated that such a Talk may be, at some hitherto undefined point in the future, forthcoming. Only not a Talk, a Chat. "One of these days we're going to have a Chat, aren't we." I'm sure there's no need for me to spell out the subject of this 'Chat'. But it was accompanied with the usual "Whatever happens i still love you" nonsense. I hate the "Whatever happens i still love you" bit. I really just find it very, very insulting. How bad as parents do they think i think they are? Surely any person with a reasonable grasp on the world around them can assume that they're parents love them until shown sufficient evidence to the contrary. Is my father telling me that despite who i am he loves me supposed to help me come out to him? They may never say 'despite' but i swear, it's implied, it really is. There's always an unheard 'despite'. I hate, loathe and despise the suggestion that my sexuality might give them cause to not like me. It's always said as if i should somehow be grateful for the fact that my parents arent backwards, homophobic (Incidentally, i still hate that word.) idiots. I'm happy that they aren't, but if they were that would be much more their problem than it is mine. I'm sorry i've been so ineloquent here, but it's one of the few things that really annoys me.

And this little story of mine? Going rather badly. I've written two pages (Which isn't much at all in my writing.) and i can tell i'm on the brink of having E fall completely in love with and giving myself a happy ending. I'm worried it may not serve quite the purpose i intended. However, i'm a stubborn fool, and i'm rather enjoying indulging myself. So i'm going to keep on, no matter how much i end up regretting certain things.

I used to be quite a good writer, i think. My creative writing english coursework, (Written, i might add, around one o'clock in the morning of the day it was due in, thanks to my inability to get a proper start on anything more than a day before the deadline.) which i've spent about three years now boasting about, got full marks. It's besides the point that i read it recently and hated it. Absolutely riddled with cliché and self-indulgent teenage nonsense. And i won a short story competiton (Though at about 100 words it was more of a long paragraph than a short story.) once. It was in Ottakar's, for the prize of a ten pound gift voucher, but it was enough to keep me happy. And i've quite forgotten my point.

2004-07-19T13:23:00.000+01:00

I like to carry a pad around with me everywhere. It's nearly run out now, there can only be a few pages left, but i carry it round all the same. It's become as essential as taking a book everywhere i go. I write various things in it. There are pages from a third diary in there, generally written on bus journeys, (I do a surprising amount of my thinking on bus journeys.) a few starts at blog entries, from when i couldn't wait until i had a keyboard at my fingers, and it is on this pad that i also write all of my letters. That isn't many any more, but i still write a few. I know this is nonsense, but i sort of feel as if in writing continually in the same pad i imbue every page with a little of myself, whether or not i've written on it yet. Also in there are, or soon will be, my abortive attempts ("Abortive attempt" has become a far overused phrase now, hasn't it. This will be the last time i use, apart from perhaps when i'm speaking. I'm already boycotting "happy belated birthday".) at fiction. The only one in there so far picks up from a letter i wrote to J, swearing i was going to cut myself off from various of my friends. Pretty much as soon as i'd written the letter i knew it was nonsense, but to utterly convince myself of this, that i was making the right choice in not excising J, i started writing a story imagining that i had sent the letter. It never got beyond a second page (Excluding five pages of letter.) but i had a vague plot worked out in my mind, and those two pages turned out to be enough. Mostly. Obviously i still had regrets, took up wistfulness occassionally, but mostly it worked.

So it makes sense to carry on doing things like this, i think. At the very least it'll keep me in practice. I don't want to wake up in ten years' time and realise i couldn't write a word of prose if i tried. I know exactly where i need to change my life. There is a moment, i still remember it clearly, when E walked straight past me. I should have talked to him, but i'm a coward. So now i'm going to write a me that did ask him. And he won't have been turned down, not at first, because for one thing that'll make far too dull a story, but neither will he be immediately and passionately kissed by E, as that is patently ridiculous. Even more ridiculous, that is, than the idea of me getting up the courage to talk to him. That did nearly happen. Sort of. I almost looked him in the eye, at least.

You see, i've been fantasising again. Yearning, even. It isn't good for me to yearn. There's nothing wrong with a bit of fantasy but yearning is bad. I end up believing the fantasy. Last night, in my insomnia, i thought about E. I'm confused, you see, about his recent behaviour (As reported by S and J). He seems to have been smirking and grinning in their presence. S saw him at the bus stop a couple of days ago (I'm not sure how they feel about being assistant stalkers.) and said he kept looking over (Both E and S were with friends.) at them and smiling. That, surely, is odd behaviour. Not what you expect from Mr. "Stop bugging me", (Who, in this country, actually says "bugging"? Bizarre.) is it? So somewhere inside me, soimething decides that this obviously because he's starting to belive the stuff i said was true. Obviously he's at the very least flattered, but most likely falling in love with me. Unfortunately, this delusional part of myself seems rather persuasive, and i've never been too susceptible to logic anyway.

A few nights before it was J again. I'd convinced myself that he was probably in love with me but too scared to tell me because of how i'd reacted last time. I imagined conversations between J and S about how he couldn't tell me because i'd just reject him. It's quite amazing how vain i can be. Then, the day after, i spoke to him and realised how this was completely not the case. I started wondering if he actually cared about me at all. For a while now i've been saying "I love you" at the end of conversations, because i do, or did, love him. I've got confused again now. but then i saw that maybe i shouldn't be saying it. He responded, generally, but he never said it first. He's said before he has "weird love feelings", but i began to wonder, and still do, really, if those feeling had dissipated. And it isn't really something i can ask without seeming even more of an obsessive. So the nub and gist of it is i'm no longer in love with J. Though i probably will be again next time i see him. I sort of hope so, he's nice to be in love with, whether or not he loves back.

And then, of course, there's the poor fool who's fallen in love with me. This is the most confusing thing of all. I just have no idea what to do, what to say. Because he deserves to be loved. But i don't. Not like that. I've hardly seen him in ages, and when i do i don't know how i should speak to him. I'm afraid of being arrogant, or patronising, or any number of things i often end up being. I don't want to assume it's a huge passionate love, because why should anyone feel that for me? If i do think that then i'm vain. But then i end up belittling his feelings, which really is just as bad. And i think we need to talk about it, but neither of us seems willing to start such conversation. And i doubt either of us knows what we'd say if it did start.

2004-07-16T11:39:00.000+01:00

Saw my little sister, R, off yesterday. She's going to Germany on a school trip. They left a little past midnight, so i drove up with her and my dad to the school. It's not a long way, hardly worthy of the drive at all, but i suppose it was because of her rather heavy looking suitcase. I, as always when i get the chance, went barefoot. I think i'm going to miss her. It will definitely be a lot duller around here with just me and my dad, (My mother having also gone on holiday with some friends, to a chalet my uncle has an apartment in in Switzerland.) who i often don't get on with that well.

My mother had hoped that my sister would go to my school's sister school. There are normally one or two joint activities between the two school's each year, including the school plays. But my sister didn't really want to. I think partly because she was afraid if she went to a grammar school she'd end up like me. She went instead to the local school, which isn't actually all that bad, as far as i know. It seems to be better equipped than my school. (I refuse to refer to it as 'my old school'.) And at least she was with a lot of her friends.

What was odd though, was the feeling of nostalgia. I seem to feel this way quite a lot, about almost anything. I think the reason was, vaguely, that if i'd gone to that school, i might have come out different. Better. For one thing, it's a mixed school, and it often seems that, in keeping with my stereotype, i do get on better with girls than boys. Apart from gayboys of course. I might have turned out better able to speak to people, for one thing. And i'd have been closer to people i'd gone to primary school with. They might even have ended up liking me. Or tolerating me in a similar way to the people at my school, at least.

But it's pointless really. The group of people that i'd been friends with (Which i seemd to split off from towards the end. I'm sure that's much more my fault than i ever took credit for.) ended up going to all different places. They were all girls, i was the only boy in our little group. One of them left about halfway through year six, i think. I was often quite mean to her. I really regret that now. The only person i still know is L, who i decided to get in touch with at the end of year eleven. I sent a letter to her school, which evidently she did get, as she responded. I actually got her reply on the first day of work experience, which made me much happier and excited generally, so my day wasn't as bad as i'd expected. We communicated for a while by letter. I've only heard her voice once in the last seven years, and that was over a year ago, when i was on the French exchange. Neither of us turned out to be brilliant at keeping up to date with our letters, though. When i finally got MSN (Which i pretty much credit for saving my life.) though, we were able to speak regularly and still do, and she's tremendous fun to talk to. I'd know count her as one of my best friends, i think. I'm definitely very glad of that letter i sent. I do wish i'd sent more though, to other old friends.

I sometimes see people i know on the bus but, being me, the social incompetent, i never say anything. Never more than a quiet 'hello', at least. Although they never seem much better, and these are people i always remember as being much more conversationally gifted than me. I even shared a birthday party with one of them once, as her birthday was only the day after mine. Everyone, though, looks pretty much the same as i remember them. It's quite scary, really, as i suppose it means i can hardly have changed in the last seven years either. But i hope my personality, at least, has changed. I was as horrible as those of us "at the foot of the social ladder" are ever able to be. So i was horrible to my friends, but not to the people who i didn't really like. Thinking about it, i am still like that. Perhaps a little less so, but that's still bad. And i don't think there's much i can do about it. I've never successfully managed, really, to change who i am before, just to exert a little control over the way i behave.

I reflected, last night, on the fact that i would be blogging this (I don't deliberately plan this thing, but i've started thinking in blog now, so as soon as anything happens, i've started mentally typing it. This has pretty much replaced the imaginary conversations and diary entries. Actually, i miss the imaginary conversations.) on the last day of my last year at my school. As i type this all my friends in the school are enduring the final assembly, an hour-long affair pretty much despised by most people who undergo it. It's mainly just a frenzy of prize-giving, accompanied with a little speechifying by the various teachers who are leaving, (This year including one of my favourites, Ms E (E for English, which i suppose makes my other favourites Mr E, Mr F and Ms L.) and the headmaster (Who will be wearing his swishy cape right now. He's constantly flouncing about the place in that old rag. (Perhaps i'm being a little loose with language here. I can't really imagine Mr H flouncing anywhere. Sweeping, perhaps. He sweeps about the place in his cape.)) and the school song. I never hated the school song quite as much as we were meant to. And i never joined in the chorus of coughing around the third verse which, when it was briefly stamped out, one of my friends was actually nostalgic for. The school song may reflect sentiments i've never particularly been desparate to claim as my own, (Most of it seems to refer to life being a game of cricket, and so on. Sport has never been my thing.) but i always try sing it with a little more enthusiasm than most people, though it's always hard to actually try sing above the dirge produced by most of the school.

It's pretty much over now, my last year. I suppose this means i can no longer refer to myself as a pupil. I'm now officially an 'old boy', with the disgusting tie to prove it. It really is a bad tie. It looks like toothpaste gone mouldy.

Will the sun start shining now the summer hols (Yes, i read a lot of Enid Blyton when i was very young.) have officially started?

2004-07-13T14:39:00.000+01:00

P sent me an email three days ago. (Actually, i've just noticed he didn't send it to me. He sent it to J, via myself and S. Assuming i've understood the various twiddly bits at the top of the email.)

"OK I confess. It was unpleasant, unplanned, drunken and unwanted, and quite frankly he is disgusting, but I was too inebriated to care anyway. And about the 'kiss', I wasn't being unnaturally secretive or 'squirmy', because there was no desire there. Anyway, I have paid the consequences and I'm as hurt as anyone (assuming you are also hurt) – as well as embarrassed that I would lower myself to his level, I will probably continue to be valued only (or mainly) by the people that I don't really value back. Such is the price of deceiving people. But I'll probably carry on doing it for the rest of my life nonetheless, whether I want to or not.

I know that I said no more emails, but I thought you'd either want or deserve to have this one. Know that I feel that I have wasted something."

I wasn't entirely sure, at the time, exactly what he was confessing to. Whether he just meant the kiss, or if he was talking about everything the rumours said. I asked him yesterday and he told me that he had meant everything. I was vaguely annoyed, as i had once again started to believe him that nothing had happened, but mostly relieved really. Although i still can and probably will feel somewhat guilty about all this, i believe now that i did the right thing. I told no lies, accidental or otherwise.

Whether or not J ever does, i know that i will forgive P. I'd like to say this is because really i'm a forgiving person, but i'll actually blame it once again on my pathetic inability to remain steadfast on anything and resist his pleading that he doesn't want to do the things that he does. That may be true, but i do think he is too ready to do hings and then use that as his excuse. And i've been drunk more times than him and never ended up kissing him. I, though, failed to see how pathetic the excuse of drunkenness was until it was pointed out to me, and D was right, "You don't lose all sense when you are drunk, you still have your thoughts." And thinking about it, the only reason i ever got drunk in the first place was to give myself the freedom and confidence to do something i'd wanted to do for a while.

When i first got drunk, it was with a small group of friends at W's house. These gatherings occured frequently among my friends, although i'd never gone before. And i knew that they always got drunk. In agreeing to go i had decided that i was going to get drunk. I was the only one who knew why, though.

I'm not quite sure exactly what i was expecting the alcohol to do to me, but i was certain that it would help. And it did. I enjoyed being drunk. I got into one of my giggly attention seeking mmods, but i think other people cared less, as they were drunk too. And, eventually, i did pluck up the courage to come out. Not, as i'd hoped, to everyone, but only to A, who wasgreat about the whole thing. As far as i remember. That was back at the start of the year, around halfway through September. that's actually quite a while ago. I hadn't thought about that before.

Since then i've been drunk a few times, about four or five, and i'm rather pleased that i'm yet to experience a hangover. (P got one on his second time. Serves him right, really.) I haven't, though, been drunk in ages. Mainly because i haven't got a lot of money and there are other causes much more worthy of it. Namely, my book collection. (I've fallen in love with another book, by the way. It just has one of the most beatiful covers of recent times. Although it isn't as good as Cloud Atlas. It's called A Few Short Notes on Tropical Butterflies and it's a book of short stories. Short stories are good, you always tend to get at least one that you like. That happened when i read Other Stories and Other Stories by Ali Smith. The first few i'd decided were "OK", (My pronouncement on any book not worthy of any particular praise but also not atrocious.) but then they started to get rather dull, until the very last, A Story of Love, which i turned out to absolutely adore.) And i'm perfectly capable of giggling and finding contrived statements funny when sober.

2004-07-12T21:11:00.000+01:00

My sister and i fight a lot less than we used to. Well, we no longer fight with any seriousness, only jokily. And we make each other laugh a lot more. And best of all, she seems finally to think my tastes are worth something. She sings along to my music (That may simply be due to the constant brainwashing of playing it so loudly.) and she has recently started borrowing my books. I love lending my books. I get terribly freakish and uptight about them, but i adore lending them nonetheless. And she has absorbed my commandment "Don't break the spine." and is able to quote it back at me whenever she borrows one. She is now borrowing The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. Everyone who i rave to has heard about this one. It's absolutely brilliant, it really ius. And now my little sister's reading it. I hope she has the sense to see how good it is, unlike most of the Booker judges. (I'm really bitter about that. It seems silly really. I mean, it won the Whitbread.)

She's giving me a lot more hugs than she used to aswell, although that isn't turning out too well, as apparently both of us prefer to have our arms on the underneath of a hug. (I like that because it feels more protective, more like you're the one actually being hugged. I think she likes it because she's copying me.) So that's really nice, apart from the violent turn she's taken in demanding them. She has also, though, started demanding piggybacks and pony rides. I used to like lifting her up and giving her piggybacks but the thing is, she's a little heavier now. She's grown quite a lot recently and is now roughly the same shape as me. (Actually, thinking about it, she really is similar. I think her breasts, proportionally, are roughly equal to my own. The difference, of course, is that while she tries to make the most of hers i attempt to hide mine.)

But i did notice for the first time, a couple of days ago, that she's actually rather pretty. My parents have been calling her beautiful for years, but that's the duty of all parents. And these same parents call me 'gorgeous', which i definitely am not. (Although i've grown to rather like my nose.) So i always dismissed their comments. Maybe i'm just as biased as them, but i'm beginning to think that actually, they have a point about her.

It seems to me quite likely that this improvement in our relationship may owe something to my finally coming out to her a month or two ago. That night we talked for ages, really quite frankly, and she told me things, secrets, about her aswell. I never knew before, for instance, that she has actually smoked a cigarette or two. She didn't seem all too enamoured with the idea of taking it up as an addiction though.

2004-07-12T19:28:00.000+01:00

My favourite bear is too small to cuddle. He's older than me, but he's absolutely tiny, and i just feel like an idiot holding him when i go to bed at night. Which, unfortunately, means Custard (So named because of his colouring.) is generally forced to sit at the side of my bed while i hug Snuffles or Wilfy (A brown bear and rabbit respectively). I know they're only bundles of stuffing with eyes sewn on and he can't actually be offended by this, but it still makes me feel really guilty. I've always credited them with a vague sort of sentience, and still talk to them occasionally. (Though that's more because if i don't talk to them, i'll just be talking to myself.) When i do hug Custard he tends to slip around or fall out after a while.

2004-07-11T22:31:00.000+01:00

I've been on a high since seeing J on Friday. It was so wonderful, speaking to him again, and i've been quietly ecstatic since. I've only recently come down. Evidently i'm still in love with him. And on Friday i noticed, in a way i haven't before, that he's really rather good looking. Apart from the fact that he's very obviously fifteen. Still, i can't wait to see him as a grown-up. And i'm more determined than ever to eventually claim the kiss i've been promised, although i still haven't even managed my long yearned for hug.

However, i have no intention, unless something dramatic happens, of ever starting a relationship of any greater depth of emotion (I tried to say it normally, i did, but i just got swept past my target of a clear and concise description into skirting it with long sentences instead.) than our current one. Mainly, of course, because this can't happen. My feelings of being in love are not reciprocated, however much he loves me. And i'm completely happy with this. But were that not the case, if he did love me in the same way, then it still couldn't happen. I'm much more resolute now than back when it nearly did happen.

For one thing, and i know this is silly, i'm actually rather scared by the idea. He has had two... relationships in the past and (I know, i know this isn't his fault.) they have both ended quite badly. One never went further than a brief encounter in the toilets, and the other lasted only a month. He was the one who put an end to them both. Now i know this is silly, as i've known and completely respected his reasons for both, but i would be constantly afraid that i too would not measure up. J isn't as exacting and demanding as i've fooled myself in my head into believing he is, but i find it hard to stop believing something, even when i know it to be complete nonsense.

There is also the reason, the main reason, that i wouldn't let this happen before. And this time i've evidence to back it up. I was afraid then, and still would be now, that if something happened to break us up we would not part on the best of terms. Now that P and J have broken up, J appears to really, well, hate P, calling him on this very blog a "tosser" and a "wanker" and (worst of all!) comparing him to I, widely reputed for his arrogance and insensitvity. (Apparently on the morning of the book group I and J were arguing about whether i'd come in (I don't mean to say that as if it was a hot topic throughout the school; i'm sure they only briefly discussed it.) and J (My best friend, remember.(Though admittedly I probably doesn't know that.)) was informed by I that i wouldn't want to come in to see him (J). Ha!) I asked J a couple of days ago if he was speaking to P and he said he saw no reason to. I doubt that i would act as P has, but even so, if something did go wrong, who's to say that i couldn't end up losing my best friend?

And then, of course, there's the fellow previously referred to as "J's straight boy", worthy, i feel, on his second mention, of a letter. So he shall be Y. Y's position in J's feelings is roughly equivalent to that which E used to enjoy in mine. Apart from general consensus holds that Y is, in fact, straight. E's sexuality, we've always felt, was more doubtful. (No, obviously we don't spend all our time debating people's sexualities, but when these people are important to us we want to be certain.) But J is still rather obsessed with Y. he was even while he was going out with P, though i assume P didn't know that. And i know i'm not sufficient to supplant Y in J's emotions either.

I had other reasons too, when i started this, but i seem to have forgotten them. Still, i'm sure those three (Well, the middle one at least.) are enough to justify my turning down this imaginary relationship. That doesn't mean i'll stop imagining it though.

2004-07-10T18:05:00.000+01:00

S says E sniggers now whenever he sees him or J. Not a good thing. J thinks E now thinks that he, S and the chap they had deliver the letter (We'll call him X. (You should hear the middle name that offers X, you really should. Unfortunately, you won't.)) are all playing a joke on the two of us. I'm really starting to get annoyed by his continued disbelief. And obviously there's nothing i can do. That doesn't, of course, mean i'll stop trying. Don't try convince me not to, either, i know i'm a fool.

I used to really like those fabric softener adverts. The ones with the sweet fabric people, you know. I wanted one of my very own. However, the new character is very disappointing. To emphasise the fact that they are appealing to 'sensitive' types they have added a gay character, another complete stereotype. It's so annoying. Gay people can be insensitive too! Look at P!

Oh! I said i'd talk about my books! Prepare to be thrilled. I chose to take in Feeling Sorry For Celia, Not The End Of The World, Vernon God Little and Cloud Atlas. Four brilliant books, i promise. The only one of these i actually got chance to recommend was Celia, an absolutely brilliant book, written solely in letters (We pretentious people refer to it as an 'epistolary' novel. Well, i do it because i'm pretentious. Other people do it because they're english teachers.) from various of the main characters friends, aswell as imaginary organisations, who frequently protest her lach of teenagerly skills and order she commit suicide. Fortunately, she doesn't. I have read it... many times. I think, if i haven't already, i'm close to entering double figures. I've also forced a lot of my closest frineds to read it (Well, the ones that i knew would appreciate it.) and they all loved it.

Not The End Of The World Is the first collection of short stories by the wonderful Kate Atkinson. I do absolutely adore this woman's books. I took Behind the Scenes at the Museum out of the school library a while ago, and it was absolutely brilliant. I've only read three of her books so far, but i'm desparate to read more. Thinkinng about it, i should perhaps have put some on this birthday list i was forced to make. Still perhaps my parents are intelligent enough to notice, and buy me either Case Histories or Human Croquet. However, i sincerely doubt it. Not the End of the World is absolutely brilliant, filled with various classical references, and each story linking somehow to another. However, despite my love of mythology, my favourite is probably the least classicaly grounded of the lot, Dissonance, just because of how brilliantly she writes her warring siblings, Simon and, erm, his sister. But i do love them all really.

Vernon God Little is, as i'm sure you all know, the winner of the 2003 Man Booker prize, (Talking of which, it's almost time for Man Booker 2004! YAY!) and deservedly so. I've only read one other book on the shortlist but it wasn't as good. Wasn't even as good as The Curious Incident of the Dig in the Night-time. Vernon God Little, though was brilliant. I need to re-read it, as i've pretty much forgotten it, but it really is very good. It's based around a columbine-style massacre and the false accusation of the main character, Vernon. It's lovely and critical of pretty much the entirety of American society, in a bally hilarious way, and Vernon really is worthy of all the comparisons to JD Salinger's creation Holden Caulfield.

Finally, i chose Cloud Atlas. I've mentioned this one before, so i hardly need to talk about it again. All i'll say is that i've every intention of reading it again, but that this time it may be fun to have a go at it as a collection of short stories. It's six linked storied, you see, each interrupting the previous one, until the last one finishes and the previous one resumes. Sort of like the Arabian Nights. I might, for instance, read the beginning then end of the book, or maybe just the two parts with my favourite character/narrator in. Sad, i know, but not quite as insane as reading a book completely backwards.

2004-07-09T21:12:00.000+01:00

I went into school again today. For the reading group this time. And then that's it, i have no more excuses until about October, when i intend to collect some of my art coursework. My art this year wasn't particularly good, but i had the sense to incude a mildly 'subversive' (if rather comtrived) message in my picture book, which actually turned out quite well. So well, in fact, that the examiner decided it was his favourite of my entire group's work. (It's a group of about five.) The examiner, though, was evidently a loon, as most other people's wotk was much better. Still, i'm not averse to being paid compliments, no matter what their loonish origin.

It was great going in again today. I only saw E very briefly (because i hid in the library almost the entire time) but you'll all be pleased to know he's stiull as beautful as ever. I almost want to say more so, but that's probably just from hardly seeing him any more. I also saw a lot of J and G, though unfortunately not S, who was gallivanting off God knows where. Still, it was fabby seeing those two, especially best friend J, who i got to talk to much more than the last two times i've been in. Also got to be snide and bitchy about I, who's also in the reading group. That was a lot of fun. (I know it's cruel, but he's as bad as P (maybe worse) when it comes to callously and unwittingly insulting people.) I only got to recommend one of my books, which was disappointing, as i'd spent ages carefully choosing four of my favourite books. I shall have to talk about them on here. But not now. Perhaps when my eye and nose have stopped dripping.

2004-07-08T22:30:00.000+01:00

A relative called me today to ask what sort of bible i wanted for my birthday. We settled on a revised King James. (I'm rather a fan of the archaic language.) I found it all too uncomfortable to point out that any reading i do of the Bible will be as a work of fiction. I don't consider myself a christian anymore and haven't really for a long time. What clinched it was my mother's bible, in its notes on homosexuality, advising that i seek counselling. But i hadn't really believed in any of it for a while before that. My favourite bit was always the hymns. I do really like church music. And surely everyone, really, loves carols, whether they believe them or not.

However, i refuse to believe, as certain of my friends do, that religion is evil. P once claimed to have had some part in 'freeing S from the shackles of religion'. I don't believe in 'the shackles of religion'. It's wrong to just make such sweeping statements about such an abstract thing. The shackles of the Catholic church perhaps (Although i wouldn't ever think like that.) but the idea of 'the shackles of religion' is just ridiculous. It's just people wanting to feel superior to others because of their beliefs. Which is frankly just as bad as when that happens between religious people.

I have nothing against Christianity. I only vaguely don't believe in it. I seem to want to believe in something, but i've no idea what yet. There's nothing wrong with religion. It's just that a lot of people use religion to their own ends. Back in the crusades, religion was our excuse. It was the excuse we used for the empire and slavery. Bush is still using it today, claiming that certain types of love are 'unconstitutional'. It's preposterous, trying to run the most powerful country on Earth using a set of rules meant for a small desert tribe who needed something to believe in.

But, that said, i have nothing against people who believe in these things, as long as they don't start taking over and applying ridiculous rules. Which, fortunately, most people don't. My friend C, for instance, has never once tried to tell me that the way i live my life is wrong. Far more intolerant is W, who believes that religion, all of it and every single one, is evil.

2004-07-08T21:24:00.000+01:00

It's the eighth today, isn't it? That means there are two weeks left until my birthday. I don't remember ever being this unexcited about my birthday. There are various reasons, other than the fact that i generally just don't want to get older and be a grown-up. I've pretty much given up on that whole Peter Pan thing, though. Especially as i seem to have turned into an old man anyway. I have spent a lot of the day either sleeping or shuffling (in a limping sort of way). I've taken to wearing what is, effectively, a cardigan. I think it might be vaguely in fashion (I squandered the good taste that is the birth-right of all homosexuals on choosing books, so i only have a vague idea about such thing.) at the moment, but that's not the point. And i am sitting hee, sipping a fruit tea (Peach and Passionfruit) which is probably about one step from coffe and rich tea biscuits. I suppose rich tea biscuits are actually supposed to be had with tea, but "tea and rich tea" doesn't sound anywhere near as good. I'm old before i've even experienced being middle-aged.

What i really don't like about my birthdays, and the same applies to Christmas, is having to make a present list. It so annoys me to think that my own family don't know me well enought o find a present for me. I wouldn't mind getting a present that i didn't hugely like if i knew that i hadn't had to ask for it first. So instead i try to think of everything i could possibly want, to make as big a list as possible, so that each is present is something of a surprise. Then, of course, mother-mine complains, saying "How many people do you think want to buy you presents." I don't think there's much point to presents at all. I enjoy giving presents, as it's an excuse to force bookks on people (I only ever give books.) but i really hate having tpo choose my own present. Still, a considered present that i'm not expecting will always make me happy.

Maybe that's why i liked the solstice so much. It had more meaning, really, than the other trhings we celebrate, and nobody had to get me any presents. Nobody else even noticed it happening, so i got to enjoy it anyway i wanted. Actually, i think the Finns have the right idea about Midsummer. (I don't really know which is which between Midsummer and the summer solstice.) They have huge bonfires and all sorts. Someone from Finland was telling me about it, and it all just sounded so cool.

2004-07-08T20:09:00.000+01:00

I have now cheered up quite a lot. I had an email from S and J telling me the letter i wrote (perhaps misguidedly) to E had been delivered, and then L cheered me up immensely with sparkling conversation: "How can I describe cleavage?" Plus, as always i have happy music to cheer me up. So i do not care about the pain in my foot (largely gone) or the cold i seem to be coming down with. I am obviously very much a happy-go-lucky type with no mundane concerns and my head in the clouds. Obviously.

It turns out that both J and S are just as cowardly as me. Neither of them was able to present my letter to E, and they had to ask someone else to do it. It's quite funny really. (In an "I'm a loser and i can't even manage as a stalker" way.) I put a lot of effort into that letter. Probably far too much. I wrote very carefully, double spaced and everything, trying to make up for my handwriting, which is generally held to be illegible, or pretty darn close. I also used my favourite pen, only used for the most important things, as it contains ink of a very beautiful colour. Everyone calls it turquoise, but it isn't turquoise. Oh no. The first page was mostly apologies (I'm an apologetic person.) and the rest was so dull that i've forgotten. All i really remember is asking him to read my blog. I thought that surely four months of me trying to explain myself must make a better impression than four pages. I shall have to see.

I don't have much hope. Not really. He doesn't see to take kindly to my pestering. But i have to try, you see, no matter how much of a freak i end up looking.

In other news, J says he is pleased that things between he and P are over. I asked, in a bid to ease my conscience, "Were things going that way before my blog or is it all my fault?"

"No, it's nobody's fault," he replied. "Maybe matthew's for being a grade A wanker" So that, i suppose is that. I still feel a little guilty though. But not as much.

2004-07-08T15:05:00.000+01:00

I think i have done something very, very bad. J, having read my last blog, confronted P about it and they've now broken up. All of last night i was worrying about that maybe what i'd been told about P wasn't true, though i've no real reason, other than P's denial, to disbelieve it. But still i feel so guilty about it. I had seen P earlier, but i'd hardly been able to talk about anything, nevermind anything that mattered.

As soon as I got into Birmingham yesterday (There, I couldn’t be bothered keeping that a secret from the internet anymore. But I’m not a brummie. Never accuse me of that.) I fell over. It wasn’t that bad at the time, but my foot and ankle, later on, were causing me a hellish amount of pain. Something more that annoyed me about P yesterday: when he heard I’d fallen over and really hurt myself, his first question was “In front of everyone?” as if the humiliation of falling over was worse than the actual pain. I didn’t like the suggestion that I was as obsessed with keeping up appearances as he. Obviously I didn’t tell him so, for the same reason I couldn’t tell him anything, for the same reason I could never talk to E: I’m terribly afraid of confrontation.

Having so injured my leg, when I got home I lay down for a while on my bed, rather than, as I should, it seems, have done, immediately rushing to the computer, going online and urging that everything i said may well have been nonsense. See, i said P would convince me. I am far too impressionable.

However, as i am so fond of quoting in a French translation, what's done is done. P and J are broken up and it doesn't seem that likely that they will get back together again. I don't think i can take sole credit for this, as even P said "I know there's no chance of anything with [J], because he was being a bastard to me on wednesday (or whenever it was) as well. Regardless of anything that people falsely, or jokingly claim happened, something was already going on." I, of course, being my thoroughly wet self, did not stick up for J here when i should have.

That was part of a huge tirade of which i was on the wrong end, filled with all sorts of things i found really rather insulting. He spoke as if he was the only person who's ever tried to help me, citing an incident i don't even remeber that must have been quite some time ago. He accused me of being "at the foot of the social ladder" an observation which i think, although i may have felt that way, has not really been true. Not for a very long time, at least. I think i've always been at the least tolerated, in a sort of annoying, irrelevant way. And i have always had friends who've cared for me, however much i've attempted at times to alienate them.

He basically accused me of having spent the last month trying to break the two of them up "I presume you convinced him to break up with me." "I'm quite sure that this is what you wanted all along." That made me so angry. I've never liked P and J being together, that's always been clear, but i've tried to. I grew, or was growing, to accept it, and i never actively tried to split them up. I realise that a lot of the things of said or blogged have shown my dislike of him, but J knows his own mind well enough that it would take more than a few bitchy comments, of no more weight than the words of a spiteful child, to turn him against P.

But then, when the conversation, i felt so guilty, to both of them, and i don't really know what to think. J has said to me "Thanks a lot for basically everything you've done." but i'm far too good at being guilty to just abandon it so quickly. The conversation ended when P made a few final comments, after i had asserted that i had every right to be jealous, and i never managed to respond to them: "There is no reason for you to be jealous now because [a] nothing happened. [b] he didn't really love me and [c] i wasn't really very fun anyway, it was always when can we meet up, etc., and never actually seeing each other. It was more hope than anything."

2004-07-07T12:59:00.000+01:00

"Honesty is fucking shit. If you can get away with lying, do it." - P

I'm going to the cinema this afternoon with some friends, to see Shrek 2. Also going, it seems now, may be P. Now i heard something last night which i doubt he would have wanted me to know. And as i may not contain my anger /disgust /whatever i'll be feeling it seems he may just find out that i know. In which case he may ask me not to tell J.

This wouldn't be the first time, of course. He told me a while ago (But still while he and J were going out.) that someone had tried to kiss him on the lips. He begged me not to tell J, but as J is my best friend i insisted that he tell him. I didn't really think J should mind particularly, as P told it as if he had resisted entirely. That, to me, wouldn't seem to show him in too bad a light. However, it seems now that perhaps he i might not have been told quite the truth. Other accounts have it that he was the one attempting to kiss, the other boy resisting hoim. Which, obviously, changes things a lot. A LOT.

This news filters too me via M, P's best frined, who knows, as far as i can tell, everything about P. Although i do not like or trust him, i do think that generally he is truthful when he is widely spreading his gossip.

I was debating with myself what i should do with this information. Should i tell J straight out? Should i try protect him from it? This is probably about the worst thing possible i could have done, but i've pretty much abandoned my diary now, which means that anything i don't blog just boils inside me. So now i've made up my mind. I have to tell J. But i had to blog this before i go lest P convince me otherwise.

2004-07-06T13:36:00.000+01:00

I haven't commented on T and P's relationship in depth for quite a while now. Partly because i haven't really felt it's any of my business. But it is now, i feel, after an argument last night.

Since they first started going together (One must always use a slightly dated turn of phrase when one can get away with it.), things haven't turned out quite as well as we all expected. P, wasting little time to put as much pressure on J as possible, told him that he intended to spend the rest of his life with him. As a point of reference, i should make it clear that only a month before he was completely in love with S. J, unfortunately, did not, and does not, feel the same. He does not really see any future to the relationship after P leaves for university. At the time P said "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it", presumably intending that J would be won over by his magnificent personality. However, J has not been, and now seems more resolute than ever that this will be the end, refusing P's idea that they might start afresh in four years' time.

Until recently, P and i have not been on the best of terms. This is largely my fault. I found something offensive in everything he said, and all of my responses were barbed. I was horribly spiteful and i think that any insults on his part have been completely unwitting. The problem is that his unwitting insults can be quite offensive.

Aside from the one which most sticks with me, "You'd be good looking if you weren't so fat," (Ofeensive, if you need to be told, in it's implications that being good looking would be the only reason for someone to like me ad it's casual dismissal of those of us without a perfect body.) most offensive perhaps, perhaps, because it was intended as a compliment, there have been many other faux pas. So many that i've taken just to ignoring them, or even humouring him in them. So i hardly paid much attention to last night's.

P had finally watched Amélie, a film which i insist everyone watch, and asked me if i identified with her. I do, but i doubt i'm the only one. I seem to remember that half the young female population of France did at the time it came out. However, his reasons for this conclusion weren't quite right, and it was to this, on my behalf, that J took offence. P asked if i identified with her "in that she is romantic but doesn't dare to just ask him [Nino Quincampoix (The rather delectable Mathieu Kassovitz)] out, and finds other ways of dealing with it." This is vaguely true, but i was modelling myself as a male Amélie long before my feelings for E became a complete obsession. But all in all, i hadn't actually been that offended by it.

When P told J the same, though, he felt that this was belittling me, and stuck up for me. I'm pretty certain that this wasn't the only factor, but it was obviously the catalyst. So J stuck up for me and P was offended by this, ending up ignoring J, talking to him only through me. This didn't last long though. P soon left in a huff, his parting shot, said to me, "And tell him it really hurts when it is so obvious that he cares more about you than me."

Now this, unfortunately, is patently untrue. I do believe J has strong feelings for me, but not of the same type as those for P. One would think that the fact that he chose P over me when he had the chance was proof enough. I think, actually, it's really selfish of him, having me tell J how much this hurts him, when he knows i have feelings for J and that i'm jealous of him. Just as i was coming round to almost liking him again. Oh well.

2004-07-03T23:57:00.000+01:00

Finally i have succumbed, as, eventually, we all must. At last i am forced to have recourse, as every blogger, when the desire to blog outgrows actually having anything to say, or at least being able to say it, to a list. I swore to myself when i read Nick Hornby's 'High Fidelity' that never again would i make a list. But now, here i am, with my List of Seven Songs That Drive Me Well Near Insane. They are not neccessarily my favourites, just seven songs which really do a lot to me. Seven songs i perhaps should not be allowed to listen to in public, as my face contorts something horrid when i fake trying to hit the high notes and i can 'express' myself more freely at home, without fear of ridicule for my frenzied hand gestures. The songs are in no order other than that in which i hear them now as they play randomly in the background. It was hard enough even choosing the songs, nevermind putting them in order. I depressed myself a little determining whether one song (I took this far too seriously.) made the list. It didn't.

Supertramps and Superstars - Simple Kid. Simple Kid is a genius. He really is. Not terrifically well known though. This is because of his, frankly ridiculous, voice. But his voice is more than made up for by the music he writes, which varies from the beautifully touching to the brilliantly funny. 'Supertramps' falls, without doubt, into the first category. It is, as far as i can tell, about a group of faded drag queens, (I base this on the over the top names and the first line "Penelope Prozac, a seventies throwback, and king of the Camden queens.") including such brilliant lines as "Selina Saliva, with eyes like a tiger, but most of her stripes long gone" and "Penelope knows that the world is a passer-by. So caning discreetly, she'll tell you so sweetly, she's dressed up with nowhere to cry". Simple Kid's was actually the first gig i ever went to. It was really good. He played half the songs in a country style and was joined by various other people, "a genuine French chanteuse" who sang 'Supertramps' in French (I was able to translate shamefull little of it.) and two saw players, one of whom, who also played the fiddle, (I liked him more as a fiddler than a violinist. Silly, i know, but fun.) i fell briefly in love with. Marvy

Someone To Touch - Scissor Sisters. Pretty much everybody has now heard some of Scissor Sisters, but this song seems to be one of their least known, (And presumably therefore least liked.) which i don't like, as it's one of my favourite songs. I can't give a proper genre analysis, so i can't tell you what to compare this to, but i love it so much. The intro has these bizarre sounds in, the nature of which i know not, and won't ask for fear of spoiling the mystery. There was a time, a while ago, when the lyrics really helped me: "You're in my heart, even though it fell apart, but all we had to do was try. I still love you, but the pain feels funny now that you're seeing other guys." And, of course, almost any song featuring a chorus of one sound repeated, be it 'doo', 'da' or 'la', will always have my approval.

Pa Pa Pa Palavas - Benoît Charest (Sorry, he doesn't appear to have a website of his own, but all the music you'll hear on here was written by Charest.) This song was originally written for the Belleville Rendezvous soundtrack, and is used a couple of times. It is the only song on actually sung by the man who composed every single one of the pieces of music, including such diverse instruments as a hoover and a fridge. (Though not on this song, i don't think. But there is a suspicious whirring noise at the beginning.) Based on my limited musical knowledge, this song has a sort of fifties style. It's sung almost completely in French, the only words in English being "Make love." in a very thick French accent. Every single line ends in the sound '-asse', pronounced more sibilantly than even seems possible, which i find quite astounding, although i know english is renowned for being inferior to other languages for finding good rhymes. I'm yet to work out cpompletely what the song means, but i sing along as best i can all the same. It is a very summery song, starting and ending with seaside sounds. It constantly evokes, for me at least, images of proper Italian ice cream on the beach. And the chorus, "Pa-pa-la-la-la-la-la-vas", is, basically, erm... fab. So there's my erudite commentary on Palavas. Four left.

Rumba Dub Style - Ojos de Brujo. This song starts off with one of the best trilly Rs i have ever heard: "rrrrrrrrrrumba!" and proceeds quickly into lightning tongued spanish (Well, castillian, but i'm never sure of spelling. And as far as i know it isn't wildly different to the language of which it is a dialect. Perhaps my spanglophone (No, i do not know the prefix for 'Spanish', but i think 'spanglophone' is a pretty marvy word.) reader can help me out.) of which i can understand almost nothing. I have, at various times, picked out the words for 'head', 'time' (Or was it weather?) and 'listen'. I sort of wish sometimes i still did Spanish. But French is my true love. Anyway, this song is another one perfect for my summery moods. It's one of those songs (Though i'll admit there are'nt a huge number of these around at the moment.) that really makes you wish you knew how to dance flamenco, even though i don't quite have the figure for one of those ruffly dresses. It has all the quick fingered guitar playing &c. from flamenco, but is somehow brilliantly modern aswell. I love it.

Rue des Cascades - Yann Tiersen. YannTiersen writes some of the most beatiful music you will ever hear it. He's really quite famous in France and has done collaborations with all sorts of people, including the recently jailed Bertrand Cantat (That's just me showing off that i know a little about French culture really.) and Neil Hannon, of Divine Comedy fame. This particular song features one of Tiersen's favourite instruments, which i promise, in this context, does not sound at all reminiscent of English folk music, the accorion. It also make a lot of use of some harpsichord style instrument, and the woman who actually sings it has a beautiful voice. The actual words, i think, are rather a poor translation, but they make a vague, if slightly repetitive, sense. But the words are less important to this one. There's this one point, towards the end of the song where one of the instruments comes in like the crack of a whip, which drives me wild every single time i hear it. If you look around a bit in the 'discographie' section of Tiersen's site you should be able to hear thirty seconds of this song and loads of his others. You can also hear the full version of "Les Jours Tristes", with Neil Hannon, which damn near made its way onto this list.

I Want You - Moloko. "Why should i face up to another waking day when there's a chance you'll come to me in dreams?" I've felt like this so often, but i just love it when songs are able to deal with rejection in a completely happy way. (Cf. Someone To Touch and The Moon is Mine - Fairground Attraction.) It's a gorgeous song all about being vaguely obsessed with someone, and has one of the best intros ever. It's just a piano with Roisin Murphy singing really slowly and sexily, and then the piano goes tinkly and speeds up and the beat comes in. I love Moloko, and this, without doubt, is one of their best songs. It's definitely my favourite, but i have something of a weakness for vaguely classical elements in a modern song. And i know that i am not, i simply cannot be, the only person who, at the appropriate time, plays a furious 'air violin'. You probably wouldn't tell, from simply looking that that's what i'm doing, but i promise it is.

Put Your Arms Around Me - Texas . This is the song on the list that's been in my head the longest, but i almost forgot to include it. It was only thinking about the song 'Saint', which, back when i was foolish enough to actually believe people who told me E could like me, i'd decided was our 'theme song'. How incredibly sad is it to choose a theme song for an imginary relationship? Anyway, Saint lost out to this song, this gorgeous song. Sharleen Spiteri has a wonderful voice, and on this song it just comes accross as so tender. I used to be able to sing along to it, though it did end up leaving me completely breathless. Now, though, such high notes, virtually a shriek, are completely beyond my range. I miss being able to naturally sing so high. It made me feel so... i don't know, it gave me an imagined power, somehow. I love the lyrics so much on this song, the complete love and adoration they speak of. They make me think of J a little, lines such "let me believe that i am someone else". And, of course, the song has those magical words, "Sha la la la la".

So, there it is. My full, complete and exhaustive list of seven songs that i rather like. I tried so hard to put my newly acquired linking skills to good use, searching for hours to find Benoît Charest's own website to link to. At one point i thought i had it, but that turned out to be a red herring. However, all of the other sited i link to seem pretty good. I especially recommend playing around on Yann Tiersen's site, and the Ojos de Brujos has some great design too, even though the 'English' version of it is so blatantly not in English. I know that on at least five of those seven sites you should be able to hear something by each of my nominated artists, but i'm not sure about the Texas and Moloko sites. Still, please have a look, i don't want all my work to have been for nothing. Thanks.

Now i'm going to try watch the football. Wish me luck.

P.S. Any opinions welcome - i just want people to talk in my comments section. I have dreams of being one of the big bloggers, with their own little community of commentors. I know it's sad. But i would also like to hear what people think.

2004-07-02T19:25:00.000+01:00

I've just had a novel experience. I was reading one of the blogs i mentioned an entry or two ago, Pussy Ranch, and the main blogger, in the entry i was reading, was working in a peep show. The sort of thing where people do erotic dances in a little booth when i suddenly noticed i (Why do i think that "had an erection" is more... well, not offensive, but more something than "was turned on"? Still, in the hope that simply frank may eventually rid my writing of pretention and affectation, i shall plump for the former.) had an erection. I'm not sure why they would be, but i do believe the two were linked. Odd, no?

I suppose, really, i believe that everyone is bi-sexual to an extent, as they (Who are 'they'? I don't know. But they are often right.) claim we all are. It just took me by surprise, really, when i noticed it. I don't remember being turned on by a member of the opposite sex since primary school. And i had no idea what was going on then, so that hardly counts. It was probably more out of a feeling of obligation anyway. I probably just felt left out because i didn't fancy her. (Wow, i'm not giving the recipient of these 'attentions' much credit, am i? I seem to remember she was the closest thing we had to a slut in our primary school (She'd had two whole boyfriends!), but she's probably really nice, etc.)

I wasn't hugely turned on by all this. It wasn't like i was about to have an orgasm. But i just thought it was interesting that it should have any effect on me at all. But don't worry, everyone, i'm still as gay as i ever was. After all, as a homosexual i can choose to not drink foul drinks like beer and lager (Is there even a difference? I don't know.) without anyone thinking anything of it.

2004-07-02T12:15:00.000+01:00

I haven't slept yet, but i think i may have to soon. I should stop doing this, or soon i'll be completely nocturnal. which is a pity, as there's a lot less to do at night, and you have to do it much more quietly.

So i went into school today, presumably modelling my panda look, and going in on the bus was, well, annoying. I ended up sitting, as usual, next to I, which wasnt much fun, as he cannot stand to have his views on literature challenged or really his views on anything. Or his right to simply talk over, and for, everyone else. He's me, he's the me i was before i was me. A very depressing thought.

Today, as every day, i went straight to the library on arrival. There is definitely something comfortable about being surrounded by so many books. Plus, for the first few minutes each day, the librarians have the library largely to ourselves. Or themselves, i suppose. I can hardly remain a pupil librarian if i'm no longer a pupil. J also often comes in in the mornings. It's harder to talk to him then, as I will insist on butting into every conversation involving people he knows. But, eventually, i managed to pass to him the letter he and S had agreed to deliver to E for me. I know this is ridiculous and that even now, if there's chance, i should tell them to destroy it. But i know i won't do that. Because i am an idiot and refuse to do what's best.

The most important thing that happened to me all day was, though, recieving my copy of the school photo. I had to wait until i got home to pore over it, but pore i did. I'm on the very central line, it seems, the line of heads stretching up between the headmaster and his deputy. And i look ridiculous. I do not look right at all. It's not that i look particulary hideous; i don't look too bad at all. But i have the most preposterous smile ever, it would seem. You know the smiles they draw on cartoons, with immense crescent shaped black lines at each side denoting cheeks? I have those! I'd always thought they were a complete fiction, but now they've turned up on my face, completely unannounced. And i still have sunken eyes. On top of this, it appears i am the only person in the school that cannot tie a tie properly. Everydoby else's hang perfectly, like bizarre striped and spotted fish, and i look like i've tied a blue rope round my neck.

So, once the neccessary vanity of searching for and crticisng myself was over i immediately looked for everyone else of my acquaintance. They, mostly, look normal. J looks younger than i remember. P, presumably demonstrating his 'rebellious' nature is glaring arropgantly at the camera and wearing the wrong tie. S... i wasn't even sure was S. For one thing, the eye is drawn away from him by the sight of I, pouting suspiciously at the camera through all that hair. S also appears to be the only one of my friends who actually managed a proper smile. G looks like he's squinting a little, but is otherwise ok. D looks, as much as seems possible on these photos, normal. C is giving rather a bizarre expression, a cross between a muscle spasm and a mischievous grin. A seems to be entirely absent.

And finally, E. Obviously he wasn't actually the last i looked for. He was, in fact, the first person i looked for after myself. It took me ages to find him, but eventually i saw him, baring his teeth uncomfortably behind our French teacher. His simle can only really be described as a grimace. There's no ther word for it. If i were called upon to give one piece of patronising advice to E, it would quite likely be to take a little more care with his facial expressions, as so many of them seem to lead quite naturally into what looks awfully like a sneer. I'm sure it isn't, really, but it looks a lot like that. When he smiles, though, when he smiles genuinely all trace of that disappears.

Not that i really can make much comment about E's looks. His only part i have ever been able to clearly envisage is his neck. From the back. It's completely worth it, he has a lovely neck, pale and graceful, with a light fluff of his red hair (Which i, unlike, it seems, many others, adore.) at the top of his prominent spine. Perhaps some explanation of why i know his neck so well is neccessary, but beware, this story will paint me in rather a freakish, stalkerly way.

Around two and a half years ago, when i was in year eleven, a trip was organised for the various musical ensembles. I was entitled, as a steadfast member of the school's choir, (Then recently forced down to the tenor section, although my reluctance abated when i realised that one of fellows was now E.) to which i belonged for the first six years of my life at this school, until the old head of music left and her replacement proved to be rather useless, (I'm still a little bitter about that, as choir (I know i'm sad.) was very probably what i enjoyed most about our school.) to attend this weekend of rehearsals. I was horrendously excited, running shrieking and hugging through the playground when i heard the news, because i had so enjoyed our previous visits in year seven and eight, unfortunately called off because of theactions of various sixth formers, among them, i am told, the son of one of the teachers. The first of these trips also sticks out in my mind because it was where i formed my first crush, (You know, it may be an Americanism, but i rather like the word.) on a boy in the year above.

Anyway, this weekend proved to be quite a turn up for the books for the aspiring stalker. Three days, constantly in the same building as E, (and yes, a lot of other people too.) where even i, surely, couldnt fail to spark up a friendship that would no doubt lead to... well, to whatever my current fantasy was. Obviously i had, as so often, over estimated myself and we barely spoke five words. But the weekend still provided me with my longest (and quite possibly dullest) entry to date in my now largely abandoned diary.

The best i managed, all weekend, was to wander round the basements, ostensibly to finish the book ("Plundering Paradise" by Geraldine McCaughrean. It was really good and people might like to give it a try now pirates seem to be in fashion again.) i was reading, but actually to steal every surreptitous glance i could of E, while also trying desparately to draw his attention. But my true moment of glory was during the choir rehearsals that were held in a large room with glass doorknobs and huge mirrors. E normally sat in a direct line with one of the mirrors, (Because, i presume, it was at the edge of the room, not out of vanity.) allowing me to place myself just behind him, so that when we stood i would have a perfect view both of his face and the back of his head. And that was how i fell in love with E's neck.

That weekend, overall, was perhaps not one of the best in my life. I came back with a huge self-inflicted scab forming on the back of my left hand, from continuous and deliberate scratching, though i may have done that before we left. In a biology lesson, i seem to remember.

2004-07-02T03:48:00.000+01:00

It's almost four o'clock. My nights are getting later and later. I just minced over to the bathroom and i look like a panda. A panda with fluffy hair and blonde highlights, but a panda nonetheless. I don't mind too much though. At four o'clock in the morning my eyesight is blurry enough that even pandas are attractive. But it just gets easier and easier to stay up this late. Especially when kept company by the wonderful sexblogs (I believe that is the general term.) Pussy Ranch and Belle de Jour, a good friend (The recently introduced C) and the music of Ojos de Brujos (Wizard's Eyes, i believe, though the word 'wizard' can be replaced with any other male practioner of magic of your choice, as alternative translations have had it as 'sorceror' and 'magician'.), which i have only recently discovered. I was enamoured after seeing them perform only one song on Glastonbury's Jazz World Stage. I immediately went into a downloading frenzy and spent most of the first half of today listening to the magnificent "Rumba dub style" over and over again.

There seems little point now in going to bed, as i would have to get up only three hours later to go into school and hand in all the books i've accumulated (For 'accumulated' read 'had thrust at me by over-enthusiastic French and English teachers.) over the last two years. I decided, for the protection of my spine, that book-collection day refers to books and nothing else, especially not the mountain of French magazines and newspapers currently contributing to the mass of paper which, judging by the immense cracks in my wall, may actually be holding up the ceiling.

In fact, this overstuffing of my room with books is the strongest argument i have actually considered for going to university. I will be granted a whole new room to fill with books. Naturally some of my old friends will be accompanying me from my current abode, along with the pile of books i have bought but not yet read. I do, i think buy too many books, and perhaps not always for quite the right reasons. But i still hold that the old "Don't judge a book by it's cover" idiom is nonsense, and often buy books almost solely based on the fact that they are pretty. It's a method that has served me well, i think. 'Cloud Atlas', for example, my most recent choice for forcing on every reader i know, was bought at least partially because of its cover, particularly the pale green (I may not follow fashion quite as ably as your stereotypical homosexual, but the fifties revival has not passed me by.) typography and scrolly clouds and the wonderfully art nouveau-esque trees which adorn it. And now i love it.

This doesn't always hold true, of course. Jon McGregor's 'If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things' had a brilliant name, quite a good cover, but turned out to actually be quite dull. I suppose that may be deliberate; if you choose the quotidian as your subject mundanity of language may help to convey this. But i'd have thought that if you were trying to accentuate their remarkable aspects you might not draw all your characters in a bleary charcoal.

I feel like my blog recently has taken on something of McGregor's style. It is, or the last couple of entries have been, rather dull. Perhaps due to the fact that I am writing them so late at night that blogger counts them as the next day. I would normally criticise this, but this entry is being written so far into the next day that through the window,in the crevice between two houses, the sky is discernibly pink. It is, without doubt, the next day. I suppose that's proved what a slow writer i am. This thing will probably claim to have been posted at three o'clock when it is now ten to five. Time to find out, i suppose. I wonder what they'll make of my panda look in school.

2004-07-02T00:52:00.000+01:00

I've just finished composing (It's a lot more fun than simply writing.) a letter to E. I don't know why, but i need him to understand everything and i need some sort of response. It said my usual things and asked, at one point, that he read my blog. I hope he does, though i don't have much hope. Especially as i'm too much of a coward to actually give him the letter myself and have asked J and S to deliver it for me, preferably into his hands. That's hardly going to convince him i'm me and i'm telling the truth, assuming that's still the problem.

I suppose, in a year's time that none of this will matter. But right now, for some reason, it does. It really does. It no longer eats me up inside (Although it may do if i see him again tomorrow.) but it really, really irritates me that i can't know what, specifically, the problem is. I'm not such a bad fellow. Perhaps if i'd done things differently he at least wouldn't hate me, but, it seems, he does.

I'm just as annoyed, really, by my own attitude. I know that alot of the feelings i have for E are based solely on the fact that i consider him beautiful (Having, as it seems i have, rather a penchant for red-haired individuals.) not his personality, which really i know nothing about. Based on subsequent accounts by various people he doesn't sound such a nice chap, but he never seemed so to me. Apart, obviously, from the consequences of that foolish e-mail.

I went out, earlier tonight, to celebrate the birthday of one of my 'old' friends. I had a lot of fun. We ate and then bowled. Bowling is fun when nobody cares that you're terrible at it. Which i am, of course. I was very proud of the strike i managed. It was great, though, seeing these people with whom i'velet relationships slip. I miss them. I was, i really was, a fool. So i'm glad of my resolutions last night, despite the patronisingly magnanimous "straight people aren't that bad after all" way in which i made them.

And yes, i am aware that, of all the times these resolutions could have been made, at the very end of my school career is very possibly the worst, as we're all about to whizz off to various parts of the country. I suppose it has about as much currency now as a death-bed repentance.

2004-07-01T01:55:00.000+01:00

I have, in the past, been a little unfair to heterosexuals. I see now though, that just because they are different, they are not objects of ridicule. I have decided it is about time i took that back.

I have been far too eager to vast myself, as a member of a once hideously oppressed social group, as the victim. This is not so. Oh no. Most of the straight people i know (But lets be honest here, i'm obviously talking only of the male variety. Until recently girls have been to me a largely unknown breed, and i haven't had chance to form my prejudices about them.) Most of the straight people i know are perfectly lovely individuals, so much so that i am allowing two of them to read my blog. A, mentioned once, a very long time ago, and C, who has been my friend since the beginning of secondary school.

I have, recently, and i'm very ashamed of this, let these friendships slip rather a lot, in favour of the company of people i felt understood me better. I believe i have referred to this previously, coining on one occasion a phrase of which i am rather proud, "self-ghettoisation". I should hope the meaning is quite obvious. This has been going on for some time, notably under the guise of the Ace Crew. Perhaps it's demise was no bad thing. It is important that any social group does not isolate itself from society and then blame society for this and really that is sort of what we've been doing.

So i am rebuilding my bridges. I have been too eager to lump together my 'old' friends under this label of heterosexual, and have hence ignored the fact that they are among the best people i know. They would have to be, to have stuck by me since year seven. And they were all so brilliant about my being gay. (Apart from one incident where A tried a little too hard, asking "So... seen any nice lads recently?", a memory which will send me into hysterics for a long time to come, i hope. The sentiment was very nice, but less fabby was the blatant discomfort of the situation and even worse, the fact that i abhor this word "lad" and all its connotations.)

Perhaps i was so eager to reject them because, having known me as long as they had, my flaws were much more obvious to them. I had a chance to start again with a new group of people, with no idea of my arrogance and freakish delight in proving people wrong (This actually led to my being thoroughly embarassed many times.) and i seized it. This choice obviously did not bring me quite what i had expected, so i am hoping now that it is in some way reversible and that my old friends will accept me once again.

Not, of course that i am abandoning my new group, either. No, that would never do, to make up for rejecting one set of people my shunning another. I almost did that once, but not for these reasons. No, i love the Ace Crew and everyone connected and would not desert (I speak as if i have some sort of responsibilty to them, as they, in some way, need me. Not so.) them lightly. So, i shall be friends with them all and no doubt emerge much the richer for it.

Dear God what a pretentious post. I am very and extremely sorry.

2004-06-29T20:07:00.000+01:00

I'm starting to get paranoid. I'm beginning to think i may actually be good looking. My evidence for this isn't the strongest, but it's better than "You could be good looking if you weren't so immensely fat" or however it was P originally phrased it. Last Friday i was in 'town', (It simply wouldn't do for a stranger to find this and know where i live. I have no idea why.) walking along, in a bit of a hurry, both because i was meant to be meetimg up with my friends and because the rain was really starting to get annoying. A few girls were sheltering on my right, and one of them called out "My mate fancies you." Something like that, at least. I, naturally, thought it was a joke. I looked at the girl who'd said it (I can't remember what she looked like, even from only a metre or two away. It was raining, so i'd taken off my glasses.) out of surprise, and tried to convey through only my eyebrows (I've a feeling i try say too much through my eyebrows. There's only so much you can do with any feature, especially ones that have been shaved off. (Do you not just love the way i hint at an amusing incident in my past?)) surprise, disbelief and the fact that nobody would fancy me, especially having seen me for only a few seconds, walking up the street. I worry now that if she had actually meant it (But surely she didn't!) i may have just come across as arrogant.

I would have, and in fact already had, dismissed this as nonsense and a joke, were it for not something another of my acquaintances said recently. This was a girl who i'd met over the internet, via an increasingly long chain of friends. She's a bisexual (No idea why i feel it neccessary to identify people through their sexuality, but apparently i do.) and really rather sweet. Anyway, it was drawn out somehow that she found me attractive. This was from a photo i'd sent. I didn't look particularly fat in it, but i was pulling my worst loonish grin and looked a complete fool. But even so, the compliment is very reassuring. However, i've simply no idea what to do if i turn out to be good looking. i shall have to wear my glasses at all times and wear my hair in its usual dull way.

2004-06-25T20:37:00.000+01:00

Today was my first day of 'freedom'. So obviously i went into school again. It looked at first like i was going to have one of those marvellous days where everything goes wrong but at least you get a lot to blog about. No such luck. Despite my alarm not going off, leaving me to wake up two hours late, despite my bus driver deciding he no longer stopped at my stop and drivng practically to the city centre before he let me off, i still got into school almost an hour before the book group meeting. I made my way straight to the library office, to see the librarian again. The first thing she commented on was my grin. Irrefutable evidence that i have a cheery disposition. (I'm sorry, it's just a wonderful phrase.) I do like my grin. It might not be particularly attractive (J did once tell me, though, that i have a beautful smile. I don't forget compliments. Even L said she remembered it from primary school (Yes, obviously that's a compliment.)) but it does its job. Really what i like about it is that its so often there. It's the expression i use most, i think, and the one i'm most comfortable with. There are surprisingly few things more fun than just walking along in bright sunlight, listening to good music and grinning. Especially if the walk leads into a bookshop.

The book group has quite a few of my friends in. J, S and G (I'm not sure i've mentioned him before. He's one of my fellow librarians.) are all in it, as is I. I isn't actually all that bad, theoretically. It's just that i can no longer speak to him without ending up being rude (But at least that's better than throttling him, which i sometimes wish so dearly to do.). So i was very pleased by his absence from today's meeting. Also absent, though, were J and S. J didn't turn up till halfway and J not until the end. So i hardly got to see anything of the Ace Crew. Didn't even get to speak more than about ten words to them. But it waqs good just to see J, as i hadn't in ages. Even when i went in for my exams he was off school with tonsillitis.

I'm still obsessed by this idea that i have low self-esteem. I really don't think i have got low self-esteem, but i have got related issues. I refuse to let myself have too high an opinion of myself. I like getting compliments, obviously, but i try to ignore half of them, in case i start believing them. I used to be horribly arrogant and big-headed and i'm just desparate not to be like that again. I still am, to an extent, but i'm not as bad. Take for example, D's comments on my blog earlier. He told me i had a real talent, and compared my writing style to Nabokov .(Nabokov wrote Lolita. I haven't read any of him, but i may have to now.) I suspect this to be nonsense, but i'm still very flattered. He even asked if i'd considered writing a book. I'm on more solid ground to defend myself on this one, as i have tried this, in a vague sort of way (I started a story imagining that i had sent that letter to J a while ago and had cut him out of my life. I've pretty much given up after two pages.), so i can easily ignore that bit. But i have unfortunately started to believe the rest of it, so if i get more pretentious and self-conscious, it's all his fault.

Incidentally, i would like to point out that i am now a computer genius. I now have links tto the blogs of three people mentioned here. Two of these blogs are rather dead, but i was too caught up in my technical wizardry to care about that. And L's blog, at least, is very witty and well-written. J's has me in. I'm 'A'. I'm actually rather desparate for him to write another entry, because every time i check it i see "OK the A thing is resolved now" as the first line of the top entry. I don't like being 'the A thing' and i don't likebeing reminded of it constantly. And, yes, i realise the logical thing would be to just not look at it, but i should have thought it quite obvious by now that logic holds little sway over my decisions.

2004-06-24T13:04:00.000+01:00

I wasn't supposed to be in love with E anymore. I'd even convinced myself i never had been. So why did i feel like that when i saw him this morning?

I was in school today for my last exam. Before school started i went up, as i usually do, to the library, to see my friends, or the friends that were there. At one point i looked out of the window and saw E. Naturally, i made mjy excuses and abandoned the library for the common room (Among the sixth formers it seems i am (Should that be was? Oh God!) the only one who does the common room as their sole place to go outside lesson time), where, though i might not have been able to see him, i at least knew he was around. I didn't see him until everyone was leaving again for registration, but dear God! I'd forgotten how beautiful he was. He is very and extremely beautiful. I know it's shallow of me to decide i love him again based on that, but it isn't just that. It's just that all my feelings for him came flooding back today.

After i came out of my exam i saw that he was on guard duty (E's a prefect now.) on the opposite days. My friends happened to be going that way too, so i followed them, just for that brief rush of being near him. (Which was made even harder by the fact that i was trying to hide from him at the same time.) I think he saw me. I don't know. He must have seen me, though, on the way out, when i was a little behind anyone else and staring intently at the floor. I wished, afterwards, that i'd had the courage to at least look at him. I had fantasies of mouthing or whispering "I'm sorry." (Obviously i couldn't say anything out loud. Even fantasies need some basis in reality.) to him. Or even just of looking him in the eye, and the truth just washing over him as he understands and forgives me all in one second. I blame the books for this.

On a more alarming note, yesterday i found something carved into the toilet wall. I was gazing at the all those wonderful drawings which manage somehow to represent women with the aid of apparently little or no anatomical knowledge, when i noticed, carved into the plaster, "I LOVE [E]". (Capitals are easier to carve.) It must have been me that carved this. For one thing, it was blatantly my handwriting. But i have no memory of carving it. And surely, surely, i'd remember something as weird and stalkerish as this. It's not even like i only put in his first name. If he's ever seen this, no wonder he hates me. Louse. I have no idea what to do. I didn't even have anything to scratch it out with. And for some reason, i wasn't sure i should.

2004-06-23T12:08:00.000+01:00

It feels so weird to know that in a day's time i'll have finished all of my exams. Every single A-level will be over and i will have nothing to do but wait. I've just finished French, a two and a half hour exam which i actually feel went rather well. I don't like to give much thought to exams after they're finished though, so i'll just hope for a good result in August. But so far nothing has happened to really convince me i'm going to fail every subject, so i think i'll be ok.

I seem to end up giving far too much advice. I often seem to end up trying to advise people, but i'm worried that maybe i shouldn't. People do ask me for advice. I think they do. I don't think it's just me beingt nosey. Oh God, i hope i'm not like P, giving advice all the time, when it's not even needed. But i don't think i am. My main problem is that the advice i do give is just no good. If it were, then surely i would have a much more fulfilling life than this. My advice is invariably based on honesty, assuming it's somehow related. I always urge honesty, but where has honesty got me? It got E despising me and it ended up bringing P and J together which, whatever my feelings now, was definitely not what i wanted at the time. But still i say the same things. Yesterday, someone told me he was bisexual and that he was finding himself attracted to his best friend (See! Nobody should come to me for advice! Not only do i give terrible advice, but i post their problems on the internet and phrase it in a ridiculously over the top way. (Although at least i don't use names, i suppose.)) and was unsure what to do. He said this had mde him wonder if he could count him as his best friend anymore. This friend did know he's bi, but not about anything else. And he has said that he might be bisexual aswell. (This was in fact what prompted my friend to tell him.) Naturally, i advised telling him. And he trusted me. And now i'm worried in case i've given him bad advice.

It means a lot to me that people trust me, it really does, that they trust me enough to tell me their secrets and even let me advise them, but i don't really think they should. They can tell me things, i don't really have any problems with disgression (Apart from this. This blog and my diary. But that's it. And people are still quite anonymous. He is completely.), but i actually think it's quite dangerous to trust my advice. Not that anything has gone catastrophically wrong in my life so far (Much as i may tell myself differently.) but my advice really isn't worth that much.

And now i must talk about I. I and i (I'm rather glad now that i only put the pronoun I in capitals at the biginning of sentences now.) used to be friends and still, i suppose, are, in a way. Sort of. A very strained way, anyway. He is one of the most hideously arrogant people i know. But the worst thing about him is that he reminds me of myself. Perhaps a slightly less self aware version. I know that i'm arrogant and filled with many bad traits, but i do try to do my best to hide them. I used to be completely awful, but i do believe i have improved a little now. I still try not to like myself too much though, lest i should become convinced that i'm just a really nice person. Because that i am not. I used to think that I and i had a lot in common. He and i both like to read a lot, we both feel rather ostracised from society (Though i fell less so, now. I think it was partly my own fault, partly because of the society i was ostracised (or ostracised myself) from) and so on and so forth.

But know i simply cannot put up with him. Not five minutes. I feel terribly guilty for it, as i don't think he has many friends (It's hard to see how he could.) but i simply can no longer talk to him. Only this morning he butted in on a joovial conversation only to, effectively, start insulting me. And when i commented on his intolerance (Yes, i see the hypocrisy here too, don't fret. But i'm more tolerant than him.) he actually seemed rather proud of himself. Add to this his opinions on homosexuality (About which i don't know much, but it's enough all the same.) and we really have a character with whom i no longer feel able to associate with. So, really, i shall be glad to pretty much excise him from my life. Effective, i suppose, from the end of this week.

2004-06-17T19:28:00.000+01:00

How can P be friends with someone like M? He seems to have no redeeming features. He adores getting people paranoid and revels in finding out gossip about people. I am one of his favourite people to torture because i'm so gullible and terrible at standing up for myself. He's been doing it since year seven, and yet every time i forgive him and believe he's changed. He is so smug and arrogant! How can someone so smug be so popular? How on earth has he managed to trick someone into being his girlfriend?

Earlier today, presumably with some intention of getting me into a state of paranoia so i'd mess up my exams, (Am i overreacting? Probably. It didn't work, anyway. General Studies is impossible to mess up that completely.) he told me "I know your secret." I asked him what he was talking about, but he wouldn't say. Not that i expected him to; i know too well for that. Later, though, he decided he would drop hints at it, and i'm pretty sure the 'secret' he refers to is about my feelings for J, who, as we well know, i am completely fine and happy about now. Still he and his sources evidently don't. And it sounded like he knew about E, too. He was talking about all this on the train, with someone else there too, never being direct about it, just saying enough to make it clear to me that he knew my secret and could, he thought, make things very uncomfortable for me. I don't really mind that, as everyone i care about knows everything important and i could hardly care less what anyone else thinks. And i'll hardly see any of them again anyway. It was later, when he and this other person where discussing homosexuality in general.

They started off talking about P, who is "not like other gay people. He's a real geezer". (The implication being it that is somehow good to be a 'geezer'(I was right there! Right there and he openly insulted all gay people bar one!) (Actually, in my bitchiest moments i wonder if this is why J likes P; he's the closest he can get to a straight boy. Naturally i don't actually believe that.)) The then moved on to talk about the 'shocking' number of gay people in our school. M was able to name seven in our year, saying this was close to the average of one in ten. i disagree, however. There are between a hundred and hundred and twenty people in our year. That's hardly comparable. He then moved on to naming everyone he could in the school (Incidentally, 'gay' can apparently be taken to mean homosexual or bisexual.). He got eleven. One of whom was J. I was very annoyed by that, actually. I realise he might not have known that J is not out, as he had answered to M's question once so frankly, but still... At least he didn't know J's last name.

And then they moved on to that bizarre idea of homosexuality somehow being engendered by the environment of a boys school. "It's because you're surrounded by us." the other one argued. I, unfortunately, had to get off the train before i could demonstrate how patently ridiculous the very idea is. But i really don't understand how they could believe that, especially having just 'proved' that numbers of gay people in our school were below average. It's just typical, really, of the arrogant attitude so many straight people seem to have towards gay people, assuming we must be attracted to every single one of them. It's true, there are a lot of good looking boys at my school, but i don't really think any of them are likely to turn one to sodomy. And i hardly think that i've only become the person i am in the last seven years of my life. That idea is just such nonsense, and i have no idea what to say about it. I've run out of things to say altogether.

2004-06-15T20:56:00.000+01:00

I suppose my exams should get a mention in here. Had my first proper exam today. Speaking exams don't count because they're so short and the art exam doesn't count because i failed it (Although today one of my English teachers complimented me on the final piece, so that was nice.) It was the English Literature unit five exam, closed book, so we had to learn our quotes. By heart. I can't be bothered to go into how evil that is, it just is. But that is the first of six exams over and done with. I am far happier than i should be, considering my lack of confidence in how well i actually did, but i just had such a good day (apart from the exam). I got to see J and S for the first time in ages, and it turned out that they didn't have any exams or lessons at that point, so i was able to just sit around with them for ages, just talking, and sometimes not. We were interrupted occasionally, moved around a bit, broke up and reformed. All the things i miss in only communicating over the internet. And it all just made me think how much i'm going to miss this school. Everyone else keeps claiming they won't at all, but surely that's nonsense. I have some amazing friends here, and i get on so well with a lot of the teachers. All my A-level teachers have been brilliant, and always so nice to me. I'll especially miss Ms. A, my English teacher since year ten, probably the person i've lent more books to than anyone else, and Ms. R, the head librarian, under whom i served as a pupil librarian for quite some time. I will, of course, try to remain in contact, but i've proved before that i'm not the best at keeping up with my letter writing. Hopefully e-mails are easier to keep on top of.

2004-06-15T18:31:00.000+01:00

I've just realised i never cleared up the story of F and P. Nothing, it seems, actually happened. I know have all the timing sorted out in my head. After P found out J had loved him, he realised he couldn't be with S any longer. This was the day before the Ace Crew Outing. So somewhere around this point P arranged to 'do things' (I wouldn't give details even if i knew them.) with F but then, once he realised he could be with J, changed his mind. Much anger ensued on F's part, revealing he'd felt betrayed all that time ago in after the incident in the toilets with J, and culminating in a bilious attempt to destroy P and J's relationship.

It feels rather good to know there's someone, relatively objective but still acquainted with P and J, who is sceptical about things between them. That someone is D, one of these people lucky enough to be obviously gay enough for people not to be surprised when they come out. He's sort of unnofficialy in charge of gay people in the school, but perhaps he underestimates people ability to cope once he's gone. Anyway, D reads my blog, and was shocked to find out these new revelations about P. He does not trust him to be sincere, accusing him of simply trying to work his way round the Ace Crew. "I don't think it's good to mess around with people's heads. It might be fun to him but to them it ain't. They are younger and, not trying to be patronising, not as grown up." I did, actually, stand up for P a little, saying i think his feelings for J are different, but obviously i didn't want to argue to much, for selfish reasons.

2004-06-14T11:40:00.000+01:00

There. I've decided. I'm not in love with J. Not properly. I am, but only until someone comes along to snap me out of it, like he had with P. But i'm not giving up my 'being in love' to reasoned argument. I haven't been reasonable before, there's no reason to start now. I'm not letting P or anyone else defraud me out of my feelings, however imaginary they may be. I can still enjoy it, even while i wait for something real to come along. Incidentally, that stuff about not needing people to be in love with me is true, but only to an extent. Obviously eventually i'll need someone to be in love with me, but for now i'm fine pottering along alone.

You see, i think my reasons (Yes, that's right, another of my wonderful theories!) for being jealous of J are not because i'm in love with him, but because i miss being needed. There was a time, really not long ago at all, though it feels it, when i was a great help to J. I don't think it's too arrogant of me to say that, i'm pretty sure it's true. I was, for a little while, the only person he'd come out to, his only openly (Well, openly to my friends.) gay friend. I've never really been in that kind of situation before, where i'm actually able to help and advise someone. But now J doesn't really need my help and support, or not as much as he did. He has more friends than just me now that he can talk to about the things that affect him, and he even has a boyfriend who, although it'll be a while until i fully trust him or forgive him for the assumptions he's made about me, i'm beginning to agree might just be right for J (That isn't meant in an angry, dismissive "They deserve each other!" way.), and i'm getting better at being happy fo them. They're out right now (Well, sometime today, i don't know exact times. I think sometime in the afternoon.) and, well, there's something down there in my heart that's not quite sitting comfortably, but mostly i'm fine.

I realise this idea of wanting to feel needed is rather a selfish one, but i never tire of pointing out that i'm selfish anyway, so that's just more proof for me. However, the problem may be resolved for a while. There is a very good friend of mine who pretty much everyone believes is gay, even me, though i try so hard not to judge people. He never admits to being gay, with good reason; our school is filled with some of the worst homophobic (I hate that word, but it's all there is.) boors imaginable. Fortunately, by the time one reaches year thirteen people are generally better and more understanding. Otherwise I don't suppose i'd have come out at all.

However, remembering when i wanted to come out, wishing someone would ask me if i was gay, wishing i hadn't denied it so many times that i'd somehow convinced people, i thought perhaps i should ask him. I debated with myself for a few days whether i should, and spent some time trying to frame the question perfectly (This was, of course, over MSN. Hardly anything goes in in my life in the real world.), as sympathetically as possible, emphasising that i understood his situation, trying as hard as possible not to pressure him. He didn't answer the question directly, and the convrsation moved round to other things. The next day i brought up the subject again and eventually, with me tentatively getting nearer and nearer to asking the question, until finally i asked "Are you gay?"

"I think i might be." I did feel a little guilty about having perhaps pressured him into it, but i'd tried as hard as possible not to, and once i'd reassured him that no, his answer did not seem silly, i definitely began to feel i had done the right thing in asking him, that i had helped.

2004-06-13T11:50:00.000+01:00

Why am i so sad? Things have turned out not badly and i'm sitting here moping. Apparently, nothing actually happened between P and F. they were arranging things towards the end of his relationship with S, but they wee called off once he'd sorted things out with J. J's happy now. So should i be. But, it seems, i'm not. And my opinion of P seems to be getting gradually worse and worse. Which isn't good as, if all goes well, we'll be going to the same university. I did think about screwing up a teensy bit so i'd go to my second choice university (It's not as if i'll be able to avoid him, we're doing the same subject.) but my chances of getiing the grades for my first choice are precarious enough. And who knows, maybe we'll be really good friends again up thre. I doubt, i doubt very much, he'll have top stop treating me like a child or an alien first, but maybe.

Perhaps i should make more of an effort, he is going out with my best friend. But i have, i have made an effort, and i just end up angry at the way he talks to me. "I don't understand you", he says it constantly. There's nothing to understand, i'm just a shallow fickle mess. I'm still trying to work out how telling me J can still be my best friend was supposed to help. It's as if, even when he's trying to make me feel better, he still needs to assert that he's the one going out with J. How i can i be friends with someone when i talk about with so much bile, whether or not it's justified.

However, it looks like i am, once again, afraid of losing J. Not for the reasons P thinks, just that if i'm going to keep insulting P to him, and in here, then it's hardly going to make him think better of me. Oh well. If J starts to hate me over this, then so be it. I don't believe he would, and if he does, i don't know enough about him anyway.

2004-06-12T22:57:00.001+01:00

Well, i have to report this, but it will most likely come out as nonsense, as i don't really know what's going on. Apparently P has also had some sort of... dalliance with F, who everyone knew felt something for P, but i'd generally assumed that P's feelings had always been for J, even while he was with S. And noone is certain when this happened. F (Who i can't speak to because i've just been pretty much ignoring him these last few week. It would be, well, not right to suddenly confront him know.) is the original source, and i heard about it first through S and now i'm speaking to both S and J about it. F apparently says this happened after P left S, which would mean he's betrayed J aswell (I'm sorry, i really am, for all these letters. But i can't have people knowing who's who. especially as i may start showing this to more people.) as S. But noone's entirely sure of the chronology. And apparently P has said that F was lying, i'm not sure about what.

All this is absolutely killing S. He felt bad before, but he was getting to be OK, but now he just feels terrible. He keeps mentioning suicide, and i'm trying to help, but i'm a terrible comforter. And J isn't much better, he's so worried P's betrayed him. I think, personally, that P probably hasn't, much as, low down, some evil part of me wishes he has. But that isn't much of me. I want J to be happy.

A month ago i would never have believed this, not the slightest bit, of P. And i thought i knew him quite well. I've sorted out, now, i think, my own idea of how things have happened, and i hope, for J's sake that i turn out to be right. I think all this happened while P and S were still going out. But i don't see why they'd have broken over J but not F. I suppose the most likely thing is that it happened in the short period after P and S broke up, but before P and J were a definite thing. But i can't know, and i won't, until everyone's able to talk again.

2004-06-12T21:32:00.000+01:00

Wow. P can be so very condescending when he tries to make me feel better. I'm sure it can't just be me. I shall, as i so like to do, reproduce our conversation (Why, for greater objectivity on the part of the reader, of course!).

P: I know it's the stereotypical question, but how are you? Don't tell me 'fine'. Give me an in-depth analysis.
Me: Jealous. Glum, peeved, wishing that back when it seemed i might have had a chance with [J] i'd taken it, so at least i'd have a better idea if i'm in love or not. Annoyed at myself for not being happy for my best friend. Annoyed at myself for making everything into a tragedy. Happy, because i can never stay sad for long and i'm listening to good music. Erm... there's more, but i cant remember it.
P: [J] can carry on being your best friend, just as [P's best friend, M- not a person i particularly like (for different reasons)] is mine...
Me: Aaw, its so nice of you to say that. [Please say the sarcasm there was completely obvious. I wouldn't even ask, but i'm not sure he picked up on it]
P: By the way, I have extremely strong feelings for [M] but don't fancy him. If you don't fancy [J] perhaps it's exactly the same way
Me: Shut up!!! I dont need you trying to make me feel better! You are absolutely no good at it!!! You just get me annoyed, and perhaps that's deliberate, maybe youre trying to rile me out of whatever slump i'm in, but let me enjoy my feelings for [J], whatever and however unrequited they may be.
P: [inserted eye-rolling smiley (you know, the kind of thing that, applied to a woman, might be accompanied by "moody bitch" or some comment about "that time of the month")]

Tell me, tell me i'm not alone in finding his attitude frankly insulting. What say-so has he over whether or not J is my friend? What did that have to do with anything? I'm completely satisfied that J will stay my best frined, but that was irrelevant. It's as if he'd decided how he was going to respond before he'd even read my answer, as if he'd only even asked as a matter of politeness.

I might have made it clearer, I suppose, that all this was said after both he and J had returned from their (I suppose i shall have to say it, but with reluctance.) date in, as the locals call it (Can you hear me sneer? I should certainly hope so.), 'town'. And, much to my chagrin, it seems the thing went rather well. He's made me feel better about not liking that, aswell, which is good. They "would have kissed if the cinema wasn't so full". They "held hands and he made sure i was happy and he stroked the side of my face". Rather a lot of me wishes he had been horrible and it had all been terrible, but i'm forced to admit they may be in love. Which leaves me no option but to smile ruefully and publish this.

2004-06-12T13:13:00.000+01:00

Today is the day that P and J go out. I don't mind as much as I thought I would, but I mind more than anyone seems to think.I've been talking to J as if I'm fine, and mostly I am, but I'd still like to discuss a little how I feel. But I feel guilty to bring up, even to feel bad, because really I'm the person least affected by what's gone on. And I sort of feel that J should be able to tell. Another reason I won't bring it up is that I'm still so afraid of going anywhere near the boundaries of friendship. Things are great and fun again, but I don't know how secure. I'm sure it's all fine really, but I can be a little paranoid.

I want to tell him how I feel, but perhaps writing it here is the next best thing, as I know he'll read it. I act fine, and mostly I'm OK, but sometimes, today especially, knowing he's out with P, I do feel... less good. I've been rather mopey today, in one of those moods where I just keep wandering round the house, occasionaly lying down and feeling sorry for myself. You know the sort of thing. Just the thought that if I hadn't done my much trumpeted 'Right Thing' I might at least have been able to have some sort of physical contact with him. I've never even hugged him, my best friend. I love hugging, but it gets sort of forced out of you after a while in a boys' school. Even S got to hug him this week, S who has every right to despise him completely. I am doomed, aren't I, to forever be the outsider of the Ace Crew. The other three, and R even, although nobody really counts him any more, are all much closer than me (Oh dear, I'm going down the "I will die alone" road again.). Well, perhaps not closer, but more linked. More involved. More experienced with each other, definitely. Although perhaps that's not all that bad. Someone described the relationships between the Ace Crew as 'incestuous', and it's a good point. Perhaps I am better off- this is too self-indulgent even for me. I can't even continue this paragraph. Sorry.

I feel a bit of a hypocrite because of the advice I was giving to S a few days ago. He was obviously very upset by everything that had happened recently, but kept saying how fine he was, all that "life goes on" nonsense. I probably only just stopped him saying "plenty more fish in the sea". I kept telling him he had a right to feel angry, to be upset, and eventually he admitted he did feel that way, a little. Actually, I've just realised that perhaps my own motives for thi won't so savoury. Unlike S, I'm not really justified in being angry and upset, so I had him feel like that for me. Not deliberately, obviously, but I think that may have been going on subconsciously. Anyway, what I was originally saying was that I'd been exhorting S to feel bad and show it, but here I am hiding my feelings (Although not that well, if I can't resist blogging them.) from my best friend. But I am a great believer in the smile. I do believe that smiling does actually make you feel better, generally. And sometimes to do that the smile has to be a bit fake.

Actually, no, there's nothing wrong with me being happy and sad at the same time. Why shouldn't I smile and be unhappy at the same time? That doesn't make the smile fake, it just means it's isn't everything I feel, I have other feelings going on underneath. And it isn't neccessary that everyone know all of these feeling, just that I recognise them. There.

2004-06-09T13:14:00.000+01:00

I'm clean again! Until this morning, I (I know it's disgusting, but remember, I was in a slough of despond) hadn't washed since Friday. I must have smelt absolutely awful, especially with the heat and my new nightly 'exercise' (Which may, incidentally, be working. After I went to bed at two o'clock last night I didn't get up again.), and my hair, although it was actually looking not too bad, felt revolting because of all the grease in it. But now I am clean and all is lovely. I rather like my hair. I may not do many interesting things with it, but I recently had highlights put in (not entirely of my own accord) and I'm told they suit me. But what I rather like about my hair is the way it feels (when clean, obviously). I happen to think I hve rather nice hair for running ones fingers through. I remember one time, quite recently (This has gone up there with the store of compliments I keep for rainy days.), having my hair done in the school production of Grease wth our sister school (Well, this one was officially their production, featuring us (Dear God, I go into a lot of unneccessary detail), unlike all previous productions.) by a group of girls. It was so lovely, they kept cooing about how nice my hair was and I, being the reticent fool I am, just sat there and occasionally said "thank you" quietly. Actually, I'd been rather the same throughout the whole make-up process and it seems (I know I'm being vain here, but allow me to be.) that I'd somehow become rather well-liked. I even remember saying that they fancied me, but he was obviously just wrong and didn't realise one can be liked without being 'fancied'.

But that wasn't meant to be the subject of today's post. This was: Don't you just love finding your own feelings or situation mirrored in a book you read? I read "Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Truman Capote yesterday, and really enjoyed it. Especially when I realised that here was my own situation. The narrator was in love with Holly (The Audrey Hepburn character. Actually, my edition (Penguin Popular classics. Lovely editions, but rather expensive.) has a picture of her on the front, and she really is as beautiful as they say. She looks very sweet and lovely.), who was in love with, and carrying the child of, José, who naturally our narrator hated and was jealous of. However, this being fiction, I did expect that things would go well in the end between Holly and the narrator (Or would have, anyway, were it not for the way the story begins.), so I was rather pleased that, although Holly was abandoned by José, she also left, and everyone still managed to be quite happy. Unfortunately, I don't think P will abandon J like that (Though I doubt J is carrying his child either. So that's good, at least.), and worse still, I can't even hate him. I don't think that really he's a bad fellow at all. I just hope he never feels the need to boost J's self-esteem.

2004-06-08T23:20:00.000+01:00

Fickle. It's a word I like to use a lot. But I think I'm justified. I change my mind constantly. Earlier today, around two o' clock, I'd planned a post on self-esteem and my supposed lack of it, in which I intended to prove that I had plenty of self-esteem, thatnk you very much. A few hours later, when I decided to post it I'd forgotten all but the very basics of my argument. And now here I am to contradict myself (possibly). My stance on my own self-esteem has changed, I suspect, because of today's conversation with J. I am, of course, overreacting again. He said the reason the conversation was so one-sided (and I'm not good at being one half of a conversation, never mind both) was that he was revising and I've really no good reason to do that. But it looks like every time I have a conversation with J where anything seems slightly wrong I'm going to end up in a bad mood again. Well, not so much a bad mood as just wistful. Wishing, perhaps, that I hadn't done 'the right thing' that I've been praising myself for having done these last few days. But I did, and so on.

Perhaps the poor conversation was all my fault, for immediately launching in with my newest shallowness: "I'm in love!!". It's just a while since I've felt the centre of attention. Sorry, but that's who I am. I crave attention. Which can often jar with my lack of confidence. I feel guilty about it now, as I know J is still not exactly happy right now (Another thing I feel guilty about: I'm a little annoyed that this has all happened if people aren't even going to have the decency to be happy. Obviously the small part of me that feels that way is generally overruled though.) And conversation did pick up towards the end. But I felt throughout that it was more than just revision that kept him so reticent, but all my attempts at prying came to nothing. which suggests that he was either telling the truth (likely) or that he no longer trusts (me deluding myself to feel important).

But, yes, this was intended to be a post about self-esteem. People generally assume I don't have much self-esteem, and I had originally planned to contradict that. I still will, though not to the same extent. I like myself, I really do. I know I have traits which aren't really desirable, but so does everyone. And I feel that, other than the fact that I'm fat (And I'm not obese; not as fat as P made me out to be in a recent tirade about self-esteem ("Trust me, if you lost weight you would be attractive to more people. Enough willpower is all that's needed, and you would be so much happier with yourself.") intended somehow to cheer me up.) I'm not too ugly. There's nothing particularly offensive about my face and any other deformities are hidden. I like myself and think that overall I'm a good person. I have self-esteem. It's whether other people hold me in esteem that is my constant worry.

I know I have friends, I do believe I'm liked. I don't think I generally give much reason to be hated. Obviously there are people who don't like me, but I do like to think there are those who do, aswell. It's just that I often find it hard to convince myself of this. I'm very concerned with how I present myself. Not physically, so much (But a little. And more so recently), but as a person. I am constantly afraid of seeming arrogant, or self-obsessed, or boring, or I change my mind and repeat myself too much. And parts of me believe that actually that is all nonsense, that I'm rather a pleasant person. But naturally these opinions have their oppsites, and they often seem to be more numerous.

However, I will say of my bad moods that they generally don't manage to remain at their darkest for too long. I'm always eventually buoyed up to wistfulness at the very least, and I go round smiling vaguely. And I make up for my bad moods, I think, by often just feeling ecstatic. These moods are short lived too, but I enjoy the memory more.

As a final note, obviously I know that my 'love' for Robert Frobisher is actaully just an atempt to force my feelings for J away, but is there anything wrong with that? It's not like it's going to hurt him, and I'm doing to stop myself hurting. And I still think he's rather groovy.

2004-06-08T16:43:00.000+01:00

I'm happy again. You may choose to think I am fickle and shallow, but my in my good mood I hae decided that I simply have a cheery and loving disposition. I spent last night, once again, grinning instead of sleeping. After retiring to bed fo a fourth time at around half four I finally did achieve sleep a little after. I know why I'm finding it so hard to sleep at the moment. Well, harder than normal (I am naturally a little insomniac, but I'm getting to sleep later and later). I think it's just because I'm not doing anything to get me tired. So I'm working on a solution. Last night, around quarter to three, I got out of bed, put my recently burned CD of songs that mean things to me (or are just plain cool (it starts with "I Want You by Moloko, which is (and I don't use this word lightly) fucking gorgeous.)) and danced around in the best way I can. Thankfully, even with the orange of the street lights and the blue of the next day, noone would have been able to see me, as I must have looked a complete idiot. My dancing 'style' was never intended for public display, involving as it does much flailing of limbs (the left arm in particular) and singing to my many plastic figurines rescued from cereal boxes. And, of course, it was far too hot to danced fully clothed, so I was forced to remove my pajama top. I wouldn't take off any more, of course. The sight of my rolls rolling is bad enough, nevermind the thought of gyrating genitalia. But, of course, none of that could have been possible if I weren't already in a good mood.

Why was I in a good mood? Well, at the start of the night I was in a good mood because I turned out to once more have been being a self-indulgent fool, and J didn't hate me. So that kept me smiling. But what got me really grinning was reading "Cloud Atlas" and falling in love with the second narrator, one Robert Frobisher. I've never been in love with a fictional character before. Or a bisexual (Notice how I've casually taken to assuming E's gay). Or someone quite so cocky. So plenty of firsts all round. Unfortunately, we only get sixty pages of his charming voice before the third part begins, each part being so far hardly related at all. The first part is a series of diary entries, which we later here have been found by the adorable Frobisher, and the recipient of Frobisher's letters (the second part being told epistolarily (Actually, there are a surpising number of words related to epistolary (pertaining to letters, for the less well schooled (oh go on, let me patronise a little)). I once structured an English essay around including ten of them. Terrible essay, but more fun to write than most of my others)) appears to be one of the main characters of the third part. Intriguing, non?

I'm rather pleased to have found a fictional character to love. At least I don't have to blame myself for our lack of relationship. But I don't really feel I need my amorous feelings to be reciprocated, not yet. I get enough of a glow from simply loving, I don't need people to be in love with me, though I do hope there are people that love me (I'd like to say I know and indicate J, but I'm far too afraid ever to make such definite statements about other people's feelings and perceptions of me.) And it would be nice to be kissed, just once, in that way, but I suspect the closest I could get to that for a while would just be out of pity, so I won't hold out any hope.

2004-06-06T23:42:00.000+01:00

I know I keep saying the same things again and again, but I'm allowed to. It's my blog. It's for me. I asked J today how he could love P, because really I still don't understand it that well. He responded "Why don't you? Whats not to understand?", then asked "How can you love me?"

I reproduce my answer in full because I feel it is actually rather well expressed, clearer than any other time I've tried to say these things.

"I can love you because you're the first person ever to trust me, the first person I've ever trusted. I love you because, whatever my deficiencies, I feel there is a similarity between us, and the way we think. I can love you because you're the best person I know, the only person it seems sometimes. I can love you because whenever im upset and I look inside myself, and I feel alone, and I'm blind to the rest of the world, I can still see you. And I can love you because you won't be arrogant about that. It may please you, but you wouldnt crow. You wouldn't... I dont know. But you're so much better than he is.

"I love you because you make me feel that perhaps I'm not all that bad. Because you understand that advice isn't always neccessary, sometimes all you need is sympathy and understanding. Because I can be in love with you and you don't mind. You're even flattered! Because, of everyone I know, you were the only person I could see being old with me, the only one I would be happy to have stand at my grave.

"And because even though I know the only way I can stop this destroying me aswell is just to fade away, I cant do that."

All he said to this was "Don't overanalyse your feelings then." It's here, I see now, the final proof. I can love him, be in love with him (though not as much as I might have thought), but his feelings don't have anything like the weight of mine, nevermind what he's said previously.

"What does that mean? I dont know what that means! You just asked me to analyse my feelings!"

"Not to that extent. You feel bad about things that I don't even realise are important."

"I feel bad about everything. I built my whole personality around feeling bad"

"For goodness sake why?"

"I never chose to be who I am. That's just how I turned out"

I don't think he understands me anywhere near as well as I thought he did.

2004-06-06T21:01:00.000+01:00

How am I happy all of a sudden? I don't understand how I'm happy right now, when every few minutes I see images of P and J which are really not comforting. Still, it seems best to capitalise on my happiness, so I have on my happy music. Who knows, perhaps if the mood lasts until I see J again things will once again be like they were. Not exactly the same, not everything, but things between the two of us (ie. me doting on him as my bestest (sometimes it's justified) and he still foolishly seeing me as some sort of role model). I don't actually believe the good mood will last tha long, it will no doubt eventually give in to my usual wistfulness (I'm sure I'm too young to spend most of my time being wistful.), but I can hope. And, in the mean time, grin. I do so like to grin. Which is unfortunate, as my teeth have many shades of yellow green and brown, but little white.

2004-06-06T11:47:00.000+01:00

I couldn't sleep last night, not at all. So I wrote a letter to J, telling him I would have to cut him out of my life, that I was too afraid of ruining his happiness to remain a part of it. Why do I always have to do this? Why do I try to do the right thing, when I can't know what the right thing is? It's all just me trying to appear noble, it isn't what I want at all. But what I want doesn't have any place here either.

P has, I think, broken up with S. He sent me an e-mail last night saying he was going to and this morning S is really depressed. But I don't feel I can talk to him until I know for certain, and he doesn't feel able to tell. So I'm just trying to be generally comforting, though I doubt I'm much good at it. It's made harder by the fact that I can't really seem anyone to blame but myself. If I can't move this blog I should just stop using it and delete it all, but I can't.

When I woke up this morning I felt better, after writing the letter. As if, now I'd exorcised those feelings and that way of thinking I could just go back to normal. I thought I should just ignore the resolution I'd made. But perhaps I was right last night. I don't think I'll ever be able to help J again, and the person I am at the moment is not someone anybody would want as a friend.

2004-06-06T00:16:00.000+01:00

Damn. I thought I could move this thing, to a new address so J couldn't read it and be affected by any ridicuolus sense of honour or loyalty. He shouldn't try be loyal to me, I really am not worth it. I'll only push him away eventually, as I do with all my friends. I had thought that maybe this friedship was different, that it would last, but perhaps not. Maybe I should have taken him up when he was suggesting that things could happen between us, so that when it did all go wrong I could blame him; it was his idea, it's him that's in love with someone else, I'd be almost free of guilt. But that didn't happen. I think it's time I did go into reclusion again. Sulking may be immature and selfish, but it helps me.

2004-06-05T23:25:00.000+01:00

I thought things were sorted out. I thought I'd got my feelings under control. I thought things between P and J were, well, weren't. But everything's gone bad again. And it's all my fault. If I hadn't let J see my blog...

I don't, selfish as this might be, want anything to happen between P and J. But it's beginning to seem as if they perhaps might. I'm sorry to talk so vaguely, but I can't be specific about something I know so little about. So much as it galls me, things are going on. And I now have volunteered to try advise P, unwise as that may be. I spent the first half of the evening warning him off J in a jovial manner, as I thought there was nothing going to happen anyway, but then when I realised (It took me so long. I can't belive what a self absorbed idiot I am) I of course ended up trying to be helpful. J seems to be less willing to let me know what's happening, which upsets me. After talking so brilliantly last night I feel like I've already lost him again. And it's my own fault because I'd been so blunt and tactless earlier.

I was convinced I wasn't in love with him, that I was just his best friend. But my behaviour tonight is surely not that of a rational, loving best friend. I'm again more like a snubbed suitor, the jealously obsessed fool who needs to be got rid of. And yet somehow I've inviegled myself into this position where I'm trying to help the person I saw at the beginning of the night as my enemy, and now am starting to think of like that again, as I realise that I might be in love with J after all, despite all resolutions to the contrary. But I can't be. Perhaps, while J is also single, I feel that I as his best friend, own him more than anyone else (I hate this, I hate how possesive I am. What sort of way is this to treat anyone?), but if he and P somehow work things out then P has him. I'm suddenly a third wheel. I'm rejected again.

Suddenly I feel so selfish. Here am I complaining, when in so much worse a position there's S, who knows nothing at all of what's going on, and who, much as he professes that he is comfortable with the fact that their relationship will not be very long-lived, I doubt will be remotely happy with the way all this is pointing at the moment.

Oh God! they are actually in love with each other, aren't they! And I can't let my feelings be a part of this. But they can't! How can J love him? How? He may be good-looking, but he is very arrogant, and doesn't seem to care for other people's feelings at all. And I know these are all criticisms I make of myself, but I really think they are worse in him: "You have escaped, i think. Be grateful to your mind, for the strength." When have I showed strength of mind? I think it can be said that I've had clarity of mind, to an extent, but strength?

Dammit! If I get angry at him all he does is apologise and make me wrong again! "I try so hard not to be arrogant. I evidently fail." Maybe he and J should go out.

I have to hide this.

2004-06-05T20:55:00.000+01:00

The house is full of people, about forty friends of my mother's. She's raising money for a mission (that's mision as in missionary, not some sort of futuristic space thing) to Paraguay. So naturally I'm hiding upstairs again. Fun-oh.

One of the only things I am at all proud of about myself is my singing voice. I am very probably horribly mistaken, but I actually think I'm rather a good singer. I was once even complimented on my voice by the legendary E (recently fallen from grace, but on his way back up, it seems, now things are worked out between J and I (That's I the pronoun not a new character)). So I do tend to sing along to things rather loudly, with the window open, with some hope of attention. I don't know why, I'd be horrendously embarassed if anyone actually came up and said anything.

I'm a little peeved now. After twenty four hours of grinning to myself, J finally came online, having kept me waiting, desparately, to tell him everything even vaguely interesting I could think of about my life, and he was accompanied by O, a friend. The frined, actually, who originally provided a connection. So hurrah for O! Still means I can't talk to J though. Darn. Still, I've plenty of time.

2004-06-05T11:22:00.000+01:00

Oh wow. What a difference this last day has wrought in me (I promise I'm not being pretentious, I do actually think in that sort of language a lot of the time. Besides, wreak is far too underused verb). I enjoyed the Ace Crew Outing, but when I came back I talked for ages to J online, and it wa just so wonderful. I can't think of anything either of us said particularly, but we just seemed to be so comfortable with each other. I love him more than ever. I don't care how I love him, whether I'm in love with him or not, just that I love him and it's the most gorgeous feeling. I went to bad last and I was grinning all over. I even believed him when he said he thouht I was attractive, even if he's not attracted to me. That's actually raher dangerous, it doesn't take much at all to get me all bigheaded. I looked at myself in the mirror afterwards and started to agree. But I was grinning so much my sight was impaired, so that was probably it.

I want him to know everything about me, all the petty irrelevant things that nobody would really care about, but I want him to know it all. I want to lay my life at his feet (As an insomniac you get a lot of time to think of how to phrase things (and this is the best I come up with?)) and have him see it all, and have him approve of ever part.

2004-06-04T19:55:00.000+01:00

So, the Ace Crew Outing went rather well. Troy was good, although I couldn't stomach the soundtrack, which consisted only of drums and wailing. I had been planning to go into reclusion again if things didn't go well, but I rather enjoyed myself. Felt uncomfortable occasionally, but nothing too bad. And I did keep wanting to look accross at J, who was sitting next to me and imagining if things hadn't been how they are. But generally I'm happy with the way things are. I feel vindicated about my decisions, and while this may not be the best attitude, it's better than the week long mope I was planning.

2004-06-04T19:11:00.000+01:00

Last night I went to bed and cried. Not very well: it was sort of like weeping but without as amny tears and almost soundlessly, apart from me singing along to the sad song on I had on repeat. I got up again and went downstairs. I had a drink and hid a knife up my sleeve, came upstairs, wrote in my diary and then got into bed. After a little experimentation I cut my left breast, a little above the nipple. I didn't cut deeply, only just enough to draw even a few beads of blood. And it didn't hurt much. It hurt, but not as much as I'd wanted. I hid the knife and went to bed again. Then I got up, brushed my teeth, glared at myself in the mirror and went to bed again.

This morning I have five red lines on my chest, pretty pathetic really. And what annoys meis I'm now wondering if I did them for thegood (ok, not good but... usual) reason of being in pain emotionally and wanting to feel it physically too (Although that was very much the case. Beforehand I'd just been imagining myself being beaten up etc.), but because I want to make people feel guilty. Which is a really, really horrible reason, manipulative and evil.

2004-06-03T22:30:00.000+01:00

I made a mistake earlier. He had a power cut, he doesn't hate me. He's back now and we're getting along, best friends again, it looks like it'll all be ok. I'll see him again tomorrow. We're having an Ace Crew outing to the cinema and I dont think it'll be uncomfortable. I did think it might be with P and S because I'm not sure how willing they'll be to stop meddling. I'm not so worried about that now, now I know what J has said to P: "i meant that if you weren't attatched id want you"

SEE!!!! I was right! I said nothing should happen, and I was right. He isn't in love with me at all. He's in ;love enough with P to actually define what his feelings are. I knew I was right to convince him things shouldn't happen. But between then and now I've been convinced otherwise. I've been tricked back into being in love with him. I don't know if that's why hearing about this hurts so much, or if that's completely coincidental, but it still hurts now. It took him two days to admit he might feel anything for me; it took him an hour or two decide and tell P that he wants him.

Am I being selfish? I know I'm being selfish. I can generally be pretty sure that anything I do is selfish. But this is worse. I refused to take him (It's besides the point that I was right) and now I don't want him to be in lov with anyone else. Or not with P. I didn't mind him being in love with his straight boy. I actually encouraged that really, even once I'd sorted out my feelings and told him. So why not with P? I thought I liked P. He's meant to be my friend. And the only thing I'll be able to hold against him would be if he did fall in love with J too, because he's still going out with S. But I don't think he would do that.

This shouldn't be hurting this much! I'd promised myself and J not to be in love with him. I can't do this now. It's killing me and it's playing around with other people's emotions too.

2004-06-03T17:10:00.000+01:00

What have I done? My first chance of love and I turn it down? The most important person in my life, who I love more than anyone else and I tell him it can't happen? Am I insane? I know I want this, really, I'm just too scared to let it. I said a while ago "I will die alone". Am I just so desparate to never be proved wrong that I'll screw up my life in the process? Why am I such a stubborn idiot? Not only have I ruined my chances of love, it doesn't seem to have done much for our friendship either. He just went straight offline, deliberately, in the middle of our conversation. I realise I had been a little annoyed at him, but still, why did he do that? I thought he was, well maybe not happy, I don't know tha, but I thought he'd accepted the situation. I'm such an idiot. I tried so hard to protect our friendship that I destroyed it completely.

2004-06-03T13:25:00.000+01:00

I am swamped in advice and moral support. But I'm not sure I need it. And noone can agree anyway. And J's gone. I feel bad. So obviously I'm listening to my saddest music.

P appears to have completely the opposite opinion. He believes I'm not in love with J. He says "if you don't want to have sex with him then i don't think you're in love with him. one of the components of non-platonic love, whether people like it or not, is lust." I'd never said I didn't want to have sex with J, but I can't really imagine it happening either. Not that I can actually imagine myself having sex at all. But, um, I can (Oh my giddy god, what the hell am i about to say?!? I shall just have to hope that when J himself reads this he is rendered too embarassed to atually say anything about it) see myself (GAAAH!) giving him a... um... i cant say it, but its frequently known by the initials BJ. But the thing is, I'm not sure I'd want anything back. I just want to make him happy, really.

A little while ago he sent me a short film of himself and a friend just messing around really. But I've watched it many times, often without sound so as not to attract attention, just to gaze at him. I actually yearned. Is that lust?

But then other times I seem to have different feelings for him when I'm with him in person than when we talk online. I haven't really got much to base this on, because I've only seen him in real life once at the most since I possibly fell in love, I think. I don't know how to carry on talking or where I'm going with this, so I'll stop now.

2004-06-03T11:20:00.000+01:00

I've convinced him. We've convinced each other not to do anything, that it wouldn't work. And now we're just talking about other things, about trying to not let things be uncomfortable, and all the time I'm dying just to scream out what a fool I am, how he should ignore what I've been saying. Why is he trusting me to know what to do, to know what I think? How have I suddenly become so persuasive that I can convince people away from what I so desperately want? When did I become enough of an idiot to actually do that?