Parental Controls

This laptop is a little bit silly.

I can't download spotify onto this thing (which is free) because it asks me to give my mum's password.

I want to go onto Tumblr, or on my own Blogger's page, because of Parental Controls.

Eurgh. What's the point. I'm not 12.

Want a change? I don't want you to change.

I didn't bother talking to you for a reason

You've changed. Not in the good way, no. It's bad. Really bad. And don't I hate it.

Eurgh, what are you doing?

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Flutter-by Butterfly http://formspring.me/StargirlDreams

"fuck you"...

Why is it, when people say "Thank you", I feel that they say "fuck you". I don't get it.
Shmeh.

"Everything we do depends on our little hearts. Every single step. So take care of your little hearts and the little hearts that mean the most to you, don't ever hurt a heart."

Into the Darkness Laughing - terrible story of 2 artists inlove...

Alright, so at the moment, I am reading a book... quelle surprise, but this one is on the famous (or now famous) italian artist, who lived in Paris for such a long time. His life was so different, messed up you could say. He would have sex with those who posed nude to him (all women | although men did find him attractive too) His name was Amedeo Modigliani, known by his surname or Modi. He died in 1920 of Tuberculosis Meningitis - back then it was deadly, you know, coughing up blood and things. Not a nice thought.
Okay, so obvious he had lady interactions, and was married to the British Bethany Hastings (or something) but they argued very often, so he got bitterly drunk, high on drugs, and slept around, his art was fantastic, but Paris didn't like it, so he suffered with no food, giving the pub his paintings rather than money - because he could not afford the booze. He'd met someone called Simone, but she was not for him. She loved him (and later claimed to have his child | which he denied was his) but they soon separated (he was a mistress as the married couple separated etc) But then, he found Jeanne Hebuterne (another artist, but much younger) and she was the love of his life (although his sleeping habbits never went). She loved him dearly - his mysticism, his charm, but she always wanted to help him with his bad habbits which of course were threatening his life. She knew he was ill, but she assumed he would improve in health. This did not happen. His paintings, drawings and sculptures were all unsuccessful. His mother loved him so much, funding him all the way through, but he did not want to return to Italy a failure. So he stayed in Paris, unhappy, but inlove. They had a child, and he loved the new baby girl (also called Jeanne, but with his surname | when she was 66 she drank herself to death) but he was still a bit bitter and sarcastic, and when Jeanne was pregnant again (once more irritating her religious family) he was more ill. Eventually, in 1920 he died, and Jeanne being so timid, cried a howling scream at the sight of her dead lover, but with such a calm expression. She was to go to her parents apartment, but all was fake, the family argued with her silent in the background. The morning after, Jeanne Hubeterne walked out of the window backwards, heavily pregnant (9 months) and she died.
Thus following, a fantastic love story, a dreadful ending, and a lot of moeny going Modigliani's way (even through death).

The book is much better.

Sweltering heat

Mum changed her attitude, although I was angry with her on the phone. We watched tv for the first time in a long while, talking about pointless and random things, laughing together. It was odd. I don't know.
Will is still on my case about the blogging and the msn, but it doesn't seem he's mentioned it to mum or dad just yet, maybe he's waiting.
I didn't cry today, woo. Ya proud? I feel better today, although the heat is sweltering and I was dancing (intensely) today, and saw Mr Wilson in his casual wear at the Brewery. What is it with people calling me "Chuck"? Haha. It's weird. And Tracey? WTH? Hmph.
I'm meant to be doing hill-walking tomorrow, but it's gonna be the hottest day of the year, so no thanks, my excuse - revision. Yeah. That's gonna happen.
Anywho, here I am watching Coming Of Age because I'm the last one up... Listening to ma music - hard core.
Last night was mad. I was so furious I went to my room, loudly closed the door, and fell in my bed, and slept - Early... Not like me! Bizarre, but heh. I woke better. Proud.
I shoulda maybe stayed at Devil's Bridge - had I brought a change of clothes - I would have. But I felt so uncomfortable, I went back to school and played with Monkey Beetles and had water bottle fights.
Warm day today (yesterday now).

Angel

ARGH. Hated what I did. Hating that I'm so pathetic as to hide on msn and blogs and assume no one will notice. But no. O' course Will does, because after all, it's Will, and he is always aware of what I do, just to get me in shit. It's not like he ever does anything wrong. He's the Angel.

Weird.

This is the worst my mum has been - ever.

She's never like this - she never argues with me if I suggest a small thing - never gives me presents hoping it'll "cheer me up"

Worst of all, the gift she did get me, was based on France - and she already thinks i'm not over him.... so how will that make sense - I'm trying to get away from France topics - only wanting to go there to see my best friend (not my exhange partner)... ARGH.

And then she argues with me because I wanted to go on an Explorer Camp, she actually shouted at me, stating that I would need to creat a work plan in order to improve results. What is up with her, the reason I wanted to go was that I'd be with those whose company I enjoy..

it's so weird.

Tear stained Jumper

Not only my mom, but my closest friends too.
I can't help these tears, no one can.

This is not a dream

I should be singing - it is soon going to be the end of the world. Soon.

Not even invited... thanks a lot. 3 weeks is it? D: Not like I don't do shit for you is it.

Stop Messing and Bother to Help (Self self self)

I hate knowing so much, when my best friend is struggling. She's so upset, crying even, and she never does. She's oh so strong. Way way stronger than me, how can I sit back and watch this. Yes, I've already tried to help, I'm always here for her, she knows that, but how can I watch people (who don't bother for her when they should or even those Bro's messing about) I can't - that's the simple answer. I'm going to have to do something, because on top of this dilema, I have my own.

I'm going to have to speak to them, because it's not fair to do this.

Tumblr...

Mum's read my tumblr blog :'(
I hate this all. I never wanted her to know this about me.
She thinks I'm getting really emotionally ill - as in, because I smile all my fucking way through life, that this is my way to let it out. She's fricking worried.

Thanks

That's nice isn't it, go on, walk away and don't say shit.
Yeah, honestly I don't mind, it's not like I don't mind being ignored or fuck.

Craig put us into groups of three, and so we set out into reality. But what he didn't realise, was that I don't work with girls. Ever. Unless it's Katie, but she was away.

It wasn't until the end that he noticed: "Harriet, I want to talk to you at the end"

I put on my massive fake smile and nudged his arm, he looked at me and said, "You don't get on with them do you?"
"No, 'course not"
"Why?"
"Well, they're squeely, young, bitchy, and HUGE flirts, whereas I'm not!"
"Ahh, yeah, thought it could have been to do with age"
"It sucks"
"Well, how about, in future, we pair you with the guys?"
"Whatever floats your boat"
"They'll grow up soon, okay, don't worry"
"I'll try not to. Thanks"

I walk out with a frog in my throat. What's wrong with me?! :| I'm never like this!

OJ

I like my tumblr - like yeah. Colourful, no?

Jah. eating Irish Bread - Again. Woo.

Please smile people, it's only a Monday.

Drink OJ if you feel so bad.

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Please be nice http://formspring.me/StargirlDreams

A slap on a winter's eve

I sometimes feel like I get close to you, as in 'in a friendly way', but then you have parties and such, and I'm not there, I'm not invited - I'm forgotten -

Is this to do with how my parents are more strict than yours on me getting drunk? Or is this more to do with me, and how people think of me differently when I'm not there. Because sometimes, I feel like I've had someone slap me across the face on a cold winter's evening.

What am I to do? I can't even say this to your face, because we don't even have serious conversations.

"Where am I to go." "What am I to do."

The wind was aggressive outside, as I looked on. I was reading it's temper, and it seemed furious. The sun was out, splashing colours of the yellow leaves everywhere alongside the wind.
    A little girl, a new neighbour of mine, stepped out into this angry gush of wind and almost stumbled over her feet, while the wind blew her hair into many directions. She forced her tiny feet to move slowly, step-by-step, creeping closer to the car that I assumed was unlocked.
     The girl was probably 7 years old, when everything seemed simple and there was no need to ellaborate on tiny details, like why people looked at you differently. She had big brown eyes, with mousy chopped hair. Her hair was in a 1980's cut, and it was so thick that it cropped into her neck at the ends. She wore a white polo top with a multi-coloured skirt with little ballet shoes.
    She finally got into the car and sat there, waiting for someone to accompany her. Soon, after 5 minutes, she became slightly more irritated in the small motor-vehicle, and began jumping around inside. Shortly after, the mother came. She held herself so strong, and didn't seem bothered by the irritated weather. She climbed into the driver's seat, and set off outside of the driveway and drove in the direction of the neighbouring village.

Irish Soda Bread

I was woken up twice this morning... yippee... joking here.

I got up at midday, had IRISH SODA BREAD for breakfast - Mum baked it this morning, so it was warm - thee best bread known to man-kind! And mum took us both into Kendal.
I had icecream with 3 scoops and other things. Mum was happy. I just wish everyone else was too.

Momma's happy for me

Yeah! Woo Woo. Thank goodness for this miracle :P

Performing Arts - and I got 4 A*'s for the whole of it - Singing - Dancing - Acting <3

J'adore ca <3 <3 Mmhmm.

Yeah, I'm a happy bunny ^____^

It must be really stupid

That I cry about pointless things.

I cry because I want to sing infront of a lot of people, and there isn't enough time for me to show people how un-shy I can actually be. Because I do tend to show people I am shy, when that is not what I like to portray.

I cry because people are changing around me.

I cry because I get vibes from people that mess up my own brain.

I cry because I want someone.


It's all truely pathetic, isn't it. And this has been over 1 1/2 days... All in two sets of tears.
Sad.

Preface

Tristan

The atmosphere changed dramatically.
    I couldn’t tell if I was asleep or not, but I assumed so. Dreams, I could not control, and this feeling of not being able to choose what I did scared the hell out of me. But according to my dream, I was on a bench sitting with the most beautiful girl I had set my eyes on, holding her close to me as she talked about our life together.
    The sun was setting at this time of day, with a bright pink and orange lighting up the sky and the clouds. Zara, my beauty, was resting her head on my shoulder, telling me she loved me. I believed her. And then the dream began to fade.
    I was no longer heavy and weak; I was as light as a feather, as they say. My feet were no longer touching the ground; I must have been flying.
    There was a heaviness in the air that I had to breath deep. Flying did not help as the air got thinner, and then my chest exploded with my newly acquired power to breath up in the Lands of Flight.
    My dream was too vague to remember, but there was something I heard while I was lost in sleep.
Another heartbeat? Or was this my own?
    I woke up fast, feeling the breeze on my cool neck, whipping over my face as it ruffled my hair. The wind whistled in my ears, a familiar tune of peace and comfort. The wind whirled around me for a few more times, until it left me. Thank you wind, I said, softly.
    I could smell a perfume so familiar to me. I still thought I was dreaming. But as I turned slowly to face the other way, I realised why I could smell that particular scent. My eyes opened wider in amazement to find my girl lying on her side, facing me. Her eyes were shut tightly, looking so graceful as she slept. Her locks of silk red hair fell, covering one magnificent blue eye. She was breathing heavily, lost in a dream, I only wished I could see.
I missed her.
    I thought I had lost her, after everything. In fact, I thought that I had lost. Not only had I lost her, but everything I had worked for, my new life I had been given only fifty years ago. My mind was now a whirlwind focusing on my memories of the night.
    She fluttered her eyelids, like butterflies wings, and her eyes stared into mine. Shining like the stars.
    She smiled. She smiled the smile I saw so many months ago. That smile that made my stomach jump somersaults, the same smile that made my eyes crease at the sides. It also automatically made me smile.
    Her smile then changed to her neutral expression. And suddenly, after focussing on me, her eyes opened wider. ‘What’s with your eyes! No, that sounds wrong, what I mean is, I’d advice you to take a look in the mirror.’
    And so I scrambled out of the warm bed covers, now only occupied by my Darling, and kissed her forehead before I walked barefoot to the en-suite bathroom and opened the door wider so I could step through to take a good look.
    I recognised the grown man standing there, even though My Love thought there was something odd. I was wearing only a pair of grey Nike joggers, with no shirt. All I could see was the scar that I received as a parting gift last night, which stretched from the back of neck down to my hip. It was now recovering at quite a rate. Only a few hours ago had it been so unbelievably painful. But standing there was a man, who had changed, only slightly. His eyes were softer, but also a hazel colour. The green had disappeared completely and left a hazel mist around the huge pupil. I think I could say I looked kind-of puppy-like. But that was not me. I was the warrior who was there to protect, and looking as cute as I did now, would not scare the enemy. But not only had my eye colour changed, but also my cheekbones were broader, more pronounced than before. They were much stronger.
    Had I changed over night? What had happened?
    And as I turned around to walk out of the room, there was something so bright, that it lit up the room almost immediately after I had turned. I saw that my wings were now white. A pure, clean white and not the dull grey it had once been before.
    Had I been marked with this as a gift of thanks? All I did was save a few angels and humans. This was not my kinda thing.
    ‘Shall we go?’ Zara said, ‘Maybe we could do this again sometime.’ She gave me the cheeky grin and winked at me. I walked back into the room and showed off my new wings. ‘Hey, look at that, he’s not only hot, but he’s also got cool wings!’
    ‘We had better go, my love. I bet you I’ve slept in too long, again.’ I laughed.
    ‘It is possible. I think I was lost in your arms, again, tonight. Let’s go.’ She grabbed my hand and we sprinted across my room, passed the living room, passed the ‘office’ and outside into the fresh air.
    The trees were waving at us enthusiastically and the grass was swaying. The wind once again, whipped across my face so that my hair was in my face.
Suddenly Zara pounced into the bright, blue sky that held the clouds, tight. She let go of my hand fast. I followed shortly after and caught up with my graceful beauty, quickly grabbing her hand. She looked like a true angel.
    We flew passed all the disaster that happened last night. We flew passed all of the memories. We were floating in our own promise to be with each other for as long as was possible. A promise bound together with the love, compassion and trust we had already known.

"Too cute" - not weird, at all...

"Too cute for that French Kid"

And so, many people agreed, laughing, smiling, hugging me, but I don't even know how I felt. It was as if, that made things more final. My stomach wizzed and made me shaky, but I was smiling, sat next to my best friend Teebz. She laughed, patted my head, as she does, and we looked at the rest of the comments as the presentation went on.

Tom told me twice that he liked my comment. But there I sat, next to him, wondering what it was that anyone would like... the "Cute" bit, or what?

The day has gone by fast, gushing past me like a whirlwind, whipping my hair across my face. Dancing on the field, looking like silly-billys. Singing on the field too! Dancing at the Brewery so much that my feet are bleeding, due to friction burns... lots more, busy busy bee.

Say you love me

Secret love, are you there, will you take me anywhere but here, where I seem to be suffocating.

Words mean nothing, I told many people today. Arguments leashed out into the open air, and shook the victims wildly. I turned to comfort them and told them that words were nothing, they could easily be spilled lie a cup of coffee on a white cloth. They understood where it was I was coming from, but inside, I knew I was lying.

Words hurt.
They slice under the skin, leaving no marks, until they are in your blood-stream and make it boil with fury and pity. They don't leave scars, unless you are talking about emotionally.
Because, Boy, it hurts when words are used in the wrong way.

The Truth

I've fallen down, and I can't do this on my own.

Stay with me, but you let go, innocently unaware.
I'll say it back to you, but you won't hear my cries.

Tears burning the cheeks, leaving a small imprint on the mind.
This time I will be listening for the whispers in the wind, uncontent with no words.

What would it be without you? I am still unsure, but the girl has prepared herself to wait.

And quit.

Changes are to be made. Removing all the lies. All the secrets. The lies and the secrets, bound together like a tight string, wrap around the finger, cutting off circulation, to leave a mysterious blue. Letting go of those lies and secrets, lets the finger breath, and return back to it's normal state. A state of flesh colour, and peace.


The truth is the only way forward.