The bbq was great. We got there an hour late, but that's because our speeches took longer than expected. What we were meant to do, was to promote Scouting, infront of elder Scouts, so that they know that they have our support. The support of young people. So in other words, we're able to go to the media and talk. Talk about everything. Woo.


Jack, George and Ellen were the 3 I stuck to, or they were stuck to me and Ellen... or... Yeah. Me and Ellen have our theories :)

Maths was an utter failure

thinking of removing Blogger as I don't use it. I use another site, where I have 3 blogs going, which is awesome cause i put up loads of images, quotes, blahh and it's cool - so one day, i shall delete this. It's not being used. If anyone wants me to keep it - which is highly unlikely - then tell me soon. It's a shame it's not been used - but meh. Life sucks okay

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.