Do not cross me.  I am PISSED OFF.

 

Two out of three babysitting sessions in two weeks, cancelled.  How the hell am I supposed to pay for Christmas?  One at least could have told me about a week before I had to ring her up, so I could have made up for it elsewhere.  But NO.  Because that's too easy.  What the hell am I supposed to be doing?  I'm on a bad enough bleeding budget as it is!

 

I keep getting told I can't save money, I just spend it as soon as I get it, well, I have a question for you.  What money?  It's CHRISTMAS.  It's not like I'm spending it all on myself.  So stop beating me up about it, okay?

 

And another thing - what is his PROBLEM?  For some reason, homophobia pisses me off even more than chauvenism right now, especially from one member of my family in particular, I wish he'd get his arse in gear and see that it really does not matter, it does not make you a mutant (for fuck's sake!) and there are so much more important things to think about.  It's like racism, really, insult my friends (whether they'd take offence or not, which in this case they probably would but wouldn't admit to) and that is IT, there is no way we are getting on unless you do something pretty spectacular to redeem yourself.

 

After all this, then, I am filled with so much Christmas bloody cheer that I think I'll stay offline tonight, if nobody minds.  I'm going to have an evening to myself (even after some arsewipe didn't record Robin Hood after I directly asked her to... twice) and wallow in the fact that I'm fucking everything up at the moment and I can't seem to do anything properly.  If you want me, I might be on MySpace later.

 

I'm sleeping in Lily's room tonight, and for the next two nights at least after that.  Which involves having an even temper.  Stand back and watch, boys and girls, the fireworks will be starting in a few hours.

 

Oh - for anyone I don't see before then, (aka everyone likely to be reading this... except E who I'm seeing tomorrow but probably has way more things to do than read this - it's not like she'll be interested) have a great Christmas.  And don't forget - Catherine Tate's on Doctor Who!  Counting down the hours...

Someone put it perfectly the other day.

It's like Murder, She Wrote, isn't it?

The torture scene gives me nightmares.

Decorating my Performance Studies folder with post-it notes.

I'm trying to get it published.

You think YOU'RE tired.

Can you babysit on Friday?

He likes me because I let him go on his Playstation til 9 o'clock.

Can you pick up Lily on Thursday?

You're working too hard, you're a workaholic.

Do you write in it every day?

I've told Debbie you'll do all the admin.

If you don't get a job now, it'll be harder later.

You need an early night.

I can't, I have to get this DONE.

Don't leave me...

You're so harsh you BASTARD I hope you get your comeuppance.

I'm sorry, I haven't done it.  No.  I can't say that.

Sixty two percent.  SIXTY TWO PERCENT?

She was lying face down in the ditch when they found her.

We've changed his voice to protect his identity.

When can I see you?

And sometimes I think you bastard I'm not going near you.

You think YOU'RE tired.

Once upon a time, when it was all getting very complicated about who fancied whom, and Steph and I were getting very mixed up about who knew what and who was supposed to know what and whether what Cat said was intended to be a secret when everyone knew about it anyway... we decided that there was one fool-proof way to keep track.  And it was then that The Diagram came about.  Revised several times ("nah, she doesn't fancy him any more") and with colour coding for what was meant to be a secret and who was sure and who wasn't, The Diagram was a work of art.  I copied one version into my diary.  And it was there, looking back at past editions, that she spotted the name.  The name that wasn't supposed to be there, because I hadn't told anyone about it.

 

Fortunately, I had only put first names in, so I bluffed my way out because I CAN and it gives me thrills when I prove I can keep something like that hidden (plus because I didn't want it raked up and everyone trying to manipulate circumstances for me because it'd ruin too much), and gave the name scrawled in black ink in my diary the surname Lamont and a whole history of having met him through Guides stuff or something like that, because I was sensible and there was no other way forward to me... and promptly changed the subject and waited for her to forget about it.  Which she didn't for a long time, and whenever we played Shag Marry Or Kill in Latin for ever afterwards "Mystery Boy" always came up in mine, and I always smiled to myself and thought of the irony... and eventually she forgot about it.  And I worked through it, because I do, and told nobody, because I don't, and it was all done and dusted until recently.

 

Well, not SO recently.  But it was just me and Steph and Cat, and over pizza and vodka and cherry and the Big Brother final with your two best friends talking about these things and the armies of people everyone fancied last year, it's alright to share everything with them.  And out came The Diagram again, resurrected from the recent past we hadn't quite realised was classed as history yet, and we had a good giggle at how discreet I'd been, and they got a little annoyed that I hadn't told them, but it was alright really and, after all, it slipped to the back of everyone's consciousness after that and they forgot about it.

 

And how long ago was that?  Months.  And now I'm back again, making history again, and everything's a whole lot simpler because nobody falls head over heels at everyone they see that's within four years of their age, and yet it's so much more complicated because we have two schools to think about, at least, and has anyone talked to anyone who left for ages?

 

If they're worth talking to, I always told myself when I left, and the great gap opened up in my psyche because I wasn't going to see the people I'd grown up with five days a week, if they're worth keeping in touch with, we'll keep in touch.  If they're worth talking to or meeting up with and reminiscing about how fantastic the fifth year really was, or wasn't depending on who your talk to, we'll talk and meet up.  We'll do whatever it takes, if it's worth doing.

 

Some people are worth more than just talking to.  Much more.

Sometimes, decisions are really difficult to make.

 

You weigh up the evidence on either side, think can I trust myself to make the right decision, what happens if I do it wrong, I have so much to lose...  Should I, shouldn't I, what are the repercussions, should I, shouldn't I, what should I DO?

 

So I made the decision.

 

And I think - I think, after all this umming and aahing, yesing and noing, should I shouldn't I shouldIshouldn'tISHOULDISHOULDN'TI I think...  I made the right decision.  Yeah.  It's alright.

 

I can breathe in deeply - like this - and out again and let my head fall back and be calm, relaxed.  For once.

 

Nobody's perfect and I know I'm definitely not - but that's okay, for once FOR ONCE that's okay.

 

I should.

 

Breathe deeply.  You too.

And if you don't like, well, that's up to you.  Take it or leave it.