Fiona's profileWishful thinking...PhotosBlogListsMore  |  Tools Help |
|
June 30 Yes, I admit it, it's true.Rainy days and Mondays do, in fact, always get me down. Now put on some more music, I have nothing else to listen to for nearly eight hours and after it's gone round a few times, that and Ain't No Sunshine sung by someone more aware of the Jackson Five than the original tune tend to grate. That's putting it lightly.
Saw J today, first time in AGES, grinning as ever but she looks pretty different to how I remember her and it was a bit of a shock, I've never been able to imagine her as anything other than totally sure of herself and quite right too. It's times like these that I realise quite how much I do miss the people I was really close to this time last year... does anyone realise it was prom night yesterday last year? I don't know about you, but I've changed a lot and I can see the change in quite a few other people... M's stopped classifying herself and is much the better for it, C's started to classify herself and it's driving her to distraction as far as I can tell, R's got one hell of a lot less paranoid, H's grown up a bit (!!), J's grown into himself and so has D, I think, to an extent, S has gone all independent on me... H has got more and more dependent and the gap between us has widened perceptibly from my angle and possibly imperceptibly from hers... H has got more mature - mature but still innocent, what a combination - and people like E and G and H have just disappeared off my radar almost altogether.
When you're racing around with no time to think, there is nothing like a pause, a quiet, familiar, comforting voice, and stretching up on tiptoe for a quick, cold, kiss to break your heart for twenty minutes where you know you have to keep going. On the way back downstairs from the stockroom, the staircase has a large open window and there's never anybody about so I buried my head in my knees for a moment and listened to the rain. I work for what I'm paid. I wish I wasn't there. I just wanted the darkness and the warmth. Hell, I still do.
It's struck me today that there's a link between personal strength and self-damage. Does that work? Surprisingly so. June 29 Tzjin-anthony-ks. On ice.First of all, another joy that is the evening in by oneself, with an actually really rather palatable half-bottle of somebody else's sloe gin to pretend I haven't touched and half a carton of tomato soup. I've been waiting for this, you know.
Last exam all over! And I'm never learning Drama again. I have been guilt-tripped over this horrendously in the last few days - no, last few WEEKS - and I feel a bit forlorn about not having an outlet for being extroverted and energetic and generally making a prat out of myself (the excuse being that I'm getting marked for it), but hey, I'm sure I'll get used to the new grind, and find something new to cheer me up midweek. Sigh.
Third of all -- you know I have to mention it. London. Today. Thank CHRIST for the police, and Five, and what have you. General observancy. And, you know, you really can't tell me mid-morning "oh by the way there was a bomb scare in London", via TEXT, after 7/7 and what with me being the newshawk that I am, without expecting me to be interested and/or grill you for information. And a few things in answer to a little of the press's specualation (not that I'm an expert, but it's common sense):
Thank you. That will be all, then. (M, if you feel like ringing me in the next hour or so, do, I miss you xx) June 27 Going to the dogs? You think?Laugh-out-loud news today, and/or not so laugh-out-loud. It's a bit scary, actually.
For anyone who feels a bit conspiracy-theorist, have a look at the Castro Files http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/6243704.stm
- hurrah for the CIA which insists that "it has reformed and no longer operates above the law". Lucky America.
This http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/6244696.stm on the other hand, has to be some sort of joke. I'm sorry. It has to be. I mean, in America they're worrying about assassination attempts of the last thirty years, in the UK it's whether immigration officers should wear navy or pastel uniforms, so as to be more approachable when they're deporting people. How very sweet of them.
And this http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/6241076.stm terrifies and fascinates me at the same time. I'll probably end up like this, only more politically correct under whatever Government Guidelines are inevitably brought in. As though they'll make the slightest bit of difference.
I'm on a caffeine high as we speak - hurrah for two double espressos and a mocha whilst doing Maths coursework. I concentrated, I can tell you. My graphs are a work of ART.
Had a shite two days, all things considered, but it's getting a bit sunnier and I'm feeling back on track and a bit less powerless, which usually does wonders for me. Still pretty tired, I haven't had a proper lie-in-and-read-old-magazines morning in god knows how long. PS exam is tomorrow, too, I shall probably get a bit worried about that as soon as I try to go to sleep this evening, and it looks like I'll spend all of tomorrow morning placating Sam who is pretty worried about our Music one (I'm resigned to the fact, by now, that we are going to look like prats whether we like it or not) and then it's all done, and back to the grind with no drama to express my hyper side. If I start telling worse Maths jokes than before, you know why.
Better be off, Oxbridge talk in fifteen minutes. And for once this week, I'm going to be early. June 25 And everything returns to normalWell, frankly, I feel like shit.
Mum's on the warpath. I just want to scream LEAVE ME ALONE, I KNOW I MISSED IT, I KNOW I'M WRONG. Stop fucking voicing my fears, I'm beating myself up enough without YOU going on at me as well.
I am TERRIFIED of "just going to some crackpot little university and doing sod all for three years". That is not exaggerating, not in the slightest. I really am. And right now I could do without this.
(Sometimes, she forgets to smile. It's just not in her at the time.)
(Not even a bath calms her down this time, it's just not having the effect it used to. She used to tell herself everything, show herself everything, but now, she's not the only one and she doesn't begrudge that in the slightest, she'd much rather than than not, but her independence - oh, fuck it, no, she just likes her secrets - refuses to shut up and scalding hot water and bubbles don't loosen her shoulders tonight in the way it always would.)
So yeah, think I'll probably have an early night, and read for hours. Bloody hell. I get the feeling that the general consensus is going to be that the silent treatment is too good for me. Do you remember the Muggins Here speech? This is worse. Much worse. June 24 AdrenalineI'm hardcore, me. Caffeine. A little alcohol, perhaps. Adrenaline. The way I like it. Oestrogen, I suppose. Paracetamol. Relief, worry... Fear. I'm watching Jekyll. I can't tell if it's how I feel or how I want to feel.
Extravagance. Stamina. Need to feel need to feel need to feel needed.
STAMINA. Stamina and secrets. Stamina and secrets and snapshots and silence and shame and smiling and soap and... and... sleep.
Oh god, it's just dawned on me. L knows him. That's the one who's... died. So really really good and sad and gone and, I don't know. It's the CIA, you know. Whether or not you care.
It feels like I've been punched in the side of the head.
Ecstasy. (Or memories of same)
Told you it'd be cryptic. June 22 Talking PoliticsParty politics and farting around. Seriously. There's loyalty, and then there's going into Cabinet because you're the best man for the job. Not that I disagree with Paddy Ashdown's decision, far from it, I think it's preferable to agreeing to at the expense of your party leader, it's basic loyalty, but really, this whole argument should not be happening. Why don't you get on and do what's best for the rest of this country as opposed to your own twisted little motives? At least one person here needs to realign their motives, and normally I'm a relative supporter of all parties involved. So yeah. Grow up. *pshish* Old enough and ugly enough to know better.
Got a really rather good book out of the library. Shan't name it here, it'll go on the list when I've finished. Another three or so on the go, though, and they're pretty good too.
This made me laugh: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/6229952.stm Opinons, anyone?
It's been a rather good week or so, I think. In fact, it's been very good. Seventeen is a good age to be.
Possibly keep going later, I have a table to set. Cheers.
June 12 DreamI had a dream last night that I was in a prison cell, quite a large one, with M and three bedraggled children, the two daughters and son of a murderer. Their mother, who was a few cells down but walked about as she pleased because nobody was strong enough to restrain her (even bullets seemed to have no effect on her) couldn't get into our cell but stared through the bars of the door, with sadistically smiling eyes, and I knew she was a cannibal, because they told me so. She had eaten people alive, ten or more of them, and nobody could stop her. Her children wanted to be with her, they weren't scared (after all, she was their mother) and I couldn't do anything about it but I was, and M because he was there too, the one keeping her from them. They weren't scared, I was terrified, but I tried to look strong and untouchable.
Because this woman was unstoppable, she made the wardens open the door, so that she could be with her children, and get at us. She killed one of the wardens. We ran. And we weren't the only ones running, the entire prison population, hundreds of people, ran out into the darkness and the countryside, some of them screaming, scattering. Away from the prison, and more importantly away from her. All we knew is that if she found any of us, there would be no way of escape. We would die. She would rip at our flesh with her teeth and eat us, slowly, alive. Say what you like about my subconscious.
I lost M in the darkness, but at the time I didn't care, all I could think about was the toothy, haunting smile of this woman, and the hundreds of screams from people as they thought they were caught - but the woman was back at the prison, with her children, wasn't she? And then I realised, I had been the one keeping her children from her, it was me she wanted to hurt, everyone else was just collateral damage. And I felt so alone without M, so scared for him and this unstoppable woman, but I couldn't do anything except run, run for my life faster than I have ever done before.
And then I heard her voice. She wasn't in the prison, she was coming out, and coming to find me. I panicked, but I kept running, over railway tracks and I remember a train approaching but just missing it and not caring, just having to run. And then someone grabbed me from behind, and it was M, and another two men, and an old fashioned car, and I thought: here we are in fear of our lives and the most terrible death imaginable, and you've got hold of a car and chauffeur and are still trying to turn yourself into Bertie Wooster. WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! So we got in the car, and drove off.
That's the thing about unstoppable people, though. They do what it says on the tin. And the next thing I knew, and I can't remember how but it happened, she was there, outside the car as we accelerated to get away, grinning manically with her eyes fixed on me, and then the car had overturned and I was rolling down a ditch, alone, unable to move. And the woman who would kill me picked her way slowly towards me, and bent down, and licked me, from my chin right the way up my cheek, and I smelled the blood on her breath. And she whispered in my ear, "I'll be back." That was it. And then she turned round, and just as slowly walked off.
I tasted blood. And I don't remember anything else.
If anyone cares to tell me, in all seriousness, what this might say about my psyche, I would like to hear it. Because as it is, I am scared shitless of my imagination, and my head is spinning. And I can still see her eyes, and smell her breath.
Rehearsals now. Yeah, tell me what you think. June 11 Good Grief et alGood Grief for several reasons, including:
Hurrah for the rest of the week, especially, mucking about in the theatre a lot, snuggling, birthday, and the like.
It has occurred to me the circumstances I was in this time last year. Sitting by the phone getting paranoid. Don't say it, it's not true. In fact- it depends what you're thinking. So it probably is true. Actually--- what WERE you thinking? June 08 Night inThe house is empty tonight, I'm here by myself.
Exams finished today, Economics over and done with, and thank God for it.
I decided to celebrate a bit, even though I'm just here by myself. Dressed up for myself, low-cut shirt, makeup, those heels I wore to the prom. Made pancakes, sauteed mushrooms. Generally faffed about a bit. Listened to music that I don't usually listen to and SANG.
And now I'm going to wash my hair, read The Interpretation Of Murder and go to bed.
Speaking of TIOM, which is a fantastic read, by the way (with a rather good-looking author, it must be said)... ooh, I was reading that bit where the girl dies in the first chapter or so (darn, have I spoiled it?) and... I challenge anyone to read that bit and not get absolute shivers. Seriously. I think it says something majorly disturbing about me. But REALLY, I challenge you.
WOOOOOAAAAARRR.
That is all. The last testament of a dying girl(It's a long one, I'm afraid, and full of rubbish creative writing. What? I had to put it somewhere, and last time I checked, FictionPress was blocked on college computers. I can't be bothered to go the long way around.)
I'm meant to be revising, Economics for this afternoon, but I've just written a bit that I was looking forward to writing and I'm going to post it up for you. It's not actually going in the story, such as it will be, but this is in its entirety Rebecca's last letter, in the form of one sheet of thin paper, written upon in shaky hand on both sides, attached to an internal memorandum form. You have found it in the burnt-out shell of a building, in the safe buried far down under the rubble, stained black.
The internal memorandum form has a small crest on the right-hand side, which you probably won't recognise, but it contains a globe, and an eye, and words which might be "Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?", and it reads:
Dear M,
Please find enclosed. If it's not there, they've got it, and my last testament is gone. It's that that scares me the most.
Tell Maman I love her and Father I tried to forgive him. Let Harry know I care for him even now, send my salutations to Ben and Monty, and of course to FLD and Reba.
If you can, pass on the message to Mark Reynolds that the bitch is dead now. He reads Ian Fleming. He'll understand.
Keep my notebooks. Don't let them burn them too. Too many things end in fire and if you read this, I'm probably one of them. Save them, M, I'm so scared of being forgotten.
That's all. I hear movement upstairs.
I remain forever yours. Think of me that way.
LREL
So maybe it's not meant for you. But the other sheet is.
I’m going to die. That is the important thing.
I write this in semi-blackness, in the basement of what will soon formerly be known as Number 216, Guinevere Crescent, by torchlight. I will never see natural light again. That scares me. I think I am more terrified than I have ever been in my life, but somehow that has made me calm. I don’t have time to talk abut it. History can judge me. Let it. I need to tell you my history so that someone at least knows. My name is Leanne Rebecca Emilia de Lignier, of Montebrook, Hampshire. That is – was – my home. I haven’t been there for a year or more. My mother is Isobel Arden de Lignier, you may have heard of her. My father is Peter de Lignier. I know of his involvement in the last few years of my life. I can only guess at Maman’s presence. The more I try, though, the more I doubt my own ability to forgive him. I don’t think I can. When I die, we’ll both have it on our consciences. Luckily for me, that won’t be for long.
I went to Prince Andrew’s College (Mixed). I often wonder why. You’ll have heard of it; it’s notorious in some circles. But then, deep down, I know why I was there. It was to learn to keep myself separate, to hide that part of my brain away and adapt to situations. They knew I would, I think. It’s survival instinct.
I have almost stopped caring.
I deciphered the website of the ODMC and joined them. If I tell you about them in any detail, I know my story will never be told. They are my life, though, such as it is, or more accurately such as it was. If you ever find Harry Wilkinson, which you won’t, tell him from me that… as I died, I was thinking of him. You tell him that.
I hear shudders from upstairs. They are here. I have probably ten or fifteen minutes before they find me, if they find me. I can’t write his name, even though I know I should, and I am one of few that know it. I have spent years in this house, in this room, studying him and the way he lives. I read his letters, and in return, he sends his friends, such as they are, to kill me. In my head, my worst nightmare consists of the Scarab leader, their small, black emblem, and fire. And now, it will come true.
I have only ever loved once. I am twenty-two, and yet I will never do it again. God help me, twenty-two. The man I love and I will always love, Mark, my Mark, found out my involvement with the ODMC and abandoned me. He promised never to speak to me again, and Mark is a man of his word. He need not worry much longer. I will never send him rosemary, for remembrance, again. The Organisation gave me a life, and let me meet him, and now it takes it all away. I hope they know what they’re doing. I didn’t think my heart could break any more, didn’t think I could feel like my whole chest was splitting down the middle, but whenever I think of Mark Reynolds I know that there is no life for me any more and hasn’t been for nearly two years.
So that is it. I could write more, I could write anything and still be writing when they find me but you’d never read this, they’d destroy it. So I will hide this page in the wall safe, and hope it will not be burnt out. And then I will sit in the darkness, at this long table with its infinity insignia, in this very chair that feels like a throne, and remember the old days and imagine myself back there, until either they find me or they burn the house down and the fumes choke me to death.
Please, I am so very scared of being forgotten. Please remember me.
I've just looked around and found the original context of "Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?" (and this is true, and a little bit cunning):
consilia et ueteres quaecumque monetis amici, "pone seram, cohibes." sed quis custodiat ipsos custodes qui nunc lasciuae furta puellae hac mercede silent? crimen commune tacetur." which translates as:
"... I know the plan that my friends always advise me to adopt: "Bolt her in, constrain her!" But who can watch the watchmen? They keep quiet about the girl's secrets and get her as their payment; everyone hushes it up." June 04 Look out, kids, she's off on one againI feel bound to mention a few things about today, and, indeed, tomorrow.
First of all, I got the date for the Stats exam wrong, it is in fact tomorrow, and therefore I have Wednesday off. This might be good, on the other hand I still have to buy that bloody calculator, Lily's left her good one at school and therefore I have to go and buy one myself. It is Statistics. I am calm.
M, I have exacted at least some of my revenge and it damn well serves you right, I am holding it hostage until I can think of something more original. On the other hand it reminds me so much of you that I can't help but melt. I hope you got my note (it's in the top pocket of the shirt you've been wearing for the past four hours or so? I slipped it in there while you were giving me a lift into Winchester, it was much too good to miss, that one...)
I have been raking up the past again (don't we all on occasions, nothing like letting sleeping dogs lie) and it confuses and unsettles me. Not for myself, I'm perfectly happy where I am and there's no way I'm going back to before again... but on the other hand... certain things that various people have written unsettle me and I know how to read into these things, there is no mistaking it. I wish things hadn't happened how they did. Having said which, if they hadn't, I wouldn't be where I am now. So I don't know. But I just wish that either love was different or that some people knew what it was in the first place. If you understand what I mean, look it up and give me your opinion. I've gone on instinct too many times and screwed it up before.
Today was the best sort of day. It does not get much better. No, it really doesn't.
And this weekend is going to be awesome. Really, really awesome. In the original, unAmericanised sense of the word.
One last thought: timesheets are possibly the most pointless thing I have come across all week. I mean, why? It takes me ten seconds, fine. It means I get paid, fine. I have to do another one every week, when there is space on each one for about six weeks. What the hell? Think of the trees. Don't waste my time. June 03 EmptySad, really, how long one can sit in front of a computer, with Microsoft Word or whatever you particularly feel like open on the screen, hands poised over the keyboard... proofreading things from way back when and knowing what comes next but not being able to write it. This is the wall. I can't speak for you. This is my wall.
I was earning, yesterday. Work, then babysitting, barely stopping and of course it's not that hard work, watching television or watching the hamster for four hours, selling shoes, not the most challenging thing in the world, really, is it? And M said something that sticks with me because at the same time it's the most wonderful and horrible thing - she came out of university, end of last year, she said, and she stayed at Bradbeers. "And it's not really what I want to be doing, but at least you know you'll never be unemployed."
So this can be all there is. Maybe it is all there is. This is a life, working at a shop till five days a week, getting a mortgage - add that to death and taxes, yeah? - shopping at Tesco for pints of milk and a copy of the Guardian, maybe going to the cinema on Friday nights, salsa dancing or karate or something on the Open University, one evening a week. Faceless. Enjoying life, I suppose, as far as it goes.
If only I could find somewhere nearby, and the equipment. I have the urge to take up archery.
"One thing we have to get, John, out of this life." June 01 Pinch, punchHappy June. It looks to be a very, VERY good month. Sociable. Exams over. Performey. Lovely.
Excellent day today, as days go, I taught L half the second year Maths syllabus in about two hours. She has the most rubbish teacher possible, who I won't name here (but is recognisable by the fact that they seem only to own a total of three outfits) and then we made chocolate eclairs. I was going to save one for M tomorrow, but a combination of logistics and the fact that they really were very tasty (note use of past tense) has made this impossible, sorry about that.
VERY late morning this morning, disconcertingly so, I hate missing out on mornings usually but there didn't seem much point to today, I've felt really very sluggish all day and for this reason I'm about to go and have a bath, finish my book and go to bed early. I don't really want to be sluggish tomorrow, I actually won't survive.
The post was good, though.
Perplexus isn't loading, I think my computer is playing up on me, so I think now is the point at which I yell SCREW IT and recamp upstairs, use up all the hot water and make one end of the house smell of cinnamon and lemongrass. If I can't have my dosage of Knight/Liar puzzles, I think I may have to revert to Sudoku and hope for the best. And no, that is not in the slightest bit sad.
Bye, then. |
|
|
