I want to know

How far people actually esteem me.

A narcissistic goal. But nontheless, I do need to know.

B, for example. She wants me to get up early; I don't want to. It'll be hard. And I'm not brilliant at timekeeping. I value her opinion more because she is a close friend; and she is pushing because she is being pushed, everything that she's going through. But I wouldn't push her like she pushes me.

I feel like this about quite a few people; and it doesn't make me feel safe.

DB, I know, esteems me far lower than I do her. This is alright because I expect it. I expect that it is so. It's so for many people that I work with; I hold them higher, they hold me lower, because I can't do the things that they do. I like this because it gives me something to aspire to. Even if I can do something that they can't (speak French)- it's only momentary- and not essential to what I'm doing- they could do what I do without speaking another language, which is amazing. And that is alright. MH as well.

Lady of the House. I adore her. She's a safe person; but she's someone who I'll never know with. I know that she's happy to walk with me, to talk with me, but she uses the same tactics with me that she does everyone else. She will persuade me with questions when she really wants to question what I think; and this is a good way of persuading, because it makes you justify your opinions, but I do wish that she'd just be blunt and argue with me sometimes. I suppose that I crave contact, and even if that's bellicose it still remains. She's approaching her sexagenarian years, and yet, I adore her. My sister said she looked like she smells, and still I don't care. She wears fleecy jumpers (purples) and she'd come in from the walk, looking ruffled. I'd held her hand crossing ice, thinking she might slide or slip in a car park. I didn't realise that she was slower than I was crossing it until I looked back. She didn't take my hand at first, but when she did she held it as fast as I was holding hers. I can see the person that she is; forceful without forcing, powerful without craving power, and it's beautiful.

Besides, she doesn't smell. She smells of the house, of food. She smells like nourishment and practicalities realised. She sat here, where I'm sitting now, and opened up over cups of tea about how she feels now; single sex relationships, friendships, are paramount, and her husband's in America. She forgets names sometimes. There are so many names in her life; names of the people that go through her home. I feel like a child, in comparison; I haven't done, I haven't been. I'm still here, where I was born, like a snail in its shell. She might despise the little that I have accomplished, being so sheltered and fulfilling what was so expected.

The Lady of the House is a safe person; a sage. She never probes, but gives information about herself willingly. She trusts just enough; she will trust people with her home and her money (but she doesn't regard these as important) but I'd like to think that she hasn't trusted lots of people with things she's told me; about loss, about how losing her children (to other homes) is replicated every time someone leaves her house. I'd like to think that but I can't quite believe it because she shares with everyone, so freely and willingly. She's wise and implacable.

Then, there are (those rare few) who esteem me more than I esteem them. KB- 'thankyou for inspiring me'. In a christmas card. But I know that she must be utterly awful at her job if I can inspire her. There are so many inspirational people that do what we do; it's only because I am like her (awkward, with a degree) that she believes that I am inspirational. I wonder if she would find someone without a degree inspirational, or if she's a snob? Is this why she's not inspired by others- or is it because they're too hard, because they appear hard and brash? The people that I work with are kind and brilliant, and any fool should be able to see that you don't need a degree to be intelligent. But then, why wouldn't she find DB wonderful? It could be because I can speak French and have a modicum of social knowledge. It could be because I don't dress myself in purple constantly. It almost irritates me that she finds me inspirational, because there are so many other people who are far better than I am that she could look to.

I know why it is. We aspire to what we can reach; and I am a strange, odd person that somehow manages to get by with younger ages on enthusiasm alone. She is a strange, odd person that doesn't know how to do that yet. DB is a social phenomenon who is also educated, so could get by with any age, and exhibits intellectual prowess, particularly regarding feminism, which KB, with her awful chick-lit novels, could never realise; she's too far. The others are as well- or maybe she supposes them beneath her, because they're not as educated. This is so ridiculous that I detest even typing it. MC is learning literature; she's a voracious reader. MR is so kind, and so adept at everything, and reads further than KB does. She is better at the same job. Everyone is intelligent; no one would be incapable of completing my degree, but I am incapable of doing what they do. This is the basis of it.

When I see you walking with her, I have to cover my eyes.

Little Bird is bringing a guest to our Sylvester festivities. A weekend with her and a new amour, who I'm not sure about. She professes great feeling, and then nothing comes from it. One of our friends said that she seemed unsure, maybe because this man is nice (and others haven't been)- but I think it could be the disjuncture. Him and me. Me observing- and I will, and she knows I will.

I was angry about this. Alright, she may have a new beau; but to flaunt him in front of me seems cruel. On the other hand, I give her the impression that I don't mind what she does; it was just a night. But it wasn't, not really, because I held those feelings for her for a long time. I don't know how long she reciprocated. And I think, it's not so much that I still feel that for her; it's more that it brought it back, a ghost of it, and now I just want a while to gestate over it.

But what else will she think, if I've concurred with everything she's said about it being momentary? We were both drunk.

Another thing that irritates me is that she always uses hyperbole when she's trying to convince herself of loving someone. He's always the new best thing since sliced bread. With me, there was no hyperbole; or there was, but she couldn't exaggerate to anyone else to convince herself. They never turn out to be the best thing. But then, I wouldn't be either. I only know that she's beautiful, and I can fart with her, and I don't feel embarrassed about anything; watching crappy TV, not reading, lazing about. This is what I miss. I probably still do hold a torch, else it wouldn't be this patent. I wouldn't have typed for so long otherwise.

DB. I am sure she detests me, which makes it more difficult to hold a flame for her. She thinks that I am ridiculous (perjorative). I think that she did admire me for speaking French (you always admire people for things you can't do). I still do, but I can see that it's futile- utterly. I can't even befriend her because I'm too much of a loser.

Bee. I have worked it out. She wants to feel safe, and that's why she waltzes from man to man. She's in need of something to hold onto now that a horrible thing is happening; she needs someone strong and constant, and it can't be us, because we are too touched. She needs someone to hold, because she isn't getting that at the moment.

MH. Another one that would never have me; she prefers men, there's a massive age gap, I'm weak. But I prefer her. See, she's another one that will think I am pathetic for not being able to do what so many in my line of work can; control and enthrall. Which she does with aplomb. I come under her spell, bewitched at the backs of recalcitrant youths. I spend the hour with a silly grin on my face, listening to her sleepy voice weave its way into reluctant minds. She is kind and steadfast, and flexible and unshakeable. She finishes each task she sets me with, 'if you feel OK with it', but she never patronises. She's so eager not to overstrain anyone's capabilities, and gives me lovely things to do. I want to do my best for her. I think that most people do. She's immune to insult from everyone, and I adore this about her, but she will show vulnerability; a split with the father of her child, and the death of her own at a young age. She'll share it without sentiment and tears, sensible, "both a different kind of upset", never twee. Beautiful. I think she is. She would laugh if she heard me say this; she doesn't style herself as a beauty. The furthest I've got towards telling her any of this is, "I'm always impressed with you". Because I am. Today, she danced as a troupe; as a christmas joke. She's got no rhythm, and she didn't move very well; it was sweet, and confident, and I laughed and loved her for it. I want to tell her that she's kind, not saccharine, strong. And bright, and beautiful. All things.

Things that irritate me.

1. Not being on time because other people are doing trivial things, like fussing over their appearance.

2. Parents leaving shoes on my bed, and general crap. Why shoes? There's nothing more disrespectful than shoes on the bed.

3. The way I turn my music down for others but they wouldn't do similar for me.

4. Not being as cool as other people.

5. Not being as responded to... but then, I should respond more to others, and it would happen. As with KB, people do not respond because she is unresponsive.

6. Still living here, when I am old enough to move out.

7. Being a general loser around people that impress me. Why can't I be at my worst around people I don't want to impress? Why do I always dissolve when there are brilliant people?

Never mind, bile's out.

So here are the good things.

1. I managed to organise invigilation, with no pre-warnings or anything. Not as well as AG would have, but I managed to sort people out and keep them calm.

2. HM had a good day, without anyone there. I was happy about this- and she was, showing the world and his wife her report. I must get her a present for Monday.

3. At least I went, and people know deep down I'm not a loser- some do.

4. I saw Re after, and she's good. I offloaded on her a bit, but at least I can succeed at one mode of social interaction.

5. I liked making paper chains with one of my badasses.

6. A present came in the post, showing people do care. Unexpected. And emails as well, people do care about me. I needed them tonight as well, just as I'd hit a downer.

Why does the power of speech elude me?

And I just sit like a cabbage, like KB. A social event is the hardest thing to negotiate for me- a social event with no one else around, just acquaintances that like to play silly games with balloons. So I seem po-faced for not joining in... but it's not that, it's that I'm shy, not shocked. I wasn't on form at all- I was distant and glazed, and a bit thick.

"the department has a high regard of you". MH speaks highly of me, apparently. A surprise. I think she likes that I try hard; it's not that I get anywhere, but she appreciates the effort. Ugh.

I can't be myself when I'm around someone I want most to be the real me around. Ugh. Why on earth can't I just be normal, instead of stuttering or halting or gazing off spaced into the mid distance? Especially for DB, who doesn't like middle class people at best. So why can't I win people over instead of making them think I'm some stupid little girl. A twelve year old boy does better than I do. I am just not socially adept.

What do I fear most?

I do not fear people thinking that I am weird. I take it for granted that they will assume this.

I fear people speaking about me as MC does of KB- though she did take cigarette breaks with me. "Of course she looks fucking familiar- you work with her!" On KB's attempt at conversation initialisation. The thing is that though I pretend to be adept, secretly, I can see where KB's weaknesses lie (and maybe this is why I detest her- I can see these things in myself). A tendency to remain silent when under pressure, or daze off because you're omitting yourself from a situation that could go wrong when you're under pressure. A worry about saying the wrong thing, so keeping schtum. An idea that smiling along doesn't make you look inane, but fun. Smiling is alright- but too much and you start to look like you've had a lobotomy. I am worried that:

1. People will think that I am inane.
2. Or self centred.
3. Or have no idea about the world.
4. Or will cotton on that I am obsessive about people. A lot.

Or just boring, people might think I'm boring.

Especially round DB. I feel the need to prove myself, prove that I am good enough, because I am aware that I'm not- that I don't measure up. And it had been such a god day.

Ah well, fixate on something else (ugh, and the longest conversation was about what I'd eaten- will she think I'm on a diet, running between lessons and stupid things like that? That's another awful, trivial thing that I don't want anyone to be believing about me).

Well. I don't mind doing this secretly- jotting down eating and things- but I do mind doing it in an open way. I don't want to be a bore.

carrot-30
2 cakes-250
a jacket potato with beans and cheese-400
680
dinner- turkey, a potato, yorkshire puddings, vegetables-500

1180. And a shed load of alcohol. Damn.

Where do you go on Wednesdays?

I wait for you to stomp into the morning meetings cuspidate, and forget that you go somewhere else. Where?

I observe you, and you must observe me. What are you looking at? A girl, or a woman, looking at her diary, glazing over dates. Someone with a tendency to look vaguely embarrassed easily; with young people, when they pose awkward questions, with people she admires, when people suggest she is good at things when she is not. We were at a meeting- and it was suggested that each group selected a beautiful assistant. MH joked that it should be me, but it's not- I don't want to be thought of like that, I want to be known for other things. I dipped my head- because the rest of it is that I'm not, objectively, and I don't care. She was making a statement that she's older, and she didn't have to. Anyway. I look embarrassed in meetings, hopping from foot to foot, jigging around to some imaginary music- or I'll run to photocopy things, which others don't. My sense of urgency is off. You probably think I am bright (intellectually) but less than I think I am, and pale. It's obvious I'm pale.

You're pale too, so this is alright. You've got dark circles under your eyes, sometimes, and your skin's got a cloudlike quality. You're frequently drinking from a cup- something someone's bought you as a present, one of those pieces that state you are mad or something along those lines. It doesn't suit you being sensible in the mornings. You bob in, sit down. It's very quiet in our morning meetings. I try to make a note to look at your eyes, but more frequently I observe your footwear. It's usually shiny- last year it was trainers, so I am beginning to wonder what has changed. The sort of shoes I coveted as a child (and still do, sometimes)- narrow patent leather confections that you trot about happily in, flat pumps beaded with a profusion of flowers on the toe, boots with steep heels constructed from patent and suede, blue and grey and black. I watch you talk. I am almost frightened to speak to you in front of people, because you have a habit of staring people down- useful in our line of work, but terrifying on anything other than a one-to-one basis. I also worry that you think I am callow. I said something about being turned down for lots of jobs- and you responded something that I didn't quite hear. Other people laughed. Later, you said, "some of these won't even get that far". Are you laughing at me for being bourgeois and wearing silly hats and expecting too much? I can't figure it out. It would devastate me. And this is key; you devastate, and remain undevastated. I'm blitzed. Smouldering cheeks and gaunt blackened precipices in my eyes, crepuscular moonlit mouth. By lots of people, but most easily by you; though you never have. To my knowledge. I'm so dense that a lot of it passes me by.

Good day, bad day. That's how it goes.

Today wasn't awful. I'm still not like JM or KB- but neither am I like MH, or DB, or AG or CDB. Urgh. And I want to be. I'm not like KB, I don't want to 'be them'- she said this to me, which shows how much she knows.

It's meant to be a syndrome, in psychology- when you think, "I am rubbish- so how can people like me? The people that like me must also be rubbish".

I don't think I am utter crap, but I know I'm not streaks of brilliance either. So this is why, when KB said, "I wish I was like you", that I knew she'd been going about with her eyes closed. Or blinded to the brilliance of others. Because it should have been DB that she said that about, or AG, or anyone listed above.

Things I will do better:

1. Don't worry about MH. She isn't DB- she's not perfect. She isn't there to judge you. She's there to help you and you're there to help her. Just pretend she isn't there. It's no use being so impressed by someone that you can't do your job properly.

2. Take people out earlier, if possible.

3. Chit chat more. It's OK by MH.

4. Be harsher when telling people off.

5. Make more jokes.

And this is it.

Tomorrow, it's DB's lesson. I am glad- it will be respite, and sends me off to do other things better.

Good things about today:

1. Lunchtime.

2. Chatting to MH, who is lovely. I do like her. Sensible and kind, and ambitious when she needs to be, not when it's unnecessary like TF is- he's a wanker.

3. I have been wearing the same pair of earrings for a few days. Usually my ears go septic, so I am impressed with these ones.

Other people are so much better at this than I am. This job, this world. I am also fed up because of the administration I'm going to have to do... it won't be that hard, but I know I'll get it mixed up. I always do with administrative things; I can't just think of them as a problem to be solved, I think of them as a set of hoops to jump through. Which is silly. I like maths, I like English- but I don't like this. At all. And it's basically a basic combination of both.

Sharp

Like a good pair of scissors.
Flash and snip, and get the job done with economy
And beauty. There's a beauty too, in your pointed nose
And pixie face (that must have been, when you were a child).
You spear incisive when others deride or deceive
I believe you omnipotent. Then there's your new wardrobe-
Superficial, but I noticed
You look sharp. As in Al Capone. In Baker boy hats and long tweed coats.
Though you were equally honed in your grey fleece, which I adore
And you've not given it up just yet.
Cuspate, cuspidate, apical. You seem to know everything and
Lead people through the toughest questions
with the alacrity of a blade edge gleaming against silk.
Salient and keen.

I'm trying to find the words to describe this girl, without being disrespectful...

Eating today:

smoothie-150
2 chocolate hobnobs-180
spaghetti-350

chicken salad-350
mince pie and cream-450
raisins-100

biscuit-80
4 roses chocolates-200


1860. I will eat less tomorrow.

I made DB laugh today, which made me inordinately happy, and she asks me about la petite Francaise, which makes me feel needed. I told her about the banning of a relative from weightwatchers and it made her laugh, like a bark emitting. She'd be a terrier, if she was a dog. I hope that she doesn't think I'm another Wet Lettuce, sitting at the back with KB, who definitely is. I couldn't stand it if I was, if she thought I was. I hope I'm a little bit more interesting. The problem is that we both share this vaguely insipid quality, KB and I, and I don't know how to be differently, especially as one of the things I admire most about DB is her ability to control and be exciting; and I am rarely either around her. I can't pull it out of the bag. She'd say that there's no such word as can't.

La petite Francaise has begun to make friends, tentatively- she sees people and they smile to her and still try hard to communicate in French. She's got something special about her, a dreamy quality, and she's a pretty little thing, which never hurts social esteem. The fact that she looks like a doll has done wonders for her social life. I'm glad that they treat her well- she'll make friends, I can see it happening already, even though she's not got the language yet.

KB (wet lettuce) sits at the back and flaps about when the class is working. She doesn't really DO. She slithers round smiling but I've never seen her actually talk to anyone. Like me, she's backing laughter for DB. She perches. I swing about unnecessarily, mostly, if I'm not actually with someone. And she's cultivated some sort of friendship with TF- I can't fathom why, possibly because he's got power but maybe also because he adores conversing and she doesn't. He will talk for hours and do nothing else, chat about how brilliant he is in an uncomprehendable manner. I'd far rather have one with DB or MH, bright, modest people who are excellent at what they do- this would get her far further if she wants to go into this line of work than a blustering pseudo-intellectual fool that covers his own deficits with blathering- but there you go.

And she said, she said...

She said she was impressed with me and laughed at me and spoke to me like she didn't hate me (which is a constant fear because of the high esteeming of her personage). She said she was impressed with my French. She said she wouldn't have been able to get that work out of la petite Francaise, and we laughed about things like the older ones kicking off. Such little things, and yet they make me happy. Because I fear so much... I fear being the person that's stressed out or that has no control (or both). I said, "I like translating for you because I just pretend to be you for a bit". She laughed.

I'd like to say, to her, DB, "I adore you". But I can't because of a variety of factors. She wouldn't be interested, I see her every day, she's given no indication of being inclined towards me. I'd like to be friends with her, with this person that I think so highly of. I think she finds me interesting, as one finds exhibits in museums interesting, looking at them and considering what they mean (because it's rarely what I put across with my flailing hands and linguistic stutters), and I think she thinks that I am kind in my bumbling way. A piece of background furniture, some sort of intriguing egg slicer that you don't use much because it's fairly useless and extraneous generally, and only suited to one task.

I like the game of comparing people to household objects. She'd be something amazing. A non stick frying pan with a tefal spot, or a masher, or one of those whisks that whisks everything with loads of different attachments that slots neatly into your gadgetry but makes a big impact nontheless. Effective, interesting, brilliant. She makes me laugh all the time, whether I'm observing at the back or chatting. She makes everyone laugh. And I think she's beautiful. Today she came with a morning face, no makeup, in her grey fleece, perfectly honest with her metallic eyes that stop me dead, because she's seeing me precise as I am.

Little Bird hasn't written to me at all. Not that I expected her to reciprocate, but I would have liked her to stay in contact. Or to feel the same as it did, but it obviously can't for her.

Oooh... a happy day.

I did not go to the opening night (what would have been) meal, and I feel better for it. Noone else did, I don't think.

I am with DB again, if only for ten minutes or half an hour- and this makes me inexorably happy. Our new person, KB, will be there as well- I will have to ensure that she doesn't tell LE. I told RA about my plan to go in for la petite francaise, and she said we'd just have to keep it quiet from LE, which I am more than happy about. I am also happy because, when I told DB that la petite francaise would be making an entrance and that I knew a bit of French, hence my presence, she said, "well, you're always welcome". I don't know if that's true or not, but I hope that I am welcome, actually and truthfully, and that it's not just something she says. With DB, I don't think anything is just something she says, because everything she says is imbued with meaning- she never says what she doesn't precisely feel. Her eyes bore into me and I go quiet and slow-witted, stuttering almost, and even vaguer than normal, which must irritate her.

What else was good? I spent a lot of time lazing today, because I wasn't needed. I felt I held my own a little bit in other things, and it was generally a useful day of sorting out odds and sods, and there'll be another one tomorrow. I spoke a bit of French, which is always a pleasure. It's far enough from the rejection onslaught, or just getting to be now. I watched one of my favourite films again (A Christmas Carol) and drew things that pleased me. I have consolidated the acquaintance of someone whose company I enjoy- so I know that two other people that I think are good don't think I'm rubbish. All of these factors have made me happy.

I skipped, on the walk. That is a sure indicator that things are better. I walked about six miles, all in all- one just before dinner, 5.2 afterwards.

KB is new to our post. I think she's ineffective; I mean, I'm ineffective but she's another kettle of fish entirely. I wonder what DB makes of her, as she's supporting? I know that I judge her instinctively; she's got a degree in English, yet she reads utter tripe- Jodi Piccoult books and so forth. She doesn't exactly look insipid, though this is the characteristic; her face is sort-of shiny, and she looks fairly bland. All sandy coloured, skin and hair blending into one matt tone. She never smiles with her teeth. She chooses to wear a great deal of purple, and her hair manages to be both flat and fluffy. Today it was a pair of blue-knit boots with pompoms; a style that spans the infantile and the dowdy in one easy swoop. She spends most of lunch brushing her lank mousy locks, which look as if they've been subject to a bowl cut. Or she checks her face. These small obtrusive vanities annoy me; if you look crap, just be satisfied or overhaul yourself, don't be checking constantly. She spends the rest of the time reading her substandard books. I wouldn't mind if they were good books, and another bugbear is that she's got nothing to say about anything; and it's not as if the conversations we have are boring. I would think that a reader would be able to be interesting- she isn't. And she thinks I'm good at my job, when I'm not- thus must be a bad judge. I feel almost as if she follows me about; sort-of crawls after me, lurking like a slug, though I know she doesn't. She's probably kind, or trying to be sweet. She failed a PGCE- how could she do that? I asked her if she'd had a good weekend- 'yes, but busy'. It turned out that all she'd done was get her computer fixed. I am happy not to be the shit one in our department anymore, but it irritates me that CB, who is brilliant at our job, utterly brilliant, has to leave after christmas and she doesn't.

Posterity.

I think that I might forget, in the future, for reference. So here, in a few words, is what DB is like. She's adored outright by all who know her. They all say she is charismatic, or has brass balls, or something brilliant, because she is, simply put. You cannot fault her excellence.

She is small and has got naturally curly bottle blonde hair with dark roots. I know this because I complimented her on it one day, "your hair's nice today", and she said, "it's just my normal hair", or something to that effect. Then there was an awkward silence. You don't realise she's small until she points it out, or in my case, until I stand beside her- and even then I just assume that I'm the giant.

She sounds as if she comes from Essex, but I can't be sure; she could equally be genuine East End. Somewhere round London, anyway. She's somewhere between chubby and thin, I can't ever quite fathom where. She's got quite a round middle, and thin legs and arms, and a round serious face with extreme eyebrows; they're very thin and they slant, almost into an M with the middle removed. She's got a delicate little pointy face, with browny eyes whose pupils seem to have expanded to fill the whole eye, white too, which gives her a sort of squinting, unblinking ardour (not unlike TV detectives, and she uses it to stare people down. "Yeah, and?" is one of her favourite phrases). Her mouth is very small and thin-lipped, so she can easily look severe, but it's a Cheshire cat grin when she smiles. I'd put her at thirtyish, or late twenties. She moves with a rollicking sort of walk and lunges when she's explaining things, from which I deduce that she might be fairly athletic. She's fairly pale, but does better in the sun than I would. Her face is round and not exactly carved; it's a face made from softness though she looks tough, and she's got a large forehead.

She's recently acquired bits of new wardrobe, but she persists in wearing a grey fleece on top of everything, so I assume that she feels the cold. I avoid fleeces, but when I see her wearing hers it looks lovely. Her hands and feet are small and neat, like the rest of her, and then it's sometimes topped by this mane of exploding blonde. She's just wonderful. I can't do anything except moon about and not make any sort of right impression. I wish I had a hint of what she thinks about me.

Good things about today.

1. I skipped a little bit on my walk home.

2. A maths person asked me if I was a mathematician, or had a maths brain.

3. I have cleared out my room and rearranged two of my draws. This is sad, but it has made me happy.

4. I shoplifted something for the first time. From a massive supermarket. My brother's girlfriend talks about it constantly, and it pisses me off that someone else shoplifts and I'm expected to just take it. And I wanted to try it, to prove that I don't always have to be good. I was nervous but I did it. A necklace and a bracelet. They're birthday presents for people. They weren't expensive but it was exciting. And I don't feel good. I felt really guilty, briefly. Now I feel glad I have done it, so that I can say I have and speak from experience.

Are charismatic people more likely to be psychotic? I spoke to someone today that described DB as charismatic. I don't know about that. Well, she is, but I always associate that word with cult leaders, and hypnotism. She's too loud and bouncy to be associated with those sorts of words; I always think that charisma and hypnosis have a quiet quality to them. Though I didn't think of her as loud until today, though of course she is. I felt quiet next to her; I reverted to the introverted bookworm type, I still do whenever she's about, I go a bit shy. She is charismatic. She is good at people, she's good at making them think and do and admire without even meaning to. She's good at appearing effortless with people and hardworking with the things that matter, like studies and making sure everyone's cared for sensibly; that is, without mollycoddling, but just with surety and capability. So I suppose that this is charisma, a kind of weird hypnotism with no ulterior motives, other than to be herself and to get people to learn.

Everybody else is doing it, so why can't I?

Well, I should start doing things if I want to be considered. I should start to follow things up. I will follow up Lau- I'll investigate and get back to her about dropping the thing she wants to drop and we'll see about it, and I will be capable too. I won't be a child. I'll be good.

Hm.

I went out with R last night and told her about Little Bird. Her reaction was pretty good, even though I couldn't really articulate properly what it felt like now. But I can't articulate that to anyone. It's a culmination of things; I don't really, really want her, but I do like her and I had wanted to hold her, in the past. Then there's the blunt edge of being rejected by someone else for something else; another reason that I am crap, which serves to bring me down further. But I can't tell R all of this because when I tell her about my problems, I'm always aware that they pale into insignificance compared to hers; so I should just shut up. But it was nice to be able to tell someone, and not have the reaction I'd expect from other school friends.

I went to town today but couldn't seem to focus on anything; I'm getting old, and everything seems commercialised. I don't want to buy things if other people are so intent on being mercenary about it. I always feel greedy and grasping by buying things other than food and essentials; with clothes, sometimes I get anxious after I buy something if it's not exactly what I want. Which is kind of good, I suppose, as it prevents consumerism for its own sake. I went in yesterday and managed to find clothes (which is a rarity for me)- but today I just felt vaguely nude. It's the same sort of feeling I get onstage sometimes, when I don't know what to do with my hands. I secreted myself in a bookshop- books are always a comfort- and read the first page of lots of tomes instead. I walked home. I'm not skipping again yet, but walking calmed me (because I was doing something with my feet and it occupies my mind enough to put me at a remove from a problem, like smoking). I will skip, but at the moment I just want to listen to comforting or sad songs and drag my feet a bit. Rejection of various sorts does tend to make me mope, it's ludicrous and self-serving and not at all useful, but there it is. I will indulge and then get over it.

Because I don't really want Little Bird at all, I want DB, because she's brilliant and inspiring and funny, and she gives me chances when I didn't think she would, and she is beautiful. Little Bird is all of these things too; but DB is just too cool for me, I think. Too good. Too clever, too quick, too bold and brave and all the things I wish I was.

She's a killer queen.

She was always strong and quiet, and watching, but tonight was different. She'd been stunned by my saying that I liked her in the way I did, but I couldn't gather the words back into my mouth and kissed her instead. It was a very neat kiss, with her hand on the side of my face, so neat. She couldn't think of anything, she told me afterwards. Like when you've been punched, but you don't feel it straight away. There are a few seconds when the world turns a shade greyer, for you to realise, before the colour seeps back in. And then we went to the grass that was wet with next morning's dew and lay. And she lay her head on my cold chest, to warm it, in her make up- red lipstick round her eyes and a pale, pale face. I was made up the same. She always was pale, and long and thin. But tonight she looked wild and weird, and she felt harder than I had expected. She still wore the dregs of newspaper that I'd taped on earlier for costume. She said, "I want to keep you safe"- she was shivering now, with her tights round her ankles, "does that sound strange?", and I said, "no", but it did. This little shaking thing, wanting to keep me safe, when she couldn't keep herself sound and safe. I couldn't trust her as much as I had. She shuddered. The moment had gone. I let her kiss my nose and put her hand on my cheek, but in the morning, when she put her arm around me, I moved away despite the coldness of the stone slate floor.

Ugh.

I am still in the pit.

B rang. I am meant to be a good friend, and yet, she's going through this terrible thing at the moment, and I'm moaning and whinging about far smaller things. Far more insignificant ones. She's talented and intelligent and she's going where she wants to go despite her Mum dying. I, on the other hand, sit and stagnate and whinge.

She's got a habit of glossing; she always glosses over unpleasantness, anything, and always ends on an upbeat note. Maybe it's because I'm so dolorous, but I can't fathom why; I'd just say that things are shit and let that be it. I don't know why she has to make everything good; it disconcerts me; where's her outlet? Because things aren't always good for her. I think she likes to do it by controlling things; by cooking for people and organising for them, things like that.

She asked me if anything had gone on with me romantically. I responded the usual, no. Of course... I couldn't say, "yes, me and Little Bird". Little Bird is our close friend. I would have liked to tell B, but I just couldn't because Little Bird hasn't told anyone, so neither can I.

Rejection, rejection, rejection.

And not being good at anything.

Today DB said, "Lau has started coming to my group, at lunch". I responded that it wasn't because of me (which is true- she'd done it after I talked to her). It's because of NG, who can work miracles (it seems to me). She's got life experience. I can put it on this. I can say, ah, it's because she's got experience that she can encourage teens to come in instead of skiving. It's because of the way she is. Another colleague, who's been there a matter of weeks, managed to sort someone out with mild schizophrenia. It's not that they can because of any number of reasons; it's that I can't, and I can't stand DB thinking I've done something good that I haven't done, any more than I can stand being rejected for this slew of things that I might have been alright at. It's so depressing; seeing her face light up in the corridor only to tell her, no, it wasn't me. It was NG, who she'd get on far better with. Another way to let people down and to let myself down; by not doing, by not being able to.

Walking on, walking on broken glass.

I can't bloody well...

do anything right. Or well. I'm always... good, or mediocre. Which translates as utterly shit. Another rejection; this time from someone who said I had, 'fantastic energy; I'd offer you the part on the spot now, guaranteed'. I must be so shit. 'I'd like to work with you in the future'. On fucking what? Why not just come out with it; 'you're shit, and you weren't as good as I thought you were', would at least allow us both to know where we stood. But no, people have to dress it up. It's all complete bollocks. I'm an untalented piece of crap, and what's the point in trying? He saw me in auditions, then decided that I was crap. Great. People give me a chance and I shit all over it.

MMcD is going to sort out my jaw. I don't know if I trust her or not; well, I don't, but I don't want her to think I'm affected by rejection, though I am, and I would like my jaw sorted. I like being in her company as well, even if she irritates me and doesn't tell me the truth.

Then there's work. I can't bloody mentor people. I want to turn people round on my own, without AG helping or anything- but this is unlikely because I can't hold a bloody conversation on my own with a kid for ten bloody minutes without feeling horribly awkward or deciding I'm bored or being tired. And then LE decides that I don't know what I'm doing- 'the best thing to do is leave KAG when she's like that'. No shit sherlock- that's why I asked her if she wanted me to stay or not, and she said yes, so I listened. At least I've got people skills, you arse. AG's right about her.

Drawing is pointless. I am not clever. I can see MH thinking, 'when the hell is she going to get this?', and she's given me so many chances to get it, to get into it. I am a slow learner. DB must think that I'm pathetic as well. I can't stand it, all these people that I hold on high (MH, DB, AG and MC) and I can't do what they do. I can't do things that they find so simple; and they can do everything that I can do, because I'm only mediocre at everything. Or worse.

Then there's Little Bird, another awkward conversationalist- but that's on her part, because now she feels awkward because of what we did together and now she doesn't want me. A tried and tested route; people think they want me, then delve a bit deeper and find out I'm crap. Bombazine is the same. Little Bird might have wanted me more but she sobered up and found out that actually, I'm not what she wants. I'm not what anyone wants in the cold face of sobriety or discovery. An epiphany of my own mediocrity.

I walked 5.9 miles today to sort this out in my head, and I hit some fences but it just feels like I don't want to jump any more, I can't be bothered with leaping because I'm fed up.

Nightwalking.

This is a thing that I do like, though I felt weighted tonight with everything. I didn't want to bounce; I wanted to balance and weep a bit.

I like it though. I can hit signs and bang the pavement with my feet and it's not odd. And the moon and the streetlights pick out different bits that you don't notice in the day; the red-brick cornicing on the cheapest shops that's been there since victorian times, the low-hanging half-cut orange moon that's broken in one place by a chimney, just for a few steps till I've turned the earth on itself and there's just that orangey orb again, almost like the sun that seems to wait for me round so many different corners, just for me because motorists won't notice it- they won't be looking. Eyes on the road. I like the way the wind hits my cheeks and spurs me to walk faster. I like seeing the stars. I even like the dew on my trainers and the way that nothing's strange at night because it's expected that night is strange.

Eating today:

an egg and soldiers-300

smoothie-120

biscuits-210

chocolate-120

750

sunday dinner-400

biscuits-120

chocolate-120

640

1400

And a 5.3 mile walk, which should burn off about 400 calories. The sunday dinner comprised of 3 roast potatoes, 2 mini yorkshire puddings, stuffing, carrots, broccoli and some other bits of swede and parsnip. And a little bit of chicken but some of it was purple, and that makes me feel strange about eating it because it brings home the fact that it's muscle I'm chewing.

Bugger. I could have been so bloody good in that fucking play, in two fucking plays, but no.

Argh, arrogance.

I didn't get it because it wasn't right. And who wants to work for someone that bloody patronising anyway?

Noone wants me.

Think I'll go and eat worms.

But it's true.

Well, I just had a message from him. He still wants me, but he's a narcissist and I don't want him any more. He's just too complex a prospect and I never relied on him for judgement, not really.

There's the dual rejection: Little Bird and MMcD, or theatre in general. And the fact that I'm rubbish at my job, despite having all the tools that should make me good. But no, I just loll about being crap; this is entirely under my control. I can't fathom how I am shit, but I must be doing the 'wind up' thing that AG and MC keep talking about- they say other people do it, but I must be doing it too or else the kids wouldn't respond to me the way they do.

And then MMcD. Alright, the rejection by amateur dramatics hurts; smarts more than I could know- but by her, it smarts more because though I can rationalise it (she's mean and nasty, she likes to draw people in and then knock them down, she's not that brilliant an actress) I know that she is an excellent director- she directs me well, and I would dearly have loved to be in a play with her directing. The other thing that kills me is the way she rejected me; she didn't just come out and say it, she felt she had to smother it with her wincing tone and say, 'this other girl looked so much like him, that's all, I thought you read really well'- when anyone with half a brain would have been able to see that I was six kinds of shit on the day- I was hungover and tired as hell. 'Keep trying, so and so directs too, you read really well'.

For god's sake. If I'd read that fucking well, you'd have cast me, so don't be trying to paper over the cracks. I was shit, and that's all there is. I'm strong enough to take that, you don't have to lie to me about my ineptitude that I'm all too aware of. It just makes me feel like an utter loser to have been rejected in such a patronising way. She is generally patronising- when she found out what I did for a living she said, "oh, good for you". I know what I'll say to her if she mentions it again- 'oh well, it's only amateur dramatics- something else'll come along". The other thing that irritates me is this thing about 'shapes'. She said that it was the 'shape' of the family she was looking for- but I know full well she means body shapes. And I ain't it. I bet she's cast some bloody sylph.

Everywhere that I've interned for, and countless others that have just ignored me, slough me off. There goes another one; she's shit, who cares, another one into the pot, off into the ether, that we've used and that's it. Fucking cunts.

Then there's Little Bird. At a time when I could really use someone to put my head against and just be soothed, there's noone. I learnt long ago to self-solace, but it's just been the worst time for anything to happen; just when I'm feeling like everything else is collapsing round my ears, she goes too and holds out something that could happen (and it does, inebriated and brief on a public lawn) and then says

no

that isn't what I meant at all

no regrets but

and it wasn't as if it could have worked out anyway; we've been friends for too long, she lives hours and hours away. I don't even know that I've liked her that way for a while, but then I did once we'd been together. It's just that now I could really use someone soft and kind that would listen and let me read books and watch crap TV quietly with them whilst stroking my hair. I don't want a lot.

And worse, it's mon anniversaire next week. The day I loathe and detest; another year, an inch closer to la grande morte and I'm still here, not out on my own, still working this job that I want to be good at but I'm not, still being crap at theatre, still written nothing worthwhile because I'm pouring all my creative juice into this at night. This vitriolic little epistle to myself. Ugh. Turn a new page, I'm just having a crap time at the moment. It's all momentary. I'll self-medicate with walking and cigarettes.

Oh, and it's so strange with you Little Bird.

And yet not strange, not strange in the least.

I'm sat here disappointed because the play's off and I'll never get to show people how good I could be. How good I know that I could be, if I'd had a chance... and I won't get to be in the next plays, because my face doesn't fit and because I didn't do my best. I am angry and sick at heart and almost relieved, that I didn't balls it up. Because I think I might. I can't do the things I'm good at and care about too much because I overthink, and then maybe I'm not that good? MMcD sometimes helps, but she won't anymore now that the play's off, and I won't be in her next one because I was useless.

And Little Bird. Oh god, what about Little Bird.

I keep sighing when I think back. I can't (couldn't) articulate what I meant. I spin and yearn on here, and then on crisp cold nights over cigarettes behind a van I'm stilted and monosyllabic. And is it any wonder that when the bloods come, it's suddenly easier because of her having eased the passage? It's a shock to find. Now I just want to do all sorts of strange things for her. And there's marks on the back of my coat, and she... is beautiful. Consolidating all of those things I'd wreathed in ephemeral wants for years and I think I terrified her because I wasn't as I usually am, and she was as she always is. I should have known that this was why it wouldn't feel strange, to be so close to her, because it was the reality (this is Little Bird, Little Bird) and then a realisation (of course it's Little Bird; it could be noone else) that made it feel out of and inside of at once. And suddenly, there's things there that I am thinking that are redundant now. Like I want her, when I'm disappointed and angry, to go night walking with and curl up with on a sofa to watch some dross. And how her body is firm and soft (and it is) and pretending won't do so easily. How she can sleep on slate. How I've always thought she was beautiful (always, before and after and during).

Ugh... it's just been a crappy week.

I've been at work, it hasn't been wonderful. It hasn't been awful either, I've just been a bit dogged by other things, like MH's revelation that she thinks exactly the same things about me as I think about myself- namely, that I'm a coward, and not half as clever as I think I am.

I don't know what I want, but I know that I want people to say I could be... I don't know. I want MH to like me, despite my flaws, but I don't know if she can. I want people I like to like me even though I'm not brilliant. I like people that are better than me in lots of ways; it's therefore fairly easy for me to like bright people who put forth their views, who are kind and straightforward and honest.

I am not all of these; arguably, I am bright but simultaneously so dim and altogether too proud for my own good. Imprinting my views onto others, I'm terrible at, and being kind... I wonder if I'm like GF, pretending to be kind but not actually being particularly kind. Straightforward and honest... again, I try, but I am so unsure that what I think is the right way to progress that I'm always second-guessing... would MC, SC, NG or AG find this annoying? How would they do it? These processes inevitably fail, because I'm not either of them.

GF, then, has to break it to me in the kindest terms that I'm excellent at what I do except for one little thing... and I know that people don't think this, because MH has told me straight (as she always would) what she thinks of me, and it's so much coarser when she's kind and straight about it.

Ugh. It makes me not want to do anything, which is ridiculous. I need to be less prone to things like this.

What a lovely thing to say...

M McD. I know she isn't the sort of person that I should like, but she is all the same. She's pedantic and has a touch of the stage brat about her at times, but I do like her. She's fun, and she's bouncy, she makes us tea and she pretends to be part of my gangsta cru- anyone that does these things cannot be awful. She will sing with us and she'll run lines that aren't her own for the greater good without pointing out that this is what she's doing. If she thinks anything, she will tell you truly, and I like this about her. I think that she is straight with people and unafraid to say what she thinks, which can only be good things.

She's got a very prim, dolly sort of face. It's pretty, almost, but quirked. She should be in a Tim Burton film or something- it's almost plastic shiny, and she's a little bit chubby, and she has smooth hair cut into a little girl's bob with a fringe that she clips off her face and a squeaky voice- or a voice that squeaks sometimes, it's usually calmish. The whole effect is of an overgrown child. I find it easiest to imagine her in one of those flouncy sunday silk dresses with lace gloves so popular in the fifties for classy families.

She said today that I was talented and energetic and that I worked hard, and it was lovely to hear someone say it, and asked me to audition for her next play. I couldn't believe it. Two asks for me to audition, and yes, it is an amateur place but I like being creme de la month. Mois. I thought she'd be a pain. I suppose it's difficult to dislike someone who's so definite about admiring you, simply because she believes I am talented... argh, ego's involved. But I do like her. According to her, I am not only talented but have raw energy and... ah. I am glad.

How Odd...

That I always adore people less like myself... or not me at all. I like MH, who is kind without being overt about it, who is sensible and simple, and direct. Who is beautiful in what she does. Who is clever, but maybe she doesn't think so- "I couldn't do the gifted"... but you have a knack with simplicity. I cannot distill; you're clarity personified. Whose saddest times were shared, willingly, with a lot of children in a bright sunlit room, and me. I don't know what she thinks of me. I'm hoping it's not hatred, or worse (because she does not hate), irritation. But MH, who is laid back and fair, and who cares, who gets the job done, who responds to things other people don't and ignores the dross... she's brilliant.

And DB, another one, brilliant at everything she does- and they both make me laugh, but I don't know if I can make them do the same. I take any excuse to speak to her... I can't not. I wish I was more like her, or more like both of them. I saw her driving her car in today, and I was in the way (a perpetual feeling with me) and just stood there, staring... comme une vache...she laughed, and I sidestepped away. I'm always floored. I just want to shout, "I'M NOT ALWAYS SHIT, IT'S JUST YOU FLOOR ME!"

I am worried that someone else will come and take my place, as bright young thing. Because I haven't got much, at my job, but I have got my brain... and though I'm not always cleverest, I can get things. What if the new person is like me but better? I hate not being the best me I am.

Things I know about myself.

1. I lie about big things, and they become bigger.
2. I would rather risk, and spend my days in panic and fright I'm not doing it right- and chance, and try and learn- than stifle myself at an office desk job. I do not regret what I am doing at all.
3. I am ambitious.
4. I need to abolish the thought of others onstage. And be more forceful directorially.

A terror...

A highlighted blonde terrorizing the hallways and corridors
Calls her superiors bald
(because they are)
And sneers when told
She can't
Because she's trapped herself
She's too proud to ask for help
So shuns it; bold
it seems
Is the order of the day.

Sick with something...

And I don't know what that is.

I ate 1500 today, and that's a generous estimate, and walked 4.4 miles in about an hour and a quarter. I think that'll be about 350 calories gone.

I'm fed up about SW and her stupid Religious Education standoff. Your subject doesn't matter! They get told about it in History and English and all manner of other subjects. She assumes that I'm skiving. I hate that class; I can think of far more useful things to do, and besides, I am not much use in a behaviour function anyway, but I go. I am conscientious about my work, whatever other deficits I might have- I would not shirk, and I am irritated that she assumes this about me. I'd just rather be in French laughing with CW, who is all kinds of brilliant, and helping people get real qualifications. I feel like screaming, "THERE IS SOMETHING USEFUL I COULD BE DOING NOW YOU KNOW."

I'm excited about the play, and nervous that I won't do myself justice, and worried about what my work people will think of it, and whether or not they'll hate me after, or think I'm stuck up, or something. Or just that I'm shit at something I get overly excited about. That would be worst. It's started to creep in, the thought that someone else (Judi Dench, Fiona Shaw, contemporaries at University) would do it better... which I detest. Despite all this, excitement is still the overriding emotion.

Instead, I will just enjoy the words, and feel what it feels like to be Brigit. This is a better way of doing it. Because screw them all, I'm in it and I'm doing it and it's fun. Have fun. I like it and I've got ideas and... I can. Hold it myself. The audience isn't holding me. Do it as if you're just alone in your room.

I'm excited that the poem went down so well with my recalcitrant ones, and that I had such a wonderful time with the girl I found difficult at first. I am excited to be getting better at what I do. I like it, and I didn't think I would this year, but I am glad I've taken the challenging ones because it's more exciting for me. I knew I could do the others, now I am surer. I worry less about others thinking that I am rubbish at what I do. I think that DB probably still does. I wish that she could see me being good at something; I wished she'd drop in on me doing the poem today, but she didn't, or see me talking French, or anything that would make her smile at me more, or stop looking at me as if I'm dim, or shallow. I can't stand that she might think these untrue things; or worse, that she might think awful true things- that I'm an awful narcissist and terribly vain and arrogant at times, and that I know nothing about children and I'm too posh to relate to people, how could I possibly... the list goes on. All of the disdains I heap upon myself in her name. I judge myself harshest by those I'm in awe of. I can't fathom whether or not MH likes me either; I think she does, more than she did anyway, but she's lovely to everyone, and I can't work out whether it's me or not... she likes me more now I've made fun of myself a bit. I wonder if people assume I don't? I know exactly how ridiculous I am, ludicrous most of the time...

I'm worried about my course, that work paid for. I want it to be perfect; I want to get as good as I can in it, and I'm worried I won't and it'll be a waste of their money and people will be disappointed.

Here is what I think...

Nightwalking through the crowds after a football match.

Is your face there, DB? Is the car you drive? I can't see through the hordes, but I run because I feel like doing so. I feel safe, running against the crowd (some of them laugh). I wonder if you do this, or if this is not your particular brand of ridiculous. I contemplate the likelihood of me accompanying la petite Francaise into your lessons in the future. Though she'll know more English then, of course... but I thought that if you saw me speaking French, you might just believe that I wasn't as useless as you think I am when I skitter uncontrollably or twitch at the back.

I could explain your favourite phrase. "Une doughnut. C'est un petite gateau- tu as le vu? Avec un trou dans le centre. Comme la femme la bas- il n'ya pas rien dans le centre, pas de cerveau ou personalite. C'est un bon mot, n'est ce pas?"

This is why I am a shit person. I am speaking french, not for edifying purposes... so that she will like me. I like speaking French, and I do it when she is not there (of course), when there is noone to impress. But even so, I dislike that I have planned to impress someone. I am strange and seedy and bizarre in general. I crave her approval; I do not crave the approval of everyone, but from her, yes. From those I like. And I have not won it, nor done anything particular to further my cause, not that I could, being who I am. I might be the only person that likes people different to myself. People who are kind and decent and respected and good, and funny and clever. I can be those, but not like the others are.

Ooooh... I could be angry.

Yet, there are good things about today.

Someone told me that 'you've got the feeling of that woman from Sense and Sensibility'. I would love to know if it's Elinor or Marianne. I'd like it to be Marianne. I've got a sinking feeling that it's Elinor. Though Elinor isn't awful. The feeling, not the look... she was specific about that, and I liked it.

Good things have happened this week, but they're overshadowed by present storms.

C is playing up; being a brat, and yes, he is depressed, he is sad, he is upset... but M and D treat him as if he's this vulnerable little thing, as if he doesn't hit out. We must be careful round him. We must treat him gently, even if he is throwing it all in our face. We must lie down and surrender.

I am heartily sick of being told to surrender. Particularly via email, a pre-emptive surrender from D, who is away most of the time and so gets C's skewed version of things, which is given the same credulity as E's and mine despite his aversion to the truth.

I do not despise C. I even like him (sometimes) and undoubtedly love him, but I cannot stand this particular approach to him; that he is 'really going through it'. They were never as supportive of me. Buck up, is the main message. We can't solve your problems. Work harder, do better, be more tolerant but for god's sake, it's your problem. They only want to know because it's too late.

And then I read this through and think, god, I am bitter. It's not about other things; I don't care if he gets more money than we do, or even if M and D consider me more spiteful than he is. I don't care. I care about the unfair treatment. I care that they don't send little round robin emails to everyone telling them to treat me gently. I know that they do not do this. I hate that we must handle C with care, when he is anything but to us and expects beautiful behaviour from the family in return. I detest the popular misconception that C 'has a good heart' and that I am 'cold hearted' or 'intolerant' or even, on one occasion, 'a spiteful bitch'. And thus responsible. I cannot stand the way that I am a parent, a culpable entity when M and D desire it of me, capable of making him happy or weaning him off nefarious drugs or able to give sisterly advice (under their orders, of course) but I am not to be considered if I say anything that contrasts with their opinion. I can be a mole, find out what's in his heart and pour it out to them, but if I find it unpalatable their ears are closed. I despise myself, that living at home has made me into this teenage angst spewer that has no real problems. That it brings back all of the necessary bile.

The upshot is:

I am angry because C is allowed to be an arse and is treated sensitively when I feel that he needs a kick. D should stop putting pressure on him to excel at school, and make him be less of an utter cock the rest of the time.

It makes me question myself, because I am constantly told that I am intolerant. Doing the work that I do has showed me that I am far too tolerant. I will tolerate... but on different scales, for different things.

I realised today that I am busy seeking approval. I got a present from a pupil. A 'good' pupil, and somehow it was worth less than winning over a bad one was. And this made me think about C- are his opinions worth more because he throws his baby out of the cot more? Why should challenging kids be valued more? I was not one, and now I feel... not undervalued, they value me the same, but they care less about what I feel.

It made me feel awful, and I am glad that the pupil gave me the gift. Everyone else is good with the naughty kids; everyone that I admire says, "ah, I get on well with so and so, though others have said"... And I want to be one of those, one of those respected by nature... rather than one who is not, who is picked and chosen.

Then it made me think, why am I so very reliant on other people's opinions of the children that are 'fun' or 'good at heart'? Why can't I decide for myself? I am only pushing other's views onto myself, and running a popularity contest that I'm destined to fail at. Because MC and AG don't go into every lesson determined to like bastards. They go in to see what they see and to stamp it down, and everyone disagrees and has their own. Why must I conform to who other people think are good?

I have decided that to be a good person, you should conform to what your own idea of good is. I know lots of good people, who I think pick out good people. Some of them pick me. Some, like DB, think I am ridiculous, and not in the way that she is; just ridiculous, pitiful. It makes me wonder whether C and D are right. Every time I'm queried, my entire character analysis falls flat on its face. What kind of person am I? Am I malicious and vindictive and grudge bearing and clever and, god, sympathetic, and kind at times? Because all of these things have been said.

Am I angry because noone has noticed fundamental problems that I have got, larger than C's, equally as self inflicted (though I contain mine, as opposed to unleashing pestilence)- that I starved and people worried but didn't act, didn't send little messages, didn't. That I am upset but it's all about discussion to prove that I am wrong to be upset, I am not allowed to be upset or angry, because that is C's domain. He is allowed to have feelings that are not incorrect. That every time I was worked too hard it was my own fault, for not trying harder, because I always could, of course it was my fault, and just try a bit more and can't you put more effort in and oh, you're a model child so we don't have to think about you. Worry, they said, but think...

I am angry because I keel over and fade into the background as soon as anyone wants me to.

All of a sudden

I'm yearning for Unexpected Kindness again.

She's returning soon; homecoming queen. I want to see her; I will, in around a week. I want to go on holiday with her; I am going tomorrow, though not with her. I could go at the end of the month.

She is beautiful, in her way, but more than that, she desperately needs someone to tell her that she is. I don't think that anyone has told her. It's a strange thing. I know that I will probably always be beautiful to my mother (or accepted, at least). She might worry about my being accepted in the world for my face and my size, but I don't think that she would concretely call me ugly. UK's Mum has, directly or indirectly, and worse. I don't think that people do tell her, no holds barred, that she is lovely. They probably say, 'you'd look lovely if...'. It must make you someone else, if you are being told that you are not good enough directly. It was hinted at, in our house, directed at my physical form, but there were always redeeming characteristics. I don't know that UK's were ever paramount. I would like to tell her, 'you look lovely'. She's lovely because she's awkward when she's nervous and she's sweet when you don't think she will be, because you think she's forgotten and then there's this beautiful unexpected nudge. Because she's so shy of her own body and yet so present in it. Because she's ferocious in her approach to mask all of those vulnerabilities. Because she's bright, and she works hard. Because of the way she glances up from textbooks over her glasses. Because of the way her teeth are set against her lip. Because.

Some things that I know.

MC doesn't despise me. Which is wonderful. She gave me a big hug on the last day, and it was too long and too honest to be fake. And she whispered, "careful with PW, he's got a girlfriend!". I intimated that we were merely discussing Lacan platonically. I can't fathom what I have done to make her like me, or whether she's always liked me, or whether it was gladness because she thought I'd get the job I applied for and leave their department. I can't work it out. I ran these theories past Mum, why she wouldn't like me- or how I couldn't tell, because she's easily angered and I am an irritant to many. Caustic. She said that maybe MC is worried about how I perceive her, or maybe felt threatened by me. I couldn't fathom that. Apparently MC had to have literacy and numeracy top up sessions- I'd never have guessed. Anyway, anyone can learn what I know. People can learn to think. Noone can learn what she's got, which is out-and-out control and charisma. At least, I can't learn it. I can act it, after I've seen it, but I can't do it from the heart, which is exactly what she does all the time. That's why she's never irritating, and thus never wrong. I am frequently both.

I told her what I think of her- how I think she's really good at the administration, and so organised, and just generally has been a brilliant person to do my first year with. I wanted to say, and you're wonderful at everything else too- giving help, controlling people, making them want you to give them help even if they hate being helped. I didn't add this. I did it not looking at her, so I couldn't be put off, and then trotted off feeling more than slightly awkward. She seemed pleased, but it's difficult to tell- I think there was a little smile, but with MC you can never tell if you're just inflecting it on her yourself. Then later I went to a special party she'd held, and saw her being awesome again. I'm just glad she doesn't think I'm utterly shit.

Another thing I know is that JM isn't half as wet as I thought she was. She's pretty cool. In an utterly different way to MC. I respect her once she's seperated from people that don't respect her. JM is kind, and sweet (another one, sweet without intending it). She is interesting. She thinks she's bossy but isn't at all- I'd say timid. I recently heard my voice on a recorded tape, and it's far more irksome than it is in real life- high and whiny. Maybe in JM's head, her voice is a sonorous booming command, not a querulous vocal tending to a whine. I'll never know. The upshot is, she reckons she's bossy, which is utterly fatuous. She's interesting and intriguing and she'd never tell everyone everything about herself, but it's a shame because people would be interested if she opened up a bit more. She rarely tells people the important things about herself. I wonder what she's hiding? I thought she didn't associate with the rest of us because we bored her, or because she found MC terrifying (I sometimes find MC terrifying, in an I-wish-I-could-please-you way, which is so stupid. I think that JM finds her scary in a she-was-popular-and-I-wasn't way, in the way that quiet people find loud people intimidating). I think that she doesn't associate because she doesn't want us to find out about her, whatever it is. Or because she can't bear rejection. Or because she doesn't know how to do it. I have to confess that sometimes I don't know what to say to MC, because I am in awe, but you have to brave situations that scare you sometimes.

I've been corresponding with JM, and I realised all this interesting stuff about her (well, she showed me it really). So, is it that she doesn't like trusting people with information, or that she doesn't want people to think she's a showoff? I think that she is a perfectionist, and if she isn't perfect then she won't show it. I know she works hard, but ineffectively when it comes to the stuff that MC's good at. I bet she gives herself a hard time, comparing herself to people. People are mostly far more interesting than they're believed to be, but she does take the biscuit. She writes well- all the grammar's in perfect place. She's very gentle, and easily hurt I think, else why worry so much? There's a definite worried edge to JM. She's an enigma, and noone realises she is, or realises that she's worth investigating because she pads herself out with stuff that's not worth listening to sometimes when she talks, or maybe it's because she's nervous or because of something else entirely that I haven't put my finger on yet. I feel the need to head an investigation. She's worth investigating, with her thoughts on her consonant loaded name and its harshness, with her secret writing. I wonder if she does this, scribbles in secret, types at midnight? I hold her in higher esteem than I did. Not everyone can be an MC. I'd still prefer to be like MC, but I am fond of JM. She's the sort of woman who actually believes that she's fat, though she's very thin (and really believes it, isn't seeking attention). She reminds me of some breed of nodding flower, or fern. The ones that look habitually apologetic. She's also very kinetic- moving constantly, nerves, probably.

And DB. I saw her on the last day- she was with two men. I almost shouted, 'hi', because she surprised me- I didn't know it was her from the back. She moved off pretty soon after. I can't ever talk to her properly- another one I'm in awe of. And I am unsure. Now she most probably definitely thinks I am a loser, or else intruding on her posse. I wish I knew a bit more about her. I think she generally thinks I'm a bit thick- nice but dim. Not even nice. Lazy, probably. And bourgeois. Any number of sins. I can't speak to her properly because I think she's too brilliant. She, I am told, is worried about how much she knows. I always think it seems like she proliferates knowledge, specifically about feminism- about everything, but apparently it's a source of worry, having not been immediately accepted for this course she had to do... well, people fought for her and she did it. People could see she was brilliant. That never happens to me; I'm not the sort of person that inspires people to fight for me. I never have been. You can be as bright as you want, but I'm not that kind. I suppose that she seems like the sort of person that would fight for things, and so people are willing to do the same. She took the course, passed and now she's ten kinds of awesome at this job. No wonder they fought for her. Brilliance evident from the start. Another colleague described her as having, 'brass balls', which is completely apt. I would like that to apply to me. Vulnerability in strength, as always. Bright, intelligent. And she is beautiful too- she could be described as 'brassy' when I saw her. Blonde, wavy hair and berry purple lipstick. And tight black drainpipe trousers, in boots, with a brown leather jacket. She's got small features, and she looks the type of person to have been one of those elfin children- petite, all smile and squinched up eyes in the sun. Knobbly knees. Now she looks strong and unbreakable, and fun. She is a lot of fun. I wish that I could have her estimation of me. I wish I could see exactly what people thought, especially her.

Nauseating child.

There's only one that I truly despise, a little worm of a child, a sly one whose friends despise her also. She'll never be pretty in any way, nor beautiful; she is a vile person, self-seeking, hypochondriac, martyrdom-bound, horrific. Her jaw overpronates, her hair is frequently lank and greasy, her cheeks are spattered with eczema and she irks me awfully. She insisted on showing me her awful poetry once I took the vaguest interest. I despise people who are too open, who want to share it all straight away, get you on their side etcetera.

I don't know why I wrote that.

I would like to tell you lots of things, my women. You aren't mine, of course (never are), but I would like you to know the beautiful things about yourselves, because sometimes I think that you aren't sure. That you have set off this feeling without intending to, that you are amazing articles of personhood, ah. I don't know.

When I think of JF I think of her putting her head on my shoulder and sighing, because she sighs frequently over people not grasping linguistic structures and being generally irksome. I sigh in return, because sometimes I do too. I think of her hands, with their neat shining fingernails, relaxing slowly into my back. I think of my arm linking over her shoulder, and the other finding the midsection of her back, where all the tension collects and rubbing it away.

'til I met you.

Is always the prefix to lovesongs. There's never more than one absolute love, but there really is. I fall for people all the time; none of them are absolute, which is worrying because am I missing people all the time, assuming there'll be another one later? I fall slowly, but easily. It just takes someone strong, interesting and intelligent to reveal a sudden vulnerability, and I'm undone. Age doesn't matter. Neither does gender, or physicality, because anyone that has those things is automatically beautiful to me. I can find beauty. I am a magnifier of the aesthetic, for these qualities, for people who have these qualities.

It's true, though, that when there's one person, there is just one person.

There was a desperate man at the pub today. He came on to my Mum, and then to me, and made horrific comments. He said, "I came over on the banana boat, she wasn't far behind"- pointing to one of my sister's friends. He wore an open necked shirt revealing greying chest hair, and incited us to guess his age. K, my sister's friend, was the unfortunate recipient of a tap on the fist (because, as she is black, she must like that sort of thing, odious man) and a, "nah, you're alright". He certainly wasn't. I could see exactly the type of man he was; he was RA's age, and had similar background; british Asian. She hated being referred to as British Asian; she was Indian, she said, and it was hard for her to accept the British aspects of herself. It irritates her when people say they are both. The pub man was the opposite; he'd anglicised his name, he said he was English and made jokes before anyone else did; he was anticipating our racism, anticipating the racism of others, assuming that everyone makes jokes behind his back so he'd better do it in the open before they get a chance, and at least if they do, he's said the worst things out loud, the things that are used as weapons to ostracise and divide. I could imagine the child he was; trying to get in on everyone's games, reasoning that the reason they didn't want him was because of his race (it might have been then, god only knows times have changed). A small, skinny boy with ruffled hair in grey cotton shorts standing on hot tarmac scowling, feeling the prickle of panic puncture his stomach, because the gang is playing hide and seek and they have hidden from him. He can't go home; the sweat makes a thin film on his lip, his father will ask where he is, what he's been doing with those white children, doesn't he know they'll only reject him, only turn on him later on. You can't trust them. Best to stick to your studies; but he always disappoints, he's in the middle, not at the top. Make a joke, make them like you. Make them unable to say it before you have. K hated him; I hated him. I hated that he forced his own complexes onto her, assumed that just because they had something vaguely in common that it was alright for him to say things like that. I think we all disliked him. He was drunk, but inebriation is an extension of your ego and id, I think. We have ridiculous and awful things lurking inside us that we usually manage to suppress, but a few beverages and...

A thing I find really irritating is...

When people expect me to fulfil obligations punctually but do not do so themselves. Why am I more or less important than you in the scheme of things, and why would you find yourself above fulfilling your part of the contract?

Ah, and I wonder why it is that when people dislike someone it makes me like them more secretively?


biscuits-120
smoothie-100
baked potato-400
a biscuit-70
2 digestives-150
squash lollies-20
couscous and salad-450
scotch eggs (2.5)-150
chocolate-150
muesli-350

Shit.

1970

And I thought I'd done OK. I really haven't. Here's a note to myself- do not eat so damn much tomorrow. Especially after school. Go on a walk, for god's sake.

And, ah, I don't know why, but I enjoy the company of JF, linguist. She's ridiculously posh, and hasn't got the best rapport. She's commandeering and doesn't bond, and they don't even do what they're told half the time; AN has got a far better hold. I don't know how. I suppose that she's got strong features, and she's good to have a gossip with, and I like chatting to her. She's interesting. I think she likes my company. She is easily upset by ill-wishers, which I find vaguely ridiculous and fairly endearing. I suppose that women like MC and NG are strong enough for a variety of things, for withstanding- but I am not, and I don't think that JF is either. And people can tell, how far to push it, and how far one will care and how far one will not, and the worth of pushing. JF is at no risk of breaking, and I can't quite put my finger on the quality that the other two have; something that allows them to keep discipline without having to ask about it, or command it. I like the way she makes a stand without being worried what I think.

I don't know why I prefer her company to LC's. I find LC boring, I suppose, and flimsy- there's something quite feeble about the shrill pitch of her voice, like it's a stretching softened plastic piece and I get bored by it easily. Her face looks like a little girl's, made adult. She looks po-faced, though she isn't really... the sort of face that would have made her a pretty child but looks prim into adulthood- no amount of pastel-bright shoes or well-designed fabric will sway that, and she doesn't help herself with the blonde bob cut and the pink lips. JF, on the other hand, has got a lovely voice, it's deep and resonant, and I like to listen. It's the sort of vocal tone that I might like to have. I can imagine her singing well. Isn't it strange. What we find interesting. And I like whining with her- she whines like a little girl- my betting is an only child, or the youngest, not liking things and disliking doing them. Bitching is fairly amusing. A bonding ritual; I do not like this, and so it follows. My enemy's enemy is my friend, though there are no enemies, just vague annoyances and allies.

SC and NG dislike JF; her tone is probably enough to put a fair few people off her. Do people form their tones, or do tones pick people, and make others react to them and form their personalities that way? Either way, I've ascertained that JF's slightly-too-posh voice, her way of dropping at the end of sentences and the drawl-y sort of sarcasm that she uses makes them think that she is putting them down- that she is saying, "I am better than you, I do not care for your line of work". She may well think this, but I don't think she's said it, and it's a shame that a vocal pattern conveys such disdain. I wonder what mine is like? I show off too much. There's a lot of tonal variation and vocal slipping, which makes me seem quite cheerful, I think. I'm probably saved by my own cheerfulness, else everyone would think me a dreadful bore, or a know-it-all. I'm saved by my movement as well; I can't help skipping about constantly or moving when I'm happy or excited, and I think that it makes me non-threatening. People can see how I feel, not so for JF. But others are liked and threatening, like MC. It's a dichotomy.

A lot of my colleagues don't like the way the Tstaff speak to us; they think they're looking down on us. I never have, that, or my aspergers-type personality is simply impervious to snottiness. I think it's a fairly good way to be. Water off a duck's back, and wounded by imaginary things.

"I could eat all day", you said.

And I could watch you all day. Tea and sandwiches together, and I would like to nourish you and bring you treats. I laugh when you're around and I lean in to listen because I like to hear your cadent voice, and I would give you what I could. I would like to have a day eating with you. I would like to make you happy.

It's out there...

Today, one of my favourites, C.W., stood very close to me and made me feel self-conscious. I had walked in and she was the only one in the room- so I said hello, and surprised her, because I am a quiet mover. G.F.'s shoes always squeak- she wonders why (it's because she's huge), so I pride myself on quiet movement because it insinuates the opposite. Anyway, C.W. came close to inspect my face, I think. I've got a sore on the side of my mouth and I wasn't looking my most attractive. I took a half-step to move away, but then I controlled myself and thought, I don't like backing down, so I stood my ground- but she was very close, and I did wonder why...

Today's a day when I need my perceptions changing in every way. I must stop being so fluttery and flimsy. I need to get more of a punch behind what I say... it's just that I can't be bothered, and I spent most of the morning in a state of worry, which is the stupidest way to spend a morning. If I was worth my salt I'd have brushed it off, chalked it up to experience, or reacted in any number of cliche ways- and I did, but the wrong one- obsessing over it. I still am. Because I didn't act with integrity, and I really and truly hate that. I hate that I didn't act right, my conception of right as well as other people's, whose conception of correct matters to me. I'm fed up that I didn't think about it, that I didn't think at all. These things count- they mean so much to me. More than triumphs, failures are my rates and wares.

Alright. Enough. What have I learnt? To think more. To do more. To consider.

I have got two contrasting parts in plays that I was always desperate to be in. And I am so happy about that, so happy. I can hardly wait.

Telling R.A. about this would probably be a good move. I told J.M, but this was only because I could be sure that she would never judge me. I think that J.P. judged me- I could almost see her snorting, she made a snorting face. Which is a shame, because she's another one I admire. I would like to know the verdict of R.A. and D.B. on my actions- this would help me immensely, to know what they would have done. Or even what M.C. would have done. I feel like if I tell her, I'd be an utter fool in her eyes forevermore. I don't think that M.C. would give me many chances. I feel like she's someone that sees the quotidien goodness of people; who they really are- immediately, and awards marks accordingly and secretly as to how many chances they get. Angry young girls like herself- lots. Middle class wafters like me- very few. I probably get on her last nerve. She despises inefficiency. I don't even know how she feels about everyone else- I think she probably likes A.G., and other people that aren't gushing. I am a gusher. And ineffective. This whittles my chances considerably. I really don't enjoy irritating people that I admire.

Here's the thing...

Another day of awful eating. I can't stand it.

And I do only hear what I want to, but what I want to hear is your voice.

"I was eight and a half stone before I had my first child", you said. I replied that I hadn't ever weighed eight and a half stone, but this was a lie because I have, but a small lie. Comparatively.

I had a conflict at work today, not with her but with some people- M.H., and I felt at fault, and I probably was. If M.C. had been there it would never have happened, she would have kept everyone updated and it wouldn't have resulted in the three being plucked out of an assembly that was enjoyable. Ugh. And the way I respond just isn't cricket, and now I am terrified that everyone will believe that I'm an awful disorganised person that chats shit about making a difference but is actually really ineffective and crap and doesn't care about her job at all. I am worried that M.H. thinks I'm vindictive and pre-judging because of how I reacted to one of the resisting girls, I'm worried that I'm judged morally corrupt, and that people will think that I just take decisions without asking anyone else.

I stood our ground, but I didn't stand the ground for the girls, who are my main concern I suppose. I just hate thinking that I've made a glaring error that M.C. wouldn't have made. Though the world is full of good people and bad people, and effective and ineffective people, I worry that I'm on the wrong side. People can appear to be good; look at G.F. Liberal values, works in the public sector, is never overtly nasty, but I can tell that she'd be a dictator if she ever got the chance, and every time she says, "oooh, that colour really suits you", it's to ingratiate herself. Then there's M.C. I've not really heard her compliment anyone, and it's difficult to make conversation with her because she terrifies me, and she can look hatchet faced- but I know that she is good, really good. The girls showed me pictures of her, the terrifying lion girls, and there they were, making stupid faces and M.C. looked so alive and happy, and I wanted to say, "look, this is why she's excellent". She is. Then there's R.A., who is just out-and-out lovely.

And what am I? I really don't know. I just can't fathom it. People who are good seem to like me- my friends, R.A., N.G., but is this because I can make people laugh? M.C. might despise me, for all I know. I suppose that by goodness, I mean people that have integrity. And I really don't know if I have- am I just flippant? I would sometimes far rather be someone else.

Too many biscuits and not enough vegetables today.

What's the betting that you don't do this?

Look at the back of your hands when you're typing and avert your eyes quickly, because the veins and the bones, specifically those that protrude, are vaguely emetic.

Count like I do, on good days.

Or bad. This could be bad.

a smoothie-200
an apple-40
two biscuits-100
340
1/2 a tomato and cheese baguette-300
a flapjack-300
baked potato with tuna -400
1000
salad and chicken-100
an ice cream-170
some ice cream-250
two biscuits-70
600.

So that's roughly 2000 calories- no small wonder, then, that clothes are tighter and I feel flabbier.

"Well, you don't look like a fool".

I'm going to analyse. I think that I'm catching dyslexia.

Ah, well. When you said that, I didn't know what you meant. Reassurance, because I'm just a silly little middle class girl? I feel, sometimes, like shouting, "I'm not! I'm not." I fear that you don't like me, because I think you're awesome, as I always do, for all the reasons that I'm not. Perfect control, the ability to make everyone laugh and to do well under pressure. The way that you bounce around, completely unafraid of being yourself, and silence everyone with a word. Assonance and alliteration, you know it all and I'm just trailing in the wake and fearing that I'm coming up far short. I like sitting and laughing at you at the back, with everyone else- I'm the canned laughter, I'm a wonderful audience but I just can't take the stage as you do, especially when you're there. I can't impress when I most want to. I clam up and stop, or do a poor imitation of you; I'm like a chameleon, I take on colours but I'm never the exact replication and you can find me out if you look hard enough, there are cracks close up. It's really just mimicking. You like people to look like fools; you play the fool, but you never are, you're always in perfect control and it's a paradox, or a palindrome; the same backwards or the opposite but true? I think paradox. Opposite but true. "No need to worry about being the most ridiculous person in here, 'cos that's always me, right?" Ha.

Is it true that you despise most the characteristics that you fear are present in yourself? I abhor one girl. She's disgusting, pleading and vile, strums for sympathy and throws tantrums when she doesn't get it. She knows everything whilst knowing nothing. See, I know things, but they're useless things, like the multiples of thirteen and the first sentence of 1984. They aren't practical. She thinks that she knows the practical things, but she doesn't. I hate strumming for sympathy, and I rarely do, I hope. It's one of my few virtues. Or am I sycophantic here? I am pitiful, but it's for noone's consumption except my own. I'm force feeding myself my own emotional crapulence. Or at work? I tell people that I think their work is excellent, when I admire them. I haven't told her properly yet. So I don't really think that I know everything. I don't think that I'm a tantrum thrower. I fear that I'm weak.

Brilliance is such an elusive trait.

Today the world seems grey, the honeymoon is over and I have to start buckling down.



There are pregnant girls and I want so badly to say, you're so much brighter than this, to AW. I suppose that this is what emotional attachment feels like. I actually want to give her a hug.



But then, what I want more is a hug from you. It doesn't matter which, it's just that I want someone to sink into and to tell the truth to. To say, when I'm doing that slow horizontal flick of my eyes in a darkened cinema, it's because I'm trying to gauge how much you like me. To say you're beautiful. Oh, I don't know and I know perfectly well. Action's the problem.

A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.

You're coming home. Homecoming queen, though you won't feel like that, back to a detached house and too much family.

But to me, you are a homecoming queen. You rattle my magnetic fields because the things that I feel aren't so certain when you respond, even in the vaguest sense, to any invitation. I know it won't lead to anything, and I know that you don't feel about me as I do for you; you never have, it's all one sided and I harbour no delusions. Yet I still can't rid my head of the possibility of you.

It's ridiculous, isn't it. Because I know that the person you adore isn't me. Why are magnetic fields so like Venn diagrams? Someone always gets left out. I hope you intersect with someone who knows your worth, because you are beautiful. I wish that there was some way of you knowing this without revealing my own identity.

Thankyou.

I've been given so much but people just aren't bewitched. I haven't got the power to enchant, and maybe I should just think about doing something else entirely.

Then again, we're young. Don't peak too soon. Panic panic panic.

I like to walk alone. Come to me, comfort me. I suppose I fling off the edge because there is noone to comfort me.

I need to keep my head screwed on. It's so likely to go flying off when I'm surrounded with people that I admire, who can touch and call people love or honey or darling without thinking about it, because I think about things so very much that I couldn't possibly.

Thankyou India. Well, just thankyou thankyou. Because it was awesome, and I forgot to eat, and I learned more from those few days than any number of courses. Just be enthusiastic about what you're doing, be a perfectionist and people will follow. I just wish I was more out than in, or more in than out, or more something than this halfway space that I am. That noone particularly wants, and that's a truth in itself. Noone wants a halfway person. It's all or nothing in every arena and I'm always halfway.

I'm just not as good. So I will have to find ways of being.

Maybe it's because I am just a silly little girl, with no experience of the world.

Everyone says I look young, and I can't have that part because I look too young, and I can't this or that because.

I am so sick of it. I am sick of people not noticing and not caring and not bothering because I am not something worthwhile.

That sentence is a contradiction, because of course people only care for something worthwhile.

I don't want to ask because I won't get so what's the sense in asking if I'm never receiving?

And what's the sense in anything?

I think I am fed up because noone cares what I want, but actually it is because noone listens to what I say that I'm pissed off.

Because I accept, that in the world, fundamentally noone cares what you want. Everyone's out for themselves and why should they care what you want? It doesn't make profit in any sense to care about what people want, it's what they need and what they can take that's relevant.

And the thing is that I just take too much. People walk off mid-sentence when I'm complaining. I am not riveting, unless I'm being funny or happy. Noone cares what happens when I'm angry. If it's my brother, people care. People interact, at least. I get ignored. Or noone cares. Or I get shunted off.

I can put up with noone caring what I want. I accept. It's that noone cares what I say, and the fact that it's so often trodden over, that makes me believe I'm just a person of no consequence. At home, with friends, at work. I don't get work experience, I don't get good tasks, or a bigger room, or a bit of alone time, or fair distribution of household work, or even to go where I've organised on nights out.

I don't get it. Because I'm not nice. I'm not a nice person. It's just that people don't care what I say, and why is that? I wish I could make people care. Is it some physical tic, do I blink too much or speak too fast or what?

I am stopping asking.

And maybe this is why I lie sometimes. If noone cares what I say, then why bother saying anything of value at all?

It's all very well when I'm cooking dinner, or when I won't do something. It's when there's a problem that people couldn't care less. I hate being someone of no consequence.

I hate being me sometimes.

I wondered if I'd given myself away today, because I'd spoken too much about your coat selection, and I do hope you didn't think I was bitching because we weren't at all. I like those coats, though I don't think you do. I like that you don't think about what you're wearing, and that you think you've let yourself go when I think you look beautiful because you look so natural, and clever. And your hair's thick and black, and you wear it the same way every day, and it's perfect. And why is there a tiny white mark, just under your chin, like a scar that twins mine? A sign? Did you know I had one too?

You set me a mathematical problem, and I want to solve it. And you read bollywood fiction and you can't identify with white books, and I suppose I find that a bit strange; or maybe you just don't know enough good books. You haven't read properly for years, despite wanting to do a degree in literature. A cardigan filled with tiny pots of harmful chemicals, and a beautiful mind in every way; you're so pure in motive and speech, and soft and kind but firm despite. Do my hands, which I was contemplating today, look like spam to you? They do to me.

I have never been afraid of being alone. Somehow typical.

It's typical that I'm sat considering you. Always considering someone, and then it's so easy to let it go.

B, you're so incapable of being anything except yourself, and you're so strong. I wanted to roll over and hug you, but you don't like it when you're more upset than the other person. Only, on this occasion, and others, you've got more than enough right to be. I just wish I could give you a hug, but I thought you might feel wrung out by everyone hugging you. I started to wonder if I'd brought it on you by lying, but there's no correlation and I'm not superstitious. It's just a quibble. I was so relieved at the way you were. Tears come later. "It's the end of the road for me and Mum", is a sad thing. And to say it with acceptance and clarity. I don't know if that's how you're really feeling, or if you're just saying it to conflagrate with how I am, but I'd be silent. Not half as cheerfully stoic as you are. I wouldn't cry but I wouldn't be an open book either, and I admire you so much for it. You won't know how much. I'll probably tell you soon. Not that crying would make me judge you or feel that you were less, I'll always admire you. Because I've thought you were brilliant since we met, and you always will be. I would like to be there if you feel bad, if you feel sad- I'd like you to come to me, because I would like to make you feel better, or to share. I think you would. I wouldn't feel awkward hugging you. You've lost weight, but I didn't mention it because then you would have had to say... and you look good, you always have, but it's as a consequence now. I wonder what your Mum thinks?

You said on Friday that your daughter was older than me. I can't help but think that your shoulders must have the sheen of butter. I can't say so. You just laughed about how young I was, and I like you, but we're more similar than that. Not that you'd ever entertain the thought of me, but then, noone I like ever would. I'm too young and too silly, but I admire you and your proud bearing and your certainty. Though I could be your daughter. In another life.

My head's screwed.