Some days aren't yours at all.

Eating today

Marks and Spencer's salad-400
a lindor chocolate-60
an oreo-50
a smoothie-100

B's Mum has been diagnosed with metastatic cancer. She's got a year. B is being herself, practical and strong, but I can read the notes of desperation, or panic, or sadness... or all three, because these are what she must be feeling. Her Dad discusses plant life with her, and not much else. How will she cope? How will the house look after her Mum's gone? I keep picturing her at the funeral, though it's off a year away, and I keep thinking about how she must be feeling. She doesn't want anyone to ring, which is just as well because I would be terrible at that, and I just want to see her and give her a hug. I can't stop thinking about it, which must be small fry compared to the occupation of her thoughts. I sent her a message back, but I didn't know what to say really; I just didn't want her to have to go through it. Saying that is pointless because she has to, and it makes no difference. I can't listen to music or dance or smile without thinking, I bet she doesn't feel like smiling. We watched Colder than Here in second year, and thinking about the way that that woman dies, she's worried about being found because your bowels evacuate. B's Mum wouldn't like that. B wouldn't like that, but she might well be there when it happens. She sent me a message... because her best friend is away, so was I the one? Did I do well? Should I have rung her anyway, but I didn't want to because she said not to, but maybe she wants me to.

I'm grateful for my work, because I can't think about her all the time then. Correcting mistakes and lending pens and explanations take my mind off it, but she can't- she's studying, and literature's full of morbid deaths. Studying lends to mind wandering as well, it's not a focus because it's self-led.

Last night I went out with R and a bellicose male told us that 'you've got more to learn from her than she has from you', on the basis that R didn't pay as much to go to school as I did. She's more resilient and streetwise, apparently. This is true, but not because of the money; R's Mum is paranoid, and she spent a lot of sixth form caring for her, if not before. So she knows how to run a house; but I know that too, and I have worked, and I resent the implication that I am naive or stupid because I happen to have more money. This irked me tremendously. Why have I got to learn? Why have either of us got to learn from each other? It's something you do anyway, learn from friends; it shouldn't be used as a measure to beat someone with. It's not as if I am rich; I share a room with my sister. People describe my house as cosy. I know how to live. R said he was a repulsive man, with a chip on his shoulder. There are grains of truth in his opinions, but not for the right reasons.