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.