Holed up in the corner of my room. My converse drying on the floor beside me. I'm wearing shorts today and I feel happyish. Summer is almost here. Sweat and icecream and football and home.
I'd planned to struggle with 1st year maths tonight. Before the long lazy holidays I still have exams to get done with. One month to go. And one stupid stupid ego which made me fill up a form to retake last year's maths test.
To my right is my wall of football. Filled with scribblings and newspaper cuttings. I can tell you everything that Chelsea did this year. If I manage to decipher that handwriting..... To my left I can see the converse. A Monet print, lovely purpley waterlilies, Paris was such a dream. There's a picture of Bhindi too. It's been twelve days now and I am finally at the stage where I remember how time passes and I remember to eat. I am scared that the memories will fade. The memories of shorts and school magazines and conversations that searched into our pasts and presents and futures looking for answers that I still don't have and for ourselves. Terrorism has always convinced me that the world is a bad place.
(abrupt change of paragraph because i have run out things i want to say here. i also understand that this post is getting pointlesser and loster by the word)
It's been a weird week. From rr asking me if I'm on any 'addictive substances' to the warden not recognising me and trying to throw me out of the hostel premises. A girl told me I look really hot with my new haircut and that she wished I was a boy. (!)
Three days holiday now. Peaceful, I hope. And productive.
.....peace. Seems like a lot to ask for.